Drop The Bomb

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. It's the centerpiece of romantic comedy, the trigger of romantic tragedy, featured in every TV show and movie depicting two characters who fall head-over-heels for each other. I imagine it's largely because I've got new romantic interests in my life. I'm not the only one who's ever Googled it, though the answers should be plain enough. I'm talking, of course, about

Q: Is it too soon to say “I love you?”

A: You say “I love you” when you feel it's the right time.

And that changes the question to

Q: How do I know it's the right time to say “I love you?”

with the most obvious answer being

A: When you love them.

How do you know you love someone? How can you tell when NRE starts to fade? Is NRE, or “puppylove,” not real love? Who even decides what's real love? Why is it a faux pas to say it before the other person is ready?

I have this terrible, awful habit of falling in love fast and hard. Chances are, I have loved someone from afar long before words of a relationship or dating have been uttered. I love passively until I'm given permission to love actively. But, that ends up with me already in love, and kind of waiting for the other person to play catch-up. Not that I mind waiting, of course, I love love and I love being in love and I love sharing love. So I keep my lip zipped as long as possible. I don't want the object of my affection to feel pressured, as they do in movies, when I pronounce my feelings.

My extremely self-conscious approach to admitting my adoration seems to have caused an after-effect of guilt. I'm the sort of person who goes back and forth between ecstasy of a new lover to doubt and fear, as if my partner might suddenly realize they can do much better. I do, indeed, feel like the first time I tell someone that I love them, I'm stabbing them with a dagger, digging my claws in, and I realize that if I say it too soon, it may be a dealbreaker. That's a risk I take, I suppose.

Love opens me up and makes me vulnerable. I'm never more paranoid for the delicate stability of my heart and the heart of my lover and the heart of the relationship than at that pinnacle moment. I am shy to admit my love, like it's a bad habit, like it's an inconvenience, like a heavy weight.

I'm writing about this now because I feel these three words, three little bombs, sitting on the edge of my tongue, aimed at someone who has not yet heard them from me, and it's too soon. Too soon, I know. I'm met with a predicament. Either I prepare myself, and just say the words, or they slip out by accident. I've already caught myself several times, and this is not a nuke I want to drop by happenstance. It's very precious. And it's definitely too soon to expect the same. I don't, really, expect this person to return the words, probably not for a long while, and I'm okay with that. Just because I'm ready to say them doesn't mean they are.

I never understood why movies make a big deal about it—love happens and it doesn't always happen to everybody at the same exact moment. So what if they aren't ready to say it? If you love them, be patient, and keep loving them, and one day, they'll be ready.

Will I say the words? I don't know. How's this; I'll post this blog entry after I do say them. So you know I've admitted it, if you're reading, and you'll know I haven't tossed myself from a high building in shame.

Wish me luck.

Changes

Well, hello there, blog.

It's been a while, and that's my own damn fault, I know.

I needed some time to myself, and some time away from processing publicly. But, I'm back! Kinda! I can't promise I'll stay. But I can promise I'll try, and that's all you get.

I'm back and writing largely because a lot has changed. I'm not actively processing, because I tend to overthink and that may or may not make things worse. But as time goes on, I'm having little mini revelations, and not all of them are good.

I feel like, over the past year or so, I've grown and changed a lot. I'm stretching into my personality—Blue--getting more comfortable and accepting of the things that make me who I am. I've demanded that in no uncertain terms people either must accept me as I am, or not. I'm tired of hiding. It takes its toll on you, when you hold up a different mask for everybody. So I got rid of the masks. Most of them. I kept a few, and I'm sure we'll talk about that at some point, because it has to do with my depression.

What kind of things have changed? I'll try and explain.

1. I've had to accept things about myself.

In my life, things have happened to me, and I thought they were no big deal and I thought they didn't matter and I thought I didn't need to think about them ever again. But the truth is, a lot of things do affect me, and I need to face them and accept that they happened and they are a part of me. They are the reasons why I fear certain sex acts, the reasons why I feel like I have to give up what I want, the reasons why I am almost completely apathetic when someone is talking about their mother. I have triggers and I'm learning to notice them, to realize what sets me off, what pulls me down, and I'm learning to accept that it matters, and that even if someone else tells me it's silly and I should get over it, it still matters and their opinion of my thoughts, emotions and mental stability is irrelevant.

There were bigger, more important things I've had to accept, that other people have had to deal with as well. When Ark and I decided to be polyamorous, it was very difficult at first, but we worked through it and we're a stronger couple now than I could have ever hoped for. It was important for us to hit all this rocky ground and battle against the odds, because as I mentioned in my previous (very old) blog entry, I've more or less come out as lesbian. I learned that this is not always the end of a heterosexual marriage and I'm very, very glad it was not the end of ours. I love, want and need Ark in my life, and the ways we are growing are important to me. The new-old ways we're affectionate are more special to me than sex. Recently, I've been more “out” about my sexuality, though there are still certain family members who don't know, I'm sure a lot of them do. Maybe they don't understand my open hetero marriage and maybe they don't want to. That's okay. They're my family and I want to keep them, but like I said before, I can't keep myself in a little box and never come out.

2. I've needed more time to myself, which actually means...

I needed time away from Gabriel. The intensity of our early relationship is too much for me to handle long-term, and I am having a lot of trouble accepting that. Gabriel is a very intense person, and I can't ask her to change, but as it is, I often feel suffocated under her love for me. I want her to be happy, and I love her and, when I can handle it, I love being around her. When I can't handle it, I feel drained and grouchy. Words of commitment spook me; I have never been able to promise someone “forever.” I can't even begin to explain what a miracle it is that I married Ark. He is a truly amazing and unique person. That said, Gabriel regularly calls me her wife, and says she “married” me, etc, and this makes me very uncomfortable. It makes me want to escape, cut ties—I feel like I will never be able to give her what she wants and needs in a relationship. She needs monogamy. She needs someone who can give her all their time and all their love. I'm not prepared to give that—it isn't in my nature nor is it appealing to me in any way. I thought of a quote today that summed it up; “I may not be everything you could ever want or need, but I'll give you as much as I can.” What else can I give?

I'd really love for her to have friends outside of my social circle, and I'd love for her to find another girlfriend—someone who can be more full-time than me. She deserves that, she deserves happiness, but I cannot continue to give myself to her at sacrifice to my own sanity and well-being.

I've been taking time away—but it really looks like I'm drifting away, even to me. I don't want that. I still want to be a part of Gabriel's life, and I know she wants me to be (a bigger) part of hers. But can she handle only seeing me once a week, maybe once every other week, maybe once a month? Is it even fair to ask that? It may be what I need.

I feel like there's a lot of pressure when I'm in a relationship with someone who's monogamous. I go back and forth between saying I don't have a primary and I do—the truth is, I do have a primary, and that's Ark. My marriage and relationship to him are tantamount to any other relationships I may have. If a lover can't understand that and doesn't respect my marriage, I can't continue that relationship.

3. I've been taking time to myself.

This kinda goes with the previous statement, but it's different, and here's why. I've made friends, and it's wonderful. I finally feel like I'm surrounded with people I love again—my pack, my chosen family. The people I've met are amazing friends. They make me laugh and I so rarely feel alone anymore. I don't even know how to express that this is a huge big deal for me. It's so hard for me to make and maintain friendships (I've lived here for six years and only just recently made friends).

And old friendships are growing, in new and unexpected ways. A friend of Ark's from his old job, someone we usually saw once or twice a month, has turned into The Object of My Affection lately. I am totally addicted and feeling some heavy NRE with this girl. It's so funny, the way it happened, but well, maybe I'll explain that some other time. I don't want to wax puppylove over this girl and I know I will, if allowed. Which brings me to...

4. I've been dating.

Dating! Do you believe it? I don't. I've never been dating before. It's exciting and new and a little scary. I'm trying to get Ark to date, too (he needs a girlfriend who lives nearby). I had my first two dates (kinda) this week, and both were successful. I'm not going to tell you about them because they're private, and I don't have these peoples' permission to talk about them on my blog just yet.

5. Ark has been amazing.

AMAZING. You don't even know. I've had to lean on him a lot. The very, very bad bout of depression I had at the end of 2011 and the beginning of 2012 had to be a trial. He's not reacted adversely to my affections on anyone else—granted, I am very careful not to be overtly affectionate to anyone else where he's watching me. Being around Ark and someone I like still makes me nervous, because he has reacted poorly in the past, but it's becoming clearer and clearer that maybe, just maybe, all of that is in the past, and I'm elated (when I'm not paranoid still).

I said it before but I'll say it again, my husband is awesome and he has grown in so many ways, changed in so many ways, becoming more accepting and curious and loving and happy. It makes me love him even more (is that possible?!).

So, all in all, some stuff has been happening and it's been great. Mostly. I work, I eat, I sleep, I see friends, I see lovers, I try to balance the world with my personal needs. So, I'm not dead yet! Still very much alive and kicking. Apparently, I just needed to go to Panera and sit down and decide to write a blog article.

I'm a Statistic

Forty percent.

That's the number of lesbians who are married to a partner of the opposite sex. Lesbians who are married to men.

I'm in a loving, affectionate, largely platonic heterosexual marriage. I say “largely platonic” because over the past year, our sexual activity has dwindled drastically and is more or less non-existent at this point (it is currently 9 Feb and we've had sex once this year). We love each other, and all of the other affection is there, but we just don't have sex. And I'm kind of okay with that. I jokingly said to someone last year that if Ark and I never had sex again and I never had a penis inside me again, I'd really be just fine with that. I said, I don't think I'll miss it much... if at all.

Maybe that's when I started to worry. But it's certainly not when I first started to see signs.

The first girl I loved was a friend in elementary school. She was beautiful, popular (at least in my eyes), and she was nice to me. Our friendship continued through middle school, even though I'd moved, and into high school, where we rarely saw one another but we'd had a class or two together. I remember when I was in elementary, I had my first (and as it turned out, my only) sleep-over birthday party, and though I'd invited all of my girl friends, she was the only one to attend. She's still my friend on social networking sites, and I will never, ever tell her I love her.

Even at a young age, I never really understood when my girl friends would say “Oh, he's so cute!” I'd look over at the boy in question and think, okay, this is what cute is. Maybe I thought I was just slow on the hormones (even though I started my period young, at the age of ten) and I would eventually think boys were cute and want a boyfriend as bad as all the other girls did. Even when I did eventually get a boyfriend, he was very feminine (he's quite gay now), and we started dating as kind of a “we've been friends” and he'd already dated literally everyone else in our class. I never sought out male companionship; I just fell into relationships with male friends, and even after break-ups, remained as good friends as I could with them. I genuinely cared about them and I suppose I always knew something was missing from my relationship with them, I just didn't know what.

In high school, I had a crush on a female transfer student. I came out as bisexual verbally to my sister first, then, and explained I was nervous and that I wanted to wear something to impress her. She suggested I talk to Mom about it, and I did... boy, was I terrified. Though Mom had always preached that she didn't care “what” we brought home “as long as they make you happy,” I was still afraid. What girl wouldn't be?

But my mom, bless every ounce of her soul, reacted in a TOTALLY unexpected way. She was ecstatic. She was so happy. She told me even she had some girlfriends over the years but she was afraid of what my sister and I would think. (Well, Mom, I wouldn't have given two shits and I bet my sister wouldn't have, either.)

After that, I breathed a little easier. My crush was straight and had a boyfriend back home, so my efforts to impress her were futile, but I tried anyway. (I still have a thing for accents from a certain country.)

I was never really enamoured with penises.

Let's just leave it at that.

That's not to say that I don't enjoy sex with Ark; I do, and though it just about never happens anymore, I told him tonight that I hope our sexual relationship is not over. I enjoy the closeness, and I genuinely do enjoy getting him off. I don't know why it's easier or more appealing for me to have sex with Ark than with any other man (the idea of it is repulsive, honestly). I explained to him, “I just like all the other stuff in the relationship more.”

Is it possible to be a lesbian and be married to a man?

Is it possible to have a working platonic relationship with your husband?

I should rephrase that. Is it possible for me to have a working, mostly platonic relationship with my husband? Yes, yes I think it is.

This brings me to a new problem: Will most lesbians, and the amazing lesbian/queer community here where I live, accept me as I am?

Probably not.

It is very hard for a marginalized person like me to get into the very cliquey and judgmental groups they live in.

Wait a minute, I just read that sentence over again. Did you? Cause if you see the same thing I see, you just might laugh out loud. If they're cliquey and judgmental, why do I want to be "accepted" by them? Is it because I want the kinship? I am certainly not judgmental—I accept people as they are. I'm often shocked by how racist, sexist and hateful queers can be. We are already the “Other.” We are all linked—we have common ground—in that we love differently. If the community as a whole (I'm not speaking for individuals, as I do have some lesbian friends who are just fine with my situation) shuns me because of the way I live and the way I love, I guess I should just let it go and not worry about it.

Ark and I are doing great. We're treading carefully, but the playfulness, the joy, the laughter, has returned. I'm happier... and so is he, if I may be so bold as to say so. So what if other people look at our relationship, as it is, and think it can't be done? So what if they look at us and think we're crazy? We're doing it. And damn it, we might be crazy, but we're also lovin' it.

My Carefully Scheduled Life

My week starts on Friday. I get up early for work, take a shower, don chef uniform, and go make breakfast for the masses. After a long day of cooking and prepping for the weekend, I clock out and usually I'll go be with Gabriel for a couple hours until Ark gets off work. I'm always hopeful we'll have sex—especially lately, especially with her new toy, which I suspect she enjoys just as much as I do, if not more. But if we don't, that's okay too. It's just nice to get a Gabriel refresher before the long weekend, my work-week, during which I don't usually see her.

On Saturday, I wake up and go to work and work my butt off again. Ark gets off a couple hours earlier on Saturdays, so I'll head home and usually catch a nap before he gets home. Saturdays are Quiet Time At Home With Arkanum.

Sunday: wash, rinse & repeat. The place where Ark works is closed on Sunday and he has designated chores to do on this day. Sometimes I'll clean a bit when I get home, too. Lately, we've been watching Once Upon a Time on ABC—it's right up our alley, plus we really like Ginnifer Goodwin.

Monday's a bit different. If I didn't pack Sunday night before going to sleep, I pack a bag with a fresh set of clothes and the essentials—deodorant, allergy meds, etc. Monday night is my Night With Gabriel.

Tuesday, I try to sleep in as late as possible, which usually ends up being somewhere between 7 and 9 in the morning. Gabriel doesn't like to linger in bed in the morning very long. We go to a local café for breakfast, then sometimes I head home if I have things to do, or I'll spend the rest of the day with her. The evening is spent with Arkanum, watching Glee and New Girl and Raising Hope, and usually having pizza, but we really need to cut back on that delicious, delicious food.

Wednesday it's back to work. I never really know what I'm doing on Wednesday—I'm supposed to see Sir, but I haven't been seeing him regularly for months. As a safe bet, I just don't make plans, and I assume I have the afternoon to myself unless he tells me otherwise. If it's nice out, I'll ride my bike. Or I'll stay in, and take a nap, or read. Or maybe I'll visit a friend. I don't get a lot of time to myself, so the days where I do, I really treasure it.

Then, Thursday is Errand And Chore Day with Arkanum. We get paid, pay bills, and go shopping. Then we come home and are usually exhausted. Then, more TV shows, cuddling, and bed.

Friday, it starts over again.

Every week is the same—or close enough to where the difference doesn't really matter. I crave change. I need it. So, every once in a while, I say, “I'm taking the week off.” And I do what I want. Next week is such a week. It's My Week and I'll do What I Damn Well Feel Like Doing. Last time, I gutted the back part of my apartment and threw out/gave away tons of stuff. Maybe this time, it'll be the front half.

I particularly enjoy having all the extra time with my husband. While we live together, we don't really spend Quality Time together as often as we should or as often as we'd like to. So taking a week off means I'll be home a lot more, and can focus some extra energy on him. A week off also recharges me, and not seeing Gabriel for a week makes me really look forward to seeing her again on Monday. Sometimes I feel like everyone is in demand of my energy, and I never have any for myself—someone's feeling sad, or sick, or needy in some way and eventually I run out of resources and that's all I see them as—needy. And that's not a good way to see someone you love.

So a break—a vacation—from my poly schedule, is good for everyone.

Times Are a'Changin

Hey, TBC readers.

This blog's gonna be changing. The focus, the info, everything. Not too much (I'm still with everyone I was with, and we're poly and happy) but because I've gone through a lot of Big Deal changes lately, I feel that the blog should change with me, especially so I still have something to write about.

That said, I'm very sorry about the long absence. It was never my intention to fall off the face of the planet, as it were, but things happen and I've been a very busy kitten. Changes will come, and it will be good.

Anxious

After a silly bout of social anxiety, and once my flimsy excuse for staying in was no longer valid, Ark and I went out to a local meet to see some friends. I won't lie about it, not to myself or anyone else: it is really hard for me to get out of the house to do anything. I will say, “I'm going to go out to this event,” or “I'm going to so-and-so's house to hang,” but at the last moment I'll have some excuse not to go. It isn't that I don't want to go, but for some reason, I panic. I don't like people. I may like these people, but I don't like people as a group. I often don't have the mental/emotional capacity to deal with them, and I get claustrophobic if there are a lot of people around. If I'm feeling particularly shy, I will hang around Ark and let him do the talking, choosing instead to observe and listen. Alternatively, if I'm feeling manic, I will chat up the nearest person, me with a shaky voice and twiddling fingers and bouncing legs.

Regardless of the social events, if I do too much at once, I will be drained for days and require recoup time. Pushing myself out the door takes energy, and being with people takes energy, and coming home and winding down takes energy. (Yes, I said winding down takes energy.) Sometimes, after an event, I'll come home feeling super charged with energy, and I won't be able to sit still.

I had been working on it, getting better at mastering my anxiety and managing to get out for events sometimes two or three times a week. But it's been getting harder. Actually, doing everything is getting harder.

I had to admit to myself that something is probably wrong with me on a chemical level after having a second anxiety attack at work. It's not something my coworkers need to see or be around, and I don't like feeling this way. When asked recently what was wrong, all I could come up with was, “I'm just sad. All the time.”

I wrote about being afraid of admitting that I have depression before. I'm still afraid of it, but I think I'm coming to grips with it. I need to see a doctor and I'm hoping that will help me make some sense of it all. I know now that this is more than just my normal winter blues, and I have to take action if I want to get through it.

Blogging helps. I know this isn't poly-related, but this is also kind of a personal blog, and nothing has been going on poly-wise worth talking about (I know! Happy poly! Who knew?!), so I thought I'd drop this update while I had the time and energy to put it out.

A lot of changes will be happening 2012. I can feel it.

Pierced

I watched my cousin get her tongue pierced at the beach a few years ago. I leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching with mild interest. I don't like needles, and I don't like piercings. The only piercings I had were my earlobes, which were done when I was too young to have a valid opinion about the whole thing.

The piercer told her calmly about the procedure. He clamped her tongue, pulled out the long, hollow needle, and stuck it through her tongue. Blood welled up instantly from the wound, and I saw tears appear in my cousin's eyes.

Suddenly, the room spun. I had to sit down—I was going to pass out. I didn't watch the rest of the procedure but I knew I would never, ever, get another piercing.

What can I say? This is where stubbornness gets me. As I sit here, typing, I'm playing with the barbell that's been in my tongue for just over a week. So, what changed my mind?

Every once in a while, I get to thinkin' about something. I admired tongue rings in other girls' mouths, and I loved the variety of barbells available. I don't have the stomach (literally) for a belly ring, and I don't have the stomach (figuratively) for nipple or genital piercings. I didn't see the *challenge* in getting another ear piercing. When I thought about getting my tongue pierced, I felt excitement, and I felt fear, and I felt the urge to conquer that fear. (Not to mention, the **other** benefits of having a tongue piercing... *wink wink*)

As soon as I get in this state of mind, that I am **absolutely going to do something**, there is really no deterring me. I did some research, talked to my lovers about it, and finally went in and made the appointment.

I went in straight. No painkillers, no liquor. I held the vodka, and the ibuprofen, before I left, but I put them down. Like getting a tattoo, I didn't want the piercing to be affected adversely by something I put into my body prior. I sat down on the edge of the table in the piercing room. It looked like I was in a hospital—this really did nothing to settle my nerves. My heart was thudding in my chest.

Mouthwash. Pincers. Needle. *Owwwwowowowowowowow!* Barbell.

I made it. I did it! I have a tongue piercing!

Success feels like not kissing for 2-4 weeks.