krystale: (Default)
Dissociative Identity Disorder, D.I.D for short, formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder, is the presence of distinct personalities who take control of the body.

Everyone dissociates, long drives are the classic example. You get there and you're surprised to be there even though you know you drove. I find road hypnosis a lacking example... I don't dissociate on drives like the rest of you. I either have a passenger to worry about and focus on or with, or my car LOOKS empty to you and my personalities are sitting in the other seats and we talk business. I think that the "I don't want to talk about it," reaction where you hold in what you're feeling and shove it back to focus on what is in front of you is a much better example. I suspect it's a combination of those and more.

Everyone has, in a way, different personalities. You may have a work face, a parent face, a play face, never mind who you'd be if no one was watching.

Hello, Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks & Other Outlaws
Kate Bornstein
who is not, as far as I know, a multiple
"Everyone consciously or unconsciously changes who they are in response to their environment or to some relationship that they are negotiating at any given moment. Every life form does that. It's a kind of phenotypic plasticity, an observable biological theory that says more or less that all life forms evolve according to their surroundings. They shift and change what they are so that their identity doesn't wind up causing their death and/or eventual extinction as a species."

"We don't learn to shift identities for purely whimsical reasons, or because we're bored or want to entertain people. It's something we do in order to survive. The ability to control who and what we are or seem to be in the world is a life skill we learn through practice, just like any other life skill."

The usual difference between clinical D.I.D. and "singlets," those of you who identify as one person, is that early on, so much bad stuff happened that entire systems of filing and staff are needed to handle all those held-in reactions and buried things. And there gets to be so much stuff that none of the staff can deal with one another, they're so busy keeping guard of the files and graves, keeping secret the location of their un-treasures.
I had some serious advantages in life, but I really believe that the D.I.D. saved me, too. I believe that abuse is the disorder and dissociation is simply the best solution available to some. Since I was three years old, at least, I've been in therapy more weeks than not, but therapy worked because somewhere in here something in me wouldn't stop going, was willing to die and be born anew to keep this body and it's place in the world active and functional. Later, along with therapy, isolation in my life and an appreciation for those within me who had gotten me through to where I was, brought my system back to talking to one another.
And that "going" goes so strong, I'm talking to you, too.

I've done this subject before, or some of us in here did, but I was asked to link this discussion either more to spirituality or what can be done. At first, I felt like I had failed to convey my whole point the first time, but dissociating from my ego, I realized it was just an opportunity to share it again, in a new way, with new words and new people. It's messages that do well with repetition.

Well, spirituality is tricky with DID. On one hand, DID is spirituality, it is the spirit of life and persistence, with rebirth and cycles, mythologies, histories, heavens and hells, but within an internalized congregation. On the other hand, the subjects of spirituality link closely to religion and religion and DID are a tricky mix that I'm not addressing here, there's a whole corner of the internet debating that genre and it ranges from arguing those of us with D.I.D are possessed and need to be exorcised, or making everything up, to stories of ritual abuses that survivors believe caused their DID, some of which are not unlike those "helpful" exorcisms.

As for what can be done, there's many routes to go with that. Abuse prevention is a cause that can use a lot of attention, it is a valid cause that I cannot stress enough. If you want to "cure" D.I.D, prevent child abuse. But then, so much of the problems in the world would fade if abuse was no longer. When you're not an abuser, it can seem difficult to know what to do to help. Calling child services only goes so far. People want to know what they can do to help directly. My message to those folks is that no help is too tiny.

A woman, who goes by Felicity, herself with DID, baby sat a young child one day. The child was clearly, to Felicity, also DID and within an abusive home. Felicity spent just a few hours with the child, but she treated her wonderfully during that time. Felicity was unable to change the child's circumstances despite efforts and she felt guilty for that. However, years later, Felicity met the young woman this child had become. The child had remembered Felicity and taken a part of Felicity inside, so that Felicity and her kindness were always there. This young lady had become someone kind and pleasant and articulate enough to tell Felicity these things. She thanked Felicity profusely, she regarded Felicity as the mother to herself as a young lady, even though Felicity was not the mother that made her a child.

So, even if you can't rescue the child slapped in the grocery store, you can whisper "I'm sorry you got hit, that wasn't nice, you deserve to be treated better." That seed will grow. For someone starved for kindness, even a sympathetic smile can keep the door to their goodness from cementing shut. I knew a baby in shelter, when this INFANT would cry, his mother would call him a fag and verbally abuse him regarding his lack of manliness. She never hit him, so he wasn't too badly off, but one day, in a few moments I got to hold him while she was busy, I told him that some of the best people I knew were fags, so if he grew up gay I wanted him to know that was OK and if he wasn't gay, it was still OK to cry because women like men who can be in touch with their emotions. Remember, I told him, it's OK to cry, it's OK to express yourself and it's OK to be whomever you are. On some level that baby understood, because from that day on, he'd smile at me. His mother couldn't understand why he didn't cry with me. I hope I planted a seed that will grow strong in that little one.

If you're confidant, or perhaps crazy, you can express to abusers that what they do is wrong. I'm either confidant or crazy, so I am comfortable declaring things like "that child deserves to be treated better." If it's said where the abused person can hear, even if the offender doesn't learn, an awareness of rights may dawn. Dealing with abusers is tricky and really not recommended, but I feel it's needed. Some people were abused themselves and simply know no other way. I firmly believe that these people are in need of seeds, too. So many of us come from darkness, muck and despair.

Dissociate with me here and fast forward.
Set aside that dark beginning for now.
Look at the good.

Countless of us are "multiples" already, we're adults now, and we're unlikely to ever be any other way, although some may integrate or become cooperative. Multiples fight always to get through life as best as they can, just like everyone else. When I asked online what other multiples wanted to tell the world, it was that they wanted kindness and to be recognized as "just like everyone else." I think you know what they mean, they want to be seen as people, not disorders. The "just like everyone" part is a bit contrary to my next lesson, but it's a repeated direct message. I like to think of my multiple friends as I would a group or meeting place. Like "the UU church." I never know who I'm going to see here, there's some likely suspects, but I just never know. But I know the UU church and they're good people.

Other than accepting us as we are and being kind, the best thing you can do for us now is learn from us. Let these mutations we suffered be evolutionary steps for all of us so that our suffering was not in vain.

While you're accepting, helping and learning, if that's not keeping you busy enough, here's something else important to remember: touch and consent. People don't touch enough in the good ways. So, touch more, just remember to ask first, or in circumstances, as you begin saying "is this OK?" can accomplish a lot. Becoming a touchy feely person who seeks permission will send a message to everyone around, not just the people you touch, that we each have a right to decide who touches our body.

Looking at the good was your first lesson. I snuck that one in on ya back there, didn't I? There's another one sneaking about showing the essential yin and yang link of micro and macro.

Diversity, Individuality and Democracy are three parts of another lesson, although it sums up easier than it used to for me, five years ago, right here, just this part took twenty minutes.

The things that you think make you a freak are actually the important bits; what makes you different is what makes you valuable. It gives you your own unique voice, vision, path, style. It makes you an individual. It's what will generate that wonderful comment that lets you know you made an impression: "Oh, I'd never thought of it that way before."

Individuality is important, when we are comfortable with our individuality we can focus on what we can do for ourselves, rather than what we can do to be like everyone else. We have skills. If everyone in history had just tried to do things like everyone else, instead of following their own wild ideas, history wouldn't have much of a story to it.

Even though we shouldn't try to be LIKE everyone else, we do have to be WITH everyone else, so democracy, in the sense of a group of equal members, is essential to being with the diverse individuals around you. Cooperative D.I.D systems are based on personalities working together, distinct and separate, yet cooperative. Maybe, for example, you're scary good at sorting, but you're too weak to carry things. Alone, that's only slightly useful. Get you cooperating with someone who can carry things and another person who can put things together and you have an assembly line. If one of you couldn't do what you could do, you wouldn't have the assembly line. You're not weak or limited, you're specialized, focused and essential.

That high and lofty dynamic aside, there's plenty to be learned from multiples. Aside from how to put on a brave face and go on in the face of unspeakable danger even though you yourself don't feel courage and trusting your body to go on even though your emotions can't, or considering various viewpoints before forming an opinion, there's day to day things and practical applications all over, apparently.

I found THIS tidbit in
March/April 2012 Writer's Digest
in an article titled
Giving Nonfiction an Audible Voice
by Roger Morris
"Those of us who write for multiple print and online publications often need to be adaptable and channel multiple voices like a ventriloquist."
"The purpose of conjuring a voice is not to ensure that the reader identifies it in your piece; rather, it is to use the voice to make a difficult passage read better."

And isn't that just what multiples are doing? They're making the difficult passages of life easier to get through.

And making life easier to get through can save a lot of pain.
Hello, Cruel World
Kate Bornstein
"When we consciously evolve toward an identity that we can live with, life becomes more of a game or a sport, like surfing. I'm not saying it's an easy or fun thing to do, just that it takes skill, it's exciting, and it's absolutely worth the commitment and sacrifice."

Talk to yourself.

Evolving oneself takes a certain level of multiplicity. You must raise, nurture and guide yourself, so you must show yourself the mother face; to counter that negative trains of thought in your head that says you can't, you talk back to it and say that you can. To truly nurture yourself you must find the little part of you that needs the love and care. You must speak to your fears, give yourself pep talks and advice. Then there is the creative voice that whispers. You can "therapize" yourself, talk yourself down from stress and pain, soothe yourself when you're sad. Remind yourself that if a retreat means surviving to fight the next day, it's not a loss, it's a win.

Doing these things for yourself helps you to see people around you differently, too. It also keeps me a little too busy to be judging other people much.

For me, knowing other people could be speaking from a place shaped by a past trauma gives me the patience to say to myselves, wait... maybe this one needs patience and teaching.
When you remember that our minds, all of us, were created by children, sometimes frightened children, it becomes... maybe not easier but more natural perhaps to handle things well. When you talk to yourself with your kind voice, internally, you feel better and your brain takes in more. So too is it with other people. Some people need the firm voice, some the kindness.

A multiple, better than anyone, can put on a genuine smile even when something is terribly wrong. So, we would ask you to remember this when you see people, also. Don't judge on face value. And while it's good to learn from us how to step aside from a mentality lost in a bad situation, to box it up and set it aside, you can help us by opening those boxes and fighting the injustices that were inside them and create new good things to plant within them.

Remember that sorrow shared is halved and happiness shared is doubled.

If you see this church or a group you belong to, as a whole, then you are a personality within it, working together towards goals
You are many things, and yet you are also a fraction.
You are a whole, and a part.

Work together, find good and cultivate it. Empower yourselves and those around you.
Be all of you and appreciate the facets of each person you meet.
krystale: (Default)
I always interpreted Pasqwall as well adjusted. I think maybe he's just imprinted and codependent? Yesterday, as we waiting outside during the fire alarm, he was OK, considering, until I went to use a bathroom and get coffee. When I came back he was successfully digging a hole through the carrier. He had his paw out, waving it around, then pulled it in to grab and yank more. I sat back with him and held his paw a moment and then tucked it back in. He tried once or twice more, but stopped when I said, "no, hunny, no do. You gotta stay in there and be a good boy. You're a good boy." He stopped entirely then, didn't try again the rest of the time, several hours, but he stayed plastered to whatever side of the carrier was nearest whatever part of me was nearest. Normally, he runs to the door if there's a knock. Now, he won't spend more than eating or potty time more than a few feet away from me. It's as though even though I take him where he hates, I'm the only one he trusts. Do I help him grow or accept he's pretty happy as is? No doubt he'll mellow down, but I've never seen him react with fear before and the first fire truck to go by after we were back in got a terrified reaction, although he was willing to lean against me and look out the window when I said a firm but gentle, "no, no scared, just a fire truck, look." When you're adopted and divorced, you're a bit unclear on life long loyalty, so it's a big mental experience for me to discover it's ME in particular that Pasqwall bases his security with. It didn't occur to me until today he'd try to come after me if we were separated in a crisis. It's sort of beautiful in a way, but I want him to be putting his safety tops, not me. His brother was diagnosed with Downs. I often have wondered if he has a touch of special wiring, too. He has so much in common with that brother, just doesn't have the face nearly so flattened and has been kept indoors
But as I write this a large truck goes by loudly and he moves all by himself to the window beside me to look down and see. He now automatically looks down for car related sounds, there's no more confusion from it bouncing off the opposite building. He's got a new level of curiosity. I guess that part is a good thing.
krystale: (Default)
There's a lot of "body positive" defining going around. Some of it divisive.

Everything is subjective.

To me, body positive simply means staying positive about my body.

If I'm eating this spinach because I want to be healthy, that's body positive.
If I'm eating it because I hate being fat and want to rid myself of it, that's negative.
If I'm at the gym working out and I'm trying to make better time on my workout to imporove my endurance, health, fitness or timing, that's positive.
If I'm at the gym working out to loose weight that is negative. Loss is negative. By definition.
If I'm doing extra time to increase my endurance or because I'm enjoying it or it's staying easier longer than usual or it's letting out the tension in me, that's positive.
If I'm doing extra time because I'm frustrated with myself or my body or my progress, that's negative.

It's actually not about the words or actions.

It's about sentiment.

By the way, that's why concern trolling is bad. It's trying to help because it thinks someone is unwell.

It's also why covering your body in "flattering" clothes to hide your fat is bad.
And why covering your body or hair because it's too beautiful to show off to anyone but those you feel deserve it is actually positive.
Wearing crop tops to piss haters off is negative.
Wearing crop tops because you love them or to keep cooler or to show of ink you love is positive.
Going to Weight Watchers to learn an easier way eat mindfully, or find others to share your journey with, go to the gym with, celebrate with, that's positive.
Going to Weight Watchers loose something you dislike is negative.
Eating to celebrate or nourish is positive.
Eating to shove down feelings or fill emptiness or conquer boredom is negative.

As far as I'm concerned, it's this simple.

No one manages to be positive all the time.
That's life.

But to me, any form of positivity is simply the positive stuff.
krystale: (Default)
We're no strangers to struggles
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You just don't get it cuz I'm not a guy

I just want to tell you what I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand

Never gonna give it up, never gonna stay put down
Never gonna run away or take less than
Gonna let you see me cry, never gonna let it die
We're gonna disprove your lies and convert you

We've worked together for so long
Our heart's are aching but we're too strong to give in
Inside we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna break it

And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see

Never gonna give it up, never gonna stay put down
Never gonna run away or take less than
Gonna let you see me cry, never gonna let it die
We're gonna disprove your lies and convert you

Never gonna give it up, never gonna stay put down
Never gonna run away or take less than
Gonna let you see me cry, never gonna let it die
We're gonna disprove your lies and convert you

We've worked together for so long
Our heart's are aching but we're too strong to give in
Inside we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna break it

I just want to tell you what I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand

Never gonna give it up, never gonna stay put down
Never gonna run away or take less than
Gonna let you see me cry, never gonna let it die
We're gonna disprove your lies and convert you

(It will probably be further improved.)

Life Sucks

Oct. 14th, 2016 08:32 pm
krystale: (Default)
(Original title: "Taste the Rainbow")

your soul is a lollipop
such essence melted down
having endured such heat
so nearly burning
but melting instead
each grain of your being
spinning lost and molten
into crystalline unity and clarity
able now
to melt and reform
ease into new shapes
remaining delicious
krystale: (Default)
It's late August. To you, it's peak summer. To me, it's the dawning of darkness, the start of the relief. Although the days started shortening in late June, I don't feel like the nights are earlier until mid-August. It starts to get dark before I get very tired. Shortly after dark, if I'm not already too tired, a transformation occurs. The night breezes come in, negative ions working their chemistry in the air and some force works upon me as well.

Darkness is everything, light is an illusion.
Darkness is simply the absence of light and light is simply wavelengths and vibrations.
krystale: (Default)
Once upon a time, I was a subcontracted product demonstrator. Several contracts brought me to Brattleboro Co-op not long before it's renovation and some afterwards. One cannot go too many times to the coop without an awareness of the broad side of the Latchis on the opposite bank of the river. There were murals on the building. I have to admit, I have no idea what they were, these are memorized details, I cannot picture them. I may suddenly recall them one day, my brain does record visual and I can go back into the memories and look around, but it takes time and focus. I can't actually recall visual details without that conscious focus, you could google up pictures faster. I'm not even sure if they're still there or different now and I live around the corner.

There on the broad walls of Latchis, amid not unexpected windows, murals and a door are just there, there is no way, without aid, to physically get to any of them so far as I can perceive. The way the Latchis sits so snug to the water, just a few feet of stone in many spots, even overhanging the water in others, makes it look extra difficult to reach.

My AP English teacher used to say to look out for what didn't fit in. It was significant.
Also, if you ever played video games it's where all the cool stuff is.

To me, rivers seem to separate worlds, so everything beyond gets extra curiosity. A river, in its rushing by brings sound and smell of its own, displacing such things from the opposite shore like an invisible and intangible wall.

I liked painting murals. In high school I really hated the part where I was supposed to make a mock up first then replicate it, but I certainly liked painting walls for some reason. I worked paint crew summers in college. I did well enough that after my first year when they filled up the roster before I knew they were hiring they took me on anyway when I said I was interested. This let me get away with putting murals in my dorm rooms and then avoiding the repaint fee, too.

And that door.
For all my logical brain flops around when asked to imagine something it has an equal amount of fascination for what could be. I did not know what was on the other side of that door or why it was there. This, in my logical brain, made it a portal to possibility. All sorts of things could be on the other side of that door. It could be amazing.

I never checked. Sometimes I enjoy having the portal to possibility more than knowing. There's a poem about a Grecian urn that explains this, but I don't feel it about humans the way the poem suggests to me, just things like this door.

I pondered it most days I visited the coop after I'd first noticed it.

About a decade later, someone was looking for someone to lead a mural painting project to brighten a dingy hallway.
Plans began.
Pre-designs were avoided!
Here's the hall where it goes, a window looks out over the river to the co-op now remodeled.
The window is next to a unopenable door with no knob. Memories tickle, but I am focused on the project at hand and cannot load memory files now.
Work begins.
More artists stop in and work with me. I can create something alone, but my skill is in the fostering of and blending together of many ideas or styles from many sources. Collaborating was a favorite part of this project. It was so exciting to see what other folks melded visions yielded.
The second or third day I am early and alone, someone comes through the hallway with a cart of rolls, compliments the mural, then worries I'm too hot and thus opens the window a pinch.
I am grateful for the immediate airflow and say so.
As the cart squeaks away, I twist the knob that opens the window more.
The sound and smell burst through as the window opens, I'd not be surprised if it was leaded glass in the window, it had blocked so much sound.

The glass before me swung out and so did my brain, onto the sound and smell of the river and where I'd heard this particular crash and roar before. Rivers never sound or smell exactly the same, just like a living thing it changes and evolves but keeps some recognizable particularity.

I was alone, with time to spare, so I let my brain go.
I could recall myself there, eating lunch, leaned on the fence, pondering.
There, wondering.
Here, creating.
There wanting to be
here creating.

Spinning, the river washing away the decade between.
I'd waved one day, in case anyone was looking.
I waved back at myself, the decade blurred away in the spin and flow.
I wonder so many things.
Here and there as the mural grew throughout the hallway I and myself paused and wondered together.
Now and then I reload the memories, the spin, and join in the wondering.

I can't really picture the hallway in my head either.
It's not so much a mural or a hallway as a world of cooperative art you can step into and pass through.
I am friendly with all sorts of folks, so when this hallway was tied into inclusion, I went with it.
A mural is visual. If something is visual only, it is not inclusive.
Aside from being socially nice, inclusive things usually provide richer experiences as they account for more of the senses.
I wanted it to be touchable, too, to be both inclusive and immersive and simply because I like touching things. I tried. I still wish in ways I could have done, or do, more with it, but I'm still learning as I go and I couldn't stay there forever.

I did accomplish one thing for sure. I helped to make that space worth wondering about.
krystale: (Default)
Aulii, my primary partner, has a tendency to rub my skin when he touches me. Regardless of if it's his thumb on the back of my hand or his palm on my back or arm, there's rubbing. Often absent minded rubbing and I can tell his mind isn't on the contact. I actually struggle not to have negative issues with this. Aulii is aware and tries to help. I don't blame him; I flap sometimes. There's proven positive body and brain chemistry in small repetitive movements such as shaking, flapping or other types of so called stimming.

I was severely neglected and sexually abused in early infancy. As a result, physical contact is for me a heightened experience. For me, there is no idle minded contact. I've learned to do it a little bit for Aulii, because being touched in that way is as comforting to him as touching that way, but it takes effort, ironically.

I and my serotonin levels are lucky that Aulii and I are in physical contact often enough that I couldn't possibly remember even a small percentage. Usually I'm well aware when of most instances the times I've come in physical contact with another person.

A few days ago hands overlapped a bit when a playdough loving associate and I fake battled over the playdough "slug" I'd made who's head he chopped off and into bits. We seemed amused.

I hugged my best friend and also another friend who is also my tattoo artist this weekend. They're three Mississippi huggers. If I'm in crisis, they'll let me have a few more Mississippis. They're my peeps.

There's some hand contact during the half dozen manicures I've done in the past month or two.

I ran three fingers across the back of a newer friend as I walked past closely behind in a crowd.

The dental stuff.

I hugged several old friends at an event a few weeks back.

Few weeks back there was an afternoon with my other partner.

It's been quite a while since my current therapist shook my hand.
My prior therapist and I were huggers.

There is very little physical contact in my world other than Aulii.
I've learned to hover instead of touch most people. Many people have. I might say too many.

When I hand people things, I'm aware if we come in contact.
Usually I try not to touch. Usually.

Touch sets off a data stream in my head. It's similar to hearing or smelling or tasting. I think everyone has this. Touch is one of our five senses.

I've done a great deal of work with energy and touch such as pressure points, humans and animals.
One of the friends I hugged at the event a few weeks ago has worked with me, I have attended his classes, he has attended at least one of mine, I have been his assistant in his classes. He is far more skilled than I, but he did find the strength of my energy remarkable.

I imagine this touch based communication is a skill used a lot by infants and parents of infants. I know from my own work it's used in animal husbandry.

I'm going to guess here and say most people have this latent because they were held and had this communication so it's so called "second nature" and therefore they are less consciously aware of it.

It crosses into body language, but I am muddy with the visual aspects of body language. I am faceblind.

I know on a biological level, there is brain and body chemistry associated with touch. There is chemistry, in body and external. Physics in the electrical currents and conductivity in our body and our brain.

Touch is our primary means of influencing the world around us.

To me touch is to my brain what standing in a stream is to my legs. Try to describe all that you perceive and the experience stretches, unravels, expands deeper than it's initial parameters.
Touching is a stream. Touching another living creature is to me like standing in a river. Pulse and rhythm, undercurrents, things that bubble up, sometimes floating, sometimes sinking.

I have been called a healer by some people. My partners claim there is a higher than normal intensity in my touch and an uncanny knowing at times, one prior partner's touch felt like that to me. Other folks have sometimes claimed my touch burns like fire. I think people are over dramatic. Never the less, those are actual things people say.

So, generally I let other people initiate touch.
I feel like a criminal for running three fingers across the back of that friend, I really could have slunk by without if I'd been careful. I even require people actually ask me to do massage or pressure point or related work I do.

But sometimes there are people I want to touch more, sometimes my palms get jealous of my fingertips.
Sometimes it's people who later claim I'm a healer. A few times it has been people who turned out to be partners.
I can't assume I know, so I try to stay cautious. Hover, out of touch.
Sometimes there are people I want to touch more and don't know how to ask. I know I like to be asked first, generally or at least initially.
I know how to communicate through touch.
Words don't touch much.
Sometimes I wonder, like when I press a few millimeters of fingertip against a palm when I pass a rhinestone to an art consultant, can they read it from me?
Do they like what they read?
Can we communicate more?
Too often the answer is no.
Sometimes, still too often, the answer is good bye.
So, I don't ask.

I have many friends I've never hugged or touched.

I wouldn't mind hugging my therapist, but she has boundaries.
There are many people I'd touch more if it suited them, but they have boundaries.
I'm poly and carefully, but most people are completely closed to this paradigm, broaching it even in the kink community is awkward, never mind elsewhere.

I wonder why people touch each other so little. It seems like most people want more caring physical contact, yet typing that prior sentence seemed "inappropriate" and "NSFW" as they say.

Are people afraid or ashamed of what they'll learn and reveal?
Are they afraid they'll get pulled in and loose control, the jealousy traveling up the arm and beyond, too irresistible?
Or, like me, is the fear of rejection or lack of reciprocation so strong that we'd all rather do without just to hold on to the potential?
I'm not worried I'll make them feel weird. But if I like them in my life before touch, and I wouldn't want to touch them if I didn't, I am scared that they won't like it and thus not like me.

There is no idle touch for me.
There are rivers I'd like to dive into.
OK, well, metaphorically speaking I'm more of a wader. But it does turn out that in some rivers there's a point in wading that instead of passing through, I'm wanting to plunge in, embrace the current, feel all that's there.
krystale: (Default)
Paul Simon
50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

Now and then my adoptive parents would take in other rescues. Some would become my friends for a while.

Bunny, I'll call her, twice my age then, would go out in the woods with me as I was inclined to. I'd climb rocks and often sing. I didn't realize at that age how far my voice carried. Bunny sang me 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover. Now and then, she and I would get away from the farm. I have no idea how she managed it, or how she got them to let her take me, but we'd wind up at restaurants with bars now and then. She'd have a drink and watch people. We'd get up suddenly now and then and go into the bathroom. Once, I heard her humming 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover on one of these bathroom trips. I asked her after why she liked it so much. She said it was a crap song, but sometimes there were folks needed to hear it. To keep me busy, she showed me how to tell who. You'll know, she'd say when I tried to clarify what it was I was noticing. Don't think about it, she would give the same weary advice, just watch. It kept me thinking about it, which may have served her just fine.

One day in a restaurant I caught myself humming it in a bathroom and stopped. I heard sniffling, so I continued, cuz... well, it's polite to not just suddenly be quiet when others are hiding in your noise.
I only knew for sure the phrase "get yourself free" in the chorus. I hummed a few times and tried to sing all the words I could, but it was all humming but my one phrase. It was quiet when I gave up.
I waited in the stall for a while before I left. I didn't want to run into the sniffler. The moment stuck with me for years. I couldn't remember the song name anymore, with Bunny gone my world was more limited. Being in a restaurant meant I'd just been to church. At home the radio was glued on classical.

Eventually I'd learn more of the verse and catch it once or twice more, but I still didn't really get it.

Today, listening through assorted songs trying to find new stuff to karaoke I came across 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover and it suddenly buzzed glaringly, like plugging in a neon light.

My visual world disorients and current perception shifts to low priority, as I consciously accept the flashbacks into the past, prompted by listening to the song. I hit replay on youtube and consciously load some memory files from the previous day.

Yesterday, our guest speaker at Inclusion Center was from the Women's Freedom Center, where the primary function is helping battered partners get out of bad relationships. I had some harsh attitudes in the discussion and some attitudes I can't yet explain.

I also still can't explain the precise details of what Bunny was showing me.

But I see a connection now.

I play the song again and accept the new flashback.
I'm older, Dalia I'll call her, has called me to visit. Two-first-names has beat her yet again, she needs something I might have for the pain. Take me an hour to drive, I tell her, can anyone else help you?
They don't want to be here when he gets back.
The same attitude playing in the memory holds the phone in the flashback and snorts. Then it says, "fuck that. I'll be there in 45. Meantime, got a cast iron pan? Put it on the stove, fill it with oil, heat it. Put something you could fry on the counter. Stand there. He comes in before I do, fling and swing. Hear me?" The attitude ran her through it, fling and swing, repeating, fling and swing, until the attitude infected her, too, adding vigor. My quiet little ex husband and I drove up, sat with her. We tied the destroyed back door shut. It's a long story, I'm not sure if the ending is happy, but it gets progressively less sad and the attitude never left me or Dalia.
That one fades and I see snapshots of other times with other folks and the infectious attitude, their eventual gratitude.

I don't know what it is.
I still can't pinpoint it.

Whatever it is, I think I'm glad to have it.
I might even be proud of it.
krystale: (Default)
I'm so often busy trying to be my best that I forget I'm already something.

There's some grey in there where I still ponder things like how all I've accomplished is from skills I gained through something dreadful, through overcoming and an odd cousin of gratitude for the adversity I faced. That's a deep topic I'd like to ponder more, which frequently distracts me.

It's as though I'd lost myself without loosing my direction or mission or nature. Running into some old acquaintances seems to have knocked some bits of me back together.

I've gained new friends in the last few months, but with some of them it was as though something was missing.

It was me.
Somewhere within me is something memorable, but apparently I fail to recognize it any better than any other face.
In the soft voice of a strong one I heard my open vulnerability, my self acceptance of it and my ability to both share it and survive it.
In the warm squeeze and heavy hands of a playful and caring one I felt my playfulness and curiosity and silliness.
In the pale centered irises of another, a bit of something I don't quite understand yet. And apparently haven't because this particular eye contact based game is the resumption of a long one, but it's nearly predator prey in the way kits or cubs play.
In the entranced silence of dozens of students I heard my voice of experience.

I've lost many things and people, but I've apparently hung on to a few, too.

It tamps the fear and ignites the bold.

I want to express myself better, but I've let my writing fall out of practice. To me, I sound highfalutin and a bit lost. Also, probably funnier than I actually am. Eeeh.
krystale: (Default)
"Topping from the bottom" is often a negatively charged phrase in my region's kink community.
It's batted around more by the many of us more likely to chew on words in-between consensual biting our loved ones.

There's times I find myself needing kink language to explain to not kink friends what I'm having an issue with.

Topping from the bottom.

OK, so, here's my rant.
It has it's place. It has places it's dreadful. Sometimes in kink and elsewhere, they overlap.

Topping from the bottom is attempting to lead in an activity which you have delegated another person leader.

It does have it's place.
And if it's done very well, it often has more places outside of the kink world.
I hear sometimes that to be truly great at a craft, you must be able to teach it to another. Topping from the bottom can be like that.

It's easy to slip into this in our social interactions outside of kink. I don't mean just me. I mean outside of kink I see topping from the bottom a lot.

Topping from the bottom can be very undermining feeling when you are the delegated leader.
krystale: (Default)
Every time you hold it in, it whispers out the back.
The way you really feel.
The things you dare not say.
Your soul whispers.
I can hear it.
krystale: (Default)
There are many in my heart's family.

One for whom I took the role of sacred slut.
One calls me Daddy.
Another Big Sis.
Other husband.
One who no longer calls me at all.

I love them all.
All for reasons as varied as the nicknames, but all loved the same.
I help you find the balms for your soul while I sear it with unpleasant truths.
Even when it hurts.
Perhaps most of all then.

I say it so comfortably here, with the mask of digitization to conceal the time and effort each word took.

In my mind is a world.

But in the real world, I loose my mind.
Too much.
Too little.
Too hard.
Too soft.
This way, not that way.
Look both ways.
Fit in and stand out.
krystale: (Default)
(Date in journal very approximate.)

Today was my first day at the Inclusion Center of Brattleboro,VT.
I hear it's usually quieter, which will suit me better. Today there was a youth group visiting from another church. The Inclusion Center has no religious affiliations or associations, but we do receive the blessing of donated space from two local churches.
All together we filmed the visual track from the Inclusion Center's remake of the Wizard of Oz.

Personal-historically, church basements and groups therein have had reoccurrences. I don't know why church basements make me teary, but there's a link. Long term followers of my blogging may recall some of Vistas' meetings, UU events and holiday church dinners.

Some initial parameters: these people had reason to assume I was disabled; additionally, I was in that space for the purposes of NOT having to hide my struggles

Everyone was nice. I wandered in, unsure and early. I wandered back out. A young man followed and asked if I needed help finding something, his voice kind but he didn't get too close which I appreciated.
"I'm here for the Inclusion Center. First time so I don't know."
I met the church's pastor who took my hand and led me to a table. It was strange. I didn't like it. Yet also I did like it. It's difficult to explain, but, for me, it oversimplifies fairly well. I often have a discomfort with touch that is a result of it being uncommon in my life. Even when I want contact, I have to KNOW I want contact before I can FEEL enjoyment of it. I have to warm into it.
Eventually it was sorted out. Since I was early, I'd been brought to the main facilitator, also co-founder I believe, who was chatting with and seated with some of the visiting youth group.

I could narrate it all down to a detail.

But what really struck me was the difference within the groups in how the treated or responded to me.

Everyone was kind.

The youth group and it's facilitators seemed to accommodate my differences. I understand and appreciate their intentions. They were delicate with me. Some acted as if I knew almost nothing. I was told some things I know very well in slow, clear, concise sentences, which were repeated. Given the spectrum of disabilities represented even in this low attendance day, this approach to me wasn't meant to belittle, but rather to make sure I was reached. I understand this. I did, however, have to remind myself of all of this and remind myself not to feel un-intelligent. Eventually they accommodated my shyness to the point they acted as if I was invisible mostly. Not in a mean way at all. I didn't really blame them, because I do look like a deer in the headlights when I'm not hiding my social reactions. I do LOOK like I want to not be noticed. I even was thankful for it to a degree because it was a crowded room with very little personal space.

Over the day, almost everyone in the actual Inclusion Center group approached me, all slowly, carefully, with a totally different feel.
"Who are you?" was playful, as if I was a new found treasure. When I spoke, they responded with relevant questions that often had a varied view than mine.
I had tiny full on discussions with almost everyone. One or two folks I need to learn some more skills to understand better. (I look forward to this. With so many differences there is absolutely no way they can't teach me stuff I currently can't even conceive of.)
What can you do? This was the main feel I got from other members of the Inclusion Center. I feel like I belong after just this one day.
krystale: (Default)
Dear fellow suicidal folk,
I'm glad you're still alive. You're saving my life. Even if we never meet, every moment you stay alive makes it easier for me to stay alive, too. I can't remember a time I wasn't suicidal and every suicide I've been near or heard about has made me more suicidal. I have friends who relate and sometimes that upsets me, because it means no matter how much I want to, I can't without increasing the odds my friends will die, too.
It doesn't matter if I know your name or not.
Even if you're nothing but a statistic... matters to me.
And a secret...
...every suicidal person I've met is a valuable person, unique and special in a way that must be. We're all connected even when we don't know it. By air and earth and water, if nothing else.
We're on a rock hurtling through space and a bus can hit us any day and busses are the least of our worries.
You can't be alive and also be a failure at life.
So, don't quit on me, OK.
I won't either.
Wanna die that bad?
Go do the things you think you can't because they terrify you. Even if you can't succeed at them, maybe you'll scare yourself to death.
If it doesn't kill you, you'll have learned or done something, even if only what won't kill you yet. You'll have passed the time and stretched your brain. You'll be my hero because you'll be the statistic who is trying, like me, one of the someones who makes me less alone.
If you really, really want to die, live so much it kills you.
I guarantee, it will work.
I promise.
You will get your rest and release.
You can have a secret plan for your demise still.
Life is out to get you. Birth guarantees death.
So if you want to die, find life and challenge it head on.
It will kill you.
I promise.
krystale: (Default)
I want to climb to the roof and scream at the lightening to hit me.
Energy I understand.
Life has me fried.
I wanna bleed.
But I won't.
Can't sleep, can't eat.
Same story elements, new cast. It is a remake or a new adventure?
So lost feeling.
Yet vaguely aware this is an intuited emotional extremity.
This is my clarion cry to the world then. If you love me, show me. Don't stay away except when I ask for space or you actually need it.
Don't spare me your dark.
I'm not afraid of your dark.
Your darkness cannot haunt me.
My own is too raucous for any distressing feelings to make it so far as your issues.
I want to catch you when you fall.
And I can.
I can take pain more than most just to relax a bit.
Imagine my strength then motivated by love bond, then, the way a mother can lift a car.
Your pains are not burdens to me, they are the tail on my kite, helping me keep my balance.
It is my own internal shit I can't deal with, and you loved me through that. Let me love you when I'm not in that.
Let me be there for you when you need someone.
It's a gift to me to remember I have the strength to carry someone... it's the only way I seem to remember how to carry someone so I can carry myself.
I can feel how noisy and negative it feels in your head even from here.
Even when you shut me out.
I feel the static and the fear and the questioning questioning questioning!
You think you're special, although not in a good way right now, but you're not.
You're not special and neither am I.
But you're real.
And so is the fact that I want to keep you in my life.
To me life is about the yous in my life.
Living is for living with others living.
Or, at least that's the course I'm on.

I can love all of you. Every twisted angry frightened bit.
You just have to let me.
It may be the only thing I can do.
But I can.
krystale: (Default)
I admit it, I like Nan O'Brien.

Nan O'Brien's DayStarter:
"When your heart tells you that something is right, listen. You may not like what you hear, but to ignore, avoid, or turn a deaf ear will not change the truth of what you internally know. Ultimately, that truth will well up inside of you and deafen you, if you're not listening. This will put you in panic mode, a fear reaction, which will only make matters worse. The hardest things to hear often yield the greatest growth and insights. By focusing on the positive growth vs. the hardness of some truths, you can navigate the challenges that living in this physical world brings, and emerge more whole than you were before. Life is not always easy, not always fair, and there is a randomness in our existence - a result of the impact of free will/free choice - that no one likes to have to address when it doesn't go your way. The key iis to see faith as the mechanism to see you through, instead of defaulting to the fear that often arises. When things are going well, it is easy to be faithful, or faith-filled. When things are difficult, fear is often the quickest emotion you turn to, yet that is the time you need faith the most. Stop, listen, and embrace your faith fully, regardless of what you hear. Then, take the necessary action to move forward, not in spite of what you hear, but because of it. This is how the soul evolves."


Oct. 21st, 2013 08:28 pm
krystale: (Default)

The temple door rattled less with the third pound than the first two, the fourth and fifth were more ordinary knocks and she felt the sixth fall before it struck the door.

The warrior's head was dangerously close to hanging low when she opened the door.
"Sanctuary," he demanded, "please?" he asked.
She opened the door wide and made way for him.
He didn't move, so she gestured into the church and said reverently, "come inside, where it is warm."
He still didn't move, and when she looked back at him, he caught her eyes and stared into her, the connection open wide.
"Aah," she said and smiled.

Two hours later she lay limp and alone in the church, bruises blooming slowly amid welts. After a time, she moaned and shuddered, her body knew it had bled inside her darkness before she did. She managed, with grumbles and groans, to change positions. For a moment every blow and thrust announced itself again and she couldn't help but giggle as the overwhelming surge of the related brain chemistry washed through her. She managed to grab an edge of the rug and tug it with her in a roll, covering herself crudely.


Oct. 21st, 2013 08:23 pm
krystale: (Default)

Captain Crunch tastes like victory to me, even some of the better generics now and then. Puffy squares were gold and when Crunch Berries were included, they were jewels.

My beginning wasn't very nice, relative here are months of starvation and IV nutrition; even at one point being in with the preemies despite being born at a healthy weight.
Time continues a little bit and things change a bit, but hunger drove tiny toddler me to hunt her own food.
I can remember the spinning cereal cupboard in the corner of the kitchen counter, the wood panels, beige linoleum flooring. I can remember the texture of the floor although I can't imagine how I can remember so far back.

Somehow, after a bit of trial and error, I managed to get a box of Captain Crunch out of the cupboard. I was small enough that the box seemed to be as big as me. I could hug it and it took all my arms to do so. The bottom seemed to fill my whole lap, thanks to the bulk of a diaper and baby short thighs. When a half dozen pieces of cereal fill your hand, a box seems like starvation salvation.

The cereal was sweet, but the victory was sweeter; finding my own food made me feel safer. It's a feeling I remember, but to this day, seldom achieve. My feet stuck out and I wiggled my toes. I felt like I was smiling, but even if I'd picked the right expression, something also seldom achieved to this day, I doubt anyone could have been able to tell around the crunching.

We don't have language that describes feeling well, so we've had to learn metaphor. That cereal, leaning against those cabinit doors with me, felt for me inside just the way it did later in life to sit back and look at something I'd decorated if there was nothing to fix.

Mission accomplished.
Deep breath.
Big smile.
It's like hugging yourself.

Now I eat them with milk, because my friend Kathy is right, they hurt the roof of your mouth if you eat too much. With my tendency to over eat, it's not a bad thing.

But I still can't NOT smile, even if I try, when I eat them. They stay pretty crunchy even after a while and I can bonk them back under the surface of the milk and take my time and giggle about it all.

They say hope floats.
My Captain Crunch floats.
krystale: (Default)
I identify in part as a therapeutic pain top.

You've heard me say it and you've gone along with it like you know what I'm saying. I chose the words to be self explanatory, so maybe you do. Never the less, I'm going to extrapolate, just in case and because I like to.

There is such a thing as a "service top."
I could be a "service top" to a very good dominant and I believe it would be an amazing way to learn some topping skills. A service top tops as a service, although I'm willing to bet there's a lot of "therapeutic pain tops" within that. I'm explaining the distinction between the two titles for me, they may feel differently or they may just not have the language to make it distinct or maybe they just don't care. I generally don't care, however I like to try to be clear on what I mean when I say things. (I still don't feel clear.)

As a therapeutic pain top, I give pain to people who find it therapeutic. I neither dislike, nor like, giving the pain. I do it because I enjoy masteressing skills and because I find pain very therapeutic under the VERY difficult to find correct circumstances. If they were more commonly available safely, I would not BE a therapeutic pain top, although I might have one or three. I remain myself in that I am not a switch, I am both Dominant and submissive. I do NOT switch, I am both at all times, and those expecting a submissive service top are going to be very disappointed.

My same laws apply.
I will be submissive to those who make better choices than I do or to those choices inherent to their freedom. I will be submissive to anyone's limits regarding their own body...
however, I will be submissive to limits that their body has even if they do not want me to. I will be Dominant in staying true to that submission. I do NOT "switch." I will not pain top when people have been drinking. I will not hit parts that I feel should not be hit. I will not hit someone who seems like their headspace is not OK for it. I will not ever hit to punish someone. (Actually, if you're going to bottom for me, chances are I can just 'punish' you by NOT hitting you.)

To the outside, this attitude seems like Dominance.
I don't really care.
I'm submissive also, and it's to things that need submission to.

You're all welcome to use "switch" and "service top."

I don't, that's all. And this has been a bit about why.

If you need a therapeutic pain top and you're in my area, let me know.
I'm experienced with floggers, canes and paddles in addition to bare handed spanking.
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