We are three adults living in a polyamorous triad family. The content here is intended for an adult audience. If you are not an adult, please leave now.
I am tired of writing stupid ABC posts. I don't care, and I'm guessing no one else cares either. I can't be jolly, cheerful, upbeat, or hopeful here anymore. I feel like it is just bullshit -- a feeling that He confirms. So, blech... Here are the rest of the letters if you want to pursue it (but I am done trying to fill this space in that fashion)...
And then, today, wondering what I could say here -- because it really does feel like there is nothing at all to say anymore, I found this poem (ironically, a popular piece for weddings), and it feels like the words speak about where life is right now...
Maybe…we were supposed to meet the wrong people before meeting the right one so that, when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift.
Maybe … when the door of happiness closes, another opens; but, often times, we look so long at the closed door that we don’t even see the new one which has been opened for us.
Maybe … it is true that we don’t know what we have until we lose it, but it is also true that we don’t know what we have been missing until it arrives.
Maybe … the happiest of people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.
Maybe … the brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; after all, you can’t go on successfully in life until you let go of your past mistakes, failures and heartaches.
Maybe … you should dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go, be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you dream of, and want to do.
Maybe … there are moments in life when you miss someone — a parent, a spouse, a friend, a child — so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real, so that once they are around you appreciate them more.
I am scheduled to resume my work with the therapist this week. The shamanic work we got involved with seems to have lodged in my subconscious in a very pernicious way. I now have recurring dreams (every few days or so) that are about making a shamanic journey to the upper world. In the dream, I go through all the steps and stages of making that journey, and when I find myself there, I am standing at the top of a tall, red-brick building. It seems very ancient, and it is stacked up in layers -- like a wedding cake. Standing on the top of the building, I find a man. I can't see his face clearly, but he seems older than me. I ask him what I can do to heal my life and our family, and he tells me that the only way to do that is to kill myself. Then, he outlines the steps that I must follow to be able to do that. It scares the willies out of me, but it keeps coming back... It is fall. Our summer, although focused intensely on His recovery from knee replacement surgery, was nice and relaxed. Summer ends, though, and the school year starts right on schedule. The PTSD that lives permanently in our household roars back to life and creates chaos and misery. I have to go back to work, and the long, lazy, days shift into the demanding routines of the academic calendar. He feels abandoned, and I feel torn. Then, October arrives, and all the "anniversary" stuff related to our crisis comes into play. I am, in October, the one who pushed us all over the precipice with a phone call. No matter what I might think we are about here, and no matter how well I think things are proceeding, in October, I am reminded that I am a betrayer and a traitor and a woman who can never, ever be trusted. It shocks me. It hurts me. It makes me angry. I know it isn't fair or right, and then I feel guilty anyway -- for all the many, many choices made through all my whole life ... for every broken rule, for every "bad" decision, for every missed mark. In the end, I begin to believe, for myself, that the voice of the man at the top of the building in the upper world speaks the truth. That it would be best for us all if I would die. Die. And, I know that is nuts. But life seems nuts, so why not?
Meanwhile, I come here, day by day (or week by week) and write drivel about justice and joy... Because the stats tell me that this blog is dying. Dying from lack of interest. Dying because the very reason for it to exist has vanished. Dying because I have nothing at all left to say about D/s or M/s or BDSM, or love, or family, or anything much at all. I bang around the Interwebs trying to think of an angle or an approach or a point of view that would be of legitimate interest here -- and I come up blank. So. Here I am. What would you say here if you were me? swan