Damages dumping

I've been a bad bad blogger.  I have neglected you, and for this, I am sorry.  (4 Hail Cthulu's while kneeling on rice in frog-tie)

Okay, now that we have that finished, I'll get on with the blog.

I'm in a very "blah" space right now and have been trying to figure it out.  Sometimes, I just need to vent/unload all of the yuck that builds up within...unfortunately, it's not always easy to find.  Often, it's subconscious, so I have to pick and sort through it until I find the nasty little splinter of truth.  Then, I have to yank it out and spew all the infected spirit/energy/puss (sorry to be so graphic, but that's what it is and what it takes.)  After such a "cleansing," my mood usually starts to improve gradually until I'm back to normal.  Although this time, I thought it was the stress of what I willingly am putting myself through (if you don't know, don't ask - it's not that big of a deal and many people have been through MUCH harder things.)  However, the continued lowered energy level and dour outlook are not normal for me and I knew it was time to go in.

And then I realized...a big anniversary is coming up.  In January, it will be 10 years since I lost my mom.  And next week, it will be 7 years since she died.  For those of you able to do math, you may notice a disparity.  We'll give a little history lesson, in the pursuit of transparency - and for those of you that think you want to know me better. 

My mother and I were very close. I know logically she wasn't perfect, but I couldn't tell you what her flaws were.  She was the perfect mother to/for me.  It's all she ever really wanted in life, coming from a broken home herself...a close, healthy, functional, happy family.  And she pretty much had it.  She and I got closer and closer as the years passed, until college, when we'd talk to each other every day by phone.  I have never even had a female friend with whom I was as close.  She didn't always agree with me or my decisions, but it didn't matter.  She always told me that she loved me and would support me whatever I did.  I remember as a child, once telling her (as children dramatically do) "I hate you."  I vividly remember her talking to me later about it...and telling me that she would NEVER hate me.  She would ALWAYS love me.  I remember trying to test her statement: "What if I killed someone...or several people?"  Her response?  "Then I would visit you in prison and tell you how much I still loved you, even if I didn't love your choices and your actions."  That stuck with me.  Her wisdom resonated through me and still does..."You HAVE to take care of yourself first...you cannot benefit or take care of anyone else unless you are whole and healthy."  "A smile will get you out of more trouble than you can imagine...but only when accompanied by a closed mouth."  and many, many more gems.  I can't put into words what she meant to me and how large a part of my life she was...but she was very special.

My second year of college, I was the victim of a gang rape by 3 college football players.  This blog isn't going into that, except as background for more about Mom.  It was over a year before she drug out of me what had happened.  She immediately got me into counseling, fought to make the university continue giving me my full scholarship, even though my grades had dropped dramatically, and did anything in her power to provide the support I needed to wake up out of my haze and fight to play an active role in my own life again.  With her help, I managed to get through the last two years of college, and planned to study abroad during my last semester in order to celebrate my victory of taking charge of my life again. 

I remember hugging her in the pre-dawn moment together we had while saying our goodbyes before my Dad took me to Europe.  She was crying, almost weeping, and I remember comforting her...telling her it would only be a few months before I'd be home again...and that since Dad was an airline pilot, she could come visit whenever she wanted.  She just seemed really scared, I remember, and I couldn't figure out why.  I had already been living over 4 hours from home for the last 4 1/2 years.

Two weeks into my semester in Maastricht (Netherlands,) she and I were talking on the phone (which we still did everyday, albeit for a shorter length of time,) and she told me she had to go in for "routine" surgery the next day.  Mom had a pacemaker (and had since she was 27 for a very odd, irregular heart rhythm.)  Every so many years, they had to go in and replace the battery.  She had been through it a couple of times before - outpatient surgery, through her armpit, and home the same day. I remember her telling me on the phone that she was scared...I remember reassuring her that it was nothing and would be over before she knew it, just like the other times. This time, however, the surgeon made a mistake.  I don't know all the details, but he was using a new laser and cut a hole in her heart in a place it shouldn't be...blood flow to her brain ceased for several minutes. 

We had just taken a trip out to a castle in the country where they stored our bikes for the University.  We all rode bikes through the tulip fields, just beginning to sprout tulips, laughing and making plans for Carnivale in Venice in a couple of weeks.  I stopped by the University's hub on the way back to the dorm to check my email.  There was a frantic note from my sister to call home...Mom was in a coma and they were trying to get a hold of me.  Time froze.  I can't even start to go into what happened and how I felt...it's still too raw.  The plane ride home the next day was a blur, even though I didn't sleep on the plane and hadn't slept the entire night before.  When I arrived at the airport, a family friend drove me straight to the hospital.  I remember hating how spread out Oklahoma City was.  When I walked into the ICU, I saw my Dad and sisters at the end of the hallway.  The girls were tear-streaked and frozen...my Dad just dropped to his knees, sobbing, and held out his arms to me.  I had to be strong for them.  And I was.  I only cried twice over the next couple of weeks.  Once, that night, when I sent the rest of the family home and stayed at her bedside, holding her hand and begging my Mommy to wake up and come back to me.  Once, in my closet, a few weeks later, after a meeting with the Neurologist that explained how very little brain activity she had, and how, even though miracles happened, the damage was irreversible and we could expect a vegetative state until her body gave out.

That was January of 2002.  I never went back to Maastricht.  I stayed with my family until the girls went back to school and Dad went back to work.  Then I ran away, so to speak...moved back down to Texas and in with my boyfriend, and created a completely new "reality" so that I didn't have to face what had happened.  I stayed in a state of denial for almost 3 years, visiting home very rarely, and not mourning...because how can you mourn someone still technically alive? 

And then her body gave out to a cold.  November of 2004.  I went home and helped with the funeral and arrangements.  Took care of the house and company.  Kept my sisters upbeat...we all felt it would be "wrong" to seem sad at this point, as we had had 3 years to mourn and assimilate what had happened.  After all, Dad had moved through his mourning, and was ready to date again.  And we wanted to support him in moving on. 

So that's where I'm at...still...constantly...stuck in an in-between...ever-mourning and yet, at the same time, can't take the time to really move through the entire grieving process of losing a parent, because of the time lapse.  So it re-surfaces every couple of months.  I embrace it for an hour or two, sob, think, write.  And get back to living. 

I've heard people say that it gets easier with time.  I used to count on that.  But so far, they lie.  It's just as raw...just as painful...and just as enveloping/all-encompassing as the day I lost her.  I have come to accept it as part of me and my life...my story.  I have some amazingly awesome moments and emotions in my life, and this is the flip-side of the coin, the "payment," so to speak.  Life is about balance, and I accept that I have to, no, I GET to endure this completely destructive pain, and as balance, I get a genuinely blissful existence most of the rest of the time. 

I am going to stop now...it's time to study...again. 

her poem: (written for her when she was still alive, but so fitting just over a year later):

The shooting star that streaks across
the diamond-dappled sky,
leaving its mark impressed upon
each star it passes by...
The trail soon fades,
but left behind, gleaming in the dust,
the memory of a life that shines,
and so,
you are
to us...

I love you Mom!

Step into my web, said the spider to the fly...

So I began the telling of my paradigm shift in the last blog.  This one promises to go into further detail describing the major events occurring last year during Tribal Fire 2010.

This event was my first official conference to attend in full, and I was beyond excited to learn and observe, for the most part.  The high began during the first classes on Friday; one was a basic course on single-tail handling taught by Travis.  I had only seen one class on this subject before this point, taught by Mason, and I knew that I had an interest and slight fascination with the wielding of this tool.  It was nice to see a different approach to the subject, and I noted the different styles of teaching while at the same time settling into the cozy family-reunion-esque (if you actually like your family) bubble of ambience that Tribal Fire provides.  Mike and I then attended a class on relationship dynamics that Mason and Princess Heather taught.  Watching them co-teach was most enjoyable, as they played off of each other very well and had the class engaged and amused from the word “go.”

For the party that evening, Mike and I planned on doing our usual rope work, possibly including a suspension.  By “usual,” I mean we brought rope and each other – willing and ready to pull out the rope, get up close and personal, and see where our moods took us.  We played around a little bit, but it was a fairly quiet evening with lower attendance than we had anticipated, and we ended up talking with a few people before being irrevocably drawn into watching part of a scene that would change us both for good.  Ultra Dom and Michael (we didn’t know who they were at the time) had begun to play in a quieter room across the hall.  The sound of screeching monkeys drew us to the doorway only to reveal a laughing Karen, flogging Michael with a stuffed monkey flogger.  This was not your typical “flog, flog, moan” scene, and we were hooked!  They were having fun, and even included some of those standing around and observing as Karen and friends pushed (and punched and kicked) Michael around the room like a human pinball.  This was far from quiet, far from somber, and most definitely far from boring. 

The next day we attended more classes, including one on service taught by Michael, one on general rope by Lamalani, and one on fire play by Victoria Windsor (I can’t quite remember the order or days/times of all.)  But the second major turning point occurred during the Saturday night play party.  Mike was talking to Mason during a smoke break and they somehow got started discussing water-boarding.  As Mike strongly believes in not doing anything to someone (including and especially me) that he hasn’t experienced himself, he expressed his interest in trying this, from the perspective of the victim.  Just as Mike is relaying this desire to Mason, WhipMaster Bob walks up, and, before much more is said, I end up following these three men back  into the bowels of hel…I mean the dark, dirty, deserted back kitchen area.  Let me set the stage a bit more for you:

Two VERY large scary men (one of whom I don’t even know and the other I just know derives great pleasure from inflicting pain)…

Iron gate door (that, most appropriately, squeaks and squeals upon opening just like you see and hear in the horror movies usually involving prisons and torture) leading to a dark room, lit by a few flickering bulbs, concrete floors, concrete brick walls, dirty floors and rusty metal surfaces everywhere…

The sounds of other people and activities fading away to an eerie silence in which I can only hear the heavy trod of boots and the rushing of blood pounding to the frantic beat of my heart in my ears…the slow, echoing drip of a faucet into a metal sink…

The smell of dirt and mildew…and the unmistakable scent of men – the large, sweaty, predatory smell that fills your nostrils and reaches into the primal response center of your brain…

Mind you, I am in a corset and 8 inch platform boots with spiked heels, which, in addition to the growing mental anguish, has me considerably off balance, and in no position to run or even quietly and quickly slip away from this developing scenario, should that become a necessary option.  I then watch (from my spot pressed flat against the concrete-blocked wall, as far away from the action as possible, while still being able to view the proceedings) as these two men briefly explain what will happen and instruct Mike to lie down upon the floor.  One of them wets a washcloth in the sink and then places it into Mike’s mouth.  I realize that I am holding my own breath, and force myself to exhale and then inhale, as quietly as possible, so as not to draw attention.  Goosebumps break out over my whole body, not due to the cold wall I am trying to bore into, but from my own heightened awareness and observance.  This was quickly becoming the most terrifying scene that I have never been a part of. 

A washcloth is then placed over Mike, and this shroud-like tableau does nothing to quell my rising hysteria, as the light continues to dimly flicker overhead, in a mocking tribute to the black and white interrogation movie scenes.  For an impromptu set-up, this could not have been more brilliant in design if months had been spent arranging every detail.  I now know what the rabbit feels like in the Discovery channel documentary when the wolves gather.  I remember watching that type of program (along with horror movies) and thinking, “RUN! You dumb@$&! Run, while you still can!”  I remember thinking how stupid the little bunny looked, frozen in fear, eyes stretched open to their limit, from the moment of first awareness that its own day of demise had arrived.  My instinct was screaming repeatedly “GO! Go now!” but I could not tear my eyes away from the events unfolding just steps in front of me. 

As you can tell, I had already entered “flight or fight” mode, yet was unable to do either.  Perhaps a total of 2 minutes had passed since we left the courtyard, yet, each second was drawn out longer than an hour in my head, adding its own sweet stamp of terror to the adrenaline coursing through my veins and awakening every cell in my body. 

The ice bucket full of water was tipped and lowered towards Mike’s face, the orchestrator of torture squatted like a great predatory cat over his chest, seemingly ready to stand or leap up within half a heartbeat should he so choose, and in my own frightened mind, I knew it would require less than a breath for the distance between us to close.  Yet I could not even look away, helplessly frozen to the wall as I was. 

The water descended, deceptively beautiful in its current role of tormentor, soaking the towel before swirling around and running off into the drain.  As Mike’s hands balled up into fists and struggled not to “tap-out,” I wanted to both run forward and help him…or maybe just run forward and follow the water down the only escape, disappearing into the darkness below. 

And then it was over.  Mike sat up, took a moment to compose himself, shook the extended hand of the man controlling the experience, and they introduced themselves to each other. 

This was my first taste of the thrill of terror.  But my education on fear play would continue throughout the evening.  And I will continue the tale in the next blog…

baby steps into a new world

I know I mentioned that I would explain the loss of my mother in this post, but I’m in a happy mood and have so many other things on my mind, that that particular topic will have to wait a little while. 

I went to Tulsa Xpressions event this past weekend.  I am REALLY coming to love these conferences/events, so much so that I am trying to figure out a way to work more of them into my life (and budget.)  I know that teaching is one way to accomplish this goal, but I am currently in the “soaking it all up” stage of my learning and growth.  I find myself drawn more and more towards a life of leather.  As sentient beings, most of us evolve through our experiences during our journey from cradle to grave.  I have been noticing a drastic evolution of self over the past two years.  I find myself weary of the very activities and people that used to bring some of my life’s greatest joys.  I believe whole-heartedly in having fun and enjoying every moment to the fullest due to the transient nature of our mortal existence.  However, I also believe that we should be mindful of others with whom we share our lives, and attempt not to inhibit their own pursuit of happiness.  This has led me to a strong passion for tolerance as well as a quest to improve myself from within so as to affect others in the most positive way possible.  It wasn’t long after defining my current life mission that I noticed Leather events and people continually appearing in my path.  Maybe I was lucky in the fact that the majority of those I’ve met have embodied the very traits of which I’m looking to develop in myself.  Many of their views on life align with my own, and at first, I found it an odd coincidence, until it repeatedly occurred. 

I have noticed a pretty large difference between the outlooks of people involved in het/pan BDSM/kink and those that live Leather.  When around the first group, I find myself having to work harder for the tolerance for which I aim; yet when I am around the second, I find myself having such a great amount of respect for a large portion of them.  I literally want to fade into the surroundings and just soak up the information within the ideas and viewpoints discussed (not to mention being overcome with a strong desire to rub myself all over some of them and see if osmosis of knowledge can actually occur.)

I also find my own joys as far as “play” goes more closely aligning with what I have seen from Leather vs Kink.  I have always been drawn to the Darkside, but never felt like what I enjoyed “fit” the stereotyped (and overplayed) version of “scening” (I hate that term) seen in most dungeons.  I like a different level of intensity…I enjoy an energy and power exchange that wakes both my body and soul…one that has me laughing, crying, screaming, or even just quietly sobbing…but most of all, one that connects me on a very intimate (no, not always sexually intimate) level with another person.  I didn’t see this type of play on a regular basis before, and I definitely missed the “connection” that was a huge part of my imagination and fantasies.  Until last year at Tribal Fire, 2010.

More to come…

In the beginning...

Big breath...big DEEP breath...that feels sooooooo good! Okay, now we may begin (I've become very partial to breathing lately, but that is the subject for a future-lots-of-fun blog.)

I have been wanting and meaning to begin my blog-journey for some time now, but always found reasons (excuses) not to. Thankfully, a friend that is becoming dearer with each encounter has both inspired and encouraged me to dive right in - NOW. So Pinky, here I am! (if you don't like it, you can't complain now...cuz it's all your doing! I know, big talk coming from me - especially since I know you're tough and I would SO lose any potential wrestling match - but it'd be fun!)

One of my biggest recent excuses not to get started was because of all of the "drama" in the world, and more specifically, our community. I don't want to cause any more and definitely don't want to spread anything toxic myself. So my dear, wise friend suggested that I focus on the present and the future. The things that happen in my life and things that I am learning and experiencing - GREAT freakin' idea! I also mentioned my misgivings to my wonder-guy and he put it to me this way: if someone reads my blog purposefully looking for trouble and taking things personally, they will find what they are looking for - no matter if I only write about what I ate that day! So, if it bothers you that I ate tunafish today, and you take that personally, I can't help that! Stop reading now, turn around and go save the dolphins or whatever.

But I digress (if you follow these, you'll probably find that I do that often.) What I want to do in this blog is outline the plan - I'm going to share my thoughts and life with you, basically from the beginning of this year forward. I know that we are all products of our lives and all of the experiences encompassed within, but I am trying to keep my eyes and mind on the road in front of me and off the rearview mirror, and this blog, I hope, will evidence that goal. Now, as with any trip, I will readily admit that I DO have baggage in the trunk, which I believe will become lighter and lighter the further along this road I go.

Although I expressed the "future outlook" desire to Pinky, I do have one matter of business to address first. There is an event/person in my past that will ALWAYS influence whom I am every day of my life, and may be referred to from time to time, even though not currently in my life. This person is/was my mother. My life right now is going through some huge changes - for the better, thankfully - and I have to mind-vomit at the beginning of this blog in order for you to understand much of the decisions and choices I will be making. I have chosen this year to heal. This is long overdue and has everything to do with the love shared between my mother and me (and I'll tell you the details in the next blog) I yearn to be the best version of myself possible - as true to the essential ME-ness of me as I can be without losing what makes me uniquely special and yet shaving off the unneccesary scar tissue from improperly healed emotional wounds. So I am very excited at my progress already and anticipate great returns on my efforts - both for me and, more importantly I believe, for the rest of the world.

Please forgive the solemnity - I promise the majority of my posts will not be so somber - but, as most know, being human makes us each such an interesting amalgamation, and this is my "other" side.