Posted on
by

The thread began with the usual curiosity from a monogamous person: “can you truly find happiness with multiple people?” But it was a passing comment on a forum jarred me out of my browsing:


“Polyamory is such a fad.” Even without voice, I could feel the tone and implications I’m all too familiar with, now.


I know some people just aren’t geared for non-monogamy, and that is okay. But still, I could not let that go unchallenged. For in my experience, a “fad” is a snide comment for anything that gains popularity due to more people exploring and becoming aware of new possibilities.


My sexuality was “just a fad.”


My gender identity is “just a fad.”


And the newest fad, evidently, is polyamory. They say some things come in threes.


And their comments continued, to paraphrase: It’s nothing to take seriously, because it’s so easy. You’re just playing until you find that one person to be your everything. Until then, you can just go to the next person like they’re nothing. You’re not really happy. You can’t be.


And I definitely did not let that slide.


This is hard fucking work.


You have to constantly check in with yourself as you deprogram from monogamous habits and deal with blindspots, insecurities, and time management. You have to confront your bullshit. You have to unpack the how’s and why’s of what you’re feeling. That is hard enough on its own, but you also have to field the outside static of potential abuse. Discomfort may be growth, but to borrow from Eve Rickert: never ignore your pain.


That is, if you want to go about it as healthy and ethically as possible.


And none of this happens overnight. Especially if you had no role models to follow and had to make the same mistakes others have before you. Then make a few of your own as you adapt to your particular life.


I had to be horribly honest with myself. Even scarier, I had to be honest with others.


So, yeah, I’m a little touchy when someone disregards the hard work upon myself as a mere “fad.”


If anyone tells you that any form of non-monogamy is “a cakewalk,” they’re either in denial or trying to sell you something or they’re looking for a third.


Sure, I could pour myself into one single person but that wouldn’t be fulfilling to me and ultimately unfair for them to be My Everything for Possibly Forever. And that’s valid.


You may feel differently and that’s valid too.


But neither one of us is a “fad.”

Posted on
by

Throwback Thursday: a note on Feb 5, 2018.


Fang: [Vanille]’s a crybaby, though! She cries as soon as she gets lonely or insecure. But if I stroke her head, she stops as if nothing is wrong.

Lebreau: In that case, you’ll need to find her quickly and pat her on the head.

Fang: Yup.

Final Fantasy XIII


I keep saying I need to get back to journaling, or at least blogging,
because I’ve been through a ton of emotions and trying to process them
is a delightful and horrifying blur. Part of it is just me being me, and
part of it is because I rewatched Star Wars: The Last Jedi and seeing
Carrie Fisher up there sets off a deluge.


That, and.


I’m surrounded by people that not only like me, but a few also love me. And even a few more that want to spend time with me.


And each connection is something different.


And some connections are still here, still loving me.


That, and.


I’m still broken, and I’m still fucking up, and I still hear the
voice in my head telling me that people will stop loving me the moment
they realize how broken I am, or. They’re going to discard me the
instant I make one mistake because that’s happened so many times


but the voice is… manageable. Sometimes. More, sometimes.


That, and.


I’m recognizing the voice’s tricks. Sometimes, it doesn’t help much. But there’s power to naming and recognizing something.


That, and.


I’ve been healing in interesting ways. But it’s been slow. It’s been
clumsy. I’m sorry. I’ve changed. I don’t really know me from before. I’m
an echo.


That, and.


I’m overdue for a good cry, actually.


That, and.


I wonder if– no, when, as it’s been predicted, if you believe in that sort of thing– I’ll start using my gills, too. I do when I have to. I still come up for air.


But. (“Strike that. Reverse it.”)


I dive instead, and refuse to come up for hours. And sometimes I can’t I’m this fragile fish that’ll melt if I get too close to the surface.


That, and.


I want to try everything everything everything though my shy soul balks the entire time. As shy souls do. Xie’ll let me know when I’m (not) ready.


That, and.


I’m contradictions and multitudes, damn it. Yet I still exist. And I am valid. Gills and lungs. I love the shore. I will go to it. I adore the deep, too. I’ll go back to it.


That, and.


. Sometimes the best thing you can do is survive. Pray someone swoops in and knocks you out of the way because you are more than a sacrifice.


That, and.


I could use a pat on the head right now. But I’m in solitude, for I need to rest and heal. Listening to my body. Surviving.


I’m tired. I’m tired of thinking.


But I’ll come up for air in a few days.


You can pat me on the head then, and I’ll pat yours.

Posted on
by

https://youtu.be/DkulwLg_u8w


It’s weird to wake up not knowing who you are. You do all this stuff, you enjoy these things, yet you still wake up wondering what your “thing” is.


And in a strange show of wanting to feel included, you leave hints that you’d like to be invited to the next thing. Because you’re still questing as to what, exactly, your “thing” consists of. Maybe that’ll be it.


You’re still reeling from those years stuck in a rut– “becalmed” if you want to be romantic about it– because you have a quiet fear that the things you enjoyed then were only crutches to keep you alive to the next day. Or worse, things you needed to outgrow because you’re a Real Adult now. With like, a house with utility bills and everything.


You know that you’re lonely. That you need to be vulnerable again, to reach out. You also know that your hobbies are valid and just need dusting off. And you know damn well you need to get out of the house and not just for errands.


You know what you’re lacking. You need more dates. More people time. More people time that doesn’t end with sex. More music. More conversations. More stories to tell. More dreams to witness. More parks to visit. More prompts.


And yet. It’s 2am and you can’t sleep; you don’t want to. Because it’s just job and eat and sleep and repeat and clinging a little too hard because you feel unanchored without a “thing” and you’re jealous that they got a “thing” they stumbled upon and you were too chickenshit to forge bonds of/on your own.


Or you’re scared your “things” are so niche that you’ll enjoy them alone, not in content solitude but in loneliness-by-circumstance because there’s no one else interested to share them with. So you hope for an invite, and go along, and even if you end up not liking it you learned one more thing about yourself.


You fear you’ll always be the tag-along. In spite of your knee-jerk bitterness and resolve to just traverse the event alone, if you have to, because of course the meetup party couldn’t wait for you… you just want to feel included.


So. I don’t know what my “thing” is. If I have one. Or maybe I have many.


And how much of this is me, and how much of it is just things I picked up just because I happened to be there? Is there even a difference? Does it really matter?


I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

Posted on
by

NOTE: I’ll just go ahead and schedule this one for tomorrow. This is the stuff y’all really care about, right?! 😉 Happy New Year.

Yep. Make that dating apps. But over this weekend by the time entry is posted, I’ll be reducing said apps to two.

I realize that I am trying too hard.

I also realize that dating apps probably just aren’t for me. The few connections I made were with people I already knew (or, in a few cases, I met a good few years ago). Perhaps I have astronomically bad luck at meeting new people online, but I’ve the conclusion that I should just stick to the circles I’m already in. And if I do branch out, put a lot more emphasis on doing that in meatspace.

But here’s the part y’all really care about: what apps did I actually use?

OKCupid is the classic, the oldest, and my most verbose. I put a lot of work into my essays and 200 questions answered. And there’s so many memories associated with it. Few of them good… I’ve received some weird messages back in ’09.

The second most popular app is Tinder, which I got banned from before I got a really good feel for it. But from what I hear (and by that I mean look over a partner’s shoulder and offer peanut-gallery-style snark), I’m actually not missing much other than FOMO. The Swipe High is real, y’all. So let’s go to the alternatives I was mostly on instead:

The first kinder, gentler Tinder everyone thinks of is Bumble. There’s different modes between dating, friendship, and business; women can "make the first move" by sending the initial message. And there’s bee themes. Cute! And then there’s Hinge: An even kinder, gentler Tinder with a relaxing font and rounded corners where you directly comment on a photo or writing prompt to start a conversation. That’s a good gimmick if you’re like me and always struggling with an opener. HER, however, will still have to be my favorite of these swipe-y apps. Yes, it’s that Lesbian Dating App you may have heard about. My second-oldest account is on HER when I wasn’t content with just hiding straight people (ok, straight men mostly) from my OKC profile. I’ve found it welcoming to transgender and gender-nonconforming folx.

While we’re on the topic of queer-focused apps, I’m thinking of Qutie: I suddenly remembered this existed. Think OKCupid, but for LGBTQ cuties. It’s a weird cross between OKC and Tinder-Swipeness. It couldn’t hold my attention long enough to really use it, though. I’ll try it again if I’m super bored.

A tool tip with different gender options: Male, Female, and non-binary. Two big red arrows also point to the text "You may check more than one box."

 

While OKC has come a long way to supporting non-monogamous relationships, but I’m always keeping an eye out for other ones that cater specifically to non-mono people, for that’ll be one less hurdle to deal with. ("hashtag-Open") is one of the few dating apps specifically geared to non-monogamous people; there’s even a "pair" profile option for couples looking for a third. And I am so proud of them for doing this one little thing: THE GENDER OPTIONS ARE NOT BINARIST. I believe it defeats the purpose of having an extensive list of gender identities to choose from, but in the end it’s still funneled between only two binary choices: man or woman. So, kudos to for not doing that!

But, it’s a ghost town. I guess we’re out here being polysaturated or putting our phones down in order to be present in the moment. 😉

And meanwhile, I wish Feeld had more traction; it’s geared for the more casual sex/swinger/hookup crowd and sometimes you’re just in the mood for that sorta thing. (Also potential kinky playdate shenanigans within the "Interests" and "Looking For" fields.) I didn’t have to be coy or polite and beat around the bush– "you know why we’re here"– but… I don’t think I have the gumption to pull off the whole hookup/swinger thing. On top of clashing with most swing culture (note to self, that’s a whole other post?), I find myself having conversations about tea and chiptunes instead of angling to get in someone’s pants. (But that still doesn’t stop me from browsing in the middle of the night…)

I’m weirdly loathe to actually delete my accounts, since I put so much work in them! But I uninstalled. All that remains is OKC, HER, and… Feeld. I was holding out for Hinge, but I believe the other party I was talking scifi with has figuratively left the building. Shit happens.

But it still feels pretty good, to not be weighted down by so many apps.

…

…Is there a dating app geared specifically for weird awkward nerds such as myself?

Posted on
by

A schedule slip! It happens. I’m extra proud of myself for sticking with it for that long. Besides, I’m still cringing in embarrassment about other things.


I make it a point to tell dates and potential dates (at least) three things: I’m polyamorous, I’m non-binary/agender/NA using they/them/themselves, and I’m absolutely fucking clueless when someone is into me (so please tell me outright, as unsexy or unromantic as that sounds). And I don’t mean that in an endearing Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl (ick) kind of way. I cannot think of a strong enough word for it at the moment, but I’ll just say that it’s… not endearing.


So imagine the scene: you’re sitting at a cozy table and you’re watching the stage. Or, you would be, if you weren’t distracted by actually wanting to talk to somebody. They seem really cool, and you notice your bodies are actually touching as you sit, and your heart stops a little when they reach for your hand and compliment it. And hold it for longer than deemed socially acceptable in anything but a romantic situation. Conversation is easy-flowing. It was nice.


It wasn’t until hours later that I was tipped off that their interaction wasn’t just platonic. In our text conversation they asked me point-blank:


“Were you aware that I was flirting with you?”


I replay that night in my head and I remember all of my dismissals:


  • They’re just being polite.
  • Well, this booth is pretty small… not much space, anyway.
  • I get a lot of compliments on my tiny hands, cool!
  • Oh, they’re just being oversharey. Some folks are like that.
  • Are they…? Nah. Who would be into me, anyway?
  • No way.
  • They’re just being sociable.
  • I’m three beers in; I shouldn’t read too much into these interactions.
  • Nah.
  • They’re
  • just
  • being
  • friendly.


There’s my lack of self-esteem, yes; you become the punchline of too many “s/he likes you!” bullying jokes in middle school and you initially distrust anyone showing interest in you. And generally, I get down on myself a lot.


An image of a bee sitting on a windowsill.
“I dunno man, what if my knees aren’t that great?” (Probable Source)


But I’d rather point out the main difficulty I have with most flirting: if it isn’t overt, I just don’t get it. And even then…


A lot of it is just hinting– and since I haven’t memorized the dating playbook (and most social cues outside of dating, if I’m really honest…), I’m caught in a loop of ambiguity. I also never want to be That Person that mistakes a friendly interaction as flirting, so I err on the side of caution and dismiss it.


So of course to the aforementioned text I responded rather un-eloquently:


“NO I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE FLIRTING I AM A DINGUS”


I’ve grown a little better in telling when they’re flirting with me now, and they know now just to rip off the bandaid (?) when it comes to that sorta thing.


So there you go.


That’s why I’m a dingus.

Posted on
by

Not too long ago I received my first singing lesson since grade school:


He picked up his guitar and tuned it; I sat in his computer chair. Back straight, deep breaths, sing loud and deep and hold that note. Listen, and match this note. Deep breaths. No, deeper. He had to get close to really listen. He had to correct, and praise, and guide. We practiced together– voice and cords, to our favorite songs.


It was a different sort of intimacy than what we were used to.


My voice was strongest when I really felt the song… really connected with it and my emotion carried the notes through. I felt so proud of myself.


I daydream the mic in my hands, confidently singing the words that resonated with me, then through me… to you.



This week, we had our karaoke outing, the first after a long hiatus. It’s supposed to be a group activity, but most of the time it’s just us two. Which, sometimes, it’s fine: when my heart flutters as he sings my favorite lines, or I’m forcibly transported into my past by nostalgia, I’ve no witnesses and thus no questions (and if the other patrons ever noticed, they were nice about it and left me be).


In the audience I sometimes find myself warbling along, almost compelled. I always have before, but now I’m remembering my lesson. Still, only the people nearby could hear me.


I believe I heard him say that night, “you should go up there.”


I’m too shy– I don’t know all the words– I’m not as good as the others– I need more lessons, I’m not ready– I’m terrified– I’m content to sing in this corner of this tiny little bar— I’d rather watch you all night, lover– stage fright.


He didn’t push.


I’ve been on the karaoke stage before. I’m always down for singing Disney tunes or The Time Warp with a group, or… even a duet with a favorite song and one of my favorite people.


But never by myself. Not yet.


In order to become better at something, you have to be brave. And, to quote Jake from Adventure Time: “sucking at something is the first step to becoming sorta good at something.” I know it’s all being frightened and doing it anyway, and practice, and knowing mindtricks for crowds and stages. (To pretend he’s the only one in the audience– would that work? Because I have no problem when we’re at home, and it’s just them overhearing me.)


Since I (rarely) go onstage, I watch and I cheer to make up for it. People of varying talent still go up there and are much braver than I; that alone warrants an enthusiastic “WOO!” But my night is near: I’ll be brave enough, soon. I’ll be tired of daydreaming, eventually.


I’ll ask for another singing lesson tonight.

Posted on
by

In my opinion, this post sucks.


It resonated with me only a little bit. Reading back on it now… it needs to be stronger. Something is missing.


In retrospect I was so hellbent on posting On Schedule and On A Recent Topic that I let other things fall to the wayside.


I scheduled it. And while running around that day, it posted.


And I hate it. Kind of. A little.


It will be revisited in the future; there’s something there. But next time, I’ll not worry so much about missing a day if I’m not feeling it.

Posted on
by

It’s the last day of the month, so I suppose I address two topics: National Coming Out Day and Halloween(ish). I’ve been thinking about the latter, and the former will be scheduled over the weekend.


All’s (s)hallow


Perhaps it’s because I’m finally on my upswing, but I went above and beyond on my costuming– or at least getting dolled up, and at least, compared to how I usually roll. I rarely indulge in creativity in my outfits beyond a silly headband, mismatched earrings, and a smart-ass graphic tee.


I couldn’t help but get caught up in the festivities and excitement. So I managed a wig, new headband, tights (which I actually regret, but they’re still cute), an outfit from the thrift store, and even a bit of makeup.


Consider this premise: tonight is the time we actually take off our costume and present our innermost self… how we see ourselves.


Maybe I am glitter and rainbows. Perhaps I’m some weird thing that wiggles antennae while wobbling in heels and you’ll just have to guess what I am, exactly. Possibly, I’m a fun meme. I am cute– hot, even. My eyes are alluring. My gender still non-existent, but still valid beneath the long synthetic hair. I am bright. I am. I am.


I wish I had the energy to do that more often.


I clean up nicely.


All Hallows


The sugar rush eventually ends, and I peel off the brightest layers of myself and return them to their inner rooms. For now. But I become somber. Death is a little bit closer than usual, and I generally associate October with endings as well.


It’s when the candles are no longer just for ambiance; I light them on my altar and think about my ancestors and those who are no longer with us.


I leave his favorite candy bar on the white tablecloth.


It’s when I ruminate on relationships and partnerships that I’m no longer participating in, for whatever reason.


I miss them and I mourn and I remember.


And I wonder. What impression would I leave behind, if any? How would I be remembered? How would I want to be remembered?


Memento Mori.


Would you remember this?

Posted on
by

I haven’t been talking much. Or doing much of anything, really, beyond existing and feeling pretty bad ab–


Sorry. “Pretty bad” is a terrible understatement.


I’m depressed. Capital D Depressed.


Alanis Morissette, “Tapes”



All these tapes in my head swirl around
Keeping my vibe down
All these thoughts in my head aren’t my own
Wreaking havoc


Alanis pretty much nailed it, here.


For me, this is how my depression starts. I get thoughts stuck in my head and they work their grooves in- some grooves are already there thanks to my anxiety. They echo and become very, very loud.


I’m on Week 3? 4? of them groovin’ and yellin’. And I can’t stop them.


Tis the season.


Flying Lotus, “Debbie Is Depressed”



Sittin’ in the dark and the day’s so bright
You wanna sleep all day and sleep all night
’Cause all those days just feel the same


If I had my way, I wouldn’t have moved out of bed all week. But, you know, job. And errands. And things.


Battling the voices in my head on a constant basis is tiring. Hours blur together. If it weren’t for smartphones I wouldn’t know it was [INSERT CURRENT DAY HERE].


I know there’s hope and there’s darkness before the dawn, and all of those things. But I’d still be wondering what time it is when it’s over.


Phoenix, “If I Ever Feel Better”



If I ever feel better
Remind me to spend some good time with you
You can give me your number
When it’s all over I’ll let you know


And a major obstacle a lot of depressed people deal with is self-isolation. They withdraw and don’t talk to anyone; calls, texts, and Discord messages go unanswered. Plans are canceled.


“I’m not feeling so great, lately,” I manage to say. If I say anything at all. It’s the truth: mental illness is still an illness. “I’ll get back to you later.” Maybe make plans for future!me and hope for the best.


Elements of Soul, feat. Mia Taylor, “Head Above Water”



Is there anybody out there
That feels the way I do?


I know I’m not the only one going through this, and I can’t help but yell into the void and hope it yells back. And it does, if the void has Internet access.


And on said Internet, I deliberately seek out music to simultaneously feel validated… but still not great. But that’s the beauty of music: it can be so accurate to your situation that you find yourself bawling your eyes out on your commute to work.


You feel validated but you still feel pretty shitty. But at least you know you’re not alone. If you’re struggling, know you’re not alone. If you are just laying in bed staring at the ceiling, know that someone else is doing the same thing.


I did that on my day off. I’ll probably do that tomorrow, too. But after, I have a party (to try) to go to.


Then I hope I get bumped up on the waiting list for a therapist soon.


And maybe next week will be better, and days start feeling like days again.

Posted on
by

Throwback Thursday: Originally posted to the VerboseTerse instance at Mon, 29 Oct 2018 03:45:51. This may also look familiar if you follow me on a certain social media site with a black background.


“Singular they,” I say. “Those are my pronouns.”[1]


Very recently I’ve come against some resistance with my pronouns… but not quite in the way you’d think. There was no malice, and confusion took its place.


For context, I’m American. And on top of that, I’m mono-lingual and the only language I’m fluent in is English. It took the other party voluntarily disclosing that English was their second language for me to have a “light bulb moment.”


And when I was confronted, again, with “but they is plural!” at a local gaming event soon after, I was able to recognize that same confusion.


“Hang on. Is English your native language?”


It was not.


Instead of refuting the many tired arguments as to why someone wouldn’t want to use Singular They[2], I was forced to consider a different tactic.



One major take-away from these interactions was more of a reminder of how classrooms can be horribly rigid in what they teach. Especially when it comes to English. When I was in the school system it never seemed to allow for nuances of different dialects and cultures, linguistic drift, and (yeah imma go here right quick) creativity. It appears that that hasn’t changed.


So ESL students go in the classroom, and come out with these preconceived notions of how English should work, only for the language itself to generally throw curveballs at you anyway.


Trust me. If it wasn’t going to be my Singular They/Them pronouns, it would have been something else. The Habitual Be. The Appalachian drawl. The ongoing war of Soda Vs. Pop. And English just being a fucking weird language on its own.


And no language is static unless it is dead.


My advice? Practice. Keep an ear out for cues. Immerse yourself in different, real environments. Do some readin’, here for example. Ask respectful questions.


Don’t beat yourself up when (yes, when) you screw up. We all do, even us native speakers, because there’s also the deprogramming of binary gender constructs to consider.[3]


Practice. It gets easier in time, honest.


And uh, sorry you had to learn this the hard way.



[1] I also use a set of neo-pronouns (zie/hir), but they are not the focus of this piece.


[2] “It’s not grammatically correct!” is a fairly common one, as well as the claim that “no one ever uses it.” But, you know, sometimes someone just uses that as an excuse to be an unaccommodating buttmunch.


[3] And this’ll be a whole can of worms for another time.