These are things I can't manage to say to you in person, because if I do, I can't take them back. I'm not sure if I mean them, if I'm venting, if I just need to get it out so I can hear how it sounds and see if I recoil or if I grow. Some are things I wish I could say and others I wish you'd just fess up to. Some I wouldn't ever dare say. Some I'm afraid of.
Sometimes I hate you. Since June I have said that many times a week, usually crying in traffic. Sometimes it's a deep, anguished yell, sometimes it's a whisper or a punch to the steering wheel.
No one has EVER hurt me the way you have. Not even first:girl. I loved her deeply, but I hadn't planned my life with her. I hadn't put her ring on my finger and worn it for nearly two years. I hadn't started to plan our wedding together, hadn't set a date, started a pintrest board, started picking out the style of my wedding dress.
I hadn't had a real plan of growing old with her. I hadn't lived with her for two years and created a family with three baby cats with her. When she hurt me, she hurt a girl who still had a place to live, friends to lean on, family nearby.
I have none of that. My home was with you, my family was with you, my friends were your friends. And you cut me out of all of that.
And now you're gone and you say you don't want to be responsible for my emotions and I get that but also, fuck you. What are we doing here if I can't come to you when I'm upset, ESPECIALLY when you're the cause of it? Or when you can't tell me about your day because you don't think I'll be happy for you? Of course I'll be happy that you're having a good time! My goal is not to make you miserable and depressed and I think it's really awful that you think of me that way.
Our conversation last night left me angry and upset, unable to talk to you any further about it because you don't care to know about my emotions, because you're too drained from dealing with them. You should have thought of that before you started having a relationship with your ex, before you put me through shit of "I need you both in my life romantically," before putting yourself first over and over again every week since May. Obviously I'm going to be really emotional when you do that.
You say you've sacrificed, you say you've tried to make me trust you again. You've told me you love me. You've planned my birthday. You took a sick day to drive me to the ER after I almost died the night before, I actually really do appreciate it. But how does that rebuild trust? Then when it comes to the ex in question, you flip flop on your plans over and over again depending on her plans, proving that she is still so important to you, but you still decide to go see her a week AFTER I go to the ER and coming home two days BEFORE my birthday.
You refuse to stop talking to her. You refuse to cut her out even though I hate having her as a part of our lives. You asked me to include her in OUR lives ROMANTICALLY. I DON'T WANT HER AROUND. PERIOD. I don't think that's ever going to change.
So you're not willing to cut her out, and you're not interested in being there for me emotionally, and you're afraid of how much we're fighting and now you're "guarded" (give me a fucking break, if anyone should be guarded it should be me.)
And yes, I was mean, and I said things I shouldn't have said because I was hurt, and I tried to apologize but I shouldn't have said it in the first place. But I am also just learning that I don't know if I see a future with you. I can't be with someone who can promise to marry me and then throw our monogamy away. I can't be with someone who can hurt me so deeply and then only think about themselves and what they need. I can't be with someone who doesn't want to visit my family, who says their friends are a "package deal" and I can't talk about it with them. Who asks me not to leave but then pushes me away.
I wish we could have been better to each other, but we just weren't. I wish I hadn't been so awful this spring and maybe you wouldn't have reached out to her and started this whole mess. I wish I'd handled this better and you'd handled this better and maybe we could have gotten through it together.
I hope you can come back and we can spend my birthday together and make happy memories so that we don't end it like this. I hope we can share the boys and it won't be so painful to see each other. I hope we both get to live happily ever after. Maybe by some act of grace it will be together, but more likely it will be apart, and I'm learning to accept that. I look back at when we were first dating and it makes me smile so wide and I ache because I miss that. Oh, I miss you so. But that's not who we are anymore.
You wanted me to be more independent and autonomous, so here we go.
I will always love you,
XO
Showing posts with label first:girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label first:girl. Show all posts
Aug 19, 2016
Dec 22, 2012
Updates/Desires
After being *ahem* heckled on twitter about my girl crushes :) I had some startling realizations about myself, my esteem and my love life. Whichever girl I like can be awful, mean as hell, or undeserving (in another's point of view), but I'll think she's wonderful. Is that normal? Isn't that how relationships go? Aren't we all blind to faults?
I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?
There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.
Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.
Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas
The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.
I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?
My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.
“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.
“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.
“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.
“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”
“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.
“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.
I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?
There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.
Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.
Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas
The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.
I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?
My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.
“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.
“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.
“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.
“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”
“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.
“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.
Dec 4, 2012
Heat
Heat- part of my first:girl series is up today at wordpress. I suggest you take the time to read the juicy story today or nab the password from me like it's going under restriction, because, um, it is.
Happy Reading! It's delicious.
http://tabbyqt.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/heat/
Excerpt:
She had a beer in her hand and her grin was a little too open. She smelled like smoke and I leaned my head against her leg to breathe it in. She must have been out on the patio, smoking and talking. Her fingers tangled in my long hair as she fingered the strands.
My buzz kicked in double time. She was more intoxicating than any alcohol in the world. She could make me forget my manners, my inhibitions, my own name. I let my fingers idly create patterns across her jeans. She was still wearing her jacket, I noticed. A heavy corduroy button up, far too hot for the sweltering room. I sat up to ask her about it and wavered. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I thought.
Her fingers left my hair and I tried not to pout. “Gwen,” I started, intending to ask about the jacket, but she looked at me. She looked me right in the eyes and I was pulled back to our moment under the stars. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining, and there was some deep longing in the lines of her face, in the pigments of her freckles, that begged me to ask her. I couldn’t hear the noise of the party anymore. Couldn’t hear the talking or the glass bottles, could only hear her breathing and the rush of blood through my ears, like the waves of the ocean.
“Kiss me,” I breathed, and she swallowed tightly but didn’t look away. She let out a slow breath and tried to grin.
“You sure you want that?” She swirled her beer bottle. I moved even closer to her, her leg cradling my breast, her side pressed against my front, my shoulder. She had several inches on me this way, but I didn’t care. I wanted to reach out and touch her but my training with horses had me scared I’d spook her.
“I’m sure,” I nodded, our mouths only an inch apart. I was drowning in her gaze. She looked lost, bewildered, wanting, waiting, calculating- so many things. I rested my hand on her thigh and she finally brought her hand up to wrap around my throat, her thumb lifting my chin, and she kissed me.
There was something bubbling in my chest, a feeling that was so much like becoming whole. She fit exactly into all these locks and voids and jagged pieces inside me that I hadn’t realized were damaged and missing. My hand fisted onto the hem of her jacket and I pushed closer to her.
Her lips were soft and pliant against mine, sweet and gentle under the taste of beer and clove cigarettes. Her body was on fire everywhere that it touched mine, and I was burning against her. The brush of her denim jeans was rough through my shirt and I gripped her jacket tighter.
Someone called, laughed, there was a whistle, and Gwen pulled away. I saw the reflections of people staring at us in the mirror, people who had wanted to know what our relationship was but had never gotten a clear answer. People who’d heard me stumble when asked if I was a lesbian and preferred to think of me as straight, or more of a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy. I didn’t care about them now. I didn’t care about anything but her. I leaned into her again but she pulled back, smiling uneasily.
“A little eager, are we?” she laughed, and glanced at our audience. They had the decency to look away and try to make small talk amongst themselves now that we’d acknowledged them. She always did this, always tried to make light while she put up her guards. I didn’t want that. I wanted to feel her lips against mine. I wasn’t asking her to consent to a XXX floor show, it was just a kiss.
I ran my fingers through her short hair and stroked the shell of her ear. “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this now. Just kiss me again. That’s all I want. Nothing more.”
Happy Reading! It's delicious.
http://tabbyqt.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/heat/
Excerpt:
She had a beer in her hand and her grin was a little too open. She smelled like smoke and I leaned my head against her leg to breathe it in. She must have been out on the patio, smoking and talking. Her fingers tangled in my long hair as she fingered the strands.
My buzz kicked in double time. She was more intoxicating than any alcohol in the world. She could make me forget my manners, my inhibitions, my own name. I let my fingers idly create patterns across her jeans. She was still wearing her jacket, I noticed. A heavy corduroy button up, far too hot for the sweltering room. I sat up to ask her about it and wavered. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I thought.
Her fingers left my hair and I tried not to pout. “Gwen,” I started, intending to ask about the jacket, but she looked at me. She looked me right in the eyes and I was pulled back to our moment under the stars. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining, and there was some deep longing in the lines of her face, in the pigments of her freckles, that begged me to ask her. I couldn’t hear the noise of the party anymore. Couldn’t hear the talking or the glass bottles, could only hear her breathing and the rush of blood through my ears, like the waves of the ocean.
“Kiss me,” I breathed, and she swallowed tightly but didn’t look away. She let out a slow breath and tried to grin.
“You sure you want that?” She swirled her beer bottle. I moved even closer to her, her leg cradling my breast, her side pressed against my front, my shoulder. She had several inches on me this way, but I didn’t care. I wanted to reach out and touch her but my training with horses had me scared I’d spook her.
“I’m sure,” I nodded, our mouths only an inch apart. I was drowning in her gaze. She looked lost, bewildered, wanting, waiting, calculating- so many things. I rested my hand on her thigh and she finally brought her hand up to wrap around my throat, her thumb lifting my chin, and she kissed me.
There was something bubbling in my chest, a feeling that was so much like becoming whole. She fit exactly into all these locks and voids and jagged pieces inside me that I hadn’t realized were damaged and missing. My hand fisted onto the hem of her jacket and I pushed closer to her.
Her lips were soft and pliant against mine, sweet and gentle under the taste of beer and clove cigarettes. Her body was on fire everywhere that it touched mine, and I was burning against her. The brush of her denim jeans was rough through my shirt and I gripped her jacket tighter.
Someone called, laughed, there was a whistle, and Gwen pulled away. I saw the reflections of people staring at us in the mirror, people who had wanted to know what our relationship was but had never gotten a clear answer. People who’d heard me stumble when asked if I was a lesbian and preferred to think of me as straight, or more of a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy. I didn’t care about them now. I didn’t care about anything but her. I leaned into her again but she pulled back, smiling uneasily.
“A little eager, are we?” she laughed, and glanced at our audience. They had the decency to look away and try to make small talk amongst themselves now that we’d acknowledged them. She always did this, always tried to make light while she put up her guards. I didn’t want that. I wanted to feel her lips against mine. I wasn’t asking her to consent to a XXX floor show, it was just a kiss.
I ran my fingers through her short hair and stroked the shell of her ear. “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this now. Just kiss me again. That’s all I want. Nothing more.”
Dec 1, 2012
Excerpt from Starlight
As some of you know, I've been writing my first:girl series over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com and I wanted to give you guys a little snippet of the latest post. For the juicy part you'll have to go to wordpress. No password needed for this one. Some pieces of the story are under password (which is very easy to get through comment, twitter, or email by saying please!)
Starlight
My throat felt tight and my eyes were hot. I gulped for air and turned my head to rest my cheek on Gwen’s breast. I couldn’t keep it in and my chest heaved against hers as a quiet sob ripped through my throat.
“What are you- Oh my god, are you crying?” Gwen asked incredulously, stroking my shoulder. I sat up, shoving her arm away from where it had been wrapped around me and wiped a tear from my cheek.
“I’m not crying!” I protested, but my voice broke. “It’s just-” Gwen was laughing at me! “Come on, do you have no heart? Bette and Tina are supposed to be together forever!” I sobbed at her. “You knew this was going to happen and you made me watch it anyway, you bitch!"
She cracked up, doubled over laughing at my heartbroken state. “It’s a TV show. Tabby, you’re crying over L Word. They’re not real!” she managed in between chuckles.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s – They’re – Jesus, Gwen, she was her first!” I wasn’t crying anymore, mad at her instead.
“So she can go out and experience something new,” she shrugged. “That’s a good thing. You never know what’s going to happen, who’s going to stay together or get together or get back together or what’s going to fall apart. That’s all part of the fun.” She got up to get herself a glass of water.
“It’s not fun,” I grumbled, clutching a pillow to my chest. I wiped the stray tears from my face and the ache behind my eyes dimmed and took up residence faintly behind my heart. She brought a glass of water for me without asking and I gulped it down gratefully. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d gotten. Wordlessly, she handed me the other glass and I drank the whole thing as well, but slower. I handed it back to her with a raised brow and then flushed. Right, I’d been crying, of course I was thirsty. “Can we watch something happy now?” I begged.
“Happy? With lesbians?” she joked wryly. “Pick out whatever,” she gestured to the shelf. I looked through the titles she’d already made me watch: My Summer of Love, Itty Bitty Titty Committee, But I’m a Cheerleader, Lost and Delirious, Better than Chocolate, and Boys Don’t Cry. I guess happiness was a mixed bag.
I shrugged, still thinking about the fictional break up I'd just witnessed. "Can we just...I don't know."
"You want to go for a walk?" she asked, and I lit up. How could she know me better than I knew myself? We pulled on our coats and I slipped on my flats as she took a cigarette from a pack in the back of a kitchen drawer. It was odd that she wanted to smoke, since usually it was a social thing for her, but we had both been stressed out at work. She lit it and we quickly made our way out the front door, locking it behind us.
The night was cold and crisp, the stars overhead were glowing, crystal clear points in a dark lake. Our breath fanned out in front of us and frost was already gathering on the grass. The tops of my feet chilled between my flats and the hem of my jeans.
"Gwen," I took her hand in mine, velvet-soft, warm, slightly larger than mine. We fell into synchronized step immediately, I'm not sure whether it was a conscious effort on her part or not. It didn't seem like it.
"What's up, girl?" she asked, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth. I loved when she did that. I loved the Christmas smell of her vanilla and clove cigarettes and wondered what she must taste like.
"What's it like to live in the city, where you can't see the milky way, or the teaspoon?"
"The teaspoon?" she laughed questioningly, pulling another drag off her cigarette.
I nudged her playfully. "Pleiades. The Seven Sisters. It looks like the Big Dipper but really, really tiny so I always called it the teaspoon. It's right there," I pointed it out to her and she readjusted her glasses.
"Wow, I don't think I ever even realized there was a constellation there," she confessed, cigarette pressed against the frame of her glasses. She still hadn't let go of my hand. I let my head drop to her shoulder and looked up at the stars, breathing her in.
"There's a thousand of them. Cassiopeia is that big 'W' shape, and her daughter Andromeda and Perseus are both up there with her. Perseus is carrying Medusa's head - that red star right there is her eye, and it's a malicious star in every culture."
"Weird," she craned her head back to look at the constellations I'd pointed out. The cold bit into my skin and I was shivering, but my nose brushed against the skin of her neck. I leaned in and kissed the warm, soft skin below her ear, begging silently for her not to pull away.
Continued at tabbyqt.wordpress.com
Starlight
My throat felt tight and my eyes were hot. I gulped for air and turned my head to rest my cheek on Gwen’s breast. I couldn’t keep it in and my chest heaved against hers as a quiet sob ripped through my throat.
“What are you- Oh my god, are you crying?” Gwen asked incredulously, stroking my shoulder. I sat up, shoving her arm away from where it had been wrapped around me and wiped a tear from my cheek.
“I’m not crying!” I protested, but my voice broke. “It’s just-” Gwen was laughing at me! “Come on, do you have no heart? Bette and Tina are supposed to be together forever!” I sobbed at her. “You knew this was going to happen and you made me watch it anyway, you bitch!"
She cracked up, doubled over laughing at my heartbroken state. “It’s a TV show. Tabby, you’re crying over L Word. They’re not real!” she managed in between chuckles.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s – They’re – Jesus, Gwen, she was her first!” I wasn’t crying anymore, mad at her instead.
“So she can go out and experience something new,” she shrugged. “That’s a good thing. You never know what’s going to happen, who’s going to stay together or get together or get back together or what’s going to fall apart. That’s all part of the fun.” She got up to get herself a glass of water.
“It’s not fun,” I grumbled, clutching a pillow to my chest. I wiped the stray tears from my face and the ache behind my eyes dimmed and took up residence faintly behind my heart. She brought a glass of water for me without asking and I gulped it down gratefully. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d gotten. Wordlessly, she handed me the other glass and I drank the whole thing as well, but slower. I handed it back to her with a raised brow and then flushed. Right, I’d been crying, of course I was thirsty. “Can we watch something happy now?” I begged.
“Happy? With lesbians?” she joked wryly. “Pick out whatever,” she gestured to the shelf. I looked through the titles she’d already made me watch: My Summer of Love, Itty Bitty Titty Committee, But I’m a Cheerleader, Lost and Delirious, Better than Chocolate, and Boys Don’t Cry. I guess happiness was a mixed bag.
I shrugged, still thinking about the fictional break up I'd just witnessed. "Can we just...I don't know."
"You want to go for a walk?" she asked, and I lit up. How could she know me better than I knew myself? We pulled on our coats and I slipped on my flats as she took a cigarette from a pack in the back of a kitchen drawer. It was odd that she wanted to smoke, since usually it was a social thing for her, but we had both been stressed out at work. She lit it and we quickly made our way out the front door, locking it behind us.
The night was cold and crisp, the stars overhead were glowing, crystal clear points in a dark lake. Our breath fanned out in front of us and frost was already gathering on the grass. The tops of my feet chilled between my flats and the hem of my jeans.
"Gwen," I took her hand in mine, velvet-soft, warm, slightly larger than mine. We fell into synchronized step immediately, I'm not sure whether it was a conscious effort on her part or not. It didn't seem like it.
"What's up, girl?" she asked, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth. I loved when she did that. I loved the Christmas smell of her vanilla and clove cigarettes and wondered what she must taste like.
"What's it like to live in the city, where you can't see the milky way, or the teaspoon?"
"The teaspoon?" she laughed questioningly, pulling another drag off her cigarette.
I nudged her playfully. "Pleiades. The Seven Sisters. It looks like the Big Dipper but really, really tiny so I always called it the teaspoon. It's right there," I pointed it out to her and she readjusted her glasses.
"Wow, I don't think I ever even realized there was a constellation there," she confessed, cigarette pressed against the frame of her glasses. She still hadn't let go of my hand. I let my head drop to her shoulder and looked up at the stars, breathing her in.
"There's a thousand of them. Cassiopeia is that big 'W' shape, and her daughter Andromeda and Perseus are both up there with her. Perseus is carrying Medusa's head - that red star right there is her eye, and it's a malicious star in every culture."
"Weird," she craned her head back to look at the constellations I'd pointed out. The cold bit into my skin and I was shivering, but my nose brushed against the skin of her neck. I leaned in and kissed the warm, soft skin below her ear, begging silently for her not to pull away.
Continued at tabbyqt.wordpress.com
Nov 29, 2012
Hot Mess/Comfortable
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Even looking back on my first posts here, not nearly as far back as my love story, I was all over the place. I was a big, hot, lesbian mess, trying to fit myself into any box I could find. I'm so glad I found these beautiful safe spaces which helped me grow. Places like Sugarbutch, CCL, Dorothy Surrenders, and Alphafemme, with real authors, honest people who shared their experiences and their lives with me so that I might grow and learn. I can't thank them enough, especially Sinclair over at Sugarbutch, for the impact they've had on making me feel safe and like I wasn't alone on this journey.
But I have become someone extraordinarily different from who I was back then. I am confident, self-assured. I know what I need from a relationship and how to get it. I know how to give love, how to accept it, and how to walk away when I'm not going to get it. I am a sane, competent individual who understands different types of relationships, differing needs and wants and paradigms. I am someone who can stand my ground and hold my own beliefs without needing to blind myself to the opinions of those around me. I am no longer spectrum banging, but comfortable in the person I've settled into. That's not to say I don't shake things up occasionally, but everything is essentially me. I can also still be a hot mess when I'm running late for work and haven't done laundry or gone to the market and forget to comb my hair when I get out of the shower and look like Jane Porter (this is a chance for you to show me that you read).
I hope that you, wherever you are on your journey, in the closet or out for years, can come upon this feeling. That someday, you can stop chasing down and looking for who you really are, because you are comfortable in yourself. All that running is exhausting, and knowing the basics of who you are and what you want is really enjoyable.
Nov 21, 2012
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving for me and you! As a special Thanksgiving thing-a-ma-bob I'm going to take off the passwords for my first:girl series- falling in love and coming out- over on wordpress.com starting at noon pst today until noon Thanksgiving Day. I think. If I don't chicken out. Probably best to read it sooner than later.
Update 11/22/2012 12:00pm: Posts 2-5 are now password protected. DM, leave a comment or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com to sign up for the password.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
I haven't had much time to think about Thanksgiving, but I've got lots of family coming together and it should be a good time all around. We all have our assigned parts: Grandma is cooking the turkey, my sister's brood of children love making the pumpkin chiffon pie, so there will be tons of those, as well as a veggie tray, which leaves me to cook....just about everything else. My mom is no help since she's busy and not really a great cook, and my aunt is driving quite a ways to be with us all, so no help there.
Thanksgiving checklist for tomorrow:
Buy autumn themed tablecloths for outside tables.
Pick up "1st Birthday" baby cake for my nephew and cupcakes for the other kids. Wrap birthday present.
Set up at the parental house. Seating in the garage and buffet table in the house. Also, clean out the sink trap upstairs that Mom has been complaining about for weeks. Hook up TV in garage for football game.
Cook yams and hot dip first, start homemade apple cider in crock pot. Then green beans and bacon, and finish with the other side dishes.
Finish table set up, breathe.
Change into something Thanksgiving appropriate.
Have fun with the family :)
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!
Update 11/22/2012 12:00pm: Posts 2-5 are now password protected. DM, leave a comment or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com to sign up for the password.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
I haven't had much time to think about Thanksgiving, but I've got lots of family coming together and it should be a good time all around. We all have our assigned parts: Grandma is cooking the turkey, my sister's brood of children love making the pumpkin chiffon pie, so there will be tons of those, as well as a veggie tray, which leaves me to cook....just about everything else. My mom is no help since she's busy and not really a great cook, and my aunt is driving quite a ways to be with us all, so no help there.
Thanksgiving checklist for tomorrow:
Buy autumn themed tablecloths for outside tables.
Pick up "1st Birthday" baby cake for my nephew and cupcakes for the other kids. Wrap birthday present.
Set up at the parental house. Seating in the garage and buffet table in the house. Also, clean out the sink trap upstairs that Mom has been complaining about for weeks. Hook up TV in garage for football game.
Cook yams and hot dip first, start homemade apple cider in crock pot. Then green beans and bacon, and finish with the other side dishes.
Finish table set up, breathe.
Change into something Thanksgiving appropriate.
Have fun with the family :)
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!
Nov 11, 2012
First:girl Part 1
The day was sweaty, the room filled with estrogen, and gossip was a tangible, sticky humidity that clung to the skin. The summer sun poured in through the windows, and dust motes sparkled like a swirling cloud of yellow glitter.
A group of people walked into the far room, and the women around me peered at the fresh meat. Two tall boys, one pierced and dangerous, the other clean cut and a little dorky. With them was an amazon woman with long, flowing hair, and shorter than all of the others by at least a foot, was the person who caught my attention.
She was wearing beige plaid shorts that hit at the knee, black converse with holes in the sides, a gray short sleeved t-shirt, and had hair cropped short to the scalp with a fringe of bangs over her big amber colored eyes. When she looked up and grinned, her teeth were slightly crooked, giving a playful appearance.
I swear, I wanted her in that one moment. My pulse throbbed through me and my thoughts were nonexistent. My brain was too full of her. I was halfway out of my seat when one of the other girls pulled me back to reality with a touch on the arm and an accusing, "Where are you going?"
I slowly lowered myself into my seat, my heart pounding fiercely in my chest. I didn't want to let her out of my sight. I craved her presence, wanted to shake her hand merely for an excuse to touch her skin. I knew if she left and I never saw her again, there would never be another as wonderful as her. It was crazy, I didn't even know her! Hadn't heard her voice or learned her name!
But the group walked out of the room, and my heart sank to my feet. Losing all casual pretense, I got out of my chair and walked briskly to my manager. "Who were they?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but I'm sure my voice betrayed me.
"They are the new trainees. They will be working here starting next week," she answered me.
Thank God! I went back to my work station feeling dizzy. I sat down and thought about what next week would bring. I would find a reason to talk to her. Her preference didn't matter, who she had dated, who she was dating- I would charm her, woo her, romance her, and make her mine.
I dreamed of her every night for a week. I started work the next week hoping that we had been put on the same shift. It was a hectic day, and I quickly lost myself in the hustle and bustle of my work until I saw her in the hallway. I must have looked like a hot mess, because she was grinning at me in that way that suggested she had been watching me and was thoroughly amused by my actions. I pulled myself out of my crouched position and blew a piece of hair out of my face.
"Hi, I'm Tabby," I think I managed a grin as I held out my hand, and I knew my eyes were sparkling way too brightly to seem as if I was uninterested.
"Hey, I'm [first:girl]. I work in [a different department.]" She grinned in a cocky way and took my hand. She had the softest skin and her voice was slow and smooth. My heart was pounding in my throat and I felt a little high.
"Nice to meet you," oh my God, I was grinning like a fool. "Are you working [my shift]?" Her grin broadened and I swear she could see right through me.
"Yeah, I am. I'm really excited about it. I've signed on for the next year." (We were working on a contract basis.) She sounded so cool, why couldn't I be as cool as she was instead of a blundering idiot? I finally realized I'd been holding onto her hand for way too long and let go, taking in a breath as I told my heart to calm down.
"I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other." Finally, something came out with a half grin and a somewhat languid inflection.
"I guess. See you around, Tabby." She turned and walked away to do her job, but I swear she was laughing at how obviously attracted I was to her.
I turned back to the hectic mess which was my job, crouching back down to the floor, but not really paying attention. My every thought was focused on her: the next time I'd see her, the next thing she'd say. There was no embarrassment at my actions, no shame at throwing myself at her, no questioning of my sexuality (which I had considered myself to be fairly straight only several days before.)
You have to understand that at this point, in my frame of mind, she was not a woman. She was not a taboo, and I was not a "lesbian." She defied labels of every sort. My sexuality never crossed my mind once as I focused on the task of getting first:girl to like me.
I'm posting all parts of my first:girl story over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com
They are password protected, but just tweet me @tabbyqt or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com and I'll send you the password, no questions asked.
Day 20 Heartbreak
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Sorry, guys, you know what this is going to be. I think it's about time you got the back story on first:girl. It's going to read kind of like a story, so, this should be fun. Because isn't heartbreak always?
Okay, going back into this, years ago, you need to know who I was.
You have to understand, going back in time, that I had questioned my sexuality for years but was only just beginning to act on it. No one had ever expected me to be anything other than very straight, and very young. While I was smart, my social sense was underdeveloped. I was a social butterfly who didn't understand the games people played, a naive girl who believed in rainbows and acceptance and "true love conquers all." I had just gone through a very confusing year, and the start to my summer hadn't exactly gone as planned (see Awakening) when I was totally rejected the first time I asked a girl on a date.
The second half of my summer started to look up when I got hit with a bolt of lightning at work one day.
She was absolutely everything I ever wanted but never knew I could have.
I'm posting all parts of my first:girl story over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com
They are password protected, but just tweet me @tabbyqt or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com and I'll send you the password, no questions asked.
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Sorry, guys, you know what this is going to be. I think it's about time you got the back story on first:girl. It's going to read kind of like a story, so, this should be fun. Because isn't heartbreak always?
Okay, going back into this, years ago, you need to know who I was.
You have to understand, going back in time, that I had questioned my sexuality for years but was only just beginning to act on it. No one had ever expected me to be anything other than very straight, and very young. While I was smart, my social sense was underdeveloped. I was a social butterfly who didn't understand the games people played, a naive girl who believed in rainbows and acceptance and "true love conquers all." I had just gone through a very confusing year, and the start to my summer hadn't exactly gone as planned (see Awakening) when I was totally rejected the first time I asked a girl on a date.
The second half of my summer started to look up when I got hit with a bolt of lightning at work one day.
She was absolutely everything I ever wanted but never knew I could have.
I'm posting all parts of my first:girl story over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com
They are password protected, but just tweet me @tabbyqt or email me at tabbyqt@hotmail.com and I'll send you the password, no questions asked.
Nov 7, 2012
Day 15 Missing
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
If I'm going to be honest with you, really honest, it's hard not to make it all come back to first:girl. I think until I fall in love she's the only romantic trauma I've got. She's the only relationship I delved into headfirst and didn't want to come up for air. I have no other experience with that intensity to compare it with, so who else am I supposed to miss?
My best friends? My dead relatives? The brothers I see once a year or the sister I see once every 2 or 3? How can I miss them more than I miss being in love with her? How can they compare to feeling complete? How can you possibly miss something more than the ache of being touched all the time in the smallest of ways?
Hours. The longest I went without a gentle caress, a steadying hand, a reassuring palm to the small of my back - might have been a few hours. Now it's days, or weeks. Weeks without a loving touch, a gentle kiss of fingers against my cheek. The lack of touch could make anyone wither, could make anyone go insane with wanting, with missing.
I try not to think about it. I can stand on my own two feet. I can wait for the right person. I'm not desperate or fragile or crazy enough to beg like a kitten arching between someone's feet for affection. I want feelings first.
But I miss all the touches.
Just as an update because I've gotten an influx of comments and emails about my ex from Day 7: I don't want that ex back; I know I talk about her a lot but I don't want first:girl back. I miss things about my relationships with each of them, sure, but because those are happy memories. Relationships end for a reason, and each has given me an opportunity to learn, grow, and become a better person. So, when you ask me what I'm going to do to get her back -
Nothing. My past relationships aren't right for who I am now. And if you're trying to get someone back, maybe you need to look at how the two of you have changed and see if you can still forge that connection and be what the other wants and needs.
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
If I'm going to be honest with you, really honest, it's hard not to make it all come back to first:girl. I think until I fall in love she's the only romantic trauma I've got. She's the only relationship I delved into headfirst and didn't want to come up for air. I have no other experience with that intensity to compare it with, so who else am I supposed to miss?
My best friends? My dead relatives? The brothers I see once a year or the sister I see once every 2 or 3? How can I miss them more than I miss being in love with her? How can they compare to feeling complete? How can you possibly miss something more than the ache of being touched all the time in the smallest of ways?
Hours. The longest I went without a gentle caress, a steadying hand, a reassuring palm to the small of my back - might have been a few hours. Now it's days, or weeks. Weeks without a loving touch, a gentle kiss of fingers against my cheek. The lack of touch could make anyone wither, could make anyone go insane with wanting, with missing.
I try not to think about it. I can stand on my own two feet. I can wait for the right person. I'm not desperate or fragile or crazy enough to beg like a kitten arching between someone's feet for affection. I want feelings first.
But I miss all the touches.
Just as an update because I've gotten an influx of comments and emails about my ex from Day 7: I don't want that ex back; I know I talk about her a lot but I don't want first:girl back. I miss things about my relationships with each of them, sure, but because those are happy memories. Relationships end for a reason, and each has given me an opportunity to learn, grow, and become a better person. So, when you ask me what I'm going to do to get her back -
Nothing. My past relationships aren't right for who I am now. And if you're trying to get someone back, maybe you need to look at how the two of you have changed and see if you can still forge that connection and be what the other wants and needs.
Sep 21, 2012
Stopgaps
Crap. I went away for two years- just stopped writing. I'm so sorry. I don't think that I can do anything or say anything that would make you understand. When I started this blog *gulp* three long years ago, I was still so broken. Every time I tried to write about what was truly eating at me, I couldn't. I put it off and put it off because I was still in love with, still heartbroken over, the first girl to bring down all my barriers.
By starting this blog, I tried to give myself a space to explore all the other things that were going on inside me. All of my daily gender struggles, my issues with my sexuality- I turned to you as a community for strength, guidance and compassion, and I'm thankful for all you've given me.
When I left, I had just had surgery. It was hard for me to eat, physically, and I could feel the old habits of my anorexia creeping back up on me. While I've never been diagnosed or hospitalized, anorexia is never very far from my mind. The opportunity handed to me on a silver platter, to relapse with a perfectly good and unquestionable excuse, was too hard to pass up. I lost forty pounds. I felt amazing. As with all things, it was a cycle. I had to eat eventually and am now back up to my former weight. It's been an interesting two years. I've dated, I've learned, I've grown, I've started to heal, and I think I've become more comfortable with myself.
All those thoughts that were constantly plaguing me about who I was, about labeling myself, have faded into the background. I am who I am and I enjoy the person I've become, for the most part. There are always things I'm going to want to change about myself, but for now I'm not so focused on how I want to be labeled in a relationship or should be labeled. I just act, and let things go from there.
When I started the blog I said I was going to write about being gay, because it was so new and overwhelming that I felt obsessed with it. I feel like it overshadowed all else that I was, and sometimes it still does, but more and more sides of me are stepping into the spotlight, and that's the way I want it to be.
If you'd read my initial post from last night, you know that I had a relationship end. She was a sweet, charming, raunchy girl that made me laugh constantly. I don't know why I let her go, but I think that part of it was that I'm not quite healed. So I've started something that I ached to do a long time ago, but never had the courage or conviction.
I've started writing about first:girl. I feel like I've referred to her enough that I owe you my story, and maybe I owe it to myself to tell it. It doesn't hurt me anymore to think about it. I still occasionally get shivers when I think about her, or feel a warm glow when I remember her smile, but it was four years ago- long enough to feel like it happened to another person. I'm so different now than I was then.
I hope, in telling it, the remnant of longing will disappear, and I can finally shut that door. And perhaps all of you will finally feel like you know me as more than just words on a backlit screen, because every part of who I used to be was wrapped up in her. I want you to know me. I'm so sorry I disappeared, but I'm back and baring my soul for the world.
By starting this blog, I tried to give myself a space to explore all the other things that were going on inside me. All of my daily gender struggles, my issues with my sexuality- I turned to you as a community for strength, guidance and compassion, and I'm thankful for all you've given me.
When I left, I had just had surgery. It was hard for me to eat, physically, and I could feel the old habits of my anorexia creeping back up on me. While I've never been diagnosed or hospitalized, anorexia is never very far from my mind. The opportunity handed to me on a silver platter, to relapse with a perfectly good and unquestionable excuse, was too hard to pass up. I lost forty pounds. I felt amazing. As with all things, it was a cycle. I had to eat eventually and am now back up to my former weight. It's been an interesting two years. I've dated, I've learned, I've grown, I've started to heal, and I think I've become more comfortable with myself.
All those thoughts that were constantly plaguing me about who I was, about labeling myself, have faded into the background. I am who I am and I enjoy the person I've become, for the most part. There are always things I'm going to want to change about myself, but for now I'm not so focused on how I want to be labeled in a relationship or should be labeled. I just act, and let things go from there.
When I started the blog I said I was going to write about being gay, because it was so new and overwhelming that I felt obsessed with it. I feel like it overshadowed all else that I was, and sometimes it still does, but more and more sides of me are stepping into the spotlight, and that's the way I want it to be.
If you'd read my initial post from last night, you know that I had a relationship end. She was a sweet, charming, raunchy girl that made me laugh constantly. I don't know why I let her go, but I think that part of it was that I'm not quite healed. So I've started something that I ached to do a long time ago, but never had the courage or conviction.
I've started writing about first:girl. I feel like I've referred to her enough that I owe you my story, and maybe I owe it to myself to tell it. It doesn't hurt me anymore to think about it. I still occasionally get shivers when I think about her, or feel a warm glow when I remember her smile, but it was four years ago- long enough to feel like it happened to another person. I'm so different now than I was then.
I hope, in telling it, the remnant of longing will disappear, and I can finally shut that door. And perhaps all of you will finally feel like you know me as more than just words on a backlit screen, because every part of who I used to be was wrapped up in her. I want you to know me. I'm so sorry I disappeared, but I'm back and baring my soul for the world.
Oct 27, 2010
Day 7- My Ex
Day Seven is the day that I am supposed to write to my ex, but that is not something I am sure I want to do here and now. Several times I have started to write a post about first:girl, but have always held off in the interest of giving you the full story from the beginning.
I think it is important that you see her, know her, love her the way I did. I don't want to give you any predispositions, any judgements based on my pain at being scorned. Therefore, I am going to write this letter tonight, and post it after I post my series on my relationship with first:girl, which is actually coming along quite well. I have four parts written and am trying to keep it under ten.
-Tabby
I think it is important that you see her, know her, love her the way I did. I don't want to give you any predispositions, any judgements based on my pain at being scorned. Therefore, I am going to write this letter tonight, and post it after I post my series on my relationship with first:girl, which is actually coming along quite well. I have four parts written and am trying to keep it under ten.
-Tabby
Oct 11, 2010
National Coming Out Day
While I don't know anyone who has come out on National Coming Out Day, I think it is an important time to reflect on what it was like to be an individual confused, disoriented, pained, or upset by the struggles with their sexual identity. While my own discovery and coming out was relatively pain free (until first:girl broke my heart), I have taken this day to listen to others and imagine what life is like for those past and present who have come out in awful situations. I think this is also a time to reflect on those we have lost because of their sexuality, whether death was self inflicted or not.
This morning, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to come out in a world where everyone hates you for being gay, where you feel isolated and abandoned by friends and family. I couldn't imagine what it would be liked to be pushed around, bullied, threatened, beaten up, mentally and physically abused.
I still can't imagine most of that. No one has ever beat me up because of my sexuality. But as of this afternoon, on this celebratory day for the LGBT community, I felt fear, despair, because someone didn't like that I was gay.
I was in the parking lot of the local supermarket when an old classmate recognized me. He was three years older than me, but he knew me well enough. He asked me if it was true, if I was a lesbian. "Yes, I am gay. Funny how things work out, isn't it?" was my witty Chatty Kathy reply. Instead of laughing, his whole face darkened, and he moved in so close I thought he might kiss me.
If you had seen the look in his eyes as he grabbed my arm, you would have felt that cold knot of fear slide into your throat too. He whispered that he couldn't do anything here and now, wouldn't get arrested over someone like me. "You better watch your step," he said. "I know you think you are winning now, but there are a lot of us who don't like what queers are doing to our country. Quit now, or you'll all end up in camps, and there won't be any homosexuals."
"Yeah, like the government will ever let that fly. Good luck with that." I should really shut my mouth in situations like this, but when I am backed into a for er, logic goes out the window. I am one of those people who spends too much money and then keeps spending because, fuck it, I've already used the credit card today.
Well obviously he didn't like that and I've got a nice abrasion on my arm to prove it. I can't remember his exact words, but the gist of it was that the government didn't need to know "officially" and there are many politians who would turn a blind eye if it was kept quiet enough.
He then told me that even though it's a small town, I shouldn't go out at night, because even though we all know each other, there are many who wouldn't try to save me if I were, say, raped in an alley.
He didn't hit me, didn't really hurt me, didn't even solidly threaten my life. But he shook me to my core. I think that is exactly what he wanted. He knows where I live, work, shop. Worst of all, he liked me in high school. We were friendly to each other, and he always called me funny and sweet. How can you like who I am, and then hate me for who I love? I think that scares me the most.
Update: December, one year ago, I wrote "Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?"
Maybe this encounter has nothing to do with what I'm going through now, but maybe it does. Today, I am writing about first:girl, something I have never talked or written about with anyone. The secret is coming out, and my heartache is finally lessening with every paragraph.
This morning, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to come out in a world where everyone hates you for being gay, where you feel isolated and abandoned by friends and family. I couldn't imagine what it would be liked to be pushed around, bullied, threatened, beaten up, mentally and physically abused.
I still can't imagine most of that. No one has ever beat me up because of my sexuality. But as of this afternoon, on this celebratory day for the LGBT community, I felt fear, despair, because someone didn't like that I was gay.
I was in the parking lot of the local supermarket when an old classmate recognized me. He was three years older than me, but he knew me well enough. He asked me if it was true, if I was a lesbian. "Yes, I am gay. Funny how things work out, isn't it?" was my witty Chatty Kathy reply. Instead of laughing, his whole face darkened, and he moved in so close I thought he might kiss me.
If you had seen the look in his eyes as he grabbed my arm, you would have felt that cold knot of fear slide into your throat too. He whispered that he couldn't do anything here and now, wouldn't get arrested over someone like me. "You better watch your step," he said. "I know you think you are winning now, but there are a lot of us who don't like what queers are doing to our country. Quit now, or you'll all end up in camps, and there won't be any homosexuals."
"Yeah, like the government will ever let that fly. Good luck with that." I should really shut my mouth in situations like this, but when I am backed into a for er, logic goes out the window. I am one of those people who spends too much money and then keeps spending because, fuck it, I've already used the credit card today.
Well obviously he didn't like that and I've got a nice abrasion on my arm to prove it. I can't remember his exact words, but the gist of it was that the government didn't need to know "officially" and there are many politians who would turn a blind eye if it was kept quiet enough.
He then told me that even though it's a small town, I shouldn't go out at night, because even though we all know each other, there are many who wouldn't try to save me if I were, say, raped in an alley.
He didn't hit me, didn't really hurt me, didn't even solidly threaten my life. But he shook me to my core. I think that is exactly what he wanted. He knows where I live, work, shop. Worst of all, he liked me in high school. We were friendly to each other, and he always called me funny and sweet. How can you like who I am, and then hate me for who I love? I think that scares me the most.
Update: December, one year ago, I wrote "Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?"
Maybe this encounter has nothing to do with what I'm going through now, but maybe it does. Today, I am writing about first:girl, something I have never talked or written about with anyone. The secret is coming out, and my heartache is finally lessening with every paragraph.
Apr 2, 2010
Lost/Found
I thought I had written up a draft for a new post the other day (which apparently I didn't), and instead stumbled upon a draft I had written up after the last time I saw first:girl. I saved the draft instead of publishing it because I was hurting, and I didn't want your first impressions of first:girl to be biased. I want to start from the beginning with her.
To do that, I have to talk about M2 and Patty, so that you can see the position I was in when I met first:girl. I want it all to make sense and go in chronological order. However, it's been a long time since first:girl and I stopped talking, and I still have a hard time writing about her.
It'll be posted. Eventually. I'm going to make that a goal. Talk about first:girl. Before June. In June, we enter each others' lives again, so I better be ready to deal with her by then.
To do that, I have to talk about M2 and Patty, so that you can see the position I was in when I met first:girl. I want it all to make sense and go in chronological order. However, it's been a long time since first:girl and I stopped talking, and I still have a hard time writing about her.
It'll be posted. Eventually. I'm going to make that a goal. Talk about first:girl. Before June. In June, we enter each others' lives again, so I better be ready to deal with her by then.
Jan 9, 2010
Derailed/Spectrum
It's been a while since I've really written about sexuality and gender theory. It seems that somewhere during the holidays I became very self involved and only wrote my personal issues, which was not how this blog was intended to be. Yes, it is about me, but it is about me exploring my sexuality and becoming more acquainted with the LGBTQ community and issues.
I'll admit I have been overwhelmed by the term "spectrum banging" (Yes, Mr. Sexsmith, I blame this piece of enlightenment on you). A few years ago, I had big boobs (which I emphasized all the time), long (blonde) hair, never left the house without mascara, equally loved jeans, blouses, and dresses. I liked to play dress up, and I loved to use my body to entice classmates into having dirty thoughts. I liked feeling sexy, liked feeling used (Read:CoDa).
Then, after I found out first:girl was not in fact falling madly in love with me as I was with her, I explored different ways of being. I started spectrum banging, which I'm just starting to figure out was a huge part of my underlying identity struggle. Since the me I was wasn't cutting it for first:girl, I did everything differently. I cut off all my hair, dyed it back to its natural brown, stopped wearing makeup, wore jeans and wifebeaters, never wore jewelry, and made myself as masculine as I could (without binding). That's when I started reading SugarButch, and found a piece of myself in his writing. That is when butch started feeling sexy. I found my love for femmes, and the deep traits of chivalry and respect. After reading for months, I then started to feel sexy and butch without needing the physical appearance, but it still just didn't fit. I think it was because I wasn't doing it for me. I was doing whatever I thought would get first:girl back. I tried this for so long. A year, maybe more? That didn't work either. She still didn't want me, and I was tired of trying so hard.
That's when my old habits started creeping back in. I still had short hair, but now I spent time on it, curled it, straightened it, wore a beret, whatever. I started wearing mascara every day, bought new skinny jeans and two pairs of converse to go with my shirts and tank tops.
During this blog, which has not been running for very long, you have seen me swing from one side of the spectrum to the other within days. I went from wondering if I was butch or femme, to wondering if maybe I should be ftm, to being full on femme for a week.
My hair has grown out to my shoulders now, I wear makeup when I know I'm leaving the house, and occasionally I'll wear a bra, or something that highlights my breasts. I'm not femme, but am definitely more on the feminine side of the spectrum. Do I still have butch days? Occasionally. Maybe more soft butch, or just butch in manner rather than appearance.
I can't say that I'm done spectrum banging, but I can say that I'm finally more comfortable in the middle, at least for a little while. For now I can be a homogeneous mix of the two ends. And wouldn't you know it, I feel a lot like I did before first:girl came along. I still can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing yet. Feeling like I did back then makes me uneasy. It makes me feel (and I'm embarrassed to admit it) less gay. Maybe when I started to change myself for first:girl, I also started to change myself to feel more gay, because (of course) being gay should feel different. That should be a load of crock, but it's ingrained in me to feel that way: that straight!me and gay!me should feel differently.
I'm still waiting for that unease to go away.
I'll admit I have been overwhelmed by the term "spectrum banging" (Yes, Mr. Sexsmith, I blame this piece of enlightenment on you). A few years ago, I had big boobs (which I emphasized all the time), long (blonde) hair, never left the house without mascara, equally loved jeans, blouses, and dresses. I liked to play dress up, and I loved to use my body to entice classmates into having dirty thoughts. I liked feeling sexy, liked feeling used (Read:CoDa).
Then, after I found out first:girl was not in fact falling madly in love with me as I was with her, I explored different ways of being. I started spectrum banging, which I'm just starting to figure out was a huge part of my underlying identity struggle. Since the me I was wasn't cutting it for first:girl, I did everything differently. I cut off all my hair, dyed it back to its natural brown, stopped wearing makeup, wore jeans and wifebeaters, never wore jewelry, and made myself as masculine as I could (without binding). That's when I started reading SugarButch, and found a piece of myself in his writing. That is when butch started feeling sexy. I found my love for femmes, and the deep traits of chivalry and respect. After reading for months, I then started to feel sexy and butch without needing the physical appearance, but it still just didn't fit. I think it was because I wasn't doing it for me. I was doing whatever I thought would get first:girl back. I tried this for so long. A year, maybe more? That didn't work either. She still didn't want me, and I was tired of trying so hard.
That's when my old habits started creeping back in. I still had short hair, but now I spent time on it, curled it, straightened it, wore a beret, whatever. I started wearing mascara every day, bought new skinny jeans and two pairs of converse to go with my shirts and tank tops.
During this blog, which has not been running for very long, you have seen me swing from one side of the spectrum to the other within days. I went from wondering if I was butch or femme, to wondering if maybe I should be ftm, to being full on femme for a week.
My hair has grown out to my shoulders now, I wear makeup when I know I'm leaving the house, and occasionally I'll wear a bra, or something that highlights my breasts. I'm not femme, but am definitely more on the feminine side of the spectrum. Do I still have butch days? Occasionally. Maybe more soft butch, or just butch in manner rather than appearance.
I can't say that I'm done spectrum banging, but I can say that I'm finally more comfortable in the middle, at least for a little while. For now I can be a homogeneous mix of the two ends. And wouldn't you know it, I feel a lot like I did before first:girl came along. I still can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing yet. Feeling like I did back then makes me uneasy. It makes me feel (and I'm embarrassed to admit it) less gay. Maybe when I started to change myself for first:girl, I also started to change myself to feel more gay, because (of course) being gay should feel different. That should be a load of crock, but it's ingrained in me to feel that way: that straight!me and gay!me should feel differently.
I'm still waiting for that unease to go away.
Dec 23, 2009
Terms/Respect
There are certain terms that I love, that make me feel special, sexy, sweet, adored, etc. I have such an attachment to these words that when they are used, they feel like endearments, even when they are not addressed to me.
M:girl has a habit of calling me Miss. Not Miss Tabby or whatever, just Miss. I used to love it when I would wake up in the morning and the first thing I would hear is "Good morning, Miss." Therefore I've taken up that term and started passing it on.
I love being called Miss, Lady, Girl (as in "Hey, Girl, how are you?"), etc. I love the phrases "my Lady Friend" and "My Lady" (as in "my lady is coming over tonight"). I like the feeling of possession. Tegan Quin writes a lot about "you're not mine" and "you were all mine, I was yours right?" which really strikes a chord with me. She also tends to write from a more traditional pants side of the relationship when possession is involved, which I strongly identify with.
First:girl used to greet me with a teasing version of Tila Tequila's "Hey, Girl, hey!" which always made my day in such a strange way. I also have this odd love for when derogatory terms are thrown into ordinary conversation (such as a "Whatever, bitch, you know you love me," kind of retort). Of course, that was part of my relationship with first:girl and I would never use it in my relationship with m:girl because that's not how we work. She calls me miss, and I call her miss and my lady so bitch doesn't really fit in there.
I don't like the whole "baby, shorty, mami, honey bear," side of things. The poo-bear and pumpkin saccharine-sweet terms tend to get on my nerves very fast.
I think part of the reason that I love the terms I do, is that no matter how masculine I end up looking or acting, the constant reminders of my femininity are gratifying. I like that I can walk around dressed like a boy and M:girl will still call me miss. Like I can be female without having to act like it because it's an integral part of who I am. Like I don't have to put on a show of being femme to be female. I can be feminine by just being me. The terms I love are more old fashioned, and many years ago were terms of respect. I think hidden within them is the trace of respect and honor that they used to be endowed with. When I am called Lady, it's like the person who is using the term has a respect for me, has a love for me, and is giving me power in the knowledge that I have that old fashioned respect.
I also enjoy such words as bird, doll, doll face, darling, foxy lady, chica, etc.
Missus was just mentioned to me, which calls to me with the same feeling of love and respect that I was speaking of. I have a feeling this will become a new favorite of mine as well.
What are your favorite terms and why?
M:girl has a habit of calling me Miss. Not Miss Tabby or whatever, just Miss. I used to love it when I would wake up in the morning and the first thing I would hear is "Good morning, Miss." Therefore I've taken up that term and started passing it on.
I love being called Miss, Lady, Girl (as in "Hey, Girl, how are you?"), etc. I love the phrases "my Lady Friend" and "My Lady" (as in "my lady is coming over tonight"). I like the feeling of possession. Tegan Quin writes a lot about "you're not mine" and "you were all mine, I was yours right?" which really strikes a chord with me. She also tends to write from a more traditional pants side of the relationship when possession is involved, which I strongly identify with.
First:girl used to greet me with a teasing version of Tila Tequila's "Hey, Girl, hey!" which always made my day in such a strange way. I also have this odd love for when derogatory terms are thrown into ordinary conversation (such as a "Whatever, bitch, you know you love me," kind of retort). Of course, that was part of my relationship with first:girl and I would never use it in my relationship with m:girl because that's not how we work. She calls me miss, and I call her miss and my lady so bitch doesn't really fit in there.
I don't like the whole "baby, shorty, mami, honey bear," side of things. The poo-bear and pumpkin saccharine-sweet terms tend to get on my nerves very fast.
I think part of the reason that I love the terms I do, is that no matter how masculine I end up looking or acting, the constant reminders of my femininity are gratifying. I like that I can walk around dressed like a boy and M:girl will still call me miss. Like I can be female without having to act like it because it's an integral part of who I am. Like I don't have to put on a show of being femme to be female. I can be feminine by just being me. The terms I love are more old fashioned, and many years ago were terms of respect. I think hidden within them is the trace of respect and honor that they used to be endowed with. When I am called Lady, it's like the person who is using the term has a respect for me, has a love for me, and is giving me power in the knowledge that I have that old fashioned respect.
I also enjoy such words as bird, doll, doll face, darling, foxy lady, chica, etc.
Missus was just mentioned to me, which calls to me with the same feeling of love and respect that I was speaking of. I have a feeling this will become a new favorite of mine as well.
What are your favorite terms and why?
Dec 22, 2009
Ignoring/Holidays
So, every time I try to write about first:girl, I have a major block that won't allow me to write anything at all. Therefore, I just feel like I should not try to write about her for a while, until I can really get a handle on things.
I realized, through lesbo's comment, that I have never really talked about schooling before, which is kind of a big topic for me.
I am an alumni of a performing arts college, but have recently decided to give up that career path in favor of something else. I was never really a great singer/actor/dancer and I also rather enjoy watching other people perform instead of doing it myself.
That being said, I made the career switch to journalism. I would love to be a theater/art/dance/literature critic, as well as articles about society's positive/negative impact, gender studies, queer theory, etc. Anything I can write about, I want to write about. My major is Journalism, and I'm hoping to minor in gender studies or psychology. Or maybe something else I've never thought of! Let me know if you have a suggestion that I should look into!
In other news, the holidays are approaching quickly, and this is the first year that I've been single and aware that I'm a lesbian. I know that I don't do well with men. I don't trust them, I don't like to be sexual with them, and I don't really like to be in relationships with them.
However, I've had a few guys who were more than happy to chat me up and be suggestive with me this past week, and I have been so lonely that I honestly thought about making out with one of them. I haven't been physical with someone in so long that the thought of kissing anyone is somewhat appealing.
This, of course, has thrown me into a tizzy. Does it mean I'm not gay? Does it mean I'm bi, does it mean I'm straight, does it mean that relationships with men may now work out because I fantasized kissing one of them? Does it mean I still love girls but am lonely?Do I even care what label I am anymore? It won't make life any easier for me once I've found a label for myself. And who is really going to come up to me at a bar and ask me to identify myself before she'll chat with me?
I had this thought the other day that maybe I want to date girls because I was so in love with first:girl that I'm trying to find her clone. Then, of course, I remembered that I liked girls before she came along.
I think it's just hard to be lonely.
I realized, through lesbo's comment, that I have never really talked about schooling before, which is kind of a big topic for me.
I am an alumni of a performing arts college, but have recently decided to give up that career path in favor of something else. I was never really a great singer/actor/dancer and I also rather enjoy watching other people perform instead of doing it myself.
That being said, I made the career switch to journalism. I would love to be a theater/art/dance/literature critic, as well as articles about society's positive/negative impact, gender studies, queer theory, etc. Anything I can write about, I want to write about. My major is Journalism, and I'm hoping to minor in gender studies or psychology. Or maybe something else I've never thought of! Let me know if you have a suggestion that I should look into!
In other news, the holidays are approaching quickly, and this is the first year that I've been single and aware that I'm a lesbian. I know that I don't do well with men. I don't trust them, I don't like to be sexual with them, and I don't really like to be in relationships with them.
However, I've had a few guys who were more than happy to chat me up and be suggestive with me this past week, and I have been so lonely that I honestly thought about making out with one of them. I haven't been physical with someone in so long that the thought of kissing anyone is somewhat appealing.
This, of course, has thrown me into a tizzy. Does it mean I'm not gay? Does it mean I'm bi, does it mean I'm straight, does it mean that relationships with men may now work out because I fantasized kissing one of them? Does it mean I still love girls but am lonely?Do I even care what label I am anymore? It won't make life any easier for me once I've found a label for myself. And who is really going to come up to me at a bar and ask me to identify myself before she'll chat with me?
I had this thought the other day that maybe I want to date girls because I was so in love with first:girl that I'm trying to find her clone. Then, of course, I remembered that I liked girls before she came along.
I think it's just hard to be lonely.
Dec 20, 2009
PIP/Confused
PIP is Post in Progress, in my own personal language.
It's because I ran into first:girl last night, and it threw off my whole balance of being. I rushed home and scribbled out everything I was feeling and going through, but I don't want to, in haste, write something that I will regret. Maybe that particular post needs to wait until I can write about how first:girl and I met, how my relationship with her began.
I feel like if I write about her with how I feel right now, she'll be placed as the bad guy, but she's not at all, and I love her enough that I want you to view her from the good and bad. From the beginning. I just can't bring myself to go back to that point in time.
It's because I ran into first:girl last night, and it threw off my whole balance of being. I rushed home and scribbled out everything I was feeling and going through, but I don't want to, in haste, write something that I will regret. Maybe that particular post needs to wait until I can write about how first:girl and I met, how my relationship with her began.
I feel like if I write about her with how I feel right now, she'll be placed as the bad guy, but she's not at all, and I love her enough that I want you to view her from the good and bad. From the beginning. I just can't bring myself to go back to that point in time.
Dec 1, 2009
Fear/Confidence
Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?
I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.
Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?
Is one reason any better than the other?
I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.
I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.
I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.
Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.
I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.
But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.
I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.
Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?
Is one reason any better than the other?
I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.
I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.
I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.
Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.
I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.
But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.
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