I used to belong deeply to myself.

I didn’t know that then, when I drowned myself in the pleasure of poems,

when I floated above The Floating Poem, 

and luxuriated in the silence.

Now i belong deeply to You.

i knew the first moment our fingers touched, made our shy laughter mingle, and we luxuriated in the quiet together.

You made poems dance through me, as familiar as my heartbeat, even the forgotten ones.

What kind of a world have I made for myself when no one around me likes the word love?

I live in a world where I belong to You, deeply, and that is so much more than enough.  




I always thought it was a matter of dark humor that my grandmother, one of the most not content people I knew, spent twenty-five years living on Contentment Avenue.  

Perhaps that cemented the idea in my child-brain that contentment wasn’t a good thing, or at the least, wasn’t something you seek.  My mother, brother and I were wild-children, gypsies, my Grandmother said, and we reveled in it.  

Contentment is actually pretty damn important.  Life that is normal shouldn’t be about constant ups and downs.  Finding the contentment goes hand in hand with being mindful.  

Last night, in our sleep, Sir Raven grabbed my hand and shoved in under the weight of her body.  Apparently satisfied that i couldn’t move, she let herself fall into a deeper sleep.  Then, she woke back up just to tuck me in gently.  I kept waking up smiling.  This morning, when I was given permission to speak via her asking me how I slept, I just grinned and told her she was the best part of my night.  I thanked her for tucking me in.  

I’ve had several nights of bad sleep and it is catching up with me in a big way.  My ear is hurting and I’m just feeling a little small.  Sleepy.  I’m thinking of taking a nap after I go out for some groceries.  Right now, that seems like some kind of huge feat because the coordination is lacking and I’m moving in slow motion.  

I’m still content though.  🙂

I have my soft blanket and stuffed animals and a cozy place to nap.  She certainly won’t mind a bit, even though I tend to point it out.  Especially with the new medicine, Sir Raven knows that it helps me to rest.  She made a special bath for me, which I took this morning after she went to work, and I think that is encouraging me to rest and heal as well.  The fall here is so stunning that I don’t want to miss a minute of it.  The sky is so blue and the weather is perfect, in the mid 70s.  In my head, I want to run around all day but I need to be content with what I can do.

In school news, my group got a really bad grade.  Obediently, i sent the email to Sir Raven but i was cringing a little.  Hopefully, she looks at that it was a group grade which doesn’t help a lot because that is about 80% of this course’s final grade.  My personal grades were all perfect scores but ouch at this last week of grades.  I need to be writing and sending out a paper and will have to figure that out by tonight.  Boo! 


micro what?

I made a pot of chili last night, with black beans and corn.  It turned out pretty good except i forgot the corn bread.  Yeah.  Sir Raven said, in her most imperious and disapproving tone, that she is going to start micromanaging me if i can’t manage to remember things like cornbread.  Or, you know, sugar.  

I’m not actually trying to drive her crazy.  Really.  My interest in being micromanaged is about equal to her interest in doing it: zero.  She pointed out three or four times that she really wanted to use her strap for not having sugar for her coffee, so apparently her interest in that exceeds my own.  Sir Raven doesn’t make a bunch of threats, and she doesn’t make idle ones.  

Here, all roads lead to control.  It is an out of control thing for me to forget what is expected.  

If it wasn’t for her being in control, I would have never considered trying the cymbalta for the fibromyalgia.  The side-effects seem to be calming down a lot, which is great.  Overall, it was worth trying and I’m proud that I did that for her.  I would have just been too afraid to try it alone, even if it had been given to me free.  A lot of the medical emergency side-effects are things that are normal for me to experience (fevers, muscle aches) and it was imperative that I be able to trust her appraisal of how I was doing.  It is making a difference though I’m going through some tremendous exhaustion right now.  Since the other side-effects have calmed in less than two weeks, I figure that one will level out too.  

I value her control over my life.  She controls what I drink, what I wear, to a large extent where I go, what order I do things in, how much time I spend working, how I take care of myself, and my health care.  It is a lot of work for her, but she tells me that it is worth it because the pay-off is having the control she needs.  It is work for me too, but also worth it, because her control makes me feel safe and cared for.  

Today, and every day, I am thankful for her control.  ❤



i am deeply thankful that this weekend went well.  Our MAsT chapter went on a field trip!  We are really blessed to have such opportunities in NYC and that people who don’t live in or near Manhattan have ways to find support.  

We had to get up really early because no matter how hard i try, i’m slow.  It makes me feel bad for Sir Raven, especially when she greets everyone with an announcement of how slow i am and how early we had to leave home to make it to the halfway point.  😦

i have taken to pointing out that if i must hear how slow i am, despite my best efforts, that i might as well wear heels from time to time.  At least, that way, we would be getting something attractive out of it.  Maybe it is my attempt to appeal to the Man in her, or my way of making myself not feel so different from other women.  It would be nice sometimes.  My white cane gets stuck all over the place and it can be annoying to try and navigate large crowds for me, especially when all i can figure out for sure is that there is movement coming near me.  My instinct is to get out of the way to protect my body from being jostled.  Sir Raven has worked with me to just push through, and has no issue getting people’s attention to move when they stop to text or whatever right in front of me.

We had a really nice last weekend, exchanging knowing glances and grabbing each other’s hands to avoid making each other laugh out loud at the presentation.  She put her arm around my shoulder and hugged me, and i felt forgiven for my inability to keep up with her long stride.  She’d say that i don’t need to apologize, even though i do, it’s frustrating for both of us.  i do appreciate Sir Raven does all she can to make me comfortable, buying juice and making sure i took the new medicine on time, helping me get to the bathroom in strange places, and holding my ticket for the train.   Honestly, i also appreciate that she eventually forgave me for letting her run out of sugar for her coffee.  i had been told to stay inside and work on my homework and reading because i was going to have no chance to work all day Sunday, when everything is due.  

Hearing the warning tone in her voice that morning, it seemed like a bad idea to bring this up, and i just backed slowly out of the bedroom.  Actually, i had thought that i had sugar in the frig, but it turned out that was brown.  0.0  

Sir Raven wouldn’t have minded me making a quick trip to grab sugar for her coffee, most likely, but she is used to the house having whatever she needs in it.  The new meds have wreaked havoc with that last week, as i was dizzy and unable to do much the first several days.  She planned out going for for several meals with friends alone, and i didn’t want a house full of food that wouldn’t get eaten.  So, i have been slower and less efficient the early part of the week.  It has gotten much better though.  

i suppose one day i’ll be slowly wheeling her into a mass of strangers when she is old.  Heh.  So she has that to look forward to.  

The school week is going badly.  i’m really frustrated by the lack of human decency and by finding out just now that we have a twenty page group project due in about two weeks.  😦

Two of the group members have done exactly nothing.  

The group is working on same-sex marriage as a human right, only because i was outvoted by just making marriage a human right for all consenting adults.  The other lesbian in the group said it “wasn’t about sexuality” and ignored my point that bisexual people are forced to continue to choose who they would marry, even if they have a choice to marry the same-sex partner.  Then, people said that poly was cheating and making it “legal to cheat.”  (What?!)  I said that people who are inclined to cheat will do that, and always have, regardless of the law.  Good grief.

At this point, it has becoming an exhausting effort to get anything done and i hate group work anyhow.

Sir Raven had asked me to do some research for her, which is why i proposed this topic to begin with.  I’m trying to focus on that and not so much on how annoying and tedious the group is being.  One person is intent on injecting religion into it, even though I have said that I think each house of worship has the right to decide if they want to perform non heterosexual marriage.  That has nothing at all to do with legal rights.  If Atheists can legally marry and enjoy some 1.300 legal rights, why in the world do we have to debate this point?  😛

By the time Sir Raven got home from work last night, I was delighted to settle back with her and watch parts of “The Voice” and forget about the frustrations of the day.  Oh, her other suit came in.  You know how has the world’s most handsome Master?  Me!  That’s who.  😀



Sir Raven said to me that love was like the sunshine, that it’s nice to have, but not needed.

i looked at her blankly.

The sunshine is needed, for every living thing.  Without it, we die.

i tend to use the word love to indicate an emotional attachment beyond description in the English language.  🙂  

The sun is shining again and it’s warmth is the best thing i’ve ever known.

The sun had disappeared here, for months, making me wonder why i always loose the color yellow.  It was my nephew’s favorite color and the color i have to be reminded to add now, when Sir Raven is fixing my paintings.  It took a long time for me to feel the sunshine again after losing the boys.  Here, i can’t let myself go numb, sink down into the color grey and not care about yellow warmth or touch or love.  

It seems unfair, in the sense that i’d be taking my emotions back wholesale.  And that means taking control away, because if i can’t feel, i can’t be controlled.  Not really.  It is literally only because i’m her slave that i could not protect myself through taking my emotions back, deciding i don’t care anymore if she is here or not, even when we are in the same room, the same bed.  Had i not been her slave, i would have never kept feeling through the exquisite pain.  i know myself though, and once i cross that line into not feeling, its very hard to come back.  i was close, so damned close, for what felt like an eternity.  What i cared more about though, was being intact when she came back to me emotionally and not diminishing her ability to control me, which never left.

So, i kept reaching out.  Getting pushed away.  Putting it aside for five or six weeks.  Begging again to understand, at least, why things were different.  

i started second and third guessing myself.  Waking up at night for hours, too hot and too cold and scared.  But even in her sleep, she would move my hand away.  

It hurt.  i can’t pretend it didn’t.  

My heart felt torn.  i felt adrift.

You know what i never doubted?

That she would continue to control me.  Because that happened, no matter what.  That mattered, no matter what.

This last week, she started reaching out to me again and from somewhere deep inside, i found the grace to let her.  Yes, i said let her.  Because the anger and the hurt and the desire to turn myself numb was bigger than anything else.  Bigger than me.  There was an awful, angry, hurt child inside that wanted her to see what she had reduced me to, had made me feel.  But, of course, that wouldn’t have solved anything at all.  You can’t ever make someone know anything, especially how it feels to be you.

And so i reached back and soaked in her warmth.  i reached with every damn thing inside of me.  i held on with everything i’ve got to keep feeling, to let her feel me, to remember that, remember how good we feel together and hope that it mattered to her too.

i can’t say that it does or doesn’t.

What i can say is she is present again, her laughter fills the rooms again, i can feel her warmth.  

i know she doesn’t like the word love and we are never going to be something Hallmark has a section for.  That is good, it is as it should be.  

i signed up though, to be her slave, and that includes my emotions.

i signed up to be hers, and that includes my little girl inside, who needs to remember to paint with yellow and dance in the sunlight.

i signed up to give her everything, and to be her strength too, and i can’t do that by myself.

We are reaching out.

i can feel her everywhere again.

Today, when i struggled, she sent me a text at the same time.  We are connected again.  And it is glorious.  


i went to a new doctor for pain management and the first thing the woman says to me was that she doesn’t believe in proscribing pain pills.  


So, after pointing out several times that i am NOT depressed, i accepted her script of Cymbalta.  It’s an accepted drug for fibromyalgia, supposed to block the brains attempt at screaming out that it’s in pain.  Cymbalta was originally made for depression.

i took my first dose yesterday and spent hours rushing to the bathroom with cramps.  Dryly, i noted that the establishment is still ritually disemboweling people with supposed mental problems.  It just now comes in a pill form.  Heh.

It makes me feel slightly fuzzy, which i’m told will wear off.

The Marine came over last week, and i don’t know what the hell happened, but i went back into the bedroom alone and started crying.  It’s just been way too much on me for too long.  

She hadn’t been feeling too well, and i get that, but i was quite prepared to just pretend that it wasn’t happening.  The crying stuff or the reasons why.  She kept persisting, asking what was wrong, though she knows the answers.  

Then she put her shoes on, said she couldn’t deal, and left.

Let me say, that i would have been fine to be left alone.  Also, i get that people are not always prepared to sit with you in pain.  The only thing that i ask is that if you are my friend, do not insist on talking and then leave like that.  You know, evaluate your ability to deal *first.*  i can respect that.  Really.  

What i can’t deal with is the game women play, “oh, tell me, just tell me, just talk to me” and then don’t deal.   It’s not cool.  

You know what else isn’t cool?

Not checking back in at all, in any format, for days.

She texted Sir Raven, to see if i wanted help carrying the laundry down to the laundry mat.  i appreciated the help, it was at least an extra load than usual.  She never asked me if i wanted help or how i was.  

You know what she was interested in?

Telling me that i was using the wrong amount of Tide.  She swore that the line labelled “one, two, and three” is indicating a one load washing machine, a two load washing machine, or a triple-loader.

Actually, that is bullshit.  Read the Tide label.  It’s for small, medium, and large loads.  You know how i know this?  My “nice” ex was a micromanager who read the label on everything, carefully marking each line with a different colored sharpie.  

i told her that i thought the amount was for small, medium, and large loads only to have her tell me i went over the third line.  Finally, i calmly held up my blue finger, to show her that i could feel the line on the top and that is how i measure.

i don’t even bother to point out how many years i’ve been doing laundry or how small it makes me feel to have her insist i’m doing something wrong.  In particular, when i figure she ought to spend her time thinking about her own ability to handle shit and not mine.

She has contributed to stress in my life, both directly and indirectly.  In ways big and small.  It’s a small thing, to talk at length to me about laundry detergent.  The message, though, isn’t a small thing because i can’t seem to do much of anything without her comment about how i’m doing it wrong.  Or fixing to do it wrong.  Or might be thinking about doing it wrong.

When i told her about the pain doctor in an email, her automatic response was to tell me she understood because she has known other people to get screwed.  What i wanted to tell her was, “Look, don’t.  You don’t know how this feels.  You cannot even imagine accurately.  Don’t tell me you understand something you can’t understand.  Ask me what i need, what i want.”

i think that is a lot of the problem with her.

People don’t bother to ask people with disabilities what communicates support, love, help, care to them.  They just go about doing whatever it is they think is okay and never even consider that the person might need something else.  

i reach a point with people where i think, if this is for me, then ask me and listen to the answer.  

Let’s face it, otherwise it is NOT for me.  It’s for you.  And that is fine, but let’s be honest about what is going on.

Maybe because of being disabled, i ask people what they need, what they want, how to help, how to show support.  

Maybe a gift of being disabled is you learn how to sit with pain, yours and the other people you love.  Because that is the best damn gift in the world, for a person to really and truly sit with you and let you feel.  It takes courage.  It takes someone who is capable of being vulnerable with their own shit.  It’s brave and kind and good to just hold sacred space, safe space, for another human being.    

i don’t want to feel like someone is trying to fix me all of the time.

She isn’t aggressive like that with Sir Raven, and if she was, it wouldn’t be appreciated. No matter what i say, there is a rebuttal.  Today, they were talking about Unions, and all i said was that it seemed ignorant to single out domestic partnerships to question about health benefits when DP is open to straight people as well.

She says, curtly, “Actually, I wasn’t talking about that.  I was saying………..” and it goes into a few long stories.  All i say is, “oh” and manage a polite smile before i wander back inside to check the dryers.  

So, tonight, she sends a horse shit email:  Am i okay or faking it better?

i think it makes sense why i don’t want to bother to be around her sometimes, especially since that means she will spend the night, and i get to spend a largely sleepless night in bed without Sir Raven.  Why would i want to keep dealing right now?  It’s a whole damn push-pull thing when i’m trying to gain my own sense of balance.

It’s like she left me to deal with all manner of stuff on my own and then questions me constantly.  You don’t get to do both to me.  i don’t work well that way.  

There are practical things she does that have helped, and i acknowledge those things repeatedly.  The rest?  It’s hard to swallow right now. i’m finally thinking that i need to focus on me, and that my priority is finding balance in my relationship.  

i’m trying to deal though so i can be kind and calm tomorrow.  



The storm of life seems to be calming a bit.

If you ever lived by the sea, you can feel the change in the air before a storm, the tension in the wind.  And after, the sea is full of debris and the scent is something amazing and warm.  The smell of another day, another chance.

That is where i think i am right now, aware of the debris, not sure how far to wade in, but smiling because i can feel the sunshine again.

Her laughter is likes the sun’s warmth.  Every touch warms me, soothes me.  

She’s been trying to reconnect with me.  i’ve been working just as hard to let her and embrace it, not ruin it with the pain and fear i had been living in.  

Slowly, it is starting to feel like us again.  i wonder if she missed me, if she can sense the change for the better, if it matters.  

It must because she is reaching out and i am reaching back.

She is off to a union meeting tonight, one i wish she could have missed, because she wanted to stay home and play instead.

i would have welcomed it tonight.  The last few times have touched the surface of rage in me, ended with sobbing, which is what i needed and likely what we both needed.  i think i might have moved past the child’s rage (How could you stop loving me, Daddy?) and into something more forgiving of myself.  It’s me i needed to forgive more than anything else.

For forgetting who i am, who i always was, that i’m enough, exactly as i am, and that i will survive.

There is healing work yet to do and it will take time.

Tonight, i got a frantic email from a student at my university who is shocked to find out her husband is divorcing her.  That is what happens when you stop reaching out for each other, when you stop asking if the other person is okay and caring about the answer often enough.  The other day, i had the television on for some background noise while i was writing a research paper.  i kept noticing the word “distant” in different female voices and when i took a break, i realized a marathon of “Unfaithful” had been on OWN.  All the same story: we were close, he got distant.  Some made it back to each other.  Some didn’t.  Therapists interjected all kinds of ideas about why but it boiled down to not turning to each other.

It helped calm me.  It did.  Because if it took me falling apart a few times, showing i was vulnerable and scared, and that i need her then it was worth it.  It is the truth- I need her.  i cannot afford to feel a sense of shame about that fact or of showing it.  

i’ve lived my life never needing anyone until Her.  i was hell-bent, in fact, on making sure i never needed anyone for anything.  That was foolish but i was protecting my vulnerable parts, praying i could keep parts of me safe and whole and ready.  When we found each other, i have walked in faith every single step, something she forgot.  

The best parts of me are those things that are valued because i’m a slave.  If i have a strength in this, other than my dedication, it is in being vulnerable and being able to sit in that space, even when it hurts.