September 21st - last day of summer.

Feeling a bit down right now.. maybe it's because it's the last day of summer.  Likely it's my over sensitivity.. I find when I talk with Ty often lately, I get triggered by stuff.. need to sort it out, realize it may take time.. going to talk more about it later in this entry.   Got two new wigs yesterday... exactly the same style, long straight with bangs, one blonde one black.  I wore them both on cam today with my wig benefactor.. the NY paramour. <smile>  Who I had odd and sweet dreams of this morning before waking up, and sure enough, I was wearing my new black wig in the dream.. dreams are so odd and interesting.  I like that these wigs are long enough to braid.. I felt like Heidi with my blonde braids in...

NY was teasing me today about my preening and posing in front of the camera... and I was trying to explain, how.. removed somehow that is from me.. I mean, it's a very real expression of me, but more as a creative process than anything else.  When I play on the cam, pose and watch my own image, and manipulate that image.. I feel like the wigs, the lingerie, the light and shadows and colors from the camera, the makeup.. they are all like paint on a palette.  I don't sit there and go 'oh! look how pretty I am!'.. It's like I'm composing an image in front of me, and I'm thinking... the lips just a little redder, the contrast just a little higher, and If I tilt my head.. then there will be flow.. I need to breakup the line here, I don't like the heaviness of the curtain there.  

I feel like the elements around me are as interesting an important as the parts of myself are.. just part of the overall composition.. a composition that I want to use to create excitement and interest, arousal.. but I approach it very very much from a creative standpoint, and in that process often lose sight of the fact that the media I'm primarily manipulating is usually my own face/body.  Then sometimes I'll go 'oh! that's pretty, I like that..'  but I don't feel like it's 'me' that's pretty, just that the composition has come together right.. to make a pretty image.  Not that I don't think I'm pretty, I think parts of myself are attractive, I also think parts of myself are not.  

Both visually, physically, and also mentally emotionally.. we have parts of ourselves we feel better about, and parts we feel less good about... There are parts of me I don't like.  Parts of me that I fear, parts of me that I hide.. parts of me that I am ashamed of.  Those are the parts that don't get shared, they get tucked away.  Edited out, pushed behind the face that's pushed forwards.

Do people want to see those parts?.. I don't know, sometimes I think they do...  Possibly because they relate to some of those things themselves, and the parts that they can't relate too.. they can be entertained by in that freakish way...   Sometimes they see those elements I dislike with different eyes.. sometimes they like the parts of me I don't.. or sometimes they find them even more offensive than I do.   Hard to know what I want from people when confronted with those parts of me.. do I want them to accept them, or do I want them to validate my own feelings that this part of me in a less worthy part.. un-attractive part of me. 

I have centipedes under my skin

Enormous shiny black perfections
of overlapping scales

armored warriors like polished glass
flexible and sinuous to the extreme

thousands of legs

for caresses of a kind that most shirk

The dark stark ugly hatred I feel for myself
occasionally turned outwards in a razor sharp pince

Perhaps there are only one or two left there now
I've crunched many underfoot as I've shed some insecurities
yet that violence perhaps has made the few that remain larger

Exotic, dark, hard
I try to shy from them

but I can't escape them

underneath the foliage of my being

I wonder at it
whether I would truly be happier
all butterflies in the belly instead

something fragile and innocent

I can't shed them
these carapaced beasts

they may lurk there forever
 and why not...

they are only natural.

Okay.. back from old poetry and into journaling again.  My darkened mood, and being triggered by Ty... What's that about.  Likely 'Mother' stuff mostly, as much as I love my mother, she's a dangerous woman to me, in my mind she's like a viper.  She's beautiful, and embraces me often in her protective coils.. but I feel she does so most often so that she can share the warmth from my body, and unpredictably, she will turn and strike and bite deep without much warning.  My relationships with women have always been shaky, and unbalanced.  I have developed relationships most often with women that mirror some of the elements of my relationship with my mother.  I usually develop strong deep devotional love for the women I've been close to, from my first childhood girlfriend on.  A special kind of love, I've always had for the women that have come into my life.. it's like a love for archetypal mother/female/goddess thing.  An absolute love, and filled with a certain kind of awe on my part.  In most of my relationships with women I find myself reaching out and wanting to give and to give, and usually meeting distance, cold, sometimes rejection, other times a combination of embrace and then that viper strike.  Then I find myself often guarded, cautious.  Women usually hurt me, and I've been hurt far more often and deepest by the women in my life.  I find it easier to trust men.    Now I'm crying... I know this is bringing up my biggest issues.. writing about this.   It comes back to that basic infant longing for connection with the person who seems to be the biggest and most wonderful and important person in the world.  My inner image of that person, of my mother is of them then turning and walking away from me, or striking me.. or both.  Not that my mother was always a horrible person, or even a violent person.. my mother was usually very subtly aggressive.  When I look at Ty, I see a much stronger, and much more whole person than I feel my mother is.. yet, there are familiar elements there.  My mother always describes herself as a very private person.. and I've always known that to mean.. with the pain in her eyes, and the walls there.. that there were things inside, she couldn't and wouldn't share.  I always felt it was those things, that she held onto... horrible beliefs about herself, about the world.. that would fuel the parts of her that she would wound others with.. wound them and at the same time herself.. likely herself most.   I don't know what would hurt me more when my mother would strike at me with cruel words.. the pain I felt from the blow, or the pain I could see in her, this woman I so loved, and I couldn't understand, why, why she would hurt herself and me like that. 

Right now, the strongest image I have of Ty.. out of all the moments I've shared with her.. is the tightly contained hurt and anger in her body as I watch her back as she walked down the block, away.   Not a moment of passion, not a kiss, not all the moments that I'd want to stand out the strongest.  Just this stark and silent re-enactment of so many moments in my life.  My fear brings me back to the one moment where I felt most vulnerable and most afraid.  No one else in the world mattered in that moment... because I thought here I am again.. in a relationship with a woman I know is going to hurt me like this again... how often, why... why, why are you hurting yourself like that?  Why are you walking away? I know it's not about me, not mostly about me, like with my mother.. it wasn't really about me.  Does it make it easier.. better.  No.  Actually it's easier when it's about me, be angry at me, about me, have it make sense... better yet let me be a part of it, have some control in it.. have it be part of sex, slap me, yes.. I can handle that, make sense of that.  Some safe arena where we can play with it, and make it ours.  But I can't make sense of it when it's some private pain, some fear about abandonment and personal childhood pain lashed out at self and the world.  

Feel so left out, of what is happening inside.  Always women who won't let me in.  and how much I love them.. like nothing else...  That love, like absolutely nothing else.   Do you have any idea how powerful it is.  Wanting that connection, with another woman, and now this woman, and feeling still... that maybe it doesn't exist.. that deep safe place inside another woman that I might be allowed to share in it.  And she hates my fear.. I know it, angry at me and at herself likely, for me being intimidated by her... so what do I do then.  

what do I do.  That's where so many of my dark feelings about myself come from, my feelings of inadequacy.. that I can't make it right, that I can't not hold myself responsible.. something in me, inherently responsible, unlovable.. deserving.  Perpetuating.

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