My memory is, on a good day, unreliable.
On a bad day, it is achingly evocative, stunningly accurate, and capable of processing, it seems, every moment in my life in one breathtaking, eviscerating Technicolor swoop at the most inopportune moments.
And the trains-of-thought it pulls…well. Seemingly random and yet cripplingly logical, I can go from listening to a favorite song to having the rise and fall of an old school R&B jam shove me through a pane of crystalline recall to sitting in the schoolyard in High School, sneaking a Camel Light and pounding a Jolt Cola to being yanked forward 25 years and breathing ache, dizzy with sadness over the loss of a relationship to roiling back before the previous memory, even, wondering whatever happened to Spencer, the boy I had a terrible crush on who thought I was funny and great to hang out with but really only had eyes for my friend Alice to a brutal whiplash of recalling the last time I felt at peace sitting at the feet of someone whose whim was my will and who I desired only to serve.
And then the song is over and I’m left with the emotional loose-leggedness experienced when stepping from a moving walkway back onto ground that behaves itself without mild deceleration trauma at the dénouement.
And then? On a good day? I’ll do it again. Listen to that song, read that old blog post, pull apart stories of my own life and experience so that I can offer them as “Talking Points” and “teaching moments” when I teach or lecture on kink.
Some people think it is “brave” to share so much detail about myself, my life, my journey. Others push me away with ear-clasping eye-covering, mouth slapping three-monkey style shrieks of “TMI!!!” when I reveal the darker, sticker, messier stuff. Some people see me so bent by the prism of their own perception that the life they see me leading has several degrees of separation from the life I see myself leading.
And so it goes.
The turning toward spring cannot come fast enough for me. This winter was dark; not only in the wild imbalance between the nocturnal stretches and the brevity of daylight, but also in terms of emotional overcast. But the days are incrementally, slowly, lengthening back into warmth and light, and I am slowly thawing out as well.
Weeks of dismay, and pain, and frustration in the wake of some surprising, disappointing truths about the Leather community are finally coalescing into resolve. No small thanks to the friends who pulled together and the strangers who stepped up to the plate. As I get my bearings in the wake of feeling my foundations shift a bit, I realize that I have, slowly, quietly, gathered around me amazing people. That I have, somehow, stayed sober for almost six years. That I am, regardless of my scatterbrained recklessness, managing to make a life where I am doing what I want to do, and on my terms. Continue reading »