To the Ones I’ve Loved before (P 4.5)

This post begins me finally beginning to get a liiiiiiitle nsfw! Now I feel like I’ve broken the seal on it and can start writing more about what I really want to!

All I knew at the beginning was that he took a hard stance against his girlfriend hooking up with anybody else. She definitely wasn’t allowed, no way, no how. Don’t look at any other girls, don’t think about any other girls, don’t think about looking at any other girls.

Until, he began to bend his rules on that. Let’s call them Anna and Luke. Anna was (still is) one of my best friends and had been since we were 12 years old. I would spend every day over those middle school summers at her house, both in her basement watching movies and in her pool getting burnt. We would fling ourselves from the pool and lay on the deck to dry off as to not face the wrath of her mother, lest we drip any water in her pristine dining room.

Luke’s upbringing was a stark contrast. His mother is loving and kind and wants only what’s best for everybody who comes into that house. She greets everybody who enters with the same love and joy and acceptance and invites you to make yourself at home. When Anna started dating Luke she spent so much time there and I admit I grew jealous. I knew that Anna and I could never have the fun, no strings attached, relationship we had shared in high school but I was so starved for acceptance and intimacy I spent all my days hoping for it anyway.

Until Easter 2013, I had resigned myself to this. But that day something happened that it turns out would change everything. Anna had invited me over to Luke’s, where she would be spending the night, to drink and watch Netflix and just engage in general debauchery. The three of us piled onto Luke’s bed in a tangle and legs and clinked bottle after bottle of Smirnoff Ice together and wasted several hours drinking and getting progressively closer and closer.

Then Luke started talking. He started asking Anna if she thought I looked pretty, and if she ever thought about kissing me. I was so drunk at this point that I hardly even realized that he was talking about me, even though my head was in Anna’s lap and Luke’s hands were running up and down my legs. I had just finally escaped from a three month long manipulative and abusive pseudo-relationship and the gentle affection was intoxicating. I hardly remember how the rest happened. Anna’s face was so close to mine and Luke had one hand wrapped in my hair and the other hand in hers. Anna whispered at the last second, “Is this okay? You can say no if you want to.” I shook my head and Luke pushed her down to meet my lips. He made a low guttural “hmm” noise as he watched us.

The rest is a real and true blur. My shirt was pulled down, and then it was pulled off. Lips were on my neck, then they weren’t, then they were different lips. Anna and I were lying on the bed, and then Luke and I were lying on the bed. Even though we were all moving together every time Luke kissed me or focused on me I felt wrong. I felt like I was betraying Anna by lying there with her boyfriend. Then Anna undid the button on my jeans and I froze. I don’t know if what happened I consider a flashback, but suddenly I had the feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong. I had fresh cuts on my legs that hadn’t quite healed yet and the trauma of the last few months flooding my vision. So I started crying, and everything stopped.

Intoxicated consent issues aside, everything stopped when I said the word. Luke jumped up and put his clothes on to get me a glass of water and Anna rubbed my back until my breathing returned to normal. Luke came back and took his spot back on the bed where his hand joined Anna’s on my back. After a bit Anna got up to get dressed and Luke pulled me into his lap like a child. He rocked me and shushed me and kept repeating over and over again “This is a safe place for you Katie, you’re safe here.” He had no idea how badly I needed to hear that.

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To the ones I’ve loved before (P.4)

I’ll always have a special place in my heart for the girl who turned me gay. Now of course I’m being hyperbolic and nobody can actually turn anybody else gay, gay isn’t a choice blah blah blah. But there’s definitely something to be said for that one friend you have who is totally down to platonically make out.

In my case I knew exactly what was going to happen. We were 16 and I had been thinking about kissing a girl, and more, pretty much constantly for a couple of years now. It was the main subject of all my teenage fantasies and more often than not the one thing that sent me right over the edge. I wasn’t sure that she would be the one who would also be good for it, but I guess something in me hoped it would be true. I’ve already written a bit about how this all went down (ha..) but I’ve tried not to think too much about what happened after.

The summer after high school ended we both found ourselves heartbrokenly single, her more so than me. I was pretty readily admitting I was into girls but she only was to me. And I was crushing hard. I was catching more feelings than I knew what to do with, tossing them back at her only to have her look confused when they landed at her feet.  She would tell me about the girl she had a crush on and all the cuddles she was getting from this girl and I wept. Admitting my feelings to her in a late night facebook chat with my favorite razor blade sitting next to me ended up being the thing that caused us not to speak for several months.  She told me she loved me, but wasn’t ready for that. That night was full of relapses for me. I had a feeling she thought we were all fun and games, but she was just scared.

Three months later I stumbled drunk into my dorm bathroom with my phone.  I had been losing all my problems in a cup of vanilla vodka and diet coke and I sent one text “Don’t you miss me at all?” The reply hurt and relieved me;

“More than you know”

That was it, she was back, best friends again.

Over the next few years physical entanglements came and went. I became involved with her and her boyfriend for a time and learned that I could easily be kept by another couple and feel fulfilled in that. I learned that the “third” was my favorite way to participate in a threesome. I learned that I was better at oral sex than her boyfriend (a sexual compliment I still hold as my proudest). I also learned how to love her again, but the right way. I learned that we were nearly the same kind of submissive, and therefore in my head, would never have worked as a monogamous couple without a dom to keep us in line. She’s an enabler. She took me to buy my first pack of cigarettes, she took me to my first pride event and my first sex toy shop, and to get my first tattoo.

This will be a short one; I’m finding it more difficult to write about her than I thought it was going to be. I’ve been through more with her than with any of my other friends and it shows. I am fiercely protective of her and her emotions and her heart. I feel that I know what she deserves and when she deserves better. I’ve made myself an enemy in her current girlfriend because of our history, and my disregard for pretty much all shame. Somehow we come out of every conflict stronger. We fall in and out of each others personal circles and remain close through it all. She’ll be in my life forever and I’ll be in hers. I thank her, and appreciate everything she’s done for me for me in helping me accept and celebrate myself. She’s one who is always on my side, unfalteringly. She’ll never play devil’s advocate with me, she’ll just be there for me. She’s true and good, and flawed and sad and a perfect friend for me in a lot of ways. We never thought about the consequences of those silly breathless nights in her basement all those years ago but I’ll never regret them, or think back on them with nothing but chuckles and blushes. Here’s to the platonic make out friend, they really are the best.

A Playlist for You

*I will coincide these with my “To the ones I’ve loved before” series <3*

A Playlist for You 

  1. Bad Things by Machine Gun Kelly feat. Camilla Cabello
  2. Liability by Lorde
  3. Breathe Again by Sara Bareilles
  4. She Used to be Mine by Sara Bareilles
  5. Strangers by Halsey feat. Lauren Jauregei
  6. Shape of you by Ed Sheeran
  7. Chains by The Sweeplings (Nick Jonas cover)
  8. Good to You by Marianas Trench
  9. BLUE by Troye Sivan feat. Alex Hope
  10. Talking Body by Tove Lo

The Collapse of the “Jesus kid”

Brace yourself for some cringeeeeeeeey pics of teenage Katie in this post!

The summer of 2008 I went on my first Catholic mission trip. It was 100% not my idea and in fact I had no idea what I was getting into when my dad announced to me that I would be going. I had grown up going to Catholic elementary school but then when we moved out of town I had to start going to public school and my chance at salvation suffered. In order to make up for my descent into public school sin my parents had me go to CCD and weekly mass. I also participated in youth choir and Vacation Bible School in the summers.

I was good, I was a good girl. I was everything I was supposed to be and did everything I was supposed to do. I didn’t really love growing up this way or being signed up for all of this against my will. But I enjoyed doing what I was told and what I was supposed to be doing (my budding service kink, I was a perv even then). Then these mission trips came around. According to my mom he was trying to find a way to connect to me, through God, I guess. In a way it worked, but of course backfired.

This was how these mission trips worked: For a week in the summer I, and my group of fairly like minded peers would travel to somewhere along the Eastern seaboard and offer our free labor to those in need, for the glory of God. I believe, technically, we were supposed to be spreading the message at the same time. To be quite honest, I objected to very little of this. I didn’t want to spend a week out of my precious summer doing manual labor, but that part often ended up being the easiest. I would spend the next five years babysitting children of convicts and recovering addicts, I would paint a house for an elderly woman, I would organize a thrift store, and take a group of mentally disabled adults bowling and out for ice cream. I would go on to meet some of the best people I had ever met, people I’m still in contact with to this day.

I would also question nearly everything I knew. I would question everything I was. I would meet a girl whose scars looked just like mine and who didn’t care who saw them. I would meet a girl with an eating disorder I envied, but who at the same time kept me from going down a path I could have. I would crush hard on a boy who went onto marry a leggy blonde not many years later, and I would finally voice my bisexuality in a late night prayer circle with my best friend.

I spent those weeks in Maryland (twice), Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and South Carolina. Everywhere I went I learned something else about myself, my friends, and even my dad. He wanted to connect, but he would spend the week pretending he didn’t know me and only periodically checking in on me once or twice. Everybody I met there would be shocked when I mentioned that I was there with my dad, having never seen me with him. We didn’t have any groundbreaking moments, or moments of clarity where he would breakdown and tell me that he had always loved me and accepted me and wanted me to know it. We still haven’t even gotten any of that, nearly 10 years after that first trip to Maryland.

By the time my last trip rolled around I had been in college for a year, had realized I wasn’t straight, and had pretty much denounced everything I thought I knew from these trips. For the four years previous these trips had been a chance to center my holiness. I came back from these weeks so ready to live my life the way Jesus intended. I wasn’t going to drink, I wasn’t going to smoke, I wasn’t going to curse (anymore), I had a promise ring firmly placed on the ring finger of my left hand. I was so ready for God to fill my whole heart and make me his.

Then I would go back to school and the months would go by and most of that would fade away. I would fall back into all my old habits and realize that maybe my bad habits weren’t that bad after all. That maybe my fluctuating sexuality wasn’t going to damn me straight to hell, maybe it would actually lead me into the relationships that would feel the most perfect and right for me. According to facebook it’s been five years since the last year I went on one of these trips. I decided to step back when I felt that my own personal identities were being attacked by being a part of this. Around that time I also started pulling away from religion in general. I stopped going to church with my dad when I was home, and eventually he stopped going too. I lost a lot of my sense of community by abandoning religion, and I lost a lot of people who had become my friends. I lost the right to go to my church’s youth center and sit in the office and just chat with people who ran CCD, and I lost the right to go and sing at the youth masses. That was something that hurt the most. Youth masses were the only time where I felt my voice was heard, where I sang along and felt good about how I sounded and felt that people knew it was me.

Since then I’ve found different communities. I’ve kept friends from those years and we’ve all grown up and changed and become much different and better people. I come across pictures like these all the time and try to remember the kind of person I was back then. I try to remember how I could deny huge parts of myself and huge parts of my loved ones in order to keep a faith in religion. I try to remember what it finally took to shake me out of it and make me see that these people were not my friends. The same people who would condemn me to hell, and turn me away were the ones who at one time, embraced me.

 

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Oooh an artsy picture of candles with a low shutter speed ooooh

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On “90s pop” night they set the high hat on fire, because why not.

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Hershey Park, on Mission trip “free day”, rocking that hat

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My selfie face didn’t change very much but at least I discovered contacts!

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This remains one of my favorite pictures of myself, with or without the fake nerd glasses.  Soon after this was taken I would be told that gay people had an illness, that it was proven that they were sick.  I would leave and never look back.

I make a case for a lonely day

My girlfriend and I have been living together for almost 3 months now. On the whole it’s been going super well. We argue a little and bicker a ton but that isn’t really any different than how we were before I lived here. We’ve recently moved my cat down and now it feels like I’m officially back home. I can snuggle with my favorite boy and my favorite girl at the same time and feel perfectly at home with that.

But sometimes I don’t. I just started a second job and with that go, probably, my precious days off during the week. Those days off often coincide with my girlfriend’s usual days off which means we get to spend those days together. Which is awesome! Most couples are in no way this lucky and I consider myself super fortunate in that I get to live with and also spend this time with the person I love.  It gives us time to do errands or go do fun things or just hang around and watch Law and Order.

But sometimes I need something different. Sometimes I need an entire day of not talking to anybody and not working and not interacting and not doing anything at all. Sometimes I need a whole day to just sit here at my laptop with a coffee and my back up straight and my headphones on. Sometimes I need a recharge day, a quiet day all for myself.

So that was supposed to be today. Today is Wednesday, my only day off where I can something like this until Sunday. Even Sunday I have a bridal shower to go to, which will no doubt prove to be exhausting and draining in and of itself.

So today is all for me. Unfortunately it’s also my girlfriend’s day off, which means I’m giving up quite a bit of a day spent with her in order to get my “recharge day”. I’m still trying to figure out how that makes me feel, or how that’s going to affect my relationship if it’s something that I need to continue to do. I don’t want to give up time with her. But if I continue having days where all I do is work and worry and stress and deal with people then the time I do spend with her will be worthless. I’ll be flat, I’ll be a shell of myself, and she’ll think I don’t want to spend time with her. This is already causing arguments; it’s already becoming a problem. I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t let myself feel so bad and so sad that it all comes out in a meltdown at 2 in the morning (ahem, a true story that happened last night). But I still feel terrible. I’m sitting in a café right now writing this and wracked with guilt because I’m not with her. Instead I’m basking in this alone time and saving every second of this solitude. I feel genuinely in love with this feeling of peace and quiet.

When I was living apart from here this was all I had. I didn’t have friends whose houses I could go to, everything I knew was here. Everything I knew was a four-hour drive away so I had to make do by myself. I would go whole days off without speaking to anybody except my parents and not doing anything but watch TV. I think those nine months may have messed me up a little? I would go to work and come home and go downstairs and hang out with my cat and that was it. Sometimes I would go downstairs and not see my mom for several days because I was so lonely and so sad that I wouldn’t emerge from “my cave”, as they called it for days at a time. I sat around and sat on my computer and missed my friends, and I missed her.

I tend to not miss people if I know I’m going to see them soon. I know I’ll go home soon and see her; therefore I don’t miss her now. I don’t feel a longing for her or a sadness at not being with her now because I know in a few hours I’ll get bored or hungry and I’ll go home and she’ll be right there waiting for me.

Me needing to take these kinds of days has begun to cause a rift in our relationship, I fear. I need to make it clearer that thee days are only because I care about her. I care about her so much that I want to be my best possible self for her. I can’t be my best self if I am constantly, emotionally drained and tired.

I’m going to fight for this alone time because I know it’ll make us better in the long run.

I know that it’ll be better for my own mental health and my own personal safety if I take these days to myself.

I need her to see that.

I need her to please help me.

I need her to please take these days not as an attack, or as me trying to avoid her, but trying to help myself.

To the ones I’ve loved before (P.3)

“You want to share this with me?” I was staring way deep into the bonfire, my brain hazy when his voice pulled me from my head. I turned my head slightly to the left where his hand held half a chocolate bar out to me. I smirked. Oh this boy knew how to charm a girl. I didn’t love s’mores, but I sure loved chocolate.

We met in May 2013, at a summer bonfire through mutual friends on my first day back from my school in New York. My best friend was close with his best friend at the time and I have a sneaking suspicion he was brought there to meet me. I was 19 about to turn 20 and he was a year older. I had just finished a diatribe against traditional relationships for a small audience of my high school friends and meant every word of it. I wanted a handsome human (gender irrelevant to me) to take care of all my needs (amirite ladies), and teach me some lessons (I was dipping my toes into what would end up being my kink identities), with none of the silly entanglements involved. It was a good party. There were strong drinks and fun people, including him. He was charming and funny and, presumably as he went to an Ivy League School, very smart. We fed off each other and bantered and talked about school and abyss of the “after-school” time. We were propelled forward by jello shots and keg beer and at the end of the night he asked me for my number. I was playing designated driver to my close friend and plus one who was truly and properly hammered, slurring and stumbling and trying desperately to go home with a boy I went to high school with. While we were all saying goodbye to the hosts I stood in front of the boy I hardly knew and leaned backwards, tilting my head against his chest. He was warm and comfortable and clearly as into me as I was trying to be into him. His hand found the exposed skin of my waist and ran his thumb over it slowly, it was foreplay and we both knew it.

We wouldn’t actually have sex until much later, when we were officially an ~item~. I would stall the process as long as I could because, ha, I had unresolved traumas and also I wasn’t really into men anyways.   He was exactly everything everybody thought I would be with. He was a boy first and most importantly of all. He had goals and he had ambitions and he had a plan to achieve them. He went to a good school, he was polite, he loved my family and they loved him. I started to love him because I was supposed to.

But he was also manipulative, and controlling, and invalidated my sexuality and identity at every turn. He would get angry and attempt to forbid me to spend time with one of my best friends, with whom I just happened to have a romantic and sexual history. He didn’t understand or try to understand when I came out to him about my sexuality and also my various kink identities. He tried to understand how to handle me and my submissiveness.  He tried to listen when I spoke about my eating problems and my relationship with my dad. But he only listened to respond. He only listened because he thought he would have something constructive to say when in reality he liked to hear himself talk.

I didn’t respect that relationship at all. We had only been together for three months when I slept with someone else for the first time, and that continued for nearly a year. The day before I finally ended it I slept with two people. At the same time (post about them to come).

I like to think this series is a nice way for me to decompress from past relationships. I think though for particular person it’s helping me identify all the ways I did things wrong. It would have been so much easier and less hurtful for all involved. I knew when we got together I didn’t actually want a relationship. I knew that going back to school in the fall would be much more satisfying and fun if I were single. But he was exactly who I was expected to be with, I had to give it a chance. He was my last ditch attempt at being straight, and people what my family wanted.

I shouldn’t have used him in this way, especially since the end of this relationship hit him so hard for a while. I learned some lessons and we all moved on. Time will only tell I guess if I learned well enough.