Checking In, Checking Out

Things are still, well, still. I'm back in therapy, but I can't say that I'm any better yet (not that I have any unrealistic expectations, I mean, it's only been 4 weeks or so). I lost my job, due in large part to the negative effect all this mental/emotional crap has had on my ability to perform. Job-wise, that is. Hell, perform in general. The last couple of times I've been in bed with someone haven't exactly been my best form either.

Even though I'm trying to not let any real length of time go before finding a new job, part of me has a driving desire to get out of the bay area, even if only for a few days. But even that is complicated, as I don't know where to go that's both affordable and offers the promise of a truly stress-free few days. I can't go to Colorado right now... even though the friend who is angry with me would let me visit under the current (jobless) circumstance, I'm not ready myself. Part of me wants to go somewhere completely new, part of me wants the comfort of familiarity. I only know that I'm going nuts here, right now. I haven't slept in, well, a while right now. (I very rarely see 9:30 at all, let alone am blogging at such an hour.) When I close my eyes to try and sleep, well, I'm not really relaxed by what I see there.

It's been almost two months since my last entry. I do take some comfort in knowing that even if I'm not really any "better", I think I'm on track for it. It'll just take a little while yet, and I have to hope that I have the luxury of the time it needs. I dunno... I probably shouldn't be blogging on this sort of sleep-deprivation...

Shaky Start to the New Year

I'm still trying to adjust to the various fall-out from the events in my previous post. In the two weeks and few days since then, nothing has gotten better. I seriously contemplated having myself admitted for a 72-hour watch, but ultimately personal phobias and demons prevented me from doing so. Instead, I'm making arrangements to return to therapy after an off-period of a little more than two years. On the one hand, I'm not optimistic that it'll be any more effective than it was before. On the other hand, there are two relatively good reasons why it should be better: (1) this person has strong background working with adults who are diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, and (2) part of all of this mess is me finally owning up to my long history of dishonesty. I never lied to a therapist before, but I was frequently "creative" with the information that I volunteered, and minimized things a lot. I can't say that I'll be going in on the first day with absolute 100% full-disclosure, since a lot of this is reflexive in nature. But I will be a lot more straight with this person than with those past.

I still don't know who it was that tipped off my friend in Denver. It's possible that there wasn't a tip-off, that she's saying this to make me think it, knowing that I can't help but obsess over it. Like I said in the last post, having as many lies in my past as I do contributes to paranoia, so it's easier for me to believe that there really are people here acting as friends to my face, but gossiping and belittling me behind me back. I just wish that they would have the decency to either come to me directly about the things they feel are self-destructive, or just quietly exit my life. I'll probably never know who it is, and it will probably bug me for as long as my brain is able to function.

Needless to say, this has really thrown my libido off. So what posts I make for the time being will likely be more backwards-looking. I'm not being all dramatic and proclaiming that I'm "too wounded to love", or even swearing off of sex (not even for another 33 days experiment!). I'm just saying that at the moment I just can't get into it, and lack the drive to pursue it. I have to direct that energy at getting my shit together, again. Of course, if opportunity comes up and grabs me by the ear, I'm not saying I'll turn it down, either...

Lastly (for now), my friend mentioned at several points that my continuing to write this blog is silly and pointless and that the only people reading it were either laughing at me or are/were as pathetic and disgusting as she now considers me to be. She also mentioned that she felt I must want this negative attention to feed my own self-pity, or else I would have shut this down and started a new blog under a different name. Well, all I can say on these counts is this: I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not abandoning this. Even if it reaches the point where I'm the only one reading it. As to the people who currently read, I know she's wrong there-- there are at least a few people reading that I've either met personally or corresponded with. People who are in fact living happy, healthy lives. Happiness and health that I hope one day to have in my life, too. It's worth pointing out that this same person has many times dismissed the notion of people in happy, healthy polyamorous relationships, even though I know literally dozens of people first-hand who themselves are. It doesn't matter how many people I know who are happily poly, she won't believe it. And likewise, it doesn't matter how many people I know (or who respond here) who are readers and who are not here to laugh at what a loser I am or just scour my stories for jerk-off material, she probably won't believe that either.

I have neither delusions of grandeur nor illusions of relevance. But no-one out there launches a web browser only to find themselves forcibly directed to this page. If you don't like what's here, nothing is keeping you here.

Lies and the Lying Liar

(I almost made "liar" plural, in keeping with the reference to Al Franken's book. But I don't know that I've been lied to, so this is just about the one liar... me.)

I lie a lot. Mostly to myself, of course. I lie about my lying. And after all these years, the scaffolding that holds up my life is collapsing. My Denver friend is through with me, angered and hurt over the event of this post. And with every right-- I lied to her face about it. Of course, I didn't talk about that part of the story in the post. It didn't fit the narrative for one thing, and I had already justified it to myself. Naturally. It's what I do, it's what addicts do.

See, when I went out with that person, my friend was pretty sick. And yet, I borrowed her car to go on a date with the hopes of getting lucky. And when I got back to the house, I lied about having gotten lucky. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Mind you, it's obvious that my concern for her feelings didn't stop me from going out in the first place. Or renting a room.

What has me feeling a mix of worry, hurt, fear and anger is how she found out. Like most addicts and habitual liars, it's much easier for me to focus on how I was found out, than on my actual level of blame or responsibility in all this. Apparently someone I know, someone close to me, is still in touch with her. They read this, and they called her. I don't know who they are. She won't tell, and whoever it is hasn't seen fit to share with me the fact that they're reading this blog. She sneered at me over the phone as she pointed out that I'm quite findable via Google. This is true, but finding Dausa and finding the real-life person behind him are two different things. I've only given this URL to an extremely small number of people I know in real-life. As in, you could count them on one hand and still have enough fingers to make a rude gesture in England. But it doesn't matter-- what matters is that someone is reading, and that said someone is concerned but not enough so to talk to me directly. She says that whoever it is laughs at me and makes fun of me for these things, behind my back. And the problem with being a habitual liar, you never know for sure when you can really believe someone. Is she trying to lash out at me? Or is she 100% honest, knowing that in this case the truth is just as damaging (if not more) than any lie she could offer?

I use SiteMeter for some simple traffic-analysis. It's not terribly thorough, and there's only so much you can tell from traffic-analysis anyway. I've found the tracking record from her visit a few days ago, but I have no way of really pin-pointing a visitor prior to her, that would likely be the third-party. So I'll never know who it is that's laughing at me behind my back, unless they decide to own up and face me about it. There's some traffic from around here in the bay area, a visit from the Minneapolis area that has a strange feeling to it (because this confrontation started with a seemingly-random question about whether I'd recently heard from someone we used to know, who lived in that area last time I'd had any contact with them), and plenty of traffic that I have no idea of it's relevance (if any).

But back to the lying. This blog is, after all, all about me me me. And much as I've tried to hide it, this is who I am. I started lying extensively when I moved from Arizona to Oklahoma and started living with grandparents who were Evangelical Pentecostals. Fundamentalists, basically. Essentially everything I did was something to be ashamed of, so I learned to lie about almost all of it. And even once I left that house and lived first in dormitories then in my own apartments, I've continued to instinctively lie about anything that brought feelings of shame. And don't be fooled by the "Unrepentant" in the title-- all those years of church-learnin' have made certain that I pretty much always feel shame over anything and everything sexual that I think about, feel, or experience. I've spent gods-know-how-much over nearly 11 years on therapy, and all I have to show for it is a diagnosis of mild Asperger's Syndrome. Which explains some of the social anxiety I experience, but doesn't really cover the shame or the rampant lying. I've tried everything I could think of, even a course on meditative techniques, but nothing has stuck with me for longer than a few months. Short of beating my head against the pavement or playing hopscotch on highway 101, I don't know what else I can do that will have an actual lasting effect on my life.

I didn't want this to sound so whiny and self-loathing as it seems to have become. But it's nearly 1:45 in the afternoon and I'm still in bed. I can't make myself get up, even to eat. I don't know what I'm going to do at this point, whether I'll ever write here again or not. I don't know if I'll manage to even leave my apartment today (not true, actually... I have a regular Thursday activity that I'm somewhat obligated to attend, so I will eventually have to get up and go). All this shit has finally come home to me, and yet I have the audacity to be surprised by it. I just don't know anymore.

I know this: whoever you are that know me in real-life and aren't telling, I would appreciate it if you'd grow up and talk to me directly. If you're really that concerned for me, then you owe me that much. And if you aren't, then leave my life entirely. In the long run, we'll both be better off for it.

-D

Break Time's Over

I needed a break after the 33 Days thing. I've got some material to write, that'll show up over the next few days (allowing for a brief trip down to Orange County this weekend). I didn't really get the sort of, well, "enlightenment" (for lack of any remotely better word) I had hoped the exercise would bring me. Fact is, I'm not really doing that well right now, but I don't yet know how to express it.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 23 - And Counting

I wonder if I'm actually losing my libido by doing this. That, or things are simply crushing on me so much that it's affecting it, and the fact that it coincides with this effort is just coincidence.

Seeing that I'm not as happy at the new job as I thought I'd be, I've been looking at job listings that go past on a site that only lists jobs specific to my specialty. Currently, there are almost three times the job listings for companies in London, than there are for companies here in Silicon Valley. Oh yeah, I made a doozy of a choice, picking here over London...

Still, only 10 more days of this, then I plan to reward myself. Just not sure how, yet...

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 21 - Nothing But Downers Today

Today was going to be the day I gave up. Mentally, I had given up. I'm in the second day of a three-day weekend (I have tomorrow off), and pretty much everything that could go badly has. A craft project of mine was so badly damaged that I have had to buy a replacement kit and start re-doing about 75% of what I'd already completed. I've been watching "The State Within", recorded from BBC America, and besides depressing me with the flagrant parallels in our fucked-up administration and their fucked-up War On (Some) Terror, combined with all the Britishisms make me regret all the more not having moved. A few other things have gone past my eyes today, many of which have done a bang-up job of reminding me of other dreams I've pissed away.

So I was pretty much in a "to hell with it" mood, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I know the pleasure is fleeting, but right now I could use even a fleetingly-small amount of pleasure. But I'm almost at the 2/3 mark, the goal is almost within sight. So I made it through today. But this whole plan has lost its amusement for me. I don't know that I have anything left to learn from it.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 17 - The Pivot

This is it. The exact half-way point; there are as many days to go as there are behind me. Aside from the little nocturnal "thing" night before last, I'm still with it.

And it's driving me nuts.

Today is Valentine's. Say what you will about the crass commercialism. Part of me is still a hopeless romantic, and being alone on this day brings me down. To be fair, the last time I had an SO on Valentine's was 2001. That was E, whom I think I might have mentioned before. She was amazing in a lot of ways. One of the most passionate lovers I've ever known, and very adventurous. She worked for Good Vibrations during most of the time we were together. Oh, the times she'd look at me and say, "There's something new I got at work today that I want to try out." I miss that...

Today was really hard, temptation-wise. Not that I was extra-horny... I'm still on the tail end of being sick (fever broke overnight, thankfully). Just the overwhelming desire to feel some human touch. I prowled Craigslist, but seeing a sex worker wasn't an option (too broke, and it would be inconsiderate to risk making someone sick, if I'm still contagious at all) and the handful of casual-encounters ads I answered yielded nothing (except for the one that was actually spam, responding to which triggered an auto-response trying to get me to visit a dating website). If any of them had panned out, I'd probably have blown the whole goal.

Guess it's just as well for me that they didn't.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 9 - Despair Sets In, and More Links

First, some new links on my blogroll. I swear, it seems like as soon as I swear off of orgasms for a month I find dozens of super-hot blogs I'd not seen before. Just added to the roster:

• la fille mariée - Her writing is just hot. Simple as that.
  
• Polyamorously Perverse - A very loving look as this couple starts exploring poly.
  
• We Could be Naked - She's got just the kind of body I like, and she loves and writes about porn. What more could I want? (Except for her to be closer.)
  

Aside from that, I confess that things have gotten worse but not for the usual reasons. See, like most addicts, I tend to turn to my drug-of-choice when I get really down in the dumps. And these last few days have been tough. Funny thing is, the temptation is to find a partner of some sort-- I'm not really tempted to wank. Luckily, my tight budget has kept me honest. But the closer it gets to V-Day, the worse I imagine the depression will get.

Make no mistake-- I am delighted beyond measure to read about/hear about people having wonderful, amazing sex (and lots of it). But sometimes, sometimes, I just can't help being jealous. Eh, never mind me... it'll pass in a few.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 8 - Today Was Just Too Easy

You know what else will help you curb your sexual appetites? Depression.

External forces beyond my control brought me into the dumps today. I know I shouldn't let these things have that effect (see the "beyond my control" part), but they do. I worry about people and things. And my situation since moving back here hasn't been as elegant as I had thought it would be, what with the boost in salary over my last position. I suppose if my readership climbs enough, I can always go the AdSense route (not meaning that sarcastically, either-- several of my favorite blogs are AdSense subscribers so I figure I'll at least be in good company).

But between that, and having my weekly Russian Language lesson (eh, it's another long story, but I'm trying to learn Русский), I just never had the chance to worry about it, today. (No thanks to BBG, whose posts on MILFblog and her own blog were quite... inspiring. You'll be getting e-mail from me later this week.)

And, on a completely separate note: Hello to any new readers who found their way here from Sugasm. I recently submitted one of my posts (the start of this 33 Days project), and I am thrilled to have been included in Sugasm #65. Seriously-- to be included on my first time trying is an honor, guys. Thanks.

-D

Not So Sure Anymore...

...that I made the right choice in coming back to California.

It's taken only a few weeks to lose all the positive momentum I had after I got my new place. A little longer after that and I was back to old patterns and habits. Not just the cruising-on-Craigslist, but also indulging in commercial providers. Which I've been forcing myself to abstain from for simple reason of budget. But still, I look and consider.

My friend back in Denver pointed out that even if I'd taken the job in London, I might very well be just as depressed there as I am here, maybe even for similar reasons. But last night, laying awake trying to fall asleep, something dawned on me: at least, had I gone to London, I could say that I did something. I tried, I took steps to make a major change in my life. It might not have worked out like I thought it would, but at least I would have had the assurance of having tried. Instead, I look around my apartment, around the bay area, and think to myself: "Didn't get far, did you? Moved 8 miles, into a smaller apartment. Well played."

Saturday night, I went up to San Francisco for Perverts Put Out. As used to be the case, convincing myself to dress nicely and leave the apartment was akin to pulling teeth. The event was stunning; I'll need to do a separate post just about it alone. Of course, once there, I was enjoying myself. But eventually it was over, and I had another Saturday night to go home alone. It was so tempting to go somewhere cruise-y like Blow Buddies or Divas. But I'd spent all the persuasion I could muster just getting myself out of the house. It was the first time I've been back to SF since moving back here last month (actually, the second-- the actual first was for the memorial service for a friend's mother, thus my mind was otherwise occupied that afternoon).

I haven't made any effort to revisit my "Craigslist experiment". There's a lot to be said for quick, no-strings gratification. But just because I'm an addict doesn't mean I don't feel any emotional needs or impulses (the lack of emotional expression comes from the Asperger's, not the addictive nature). OK, that was a weak joke. I don't intuitively form those sorts of connections like others do, but I still crave them. And the CL route was just teasing the appetite, not appeasing it. To make matters worse, there's fuck-all to choose from in terms of independent video stores in my general area (that is to say, those that are not Blockbuster or Hollywood Video). So I don't even have the kind of access to porn I had at the previous address.

(On the plus side, it was around this time last year that I broke my foot, so living a live free of crutches is worth being thankful for. I'm just already dreading the steady march towards Valentine's Day, and my recent attempts at dating haven't panned out very well.)

-D