Posts Tagged ‘Sexuality’

‘Who knows, and does it matter?’ I scratched a pattern on the sheet. ‘I don’t think I need to define it. I’ve been there. Straight. I’m straight. But then I’m not.’

She yawned, luxuriously, not bothering to cover herself as she stretched. ‘Maybe it doesn’t matter. I just think that I deserve to know. Is this real?’

‘It’s as real as anything else.’


All of my relationships have been with men. Nice, not so nice, tall, blonde, funny, smart, but all of them men. Writers and labourers and dealers and doctors. So would you assume I’m ‘straight’? Does it matter?

All of that, relationships and rules and limits, seems so far away now, almost alien. 

It took me so long to drop the labels. I wish they didn’t exist. Sexuality, to me, is gorgeous and intrinsic and can be so, I don’t know, fluid? It’s so hard to put what I’m trying to say into writing. I wish no-one had to ‘come out’, and we would just love who we love and that’s it. Isn’t it odd to have all these expectations and boxes and contracts. I understand the level of relief some people must feel when their sexuality has a name and is accepted. I’ve just always felt sort of…straight-jacketed, I guess… by labels, but it seems like society is so uncomfortable and overly invested in people not having one, and I’m insecure enough to let that bother me still.

Some experiences just are what they are, whether it’s a lasting enduring love, a passing attraction, or one intense night with someone. I don’t want to over-think and label everything. It truly doesn’t matter, and life is swirly and confusing and connections with people are special. 

I still can’t touch what I’m saying. I’ve slept with people I’ve loved and disliked and felt ambivalence towards. I change. It changes. Needs and wants change. Can your sexuality change? I don’t know. Do people have a true base sexuality that fits into one of five (? that I can think of) categories and are the layers on top a nature vs nurture type deal? Why does it matter? People do care who you sleep with. No one ‘comes out’ as straight. 

Freedom in all ways can be so intoxicating, and sometimes it seems like there’s no rules left. 

So beautiful.






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I had an awesome post written in my head last night, and when I woke up, -poof- , gone.  I’ve been struggling cognitively a little this week, losing shoes, keys, what I was about to say. Something distressing happened and I’m still ok. That’s the first thing I just plucked out of the space above my head. The kind of event that would usually make me cut and run, because it’s what I do, but I’m not and I won’t.

I haven’t been around much lately, I’m two days into the week long treatment I’ve been waiting for, that silver bullet, and it’s working. I can feel it. I know it the same way I know the sun will set tonight, what cool sand feels like between my toes.

Even though cancer cells are being zapped into oblivion as I write this, I would appreciate anyone keeping their fingers crossed for me 🙂

I have just enough hair to pull into a ponytail, and of course that’s when it starts coming out, my hands coated with dark strands in the shower, and instead of drinking half a bottle of vodka, losing my shit and shaving it completely I just go with it, trust the process, maybe I’ll lose it all maybe I won’t, but it’s actually not the most important problem I have, even if I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I wish someone had told me that you can let yourself feel pain and loss, and that’s all you have to do, just feel it. Not drink through it, run from it, fight it.

Just feel it.

And it’s ok.

I got to thinking about why I decided to come here this year, and even though I had some vague ideals about homeschool and some mental space and recovery, it was pretty much an instinctive pull. The thing is, this year has obviously been absolutely nothing like I expected but thank God I’m here. If all this had happened at home, it would have been 200% harder to cope with. I still want to go back – no, I’ll be honest, I need to go back, to sort shit out one way or another. Either way, I was meant to be here this year, and I’m betting that next year I’ll either settle in up the hill or decide on another long term prospect. Bottom line, I usually end up where I’m supposed to be.

I wish someone had told me I could trust myself.

I’m learning.

Another thing I was thinking about (yeah, I tend to think really intensely while poisons are seeping into my bloodstream, and my iphone is taken away) was that ‘Bucket List’ I wrote, and how I’ve done exactly one thing from it.

It was the fun item, and it was excellent and I did do it more than once <grin>.

Anyway, I started a mental re-write, and if I needed anymore proof that I’ve changed, that was it.  I want to write letters to people, just in case. I want to explore a healthy, simple lifestyle. I want to nurture myself and Bailey.

I want to detox my life, cull my possessions, focus on relationships and experiences more.

I’d still like to fall in love with someone else, it hasn’t happened yet – but I have fallen out of love, and I think that’s step one.

Sad as it may be, it’s necessary.

So, that’s where I’m at.

How are you guys?


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‘So, will you write about me one day?’ he asked casually, leaning back against the couch. He passed her the joint, half smiling at her hesitance.

She thought, trying not to show him how her skin prickled. Took a slow drag.

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Write something just for me now. And then something when I’m long gone.’

She smiled, picked up the notebook. ‘You’re not that old’, teasing him.

‘No. Just too old for you.’

She made eye contact, wearing her sexuality like a dress as she crawled into his lap.

‘So why am I here?’

He closed his eyes.


As the months wore on, she started dressing differently. Not to please him, she’d tell herself. Just to try to bridge the gap a little. She cursed less, wrote more. He liked her to wear her hair back, instead of down and styled with salt water. They listened to classical music, staying in to explore each other. He drew her flowers and she enveloped him in prose. Her family was drawn to him; most were.

‘He’s quirky, isn’t he? That’s probably good, you know. For you. You’ve always been mature, anyway.’

The first time, it seemed almost charming, the flip-side to his creativity. She wasn’t scared, even when he made her load the gun again and again. But that night, without knowing why, she took it.

‘It’s because I love you. You need to be able to protect yourself’

‘You’ll protect me. Nothing’s going to happen anyway. Unless you’re not telling me something.’

His eyes darkened.


She took him to the hospital, listening to him talk to ghosts in the car. Adjustment, make sure you keep taking your stabilisers, was what she remembered. Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. The intensity left. Stability didn’t suit her. They decided to see someone else. So he could be him. But well. No more bullets on the stove. No more sleeping for 16 hours. They went to the beach, for bushwalks. The apartment was covered in drawings and notes. It was Spring. She visualised this being for always. Keeping this Balance.



To be continued. If I’m brave enough.

Just wanted to try something a little different and this has been on my mind lately. I hope you guys don’t mind :). It’s important for me to start putting this to rest finally, and writing is the best safest way I know.

Thanks for reading,

Ash xxx

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First scene here.

I walked out of the hospital, dazed but knowing. I couldn’t not know. I felt it in the marrow of my bones, and I felt so betrayed. Stupid for believing it could be over. It was starting to rain, and the gnawing in my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since the day before. My neck felt bruised. I couldn’t stand the thought of going home, so I cruised past caf’es, lunch bars, restaurants, before stopping at a friendly looking pub. Music spills out the door and a group sitting in the terrace area smile absently towards me before refocusing on their meals. I wander up to the bar, order a lunch special off the board and a coke, change my mind and ask for a mixed drink instead.

I find a spot in a corner, sip my drink, play with my phone. Ignore calls and texts. Don’t think, don’t think. Just sit. Breathe. I feel eyes on me and look up, meeting a pair of dark eyes a couple of tables away. He smiles quickly, blushing and looks down, his friends laughing good-naturedly. My food comes and I eat with one hand, the other fiddling with my phone, drumming on the table, fiddling with my cropped hair. I jump slightly when he clears his throat.

‘Sorry. I was just wondering, are you waiting for someone?’

Yes, constantly. Thanks for pointing it out.

‘Nope, alone today’ He’s holding the chair, so I say ‘Go for it’, thinking he needs it for his table. He sits down. I look up, notice his table’s empty. He smiles at me, ‘Like a refill?’


After, we lie on my bed and look at the water. ‘It must be cool living so close to the beach’ He traces a pattern on my palm, ‘Want to talk about it?’ I’m not sure what he’s referring to but I just shake my head. Pouring water in the kitchen, his eyes lock onto a photo. ‘My ex’, I say.

‘Does that mean I can call you? Or buy you dinner tonight?’

‘No. Sorry. I mean I’d love to, it’s just not a good time.’

He nods towards the photo, ‘He looks like fun. My sister has 4 kids. They’re awesome’

‘Thankyou. He’s wonderful. It’s not that’

A couple of hours later as I’m drifting in and out of sleep, he sits up, says he should go, asks for my number again. I pretend to fall back asleep as he gathers his phone, keys, wallet, clothes. After he leaves I sleep for real, waking up to my phone buzzing as the sun is going down. He’s left his name and number on an old envelope, propped up on my lamp. I force my eyes to avoid memorising the digits, fold it carefully and put it straight in the bin.


It’s been a long time since I was so casual. *cringes, waits for judgement* I’ve been a little manic the last few days, trying to avoid my thoughts and feelings I suppose. I’m ok when I’m writing, so I guess I’ll be blogging a heap more :). Bailey had last week with Craig, so he’ll be back tonight. I’ll cope better when he’s home, because I’ll have to. I’ve missed him horribly but I’m glad he missed the drama and hospital runs.

Hold on tight, the ride does not end here…

Much love friends


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Another one of those ‘just write and write and write it all out’ days.

I’ve been feeling different. Better some days, sunlight peeking through cracks. Wanting to ride, to see people, to be good to myself.

A little clarity.

I know a lot of things I struggle with aren’t really my fault. Cancer, childhood abuse, random bad luck.

I’ve done 

I’m doing something. That is totally my fault. And won’t end well.

Seeing someone I shouldn’t be, because I’m weak. For no real reason, and it won’t be worth it when it all ends. I like him…I enjoy his company. We’re not compatible in any way. I mean in any long-term way, we get along great. He’s funny, smart, ironic, fucked up. God, I really like him. A highly functioning alcoholic.

We relate well.

The sex is great.

Craig’d never forgive me if he knew. I should just change that to he will never forgive me, when he finds out.

I just…don’t know what’s wrong with me. On the whole Craig and I have been getting along better…I still want him. I know underneath the layers of hurt and resentment we love each other. We’re always there if we really need each other. Still. And I’ve made it so there’s no chance of a reconciliation.

Might not have been anyway. But still no reason for me to pursue something with someone he intensely dislikes for good reason. Disrespectful.

I just started it -or let it start?- because the opportunity arose and I didn’t give a fuck about the outcome at the time. And now it’s been months and I’m in deeper than I ever planned. Not that I planned at all. Or even thought, really.

And all these people who say they admire me, that I keep my shit together, that I’m strong and brave and a good mother, they don’t know me. Even worse, I have friends who make excuses for me. For my behaviour. I could do better. I just choose not to.

Just breathe.

Am I too hard on myself, or not hard enough?


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Can we all just keep in mind what it says up there about no judgement?

I haven’t had sex yet this year. And that is an actual achievement for me. It’s been roughly 30 days, 21 hours, 14 minutes, 6 seconds.

I haven’t gone that long in…I guess nearly 9 years.

I have a …problem… with sex, I guess. We spoke about it in therapy today, with me scratching patterns on the couch, unable to make eye contact, twirling my hair, biting my lip. Forcing the words out.

To the two? people who come here, and know me personally, if you choose to read on, keep in mind we’ll probably have to see each other and make eye contact at some point 😛

I used to think I just had a ‘high sex drive‘.

Now I realise that alot of the issue is that I was sexualised way too young, in obviously inappropriate circumstances.  Which apparently lead me into associating sex with self-worth, using it as a crutch, using it as a measure of affection, as ….medicine…. almost.

Feeling shitty, and unworthy, maybe lonely? Quick, have sex.

Stressed because you have cancer? Sex works.

Had an awful experience, a fight with family, a graphic flashback? Use sex to come down.

Obviously things are different now, that I don’t have a solid relationship.  I guess I couldn’t really gauge the extent of the problem until the availability of sex was reduced, and I found myself in an almost purely sexual relationship.  Which does actually go against who I’d like to be, honestly.

And when I say ‘found myself’, of course I mean deliberately created.

The problem is, I can’t actually differentiate normal, healthy sexual desire (if that even exists for me) from the other thing. Using it just to make myself feel better momentarily. I can usually tell after the fact, by whether I feel happy and bouncy, or depressed, or just a little numb, or tearful.

A few months ago in therapy, we discussed what would happen if I were -gasp- not in a sexual relationship for awhile – at the time I was still sleeping with Craig.

 “There are other things you can do to get that release, you don’t have to sleep with someone”

It took me a good, I dunno, 30 seconds to realise what she was talking about. I’m not usually a slow kind of person. I guess it just didn’t occur to me because the ‘release’ -snigger- isn’t really what I crave.

“I don’t think that would … do it … for me”

I think that was about when I realised this is so much more than a high sex drive.


‘The Doctor’ is coming over tonight, and I’ve told him I’m not going to have sex with him. If I end up deciding to, I want it to be because I want to, not just because it’s easier, or because I’ve had a bad day.

So we’ll see…



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Craig, of course.

I feel like I’ve had my heart ripped out, all over again. Until now, I hadn’t really considered life without him as a permanent state. Except for maybe in the first week.  Since then I’ve really thought it was just a temporary thing, that we’d get back together once the dust settled a bit, that he loved me and Bailey too much to let this be a reality.  Plus, of course, casual sex is never really casual.  I didn’t really think he would keep sleeping with me if he wasn’t intending on us working stuff out. I know, stupid.

On my birthday, he acted like a cunt jerk.  Sorry.  I’m tearing up just thinking about it.  He wouldn’t even give me a hug.  I should have asked him to leave at that point, because it got worse.  It was like nothing I said got through to him.  We ended up in a huge argument and me in tears in Bailey’s bed.  To top it off I was really unwell and fainted in the shower.  Sexy.

Still tried to make things better in the morning and now I wish I hadn’t bothered.

After that I thought ‘I’ll just leave it’. So I have barely spoken to him since then, didn’t ask him to stay for dinner on the weekend, haven’t asked him to help with anything, nothing. And y’know what, I don’t think he’s even noticed.  Which drives me crazy, because ‘just leaving things’ is hard for me.

It’s been two months.  I think if he wanted me he would have shown it.  I’ve tried to talk to him.  I’ve apologised sincerely for situations I could have handled better.  I’ve told him that I am willing to compromise on more.  I’ve said I am willing to forgive a lot and let go of a lot of hurt, if we can just commit to working things out.  I’ve told him I love him and am committed to this marriage.  I wrote him a five page letter.


See what I mean?


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