Awkward Poly Moments

After my last post, I thought perhaps the blog could use a little levity. So! Awkward Poly Moments! Warning that this may be TMI for sex, though it is funny in retrospect.

I have a tendency to lose my clothing in my apartment–if I’m feeling warm, if I’ve just had sexy times, if I’m asleep, if I’m not feeling well, whatever. We joke I’m a partial nudist. It’s not unusual (when it’s just the polycule) for me to be in nothing but underwear, or just a T-shirt and panties and socks.

Several months ago, our apartments had some electrical updates done to bring them up to code. The electricians (many many of them) came in and did lots and lots of work–our apartment was the last one of the day, and they were here for a long time, and then finally they were done.

It wasn’t until after the fact that I realized our lovely Nib calendar was up with the illustration by Erika Moen re: men in lingerie enjoying themselves, prominently displayed on our wall.

That wasn’t the awkward part.

The awkward part happened a few months later, when the electrician came back–unannounced–with the fire chief. Apparently after all that time, the fire chief had to inspect each apartment to insure that everything was up to code.

Now, I’d had some pretty spectacular sexy times that involved toys. Eren and Zyn were home. My toys were out. I was asleep post-fun on the couch, mostly naked. (I have a tendency to fall asleep post-sex.)

Eren thoughtfully covered me…but not the toys.

One of them let the fire chief and electrician–who were by then charging up the stairs–into the apartment.

My eyes opened to two strange men stretching over me to reach an outlet near the couch. I quickly closed them, pretending not to notice.

I heard, “Is she sick?”

Eren and Zyn hemmed and hawed a little.

I mean, it had to look strange–sex toys and two clothed people and a presumably-naked woman on a couch? (And if they’d looked, another partner in a Skype call on my computer.)

I kept my eyes shut.

I heard Eren pick up my toys after the chief and electrician left the room briefly, and I muttered, “Now you think of that!!”

She whispered, “Sorry!!” and shuffled them out of sight.

The chief and electrician came back, finished their work, and left without saying anything about me, my partners, or the toys.

Lessons I should’ve learned: don’t fall asleep without putting toys away; don’t trust Eren and Zyn not to let people in when I’m naked on the couch.

I’ve learned at least one of those.

Permission and Danger

A few weeks ago, I read this blog post and then messaged my wife: “This seems so dangerous to me.”

She read it and then replied, “What about this seems dangerous to you?”

And indeed, it’s something that shouldn’t probably seem dangerous. For those who didn’t click through (though really, you should, the story is well worth the read), the story is (at its simplest) about a younger man learning from his older friend not to ask permission to do what he wants with his life.

To me, that screams DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!

I realized, while reading that post, that I have spent my whole life asking permission to do everything. Often my ‘asking permission’ comes across as ‘just doing what I want,’ but in actuality I’m asking: is it okay? Is it okay if I go to grad school now? Is it okay if I go to this grad school? May I go to this program? What about this, or this, or this?

Some of the permission-asking makes some sense. I have a wife, and now a lover and a boyfriend, and so there are others whose considerations must be taken. My wife, in particular, bears legal and financial burdens with me. My wife and boyfriend, in particular, move with me. So if I am thinking about attending a school across the country, then I should be discussing that with them.

But that’s the crux, I think. I don’t merely discuss. I ask. I don’t ‘just do.’ I ask.

At various points in my life, I have found myself marveling at people who ‘just do’ things–from going to stores to moving across countries. How do they do that? I wonder. How do they just do that? Until reading that blog post, I never realized that my underlying question was, Whose permission do they have?

Likely, they only have their own permission, as adult human beings.

I could stand to give myself permission more often, I think. I wish I could figure out how to make it seem less dangerous.

Experiencing Depression

One of my favorite Vloggers, Laci Green, did a pretty personal vlog on her channel, Sex+, about her own experience with depression. It’s worth a watch:

She’s right when she says depression is isolating, just like TheBloggess is right when she says that depression is a lying bastard.

It’s hard to remember, in the thick of it.

For me, this most recent experience of depression has existed as a series of dips along a continuum. I can’t remember when I first felt myself falling into the hole…it’s been a really long time. I’ve been here for a really long time. Sometimes, the hole is deeper and darker than other times, and I feel like it’s so dark I can’t see the way out. I have suicidal ideation. I feel like no matter how hard a light shines, it cannot pierce the darkness. And then…somehow…because I make myself talk to Eren or Zyn, because I make myself move away from my brain long enough and focus into movies for six hours instead of staring into the heartache of racism and sexism/misogyny and transphobia and heteronormativity and monosexism, of staring into all the ways I’ve failed to be perfect….

Somehow, I come out of the deeper pits.

I’m still in the gray, though. I get a little higher some days, and some days I remember what it was like when I felt like I could touch the sky, what it felt like when the wind brushed my skin and sunlight poured in.

I think part of this is that so many days, I have trouble even moving. I would like to get out more. Heat exhausts me, and we’re being slammed with heat waves. Sometimes reaching down hurts. Sometimes walking hurts.

And I am riddled insecurities–that I read so much and post so many readings that my friends are annoyed, that I ‘love’ or ‘like’ too many things on various social networking sites, that I clog my friends’ feeds.

It makes it difficult to do what I’d like to do with this blog–more in-depth posting, less personal posting. I need to dig into things, and keep up with my academic things for that. Instead, I’m listless, and reading so much to run away from my brain, and then feeling empathic pain from much of my chosen reading, and then doing neither the digging in nor the posting.

I’m trying to remember to be compassionate with myself. My wife is certainly compassionate with me. I’m trying to remember that not everyone is completely irritated with my lack of ability to do anything, or disappointed in me.

I’m trying to figure out if there are triggers for some of these deeper pits. I think there are, for some of them. Some of them seem (for now) unavoidable. Others mystify me for now.

My experience with depression is much like what I think (without re-reading) this blog post probably reads like: a lot jumbled, as my mind tries to skitter away from things I need to examine in order to repair myself. I have at least e-mailed a therapist.

I am hopeful for more and better posting as I find my way out of the depth and gloom.