Nicole, always Nicole


  • I trust her
  • She’s patient
  • She doesn’t question my sexuality
  • She’s a nice person
  • She can relate to the mental illness
  • She sometimes makes the first move
  • She backpacks
  • I love her



  • The age gap does bother me
  • She has a bad memory and repeats stories
  • We do the same thing every time I see her
  • She doesn’t like confrontation or initiating communication
  • She never gets upset
  • She’s not sexual
  • I hate myself

Unfinished week

November 29, 2017

Monday – Ran 3 miles with the group

Tuesday – Accomplished nothing, anxiety attack then guilt for the rest of the night

Wednesday – Finished 1/2 of grocery shopping, went to the fancy yoga class

Tomorrow I need to finish the last 1/2 of my grocery shopping and go running again with the group (3-4 miles). Friday is cooking/baking/cleaning night.

Was supposed to drive down and spend the weekend with Nicole, but Liz texted and asked if she could come up and spend the weekend to talk and get away from her life for a bit. I’m regretting the relationship with Nicole and happy for an excuse not to go down. Regardless; Liz comes first, always.


Please never find this

November 28, 2017

When I actually go back and think about Southern Illinois or Red River, New Mexico I seriously start to believe you can leave pieces of your heart in the places you’ve lived. It breaks me to think I’ll probably never see some of those friends again, ever again. They exist, just not in my life anymore. Tonight, that’s a mind fuck.

Nicole and I made confirmed our relationship (again) two days ago and I semi regret ever labeling myself monogamous.

Please never find this blog.

Lesbian relationships can be swift and short, right?


November 24, 2017

I had a lot of crazy dreams last night (rich food always throws it off). One of those dreams I was walking across a long, windy, skyscraper-like bridge behind a long line of women. We were all wearing the same uniform and my general feeling was unease and worry with what would happen to us when we reached the other end. Very suddenly, the woman in front of me turned around and held onto my shoulders and I felt a wave of love and belonging and strength. Her face morphed into my own face, like a mirror (my dreams always morph), and she/I said to my point-of-view, “You are ready to have sex again.” The words were so shocking to me they actually woke me up completely. LOL.

I think I’ve been kind of waiting for a sign or a feeling from inside that I was ready to go back to sex from this year long break. That dream felt so real and so much like permission, like my heart telling my mind, “I trust you again.”

The dream was serious, but with it waking me up so suddenly, I was laughing at the weirdness of it. Honestly though, sex is both meaningful and irrelevant all at once. Like, I don’t care how many people I sleep with, or which gender I’m sleeping with. I don’t care if my sex preferences are kinky or how my body looks when I’m performing them. I don’t think sex with one person, your partner, or multiple, non-monogamous partners should mean anything strange. Sex can be so physical and so pleasurable without reading too much into what it says about you or what it means that you sleep with so many people, or sleep with a same-sex partner, or sleep with a different person each night, etc.

And then there’s that point where sex loses it’s meaning completely. I hit that point slowly, dully. Sex became less pleasurable. I began to use it to fill a void so I slept with dozens of people, multiples per week. I stopped being adventurous in bed, so much more insecure. I began to only sleep with men because the sex was faster and there was no cuddling afterwards. My final sexual partner was a fwb, who I’d invite over late at night by leaving my front door unlocked and falling asleep naked. He would come in, we’d have sex with me mostly motionless or feigning to be too tired to move, then he’d get dressed and leave. To no ones surprise, he eventually stopped texting back. The last time he came over was on December 9, 2016.

On December 8, 2016, I was unofficially diagnosed with Bipolar 1 with anxious tendencies by a local counselor. And on December 12, 2016, I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar 2 and Panic Disorder by my first psychiatrist.

I’ve mentioned it before, but this year has been a whirlwind and a much needed break from where I was on December 9, 2016. I haven’t figured everything out, but I’m much healthier and have much better coping mechanisms in place than I did then. Having Nicole has been enjoyable, but I don’t think having a monogamous partner means I’m anymore healed than I would feel now if I was still casually dating. Still, it feels good to walk back to sex (semi nervous and still a little insecure) healthy and proud of myself. I am excited to get back to that point where again where sex is a fun activity, not a product of my mania or depression.

Moonflower tattoo

November 23, 2017

The meds gave me the ptsd flashbacks again, that’s why there’s so much fear and opposition to going back on them. I connected those two thoughts a few days ago, so my mind and my fear felt like it made sense to me again for a little bit.

I think I’ll get a tattoo soon to represent the abuse. My tattoos seem to get the thoughts from circling inside my brain, almost like I see it on my body and I can finally stop obsessing over it. Or, by the time I’ve put it permanently on my body I know most of me has healed from it.

A little, glass blue bird on my sternum transforming down to a hawk wrapped around my ribs. Originally, I thought about the hawk carrying a moonflower in it’s talons to represent my grandmother and the night the abuse stopped, but a huge part of me is so angry at her for not catching the abuse, or letting the bulk of it start and continue to happen in her house…she’s been gone and it’s been over for 16 years now and I’m still a little angry at her. Too bitter to give her a space on my body.

I’ll pursue a counselor (a new one) soon, two tattoos, the consistent workout classes, and a second piercing. I’m still in a good place.


November 15, 2017

We’re on the upswing, folks. My memory skills are back!

Do I apply for a second job now (housekeeping’s the only option), or wait until January? Probably wait until January, where there’s no immediate holidays for a while.

Do I follow through with the anxiety therapy? Only if the office lady tells me my insurance will cover it, otherwise, def. do the second job instead to prepare for THE MOVE.

And THE MOVE…Am I decided on BloNo or am I still up in the air? I think I’m still up in the air with which major city in IL I will be moving to, which is shitty because I feel like both N and Liz are banking on me moving to BloNo. And it would be cool to work there, but not working a shitty teaching job I hate. If I were to move anywhere, it’s because I want the position offered, and the city I’ll deal with whatever I get, like always.

Guys, I feel happy and positive and hopeful again (normal again), and it feels sooooo good.

Many mornings after

November 12, 2017

Everything is making me cry this weekend. I feel so guilty for everything from my weekend plans, to Nicole, to my parents, my sister, my job, Liz. I feel like I’ve let everyone down in some way and I’m just going to keep fucking up or falling short.

I’m also aware that if I look even 2 days into the future, my life will start to seem more hopeful, so I’m not too bad, just in a dark patch.

A part of me must agree that I am a narcissistic asshole underneath all the disorders because those words have been rolling around my skull all morning.

And many mornings after.

Prisoners poem

August 20, 2017


The poem was written to document the feeling of living in New Mexico for the summer as completely out about my sexuality. The day I came out to my coworkers and friends I’d made there, random people started telling me how pretty my eyes were, how I had such pretty HAZEL eyes. I’ve always thought my eyes were hazel, because if you get close, you can see they’re only brown at the center, then surrounded by green, then a ring of blue. No one has ever agreed with me that they are hazel until the day I came out to the people there. I think I had around four strangers stop me that day to tell me how beautiful they thought my eyes were, including men, women, and a little girl.