Whew! Been trying to write this damn update for I don’t know how long. Have been stymied by…life? Indecision? Fear that ya’ll be bored with the little trivialities of my life? I dunno. Srsly! Why can’t I write here???
That drivel up there ▲▲▲ is all that seems to come out of me. But I’m here! Doing things! Thinking about things! Living this full and interesting life, sometimes (I think) made even more interesting by how very different it is than what came before. I mean, in some ways it’s not as kinky, true. I don’t get to play as often as in my old life (which could be because of health issues – explanation coming) and tho we do have kinky-ish sex fairly often…there just seems to be a lot more “relationship-ing” than straight-up kink than in my previous life. It has more moving parts and more complexity involving figuring how and what works for all of us than my previous life, that’s for sure, to say nothing of the D/s relationship that is growing ever deeper between V and I.
But maybe that lack of straight-up, hardcore kink is where I’m stymied. I was so used to my blog being a kink blog – am I unable or unwilling to let it be a relationship blog? Do I fear I’ll have nothing to say if I don’t have all the kinky stuff to talk about?
But wait. We do kink. A lot. So why have I been unable or unwilling to write about the kink when it IS there?
Maybe this is all about pictures. K&P really was a photo blog. I mean, accompanied by my words, but lord knows W was a picture man. And I became a picture girl…
I do miss that. There’s no use denying it.
And yet I do feel like there’s so much here that could be talked about. Maybe should be. So much that could possibly be helpful to other poly- or poly-leaning folk. But in doing so, it’s incumbent upon me to be completely – sometimes even painfully – honest. That’s how I was before, and I can’t be any other way. But it’s harder to talk about the difficult things here, about things that might make my partner(s) unhappy, than it was before. A lot of times, in between the schmoopy goodness, there is “Jade-Hamster-Head,” in which I pull things apart and try to put them back together again in a sometimes-painful manner. The thing is, I could be so damn open with W, even when my brain was wonky, and he never wanted me to censor myself. A blog post never went by but that he commented on it and we talked it through, good or bad. It truly was a communication tool between us. I don’t know what it is between V and I. He reads it, and I’ve never felt he disapproved of what I’ve said, but…I know I self-censor a lot more than I did before, picking my topics and words carefully. Perhaps it’s just a matter of time and trust.
So here I am, floundering about. Trying to find my voice, my place, my direction…my muse. The spark of fire I need to put words here.
Who am I anymore? Am I this online persona? Is this online persona me? I used to think so, when I was Jade of Kink & Poly. But if that she is me, then who am I now, when I am so different?
Bah. All that needs to be set aside. I just need to DO for awhile. Push through, one morning or afternoon writing session at a time, until I find myself again. And here’s where I start.
In the past few weeks, I’ve been asked a few times, “Where ya been, Jade? Where’d ya go, after you relaunched the blog? Why aren’t you blogging?” First of all – it is so very flattering to be remembered at all. To have strangers out there on the ‘net actually asking after me. Thank you, sincerely!
You could, of course, refer to the above blatherings, but there is more to my recent semi-disappearance than just my whining and moaning about what the hell I’m doing here, pretending to be a blogger again.
Shit, as they say, happened.
Round about March or April, this was me. Stuck on the couch – literally. We thought is was sacriillitus, which was bad enough to lay me up for a week. Unfortunately, we were wrong, and it turned out to be much worse.
About a week or so later, this was me.
I had herniated a disc, requiring immediate surgery. It did some pretty good damage to the nerves in my leg and caused a fuck-ton of pain, along with some pretty serious issues with mobility, weakness and numbness clear down to my foot. Since that time I have been in intensive healing to repair the nerve damage and try to manage the pain, and rehabbing it 3x a week to get my leg functioning correctly again. It’s been (mostly) successful thus far, with the majority of the nerve pain gone and most of the functionality in my leg restored, though weakness and residual nerve pain still plague me.
I have a six-week check up Monday to see if the surgery itself was successful, and I’m pretty sure it was, but the psychological and emotional effects have stayed with me, and I have been struggling for quite awhile to find myself again. I’ve been, in some ways, a ghost in my own life as I’ve recuperated. Because no joke…it’s been brutal at times. Financially, emotionally AND physically. And that happened right after the surgery I had on my foot in December, and for which I had been given the “all-clear” only days before my disc herniated, and that (of course) being on top of the previous year. I have been wrestling with the fact that I may have to live less-able-bodied than I had before, that this pain – or some portion of it – may always be a part of my life now. I can no longer take good health and being at ease in my body, knowing it will do whatever I want it to, for granted.
I’m not okay with that.
At the best of times, I know that I probably will get through this fine…I’ll run and play and get tied up and climb hillsides and hike and walk my dog and ride my bike and do yoga again. I’ll wear high heels and lose the twenty pounds I gained and fit into my clothes again. I’ll feel powerful and strong and sexy and…well, like me again. At the worst of times…well, I’d rather not dwell on the worst. I’m trying to take one day at a time. And today’s been a good day.
“I am not my body,” I keep reminding myself. I’ve started that process, of moving toward living my life normally again, of enjoying life, of participating in my life again. But it’s been a process.
While I’ve been recuperating, I have been staying at the little studio apartment that Adam owns and that we had started renovating into a writing/yoga space for me (fewer flights of stairs, all one floor, no bouncy 70-lb. moose-dog to jump on me.)
Instead of a retreat, though, it’s turned into living space.
There have been loads of renovations, and those continue even now. But…it’s coming along.
In fact I love it so much so that I’ve sort of moved in permanently, staying here every night since the surgery and keeping my essentials here, though all my “stuff” is still at the big condo with Adam, of course. I’m not actually moving out…it’s just my own little pied-à-terre. ;-) Adam stays over frequently, but I also have time here on my own, something I never thought I wanted until now. In truth there are not many nights that I am alone – Adam is over most nights and I stay out at V’s a lot, but more and more, I have asserted my desire to be in my own space – sometimes with and sometimes without them – to both V and Adam. I call it the Treehouse, and sometimes, laying in bed in the morning with the sun peeking through the trees, the sound of songbirds and a gentle breeze washing over me, I feel like I really am in my own, private little hideaway. Life seems more manageable here somehow.
So. There you have it. That’s where I’ve been. I’m crawling my way out of the hole I’ve been hiding in. Trying to find pleasure in life’s small, precious moments like I used to, trying to be in the moment. Oddly enough, that has somehow translated to not being here very much, but I’m trying to rectify that, too.