mental health 

(I post way less about my mental health on my porn accounts, and that's where I follow that guy for some reason even though I don't think he posts porn. So I'm hijacking it and answering over here where he'll most likely never even see it. Because crazy.)

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mental health 

Someone just posted (on another instance) wondering the difference in height between his self and his social media self. I have to imagine social media me is shorter than real me.

Real me is this huge, hulking dude who always sits in a dark corner, sucking down the drinks, never saying a damn thing, and if he smiles at you... either you're turned on, or a little queasy. Or both.

Social media me is literally nothing but talk, and openly fucking crazy. Probably like 150cm tops.

pain 

This morning, as I knelt at the porcelain altar once again, all I could think of was

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning

I have no idea what that dude was even talking about, yet that last verse (especially the last stanza, but this morning it was the first, as above) has stuck with me for like 40 years. It doesn't even have music.

Not that I want anyone to put his stuff to music ever again. Ugh.

trigger warning re: trigger warnings 

Let's talk about "triggering" for a moment. People seem to need "trigger warnings" for everything today. My observations in real life of what happens when the kind of person who requires "trigger warnings" is triggered reveal that it mostly results in them merely getting angry toward the person who said something "triggering".

For me, it's a run for the toilet, hoping that I don't leave orange yuck anywhere along the way.

I think "triggered" is overused.

not really nsfw, not really het either, but kinda 

It just occurred to me that unlike any other GLBT woman I've known, my wife is femme in the streets, femme in the sheets, STONE FUCKING BUTCH everywhere else in the house, at the grill, and under the hood of the truck. I pity the naive soul who one day asks me about "my" 5-foot-tall tool chest. (I'll pretend they're referring to her body.)

I guess I can't say I've met any straight women like that either, but of course, how would I know?

nerd rage, maybe triggery 

Put another way: I may be a rape survivor myself, but Stallman is still my fucking hero.

Never wanted to meet him or ever be in the same room with him. He seems awful. Yet his credo is basically my own: limiting what people can do to the machines they buy, in particular when those machines are necessary for livelihood or education, is abusive. I differ on some specifics (I'm willing to pretend my Switch is just a dumb toy... for now) but still all-in on the GPL.

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nerd rage 

LOL. I just now found out that the FSF took Stallman's resignation last year. Seems even a dude who may have never once had sex can get metoo'd.

I genuinely liked the internet, and technology in general, when it was dominated by people who prefer the company of machines over other people. That is to say, like myself. Dude was a jerk to shoot off his mouth about a rape survivor, but I sorely miss the days when nerds weren't expected to be polite in addition to fixing your shit.

pain, mental health 

(To those who are curious, prior to falling in love with my wife, I tried subbing for two different, highly-regarded women who were only too happy to try to turn a gay dude on to femdom.

Man, what a fail. The second wasn't even intentional, the first one essentially forced me into it, and in neither case did I ever get even a tiny bit of turgor down below. I can dominate both sexes, but I only enjoy submitting to men.

Well... I did enjoy it, anyway, until 2010.)

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pain, mental health 

One thing's for damn sure: if I ever sub again for anyone, I'm going to know his full name in advance. No more pseudonyms when I'm playing for real. If someone is too closeted in 2020 to use his real name with his real play partners, he has something more to hide than his sexuality, like political ambition, and I'm done with that whole game. I'm married to a woman and still use my real name in real life when I play with men. Gay dudes living the single life can do the same.

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pain, mental health 

I guess the more time goes by, the less I'm able to keep blaming myself for something that happened while I couldn't prevent it. I don't have the urge to go, tranq and castrate him the way I would do to my rapist if I were a more violent person, yet my memory of his evil smile at my realization that we'd never negotiated a safeword, plus taking pictures when I had straight-up told him not to in advance, does cause me to think of him more as a violator.

On mornings like this.

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pain, mental health 

On mornings like this, when my shoulders are in some of the worst pain I've ever known, it always takes me back to that dude who traumatized me with predicament bondage 11 years ago, which was also very hard on my shoulders in some of the same places. This morning I almost sent him a message asking if he still has the pictures he took after I asked him not to, and if he'd delete them. But realistically, he sent me pics of others in bondage so he's sent my pics to others too.

@ElevenEleven Welcome aboard, handsome! Thanks for sharing your beautiful body with us.

Up at 5am puking... must be Monday.

I know I sound pretty morose on here, but we actually had a great weekend. Might have a houseboy now. A really, really hot, furry, sweet and shy one. Woof. It's just that I usually check social media during my alone time, which occurs only when (a) my wife's asleep but I'm up due to pain, like this morning, or (b) when I'm on the toilet, like Saturday morning, for an unfortunate length of time. That obviously colors my posts a bit black.

yup... mental health... 

My dad was actually a really interesting man, prior to getting sick. He was an extremely avid jazz aficionado, turning me on to the likes of Brubeck through the reel-to-reel tapes (see, avid) he left me. He shot safety films for the phone company where he was an engineer, starring me, too young to remember. In his Navy memorabilia I found a three dollar bill, crudely pasted together from other notes as a gag, no context.

I remember only a frail, yellow man.

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yup... mental health... 

For the rest of her life, my mom celebrated this day as a special day. Since then, my wife has tried to pick it up. (I've tried to remember hers as well, with very disappointing results.) But the last few years, the more hindsight I have, the less special it seems and the more a slap in the face that's lasted over half a century now, setting the tone for the loss upon loss upon loss (etc...) that followed.

I haven't even had a drink in like a month.

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yup... mental health... 

During my forced Catholic education, many times I got to hear this line: "Oh yeah? Well if abortion had been legal you'd be dead! What do you think of that?"

And even 40 years ago, I was like, "okay... go on..."

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yup... mental health... 

My wife was adopted too, at a much older age with far worse circumstances. Her adoptive parents were well-off, but from the pictures and the horrifying stories she's told me, her parents adopted her because her mom wanted a daughter to dress up and turn into Little Orphan Annie, the musical having just opened months before they decided to adopt.

So, we both got adopted for selfish, irresponsible reasons. Hope no one here ever makes that mistake as a parent. It lasts.

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yup... mental health... 

51 years ago today, 3 weeks after I was born, my adoptive parents brought me home.

My dad already had cancer. They already knew. It's literally hidden in my name. They did it anyway.

Thanks, dead people.

I have a feeling that when I die, it'll be somehow related to my love of cats.

30 years ago, I definitely would have said dicks, but in the mean time, despite all the low-key porn hunting I constantly do via mailing lists and (essentially) bots, I've seen a hell of a lot more cat videos (and cared for 3 cats).

mental health 

I made my wife a mediawiki instance to let her map out her own memories and traumas, and she uses it, but for whatever reason, sharing things like this with only her (or just writing them in a text file to be seen by no one, as I used to do) doesn't do it for me. So, here you go, the two or three of you who read my mental health posts. Lucky you. (She heard it first, though.)

Our last cat doesn't like it when I cry. The one I was crying over way back then looked just like her.

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