Take your broken heart, make it into art (Part III)

 

And gods, has it been broken

many times

so many that sometimes

I feel like all that's left is scar tissue

and wouldn’t it be lovely if that only made it 

hard to pierce again

because have you tried getting through that shit

with a blade or needle?

That shit is strong

I’m not though

I just feel sore

and I can feel it aching with every move

it is still trying to make

and by god, does that make it hard to feel.

Not because I would be incapable,

I am way too capable for all the big emotions

but they hurt so much more

especially when they are supposed to not hurt at all.

In a way,
I am glad all this

has not hardened me

bittered me

made me cold to the world

but there are times where I wish

it was rather that

than endless aching

because gods, 

thats so exhausting

for me and everyone who loves me ever.

And yet

I am stubborn

as stubborn as I’ve always used to be

and I will gnaw and gnash my way through this

and just hope that someday

this will become easier

less painful

or only easier to bear.

My endless optimism

is just my stubbornness in disguise.

I refuse to have this be my forever.

I refuse to not fight for my chance

to be happy after all.

And so, 

once more,

I take my broken heart,

make it into art, 

like mother Carrie taught me to, 

like Frida said, 

like all these glorious women before me

who refused to be beaten by a hard life,

make it into art 

to show the world,

lay my vulnerabilities wide open

and have them be my armor

as contradictory as this may sound. 

Take my broken heart,

make it into art, 

trust the process

so that what evolves

may be whole again

or maybe

even just beautiful enough

to kill the pain

for good.

Take your broken heart, make it into art (Part II)

See, you understood that saying

You understood my connection to that quote

just as you understood me to my very core.

I remember

how scared I was of you

before we first met and I remember

this feeling of trust that I had within moments

as if I had never done anything else in my life

than trust strange men my own mums age.

It never mattered if we talked for hours on end

or if we spent our time in silence

and silence never felt as easy as with you

because I knew we still somehow shared a mind

beyond ages, beyond languages, beyond anything -

you, mate, you truly got me.

It never mattered how long the silence had lasted

picking up from where we left off

was effortless

as easy as breathing

and everything feels fake

now that this most natural thing

has left my life.

„Take your broken heart, make it into art“

You never had a broken heart though

I have never met anyone as happy and content

in his own existence as you were

And yet you understood mine

How truly special can a person be?

The love I have for you might be unmatched forever

the connection we shared was special and

the shoes you leave behind for anyone to step in

are gigantic.

Good night, my soulmate

Good night, brother that I never had

You are gone,

and everything is worse now.

Free fall

 You know

how all my life, I’ve been afraid of falling

stunned by the image

of my shattered body on the ground

so afraid that I refused to jump

if not absolutely inevitable

and when you asked me to jump

you promised I could trust you

promised you would break my fall

would catch me

would make sure I would not get hurt

convinced me that it wasn’t even that deep

and then

when I finally believed you

believed I would certainly survive

finally gathered all my courage 

closed my eyes and leaped

you were scared of the weight that came with it

the weight of me

despite me giving you the numbers

and you stepped aside in the last moment

and when I saw the ground coming closer and closer

I realized once more 

why I never jumped before

"The Long Forgotten" by David Whitehouse - Review

 

David Whitehouses „Mobile Library“ was probably the first review copy I ever got, back in 2015 when I just started my book seller apprenticeship. It was also the first review I wrote for my bookshops website. And I was lucky, because I had come across a rare gem back then, so the memory of this first venture into my profession happened to be a very good one. I am still holding “Mobile Library” very dear, partially for nostalgic reasons but also because it was a brilliant book.

Now when you have read and loved someones debut novel, a second book being published is equally exciting and scary – your expectations are high, so there is plenty of room for disappointment. But like with most things in life, there is just as much room for things to go well.

I will admit it, it took me shamefully long to pick up “The Long Forgotten”. Not only because reading isn’t part of my job anymore and therefore, I find very little time in my day to day life to do so, or because my pile of shame is so much higher than I’d like to admit (but I will: Currently 55 books). I also was scared to be disappointed.

I was wrong, and I have never been this happy about being wrong in my entire life.

On the first glance, in “The Long Forgotten”, David Whitehouse tells not one story but three and at first it seems odd since these people do not seem to be connected in the slightest: Dove, an odd-ish young man from London with anger issues and memories that are not his own. Peter Manyweathers, a cleaner from New York in the 1980s who is swept away by a sudden obsession with botany. Professor Cole, a grumpy scientist who stumbled across the black box flight recorder of the lost flight PS570 in an incident that almost cost him his life.

These stories seem to be only connected by them being unlikely enough to be of interest but just likely enough to actually happen. For the sake of a spoiler-free review I will only say: They are connected, and it is astonishing how. Please do read the details yourself.

David Whitehouse has a talent to make the reader fall in love, with his language, with his characters and especially with whatever subject he decides to write about. I have never been this passionate about rare flowers and botany before. I have never related this much to an orphan curious to find his parents. And I certainly have never felt that much interest in cleaning in my entire life and hope to get some great accomplishments from this newly found and most likely shortlived obsession.

Whitehouses habit to find and portray the magical in the most mundane, to tell stories of such wonder in an every day life setting that you inevitably start to view your own life through completely new eyes, is remarkable. Personally, I hope to read much more from him.

Where are my struggles!? - Hollywood on Netflix - Review

I think one of the most important things I have learned in my Literature classes in school was one simple but effective rule: If you want your story to be interesting it needs conflict. There needs to be something your characters are going through that the audience wants to hear about.
The new Netflix show Hollywood had the perfect material for this rule to come into effect, a gay black writer writing a script to be directed by a half Filipino director, produced by a studio lead by a Jewish woman and a gay producer and a black actress and a gay actor competing for roles in 1940s Hollywood, with the topic of prostitution thrown into the mix - and then it dropped all that potential. Everything goes perfectly smooth, somehow everything is magically made possible, the black actress gets the main role, the writer, director, producer, studio boss, everyone just gets to do their job, and while I get the sentiment that it's amazing to see marginalized folks succeed - it does not make a great plot. In fact, it makes this story not only feel boring and overly polished, it also makes it feel unrealistic. A bunch of white studio executives just agreeing that of course the very talented black girl is the perfect cast for this major motion picture? I honest to god doubt that this would be realistic in 2020 Hollywood, let alone the 1940s. Now it is mentioned a lot that all these controversial choices the studio makes would cause trouble - characters discuss protests, murder threats, the KKK, people not getting any more work after coming out as gay, but nothing actually happens. Not only is this not a struggle or conflict, it also breaks the other very basic rule of writing, especially scriptwriting, "show, don't tell", and more importantly: It makes those very real problems that are imminent even now, 80 years later, seem like something marginalized people make up, they are shown as something people are afraid of but that are not actually real. That's what I'd call wasted potential because if all those issues were fleshed out more, this would have been an amazing and important story to tell. Additionally, because of the missing struggles, all of the characters become incredibly two-dimensional, which in itself is a waste of a very talented cast. What could have been a masterpiece has instead been a utopia, lovely to see, but hard to believe and harder to keep in mind. Personally I will easily forget this whole story in just a couple of days now, and I think that is sad.
Dear Netflix, you had gold in your hands here - I would love to see this rewritten as more than a beautiful but forgettable dream. Give me the harsh reality of 1940s Hollywood. Give me the harsh reality of a world where racism was even more imminent than nowadays, where homophobia was up another level, where sexism was a more profound issue than figuring out the details - don't give me a feelgood story that I couldn't ever believe no matter what decade it was set in. Give it a rewrite. Because the base material does deserve it. This can be done so much better.

Time and again

Time and again

breaks for silence

who would have thought that quiet can be so loud

who would have thought that seconds can be so painful

even more so when they accumulate

you say you like me

don‘t believe it

a bit because I can so rarely even really stand myself

a bit because you say it but I can only vaguely see your doing

this soft glow is hard to make out in the dark

and seems like nothing

when I am ablaze next to you

tell me

are you burning just as bright as me?

Are you burning up from the heat inside of you?

Or is it more, like

a bit of warmth

just what is needed

when all else is cold

Do you desire me?

I always desire you

constantly, really

every second I can‘t touch you

feels like a waste of time

how will it be when we meet?

Will you finally burn

for me

as much as I do for you?

You slow me down

and smother me time and again

but this is magnesium, baby

you can not smother me

only make it harder

to endure the burning

are you burning just as bright as me?

Can I only not see your fire because we are both ablaze?

Stay healthy

So this is life now.

All the fires that have been burning inside me just weeks ago, no, days only, have gone out. Silence around me and inside me. More calmness than I had in years. Peace, not to be confused with happiness. It's remarkable how quick and easy it was to accept this new normalcy.

We write history, stay home, it was never that easy to (hopefully) save the world. Okay, maybe we leave some behind, maybe once again we can see the arbitrariness that was given to the executive just like that, too easy to say now that they know what they‘re doing, oh they know what they‘re doing, alright, the signature on the free ticket hasn‘t even dried yet. A bit of control over the situation for the small price of a few lives, a few homeless here, a few refugees there, what's the world cost, I'll take two.

Only a few lives for the safety of the rest, the dregs are rejects, and just above that float the really important ones – applause! Standing ovations for the relevant! Appreciation for your daily bread, which you might not actually be able to buy because the shelves are empty when you, oh relevant one, finally get to do your shopping too, but that's no problem because you sure have our APPRECIATION, be proud of yourself! Because we‘ll only be in writing, we admire you, enduring the stress and let yourself be treated like shit by those who you are keeping alive, keeping everything running, it is so easy to forget who treats you like shit as long as we just clap loud enough. Maybe play the ode to joy in the evenings. Ignoring that your job has been hard for ages, not rarely unbearable. NOW you are important, congratulations, here is your participation trophy, and then we can hopefully forget soon why you were important and be important again ourselves.

The realization that we are not actually important when things get rough tastes bittersweet. Never has our work seemed less meaningful, never has it felt so empty to just keep going on but at least it gives us a bit of purpose, a bit of security while the world around us breaks apart. We don‘t have anything else, after all, we can‘t drown our depressions in booze and meaningless sex, not even a hug between friends to let us forget our pain for a moment. When things get rough it‘s clear who stays alone with their thoughts. How many will the virus kill, how many the economy, how many the solitude? What will we tell our grandchildren if we survived all of this? What will we say in a couple of decades?

So this is life now. We write this story. Let‘s hope that it's going to be a good one. One that we can tell without being ashamed. Be kind to each other. We have nothing else left.

Stay healthy.

Take your broken heart, make it into art

If you had a dollar for every time I said this

for every time I quoted Carrie Fisher

you‘d be a millionaire.

If I had a dollar for every time

you brought up this dollar thing

I‘d be a billionaire.

We just easily fell into place

with our quirks and

our scars

and

I lifted you up

when you grounded me

I kicked your ass to do things

when you made me chill the fuck out

for once in my goddamn life

and

now I am afloat.

Hundreds of feet above the ground

a balloon in the night sky

being nudged further away by the wind

Slowly drifting away

Its calm up here

Quiet

Not a sound between the stars

And cold

Freezing

And I wonder how I ever breathed

and did I ever need to, really?

I lost my ground

casting off

anchor gone

And I am scared

and yet a weight was lifted

but still scared of what‘s ahead

and scared ‚cause I‘m not burning

(why am I not burning)

Why do I feel so calm

and so cold

And nothing feels real anymore

I‘m just floating higher

and higher

(They say sky is the limit but

they didn‘t account for the infinity of space)

and forget that I have ever breathed

or moved

or felt

crystals on my face

that used to be tears

as I drift away

so much faster than I thought

Into emptiness

Take your broken heart

make it into art

but right now

art feels shallow

How can I make it art

when my heart has

yet to be shattered by the ice

Making art is just a habit

but how can I express what I feel

when I can‘t feel anything?

I am just floating off

it's so easy to fly when you weigh nothing

‚cause you‘re empty

Staring into space

and space stares back

as we become one

calm

and

cold

and

infinite nothing

and it will feel like peace

until I finally

implode

Excursion To Poetry #6 - FIP

I am scared.

I am scared

that I am living in a world

that is always going to

hurt me. A world

where I‘ll be pushed and kicked

and beaten

until there is nothing left of me

but a pile of ashes.

I am scared

of a long path of suffering

getting narrower and narrower

until it fades out into nothing

and I am scared

that this path could get too

tight at some point and I‘d fall out,

jump out and face

nothing pre-maturely.

I am scared of this being my life

and I am scared that my only alternative is

(or at least might seem like it)

to not live at all.

I am scared

to endure all of this

and I am scared

that I could not endure it,

of walking the path

or leaving it

or just not finding

the goddamn middle way

that could keep me alive,

where I could breathe

without something tightening up

my chest every other moment,

I am scared

that this is my life

and my only way out seems to be anger,

to be angry at this life

that I just can‘t seem to be able to leave

without leaving it completely

but the anger

is only a reflection after all

of the same life

where I also can‘t be okay

because everything sucks.

I am scared that this life is always going to suck.

I am angry because this life is always going to suck.

I am scared of being alone with this and I am scared of not being alone at all.

I am angry and I am scared.

No punchline.

One of the good guys

Meeting you is like finding a unicorn. „What are we even discussing here?“ you keep asking when I try to explain my world to you and you realize we live in the same one. I don’t have to show you my opinions and principles with arguments, you already did the thinking and came to the same conclusions. „We are only discussing to give each other a bit of an echo“, you say. So I stop discussing and start accepting that I don’t have to teach you the basics of my morality because, hey: You are one of the good guys.

The fact that my morality is so adamant is based on dozens before you hurting it, hurting me, harming me, all my life because the basics weren’t clear, and I trust that this won’t happen with you, a bit more every day. But this trust is shaky, full of doubt because people lie, all the time, we are great at deluding each other and ourselves, and that’s why I need time. That hurts you. That disappoints you. Why do I need that long to give you my trust? After all, you are one of the good guys!

So I don’t explain the basics to you but the details, the application of the rules, we all know it from back in school, you already know how it works, now finally do it. You really know the theory, you keep telling me that I can trust you, that you are not like the other guys, that you want me to feel good around you, so many pretty words, and then you fail with the practice, hurt me, overstep my boundaries, rip open old wounds from previous battles all over again, and I keep trying to remember with all my willpower: You are one of the good guys and you would never hurt me.

And because you are one of the good guys I only notice the little stings with the knife when they turn into real cuts and threaten to let me bleed out. But I do notice them. And I warn you. Keep warning you, “You hurt me! You are harming me!” Because you are one of the good guys and you want me to feel good around you and if you need my hints for that you would never hurt me! You just don’t know what you are doing! You are one of the good guys after all!

But you’re not listening to my hints. Try to convince me that I am actually not really bleeding. That it’s not a knife in your hand but a feather that is gently caressing me instead of cutting me up. For a moment I am starting to doubt myself because it fits way better with you actually being one of the good guys, but the cuts and the pain and the blood, I am not making that up, even if decide to not see them. So I growl so you finally start taking me seriously, and you are angry about that because obviously, I am wronging you. How can I growl at you when you don’t actually want to do me any harm? So you push me further into a corner, and it’s narrow, and by now you keep cutting deeper and deeper, again and again, before I finally snap and, out of desperation, bite.

Panting you back off, and now you finally see the cuts too. Feel the weight of the knife in your hand. And you are shocked. What is this damn knife doing in YOUR hand? Why would you have a knife? You would never hurt me, you are one of the good guys!

In the next few months, you will tell yourself and others that I cut myself and blamed you for it because you held the knife. I kept running into it, it was not your fault, and when you just wanted to put the knife away I simply left. You never wanted to hurt me, you are one of the good guys, if only I had given you more chances, if only I had explained to you for a twentieth time how you are hurting me, whatever you need to tell yourself to still be able to believe yourself the good guy. Because as long as you keep telling yourself that vehemently enough, tell it to yourself and everyone around you, as long you are going to be a good guy and won’t have to face the uncomfortable truth that those who are actually the good guys are working on themselves for that. Because those who are actually the good guys don’t have to tell it. They simply have to show it with their actions too.

Dear monogamous people - we need to talk!

As a polyamorous person, I have to say: Monogamous people frustrate the hell out of me.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely respect monogamous folks, I understand the wish to be exclusive and would never try to forcefully "convert" anyone. I understand that polyamory is not for everyone, and I understand why. You are all valid as heck.
What I don't understand is the expectations they put on me as a polyamorous person. I am not even talking about a lot of folks thinking that "for the right person" I would ditch my polyamory and become monogamous again. On that note, my loves, I just believe that there is not one person that's right for me, I believe there are many, because there are so many awesome people in this world that are each in their own way special and right and sometimes even in ways that contradict so much that there could never be a single person combining all of them in themselves. Accordingly, in general, I believe that the expectation towards oneself to be somehow perfect enough to sustain a partner's social needs all on your own is absolutely fucking toxic. Give yourself (and others) some rest.
It's also not the fact that I have been rejected for being polyamorous. As I said, it is not for everyone, and if my polyamory is a deal-breaker for you as is your monogamy for me, that is fair and valid, guess we are not meant to be. It is basically the same thing as if a man I was into told me he is gay. Sometimes, our needs and preferences just don't match. That's sad, and it doesn't mean it won't hurt, but shit happens. That's life for you.
But what completely frustrates me is the notion that our ways to have relationships differ so widely that whatever advice I share with you for whatever situation in your life just doesn't apply.
The basis for my relationship concept is the non-exclusivity, and that's already the biggest difference here. Otherwise, I could live my relationships exactly like your basic monogamous relationship, just more of them. But that's not what I do. My polycule and I live the concept of relationship anarchy.
Relationship anarchy is the idea that whatever social bonds you form are "negotiated" from scratch based on the wishes and needs of the individuals involved. That doesn't only go for romantic relationships but friendships, family, etc. as well. Throw all societal expectations overboard and discuss what we actually want of each other and try to meet on a ground where everyone involved is comfortable. Yes, that is a lot of work, but it is worth it, believe me. At this point, shout out to my wonderful partner who introduced me to this concept and thus gave me something I have basically been looking for all my life without knowing it.
The great thing is that relationship anarchy can also be applied to monogamy because it is also about boundaries. One of the needs could be the need for exclusivity, and that is also valid.
The biggest key for this to work though is absolute honesty. It is the rough emotional labour of a) reflecting on your own feelings, finding out what bothers you and why, and be honest towards yourself about how you can deal with this and b) talking about your feelings with the people involved. I get that this is scary and exhausting but I promise that it will make you happier than bottling everything up and hope that change happens magically. And truth be told, the notion that communication and honesty are key for a relationship to work out is not new to me, it is something I have been advocating for all my life, in all my monogamous relationships that I had before I started living polyamorously. The only difference now is that I have a polycule that is not letting me get away with bullshitting myself, and I am incredibly grateful for that because it also helps me to understand myself a lot better. In the past ten months, I have learned more about myself, how my mind works, why some things affect me the way they do, etc. than in the 24 years of my life before that.
However, for some reason, ever since I started living polyamorously, monogamous people seem wary about this advice: Please just fucking talk to each other. Suddenly, it seems to be an incredibly unconventional concept even though it's probably the number one advice given in every bloody "Ask [insert name here]" section in newspapers, magazines, tv shows, etc. for decades. Because it is coming from me. Somehow, people seem to feel the need to distance themselves from my way to live relationships as far as possible, and I sense that there is a certain unconscious idea of me doing something perverted here in the way I live my life that they would never, ever do and accordingly, my advice can't possibly apply to them, and even every attempt of mine to be my honest self with them is read as an attempt to somehow convince them that polyamory is the one and only true way to be. I do not mind if you are monogamous, but why do you refuse to address issues openly as a first step towards having them solved so adamantly only to then be mad at me because unlike you, I do exactly that and also be mad because I somehow can still not read anyones mind? I can only solve problems I know about, and because I am a peace-loving person I will happily do my best to do so, but first I need to know that a) there is a problem and b) what it is. But even when I ask people, I often will rather get a lie of "no, everything is fine" instead of an honest answer, and I am so, so sick of doing that emotional labour just to be abandoned in the end for not knowing what someone needs from me. And that hurts. And with that, I am not even only speaking of romantic relationships but friendships, family matters, colleagues as well.
Dear monogamous people, please try to listen to what I am actually saying instead of assuming that as soon as I talk about my polyamory or take experiences from it to apply them to my everyday life I want to force you into living this as well. It reminds me of the whole idea that LGBT+ folks want to make everyone around them gay, and honestly, that is not a good look on you.
In return, I promise, I will also listen to your advice rather than thinking you want to see me be exclusive. Because I still think we are not so different. Only different amounts.

Special - Review

Diversity in entertainment media is one of the biggest discussions of our time. After several centuries of the dyacis heterosexual white able-bodied male perspective being pre-dominant in out books, movies, tv-shows, voices get louder for more representation for other people. What we do, as humanity, is baby-steps, as usual - we as a society are still struggling to give dyacis heterosexual white able-bodied women some screentime and just let them have a win every once in a while, or any other group with just one of those factors changed from the aforementioned norm. The problem with that is: It's everything but an accurate portrayal of life.
Now while we are slowly (oh so very slowly...) getting better at this on the gender and race side, one of the groups still being let down on a regular basis are disabled people, and that is a shame.
Luckily, another baby-step was walked by Netflix who just released their new show "Special".
"Special" is the story of young Ryan Hayes, a gay man who also has a mild form of cerebral palsy, resulting in him having a limp and trouble coordinating his hands. He is living with his mum who fully lives for taking care of him. After a car accident, he decides to take his life into his own hands and to become independent. He starts an internship at an online magazine (very similar to Buzzfeed). All of his colleagues assume that his limp was a result of the car accident and instead of correcting them, he writes his article about exactly that.
The show is based on "I'm Special: And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves" by Ryan O'Connell who also wrote the script for the show, executive produced it and plays Ryan Hayes on it - and he does all of that brilliantly.
Apart from the refreshing portrayal of layered minority identities (we also have Ryans best friend Kim who is fat and Indian - almost as if people can be more than one of those things) and the absolute honesty about gay and disabled realities, "Special" captivates with its unbreakable humour that really doesn't take prisoners and yet manages to walk the fine line between being gallows humour and being disrespectful.
That is also what makes "Special" an absolute fun thing to watch - none of this is a sad, tragic petty story so we can all feel sorry for someone, its a wonderful portrayal of someone's reality with all the downs, yes, but also all the ups, the happy moments, the friendships, the love. Dear media producers, please give me much, much more of that!

"So, how exactly does therapy work?"

TW
mental health, self harm/suicide mention, abuse, sexual violence/child molestation

Photo by Steven Blechvogel

In the past couple of weeks, two friends who have no connection whatsoever have approached me to ask about my experience with therapy. Apparently, I am now an expert on this topic - in reality, I am just a person who is very open about having mental health issues and being in therapy. In fact, I don't even know much about those topics, I'd say my knowledge is the tip of the iceberg at best. However, I get why they're asking - the idea of therapy can be scary, admitting you are not okay mentally is scary, because we live in a society where mental health issues are often dismissed, played down and/or demonized. Because of this I figured it might help if I write about my own issues and my experience with therapy - here we go!
In 2012 I was emotionally abused by my ex boyfriend. It was a really rough break up that left a lot of damage in my brain that I still suffer from that today. Back then, I was basically broken, for the first time in my life I actively hated myself, I was suicidal, ended up self-harming after just cutting my hair had worked as a coping mechanism for years, it was... really bad. Back then, I was 18 and still going to school, which hadn't gone super well before that and now I became even worse because, as I like to put it, I was too busy just staying alive and thus had trouble doing actual school work. Of course, getting bad grades didn't exactly help against my self-hatred. Everything spiraled. That was also when I started smoking - I had a lot of panic attacks and smoking helped regulate my breathing. None of this was healthy, obviously. At some point, my amazing mum, who is a social worker and thus has an eye for people needing help, made me go see a therapist.
The therapist I saw back then was specialized on children and teenagers, so I was just young enough to go see her. I don't exactly remember why I actually saw her instead of a therapist for grown up people, but it worked pretty well.
One thing I remember specifically about the first couple of sessions was that I was asked to fill in a table about big life events, either positive or negative, for different sections of my life - and I had such trouble finding positive things. My mind was literally clouded by my negativity and my self-hatred - your girl was fucking depressed, and easily diagnosed as such, plus a nice little school phobia that I had developed. Back then, I explained it as the school being a magnet, and I had another magnet in my chest, and those were polarized the same way and thus repelled each other - it felt like I was actually physically incapable of going to school. The mechanism was clear: Couldn't make myself do homework or study, went to school, got bad grades, felt worse. If I wasn't going to school I was actively avoiding that, except it was never that easy - if I didn't go, I would obviously have a harder time learning things, and thus have an even harder time getting everything down and still get bad grades. Additionally, I would feel bad for not going, worrying about people thinking I was faking it because I was just lazy, and thus I spiraled a lot.
My first therapist was a very understanding woman - she was very warm and kind, literally handling me with kid gloves (remember: specialized for children and teens). It was what I needed back then because I was very fragile and stuck in blaming myself for everything bad that ever happened to me and thinking I deserved it. I needed her to realize in the first place that my ex had abused me and he had no right to treat me the way he did treat me. I needed her to realize that I didn't have to take the repsonsibility for having been sexually abused as a 7-years-old. I needed her to realize that I deserved none of this and other things I had suffered through, and instead deserved that people took care of me while I processed those things instead of me taking care of everyone else who had to process the second hand experience.
She also taught me how to break out of the spirals in regard to school, how to calm myself down when I had a panic attack, and how to defeat the magnet in my chest. Sadly, too much damage was done for my education and I ended up dropping out and starting an apprenticeship as a bookseller instead in 2014. However, that apprenticeship was cathartic for me in a way: I ended up learning how I personally study best and thus had an overall good and successfull experience learning a thing which finally got me out of my anxiety about education.
Then 2017 came and with it two very big life events that tipped over the mental stability I had going on for me in the past three years.
In April 2016, after 14 years, my case regarding the sexual abuse I had gone through as a child got picked up again, I went back to the police to be questioned once more (as if I was more likely to remember any specifics 14 years later), half a year later they found the guy and in March 2017, eventually, his trial took place and I was invited to testify against him in court.
Before all of that, I was lucky enough to cope pretty well with what had happened to me as a child, it didn't effect me too much, I was able to lead a normal life. The trial retraumatized me, seeing that person, having my memory refreshed by the judge reading my testimony I had given as a child where my brain had done such amazing work repressing the memories and additionally, the terrible way I was treated by the present reporters and the thoughtless way I was treated by the judges. I did feel very unsafe for a while after that, started crying randomly and had panic attacks again. I aslo started getting actually triggered by things for the first time in my life. Instead of the closure I had hoped for, I got new issues to deal with. That was my first reason to seek out therapy again.
Sadly enough, actually finding a therapist with free capacities, is the hardest thing in the world. Originally, I wanted to go back to work with my first therapist since she already knew all the important background info, but since I was definitely not a child anymore she couldn't help me. I was facing endless waiting lists and at some point stopped looking and did what I did most of my life: Dealt with it myself. It got better eventually.
The other big life event was more positive at first: In June 2017 I finished my apprenticeship on an absolute high, and after a long and frustrating jobhunt I found my first fully paid job and moved back to my home town. Unfortunately, the job turned out to be not right for me. It was technically a good job, well-paid, flexible hours, nice colleagues, own office. It was just not what I was trained for, I missed actual bookselling a lot, and it started to weigh on me really badly to the point where I had trouble sleeping and got horrible stomach and back aches as soon as I entered the office. So I started looking around and had to finally face the reality - there are just not enough jobs in bookselling, especially not if you have to make an actual living from it. Again, it was my mum who kicked my ass to actually look for a therapist.
The next nine month were hard. Nine month on the waiting list, calling in every month to tell them I was still interested. The hardest part about this for me was that probably, I would've had a better chance getting a slot if I would've been honest with myself about how bad off I actually was, on the other hand I was not suicidal, not selfharming and functioning pretty well in my day to day life, so I tricked myself into thinking it wasn't really that bad and thus feeling like a fraud for actually asking for therapy.
My coping mechanism, as usual, was joking about it a lot. Gallows humor is my best friend in situations like that, and thus the first thing I said on the phone was "Hello, this is my monthly call to tell you I am still nuts!" and I ended it with "Alright, speak to you next month!".
At my ninth call, I had the bad luck to talk to a person who was very insistent on keeping things seriously and thus robbing me of my coping mechanism. A few days later, I got a call from my therapist - a slot had opened up for me.
That was in the end of 2018. I have been in therapy again for 5 months now, and we have just finished the preparatory sessions by now. Those actually take up ages and are a bit frustrating because as the name indicates it is only preparation - telling your life story, talking about your current life, finding out what is going on and, if you're lucky, why it's going on. No solutions yet.
I am a very impatient person and that is probably the first thing my therapist found out about me - I stumbled in and basically diagnosed myself (was actually off to a good start but not in-depth enough) and demanded solutions straightaway. "Okay, sure, now I know the problem but what do I have to do to fix it?" Sadly, it's not that easy.
My new therapist is a lot more hand-on, a very direct, kicking your ass type of person - no kids gloves here. This man takes no bullshit. And that is probably exactly what I need because by now; I have become very good at bullshitting myself.
Instead of diagnoses, my current therapist likes to talk about what he calls "problem pots". I have three of those: Self-worth issues, a low tolerance for frustration, and the mentioned trauma. Unlike diagnoses, those problem pots help us to talk about the direct issues that are making my life more complicated - the self-worth issues make me set incredibly high standards for myself that I can't possibly fullfill and lead to very heavy reactions to minor difficulties, as does the low tolerance for frustration which also leads to me being likely to avoid things that frustrate me. Those are the two things we are tackling primarily right now.
Even though I don't know yet how we will actually work on those problems, I already learned a lot about myself during those preparatory sessions - not only about my problems but also about my way to live my life on a daily basis. That is very down to my therapist forcing me to question everything. Twice. Lately, we have been focussing on my time and energy levels. First, I was asked to list the things that I was doing in my week: Work, my hobbies, social interactions like seeing my family or friends, my relationship, taking care of my dog etc. Then we assumed I had 100 hours in a week to do those things (sleep and hygiene not taken into account) - how much time was I spending on those things, how much time was I willing to spend on those things, did I have enough time for the things I was doing? I was also asked to estimate how much energy those things were requiring. Needless to say that I definitely was spending more time/energy than I actually had. Then we had a closer look: A thing that was pleasant should take less energy from me than time, a thing that wasn't necessarily pleasant but okay could take as much time as energy (for example, I spent around 50 hours for work including breaks and commute, so it was allowed to take up to 50% of my energy), a thing that took way more energy than time would be a thing that should be questioned mercilessly and probably ditched from my schedule. That also meant seriously questioning why I felt like I should be doing those things, what the consequences were to not doing them anymore, and if I would rather face the consequences and thus not do the things anymore or keep doing them so I didn't have to deal with the consequences. That goes as deeply as "I technically don't have to work but that would mean I don't make any money and would be living off welfare and have less money and social repercussions." It also brought me more in touch with my own aspirations and thus with what I feel are the framework for my own happiness - and with the price those come with.
Based on that, I was asked to imagine my life in 45 years: Where do I want to be, what do I want to do, how did my life have to be in 45 years for me to be happy? How much time and energy was I willing to invest in those things in 45 years? Based on that, I had to lay out the way to that goal - what would I have to be doing in 30 years, 5 years, one year, now to achieve those dreams? And again, we were questioning all of it: Did I actually want that, was I willing to pay the price, how realistic was all of that? We quickly found out that I had completely bailed on stuff like cleaning my flat in my plans. "You don't want to clean your flat at all?" "I mean... technically I don't want to but I guess I have to if I want a clean flat, huh?"
Even though it gets frustrating at times, I like my therapists approach of, I don't even know how to phrase this... let me do all the work. I have to work hard in this therapy. He isn't giving me answers. He is guiding me through the process of finding answers myself. He doesn't give me answers but he asks the right questions.
So when my friends ask me how therapy works I can only say: That highly depends. On your problem, on your therapist, and on you as a person. Even two therapies for the same person can be extremely different. But one thing that I can promise is that it's always worth trying it, and it's always good to reach out for help!

Let's talk about sex - The body part paradox

I realized something, and I wanted to share some thoughts about it.
In the past, I was often criticized by people I had sex with that apparently, I didn't do enough with my hands/arms. To this day, this is mainly down to the awkwardness of not knowing what to do with them.

Bear in mind that so far, my sexual history is exclusively people with a penis. I do know what do to with my hands when I have access to a dick but when I don't (e.g. during penetration), my arms become just two very useless limbs, at best holding my partner, at worst lying next to me. Caressing my partner during sex is a thing I have to focus on, and we all know how hard that can be when you are having good sex. But after receiving that criticism several times, I started thinking: Why don't I know what to do with my hands? Why is that so hard?

I have a theory.
Let's have a good hard look at how we view different bodies in sexual contexts in the media. Bodies that are read as female, according to the portrayal, have a lot of parts to offer that are very sexy - boobs, a nice ass, legs, all of those are viewed as hot and portrayed as hot. The actual genitals are usually less talked about - at most, we see a vulva in media when it is currently penetrated. The visibility of vulvas is a very new concept, and people still have to discuss a lot as soon as they include vulvas in art. Now shift that look towards people read as male. The focus for body parts that are supposed to arouse us is usually on the penis. Then maybe occasionally, you get an ass or some abs.

And here is where the problem starts - the male read bodies that are portrayed as sexy in media are usually very well-trained, there are butts made of steel, overly defined eight packs etc. I don't want to tell anyone they can't be attracted to that, you are all valid, but lets be real: Those bodies are hard to find in real life because they are hard to get, hard to maintain and if you also want to click with someone on a personal basis as well, that reduces the pool of people even more. Thus, when we are sleeping with bodies read as male when they don't have the unlikely set of muscles, we might not really know where to put our hands.

Another thing where this is very visible is the topic of nudes by the way - when a female-presenting person wants to take nudes or have them taken, the focus is mostly on the chest (especially when you are actually modeling for nude art), having photos of a vulva is rare and also viewed as the lewdest option - its more likely that your crotch is hidden in pictures. For male-presenting people who are not as jacked as the image media provides, there are hardly any ways to have photos without a penis considered to be nude art.

Its the complete opposite of how different bodies are viewed in non-sexual contexts by the way, because when it comes to fashion, for example, you can't seem to do it right as a female-presenting person, and it seems to be easier for male presenting folks to find something nice that actually fits their body shape no matter what it is.

So what do we take from this? Glorify other body parts than genitals for male-presenting people. Gush the shit out of them. Gush the shit out of bodies that are not super-muscular, not super slim, that in any way don't fit into the very narrow image of an ideal male-presenting body. Especially for your partners - make the beauty you see in them and the things you think are very sexy about them visible (with their consent only, obviously). Do the same for all the unusual/underrepresented body parts of your female-presenting partners, crushes, friends. We can only win here.

Going Polyam

 I have known for years that I am polyamorous.
Means, I have known for years that I can love several people simultaneously, and I while I have struggled with that for a while (because we always get taught that love has to be exclusive), it has also been years that I was very interested in actually living polyamorously as well - meaning, I liked the idea to have more than one relationship at the same time, my partners having more than one relationship as well and so on.

I can hereby happily inform you that I am now living polyamorously.
Some of you may remember me blogging about my engagement, my upcoming wedding, my fiance and how we started out our relationship - as an agreement for me to try being in a monogamous relationship with him because he was worth it to me. An experiment.
I think it is natural when planning a wedding to have some doubts and starting to question everything. After all, it is a promise to spend the rest of your lives together, even with the possibility to not do that and have a divorce if it doesn't work out, that still means you are at the very least in for the stress that comes with that. Either way, it is a huge commitment, and it should better be with the right person.

I think I started having doubts way earlier than I would want to admit to myself, and being me, I dealt with that by overcompensating. After all, I know myself well enough to know that I am very likely to sabotage pretty much everything I have going well for me. So my initial thought was clear: "This will blow over, you are just nervous". So instead of thinking about my feelings and talking to my partner about them (you know, the thing I keep telling others to do), I started working extra hard on preparing the wedding.

Fast forward to my birthday in November. I spent my birthday weekend in London meeting my discord family in real life for the first time and I had an amazing time. And then, when Sunday came and I was on my way back to Germany, I did not only realize that I did not want to leave (which, to be fair, is pretty normal for me), I noticed myself daydreaming about a life in the UK - and those daydreams did not involve my fiance.

I spent the next days having a particularly hard look at my relationship and on myself. Long story short - I was not happy anymore. And it was worse than expected: I wasn't only happy anymore because of the monogamous nature of our relationship - I just was not happy anymore in general, and I did not want to continue this relationship, even if my fiance had magically agreed to open our relationship up (which was definitely not happening).

Breaking up engagement is a lot harder than breaking up a normal relationship. Not only because you are living together and one of you has to move out, not only because you have to cancel so many things and it will potentially cost you a lot of money, but because the questions are breaking you.
I still think I have made the right decision. I am about to move out, I will start a new job in March to actually be able to survive on my own financially, and it feels like breaking free. My fiance is an amazing person who handled this break up with such strength for the both of us, so much fairness and peace and understanding, and I am very sure he will be the best person for someone else - he just isn't for me. At least not as a fiance, and eventually husband. I think we will do way better as friends (and co-owners of our beautiful dog).

At some point along that way, I fell in love with Nat. Nat is also a member of my discord family, and I knew they existed but then there was the London weekend and I got to fully know them. Technically, it hit me like a brick, and I had a massive crush on them. We started to talk a lot more regularly, got to know each other very well pretty quickly, got super close. And then there was Jay. Jay is also a member of the discord, and we have been friends for quite a while. They developed a crush on them as well and they and their partner opened their relationship. So Jay and I are both Nat's partners. I don't really know how exactly that happened but I am so so glad it did because now I get to experience polyamory, a thing I wanted to try for ages.

Obviously, being polyam is not necessarily easier than monogamous relationships. It is just difficult in a different way. A big part of what we have to figure out is how to communicate what we need with each other, what we are able and willing to give, what we are comfortable with, how we work as people and thus how to read each other - just like in every monogamous relationship. The big difference is that this time, it includes and effects more than two people, which makes it harder. On the other hand we have to unlearn a lot of what we like to call toxic monogamy - the idea that there is any kind of hierarchy between multiple partners or even other relationships like friendships or family, that there is any sort of priority and if there isn't, there's a problem, the idea that you are entitled to have your partners full attention at all times, the idea that there is any competition going on. To be honest, when I started this, I was very scared that I would turn out to be a massive fraud and would be very jealous as soon as my partner sleeping with other people would become an actual reality. I can gladly confirm: Nope, I really do not mind, as long as they are comfortable with me doing the same. I have a way bigger problem personally to unlearn monogamy, all the points mentioned above are a bit hard on me. Another thing that doesn't exactly make it easier is that every pairing in our polycule is a long distance relationship, so most of our communication works via texts and phone calls, which makes it harder to build intimacy. And yet, both Nat and Jay are doing such a great job catching me when I feel insecure or left out or anxious about anything, it's amazing! This might be the hardest relationship I have ever had, its so much effort and it is hard to be honest with myself and them about my feelings but it is so worth it because both of them are putting in just as much work and we are all willing to do the work this takes to make everyone as comfortable as possible.

A big part of why this makes me so happy is also that I feel like I am finally living my best queer life. I have identified as queer for the past 6 years, and yet so far, I have exclusively dated cis men. Now I am the only cis person in my polycule (everyone else is non-binary) and it's such a new experience. This plus the fact that we are polyamorous takes a lot of pressure off me, I feel like for the first time I don't have to walk on eggshells so much being worried to either emasculate my partner or them becoming jealous as soon as I am close with or attracted to anyone, and that is a great feeling. I feel very free.

I also feel very cared about - I have the incredible luck to have a partner and a friend who are both very sensitive for my bullshit and I they manage to reassure me, tell me they love me, appreciate me exactly when I need it, may it be when I have a thing going on in my own life or have an issue that we as a polycule have to discuss. They both manage to make me feel very good about myself, which is hard with all my self worth issues.
What can I say? I am very optimistic about this going well. I think I have found a way to do relationships that works really well for me. And I love my polycule and especially my partner very very much.