Reuniting with the past

I just had a short visit with one of my closest friends from middle school. Weird can’t express how much I missed her. She has always been that budda friends, the one who gets along with everyone and keeps the peace when bringing us together. It breaks my heart to know the life she had growing up, and to hear how the friends she keeps in touch with treat her. She is, hands down, the sweetest person I know and I hope things come together so her and her family can move back near me…at least where they are happiest. She deserves happiness.



Sex, I’m addicted. It’s my only true addiction. I’ve been addicted to sexual stimulation since I was little, I’ve confessed this already, but my first time having sex I was 18…that is a story for another day though.

Sex tends to completely dominate my life at times. From 18-21 (when I became pregnant with my son) I was very sexually active and with multiple partners. Becoming emotionally attached was hard for me, yes, the pork of being sexually abused at a young age, but I digress. If I’m not seeing someone then I masturbate, heck even when I’m seeing someone I’m self gratifying. I’m insatiable much of the time which is why multiple partners worked well for me.

My big confession tonight is that I have been denying myself sex with another person for going on a year now. It may seem insane, but it was a part of my healing process. I want more, a relationship that is a fit for both of us, to do that I need to be in control of my body and truly know what I need and what I can offer. It has truly helped and I feel like I truly know what I want and need from a partner. The problem is that things have become out of my control.

With my housing situation out of my hands, up in the air combined with a lack of income, I am spiraling mentally. I’ve been hiding in books. If it wasn’t for this blog I would be completely lost in my head ignoring my problems. As it is I’m losing myself to bdsm literotica and novels the past couple of weeks and seriously dehydration sets in each day. I can’t tell you how nice it would be to completely submit to a man or men so I no longer have to stress over my current worries.

This has never been my style, not 24/7 full submission. I know this is just me trying to escape this dragged out move and what I can’t control. I don’t know how to change this, but it’s getting old. Why can’t I throw myself into cleaning or some other project, why do I keep using sex as my escape, control in an uncontrolled state?

I won’t give in. No booty calls. No sex club (that’s a new thought I entertained). No more books. I need a new focus…

Bound Beauty


I can’t even begin explaining how this picture makes me feel…it’s me.

Bound Beauty

I am so full of love, passion, energy, and more all bound up. Few can see what’s hiding in me, those who can only catch glimpses; a flash of light in my eyes, a spark that escapes when touched…all of it bound, carefully hidden.
I shrug away from affection, hugs filled with love and comfort. Eye contact is strained, carefully shuttered. My body heavy, plain with the unattractive material binding me, hiding me. I draw and paint, pierce and decorate, a poor interpretation of the vibrant beauty hidden away. You can’t see me!
You can’t know…

-Hapless Confusion 2016

Dealing with surviving the home invasion

I just spent 2 hours in the bath overcome by memories of my past. These memories are a part of me, why I am who I am today, but sometimes I wonder just who that is. Usually I can reclaim these memories twisting them into something enjoyable and get off on them, but sometimes that backfires, like today.

Laying in the bath I remembered an incident when my son was about 6 months old. We lived in an apartment not far from who we thought was his dad (yeah, long story). Someone knocked on the door a little before my alarm went off, early morning. I went to the door thinking either it was my ex or someone at the wrong door. The peep hole sucked as they usually do and I couldn’t decipher if it was my ex and his friend or not so I asked who it was. Someone said their name and that they were looking for JC. My dumbass cracked the door to tell them that J is 2 doors down…they forced their way in gun and all.

Up against the wall one told me to take off my shirt (it was all that covered me aside from panties). I’m not sure if I tried to distract them with talk or if I just stood there, but I do remember my alarm going off and my dread as my son awoke. They were distracted, demanding to know who’s there and fully on guard. Finally they let me get my son who was in my bed and I sat cuddling him as they paced. I don’t know what all they were doing probably filling a bag, but eventually I came out to make a bottle…I never sat my son down the entire time.

God is great and guided me, my words and all. I didn’t know these guys, but I knew them. Gangstas, gone off the wet, and I knew what color they claimed which narrowed down what set they were. I had an idea that my old roommate, ex, and friends might know them too. I dropped my friends street names casually as they fit into conversation, thinking maybe they were from the same set. I had to let them know I’m not a threat, make them see me as a someone who should be protected instead of an outsider. I tried to give them an out before any damage or irreversible crime was truly committed…leave before it’s too late.

It worked on one of them. He actually told the other they shouldn’t be there, something about me being down or a friend of _ set (yes, they knew the names even though my friends didn’t know them by name). Unfortunately the other one was too gone off the wet to care, he was on a mission with a crazed look in his eye and he was the one calling the shots. The nicer one never left me alone with the crazy one after that.

Like I said, God is great. It felt like hours but was probably less than a half before they left. There was one moment that truly scared me more than when they first burst in, it was when crazy joined us all in my son’s room. Things weren’t going as planned for him. Most of my belongings were still packed in boxes, his friend wasn’t helping much, and knowing what I know now things weren’t where they should be outside either. He was losing it, at one point pointed the gun toward my son and I and started talking about fvcking me, ordering me to take his friend to the bed. Somehow the nicer one intervened distracting him. Not long later they were leaving, crazy ordering me to count to (I forget how high) before calling the police and the other one apologizing. They left me utterly confused and scared they would come back busting through my windows, but after a few minutes I called the police and then my job.

I won’t go into the trial following all of this, nor will I speak more on their sentencing etc. but I will say that there is no 6 degrees of separation when you date/associate with specific populations…in my case it’s more like 3 degrees if your lucky. Mr. crazy reached out to me before trial through his kin folk whom I had just started seeing. Yeah…

What messes me up about all of this is not the fact that it happened or that I couldn’t stop it, but that I have fvcked up emotions and fantasies about it. From the moment I saw him I was attracted to the nice one. I wanted him to walk out the door so we could talk again another time. When he told me he wished we had met under different circumstances I wanted to say “you and me both” while a twisted piece of me was like “it’s not too late sugar.” Who thinks like that?!?! Yeah, I have issues…like I said, at that time in my life these were my type of guys, my people, even the crazy one. But Mr. Nice never manned up enough to ever deserve me.

So I spent 2 hours in the bath reliving it all plus some, feeling grimy because I found myself wondering and borderline fantasizing what would happen if crazy and nice had raped me. Worse yet I even entertained using sex to manipulate the whole situation and then a fantasy grew from that. I couldn’t enjoy it though because under it all I felt extremely blessed to survive the whole thing and lose little, I was so scared they’d rape me or to call police because it could lead to my son getting harmed. For me to fantasize or retain any other action felt like a slap in the face to God and the blessed outcome and helpĀ  during this horrible event.

What is wrong with me!?! I know it’s normal try to own uncontrollable events, but this is crazy! No part of me enjoyed the situation or wanted to be trapped so why even consider this crap soooo many years later??

Haunted goodbyes

Is there a clinical term for overwhelmed and not motivated? I know I should be packing and purging, but I don’t want to leave the couch and fireplace to even get the laundry to fold. Ok, I made myself do that and other basics in household maintenance, but I had to MAKE myself which is not right.

Yeah there’s some depression and a lot of avoidance happening right now and most of it is surrounding the move. We’ve lived here almost all of my son’s life, about 13 years. We have so many memories here, both good and bad, it’s hard to say goodbye.

Typically I enjoy moving but what makes this different is that it is severely affecting my son. His friends, activities, and memories are here. He is upset, withdrawn, and showing it like guys do…”nothing’s wrong” then shutting himself away. Watching this affect him makes it hard on me. I busted my ass to ensure he had a stable home to grow up in, even remaining here when I wanted to run away from memories because I knew it was more important to give my son stability. Now I can’t even give him one lat summer let alone his high school years.

Maybe I’m feeling like a failure because I can’t afford the rent hike. Even so, I would refuse to pay $1650 for this small place. I guess I just don’t like to know I can’t swing something even if I chose not to pay in the end; it’s having the option to not stay due to the increase instead of having the decision made for me.

Then there’s having to go through things and purging. I still have things of my dad’s that I’ve stored away and things of his that are in use that need to be given away. I’m not thrilled about the memories that going through things will bring. Baby clothes saved for the 2nd child that I would never have. Baggage.

I have 2-3 months to get through this, I need to step up. I can do this. Maybe it’s a good thing we have to move, it’s time I let go. Make a list, table one room at a time before moving on.

Just 1 more night vegging then I start on the first room.

Secrets revealed

I was molested at age 4, I spoke of this before, how his actions and lies affected my self esteem and friendships. Unfortunately this wasn’t all it affected.

Although I don’t remember any penetration or pleasure from his random finger follies, the experience unlocked a fascination and curiosity that should not exist for many more years. I’m not sure what age it started, but by 7 I had discovered the pleasure that one little nub could bring. Bath time was never the same. And then I got older and probing added that much more. And that is how I put myself to sleep many nights.

This was my secret, nobody knows of this. It’s not something you speak of even to your best friend. Hell, I was already an outcast because of my molester, imagine how people would think of me knowing this. No, nobody else would be able to use my experiences against me.