Developing a new mindset

I rarely had nightmares until this year. I don’t know how other people define their nightmares, but mine is if I feel panic and realize that I’m in a dream and can’t wake up. The moments I feel actual fear are brief.

Before 2024, the only nightmare I remember having is from elementary school, where I went by my mom sleeping on the couch and she turned into some sort of monster. I ran around the corner and cried against the wall, hoping to wake up. Probably the only reason I remember the dream so well is because it stood out among my average, boring dreams.

They’ve been cropping up more often lately. I pretty much can expect one if I try to sleep in the afternoon. I think they form at the very end of my cycle, or in the instants before I start waking. My best guess is that they’re morphing from the anxiety dreams that have plagued me for a bunch of years now.

I don’t know if there’s another name for this. It’s for the dreams where you make the stupid decision you avoided in conscious life and have to deal with the consequences of it (and the benefit of the decision is nowhere to be found).

Lately, my dreams have been about me smoking weed even though I’ve been abstaining for my job hunt. In my conscious thoughts I have no problem avoiding it, but I do miss it sometimes. The hilarious part is that I never smoke enough to get high, but just enough so that I’d fail a test and have to keep waiting to apply. I recently lost out on a job opportunity because my glue-like body didn’t flush it out on time and I failed their test. I definitely fucked myself over in that- I needed over a month to test clean, I guess. Maybe it’s a fear of my sometimes wavering self-control?

The most prevalent dream-mistake, though, is hitting a car while I’m driving and panic and race away. Maybe some of it comes from never having been in an accident, but I used to be a professional driver! I know that I would never do something like in real life but the thought still plagues my dreams. The entire time I’m racing away, I’m freaking out and wondering why the fuck I left.

I’ll wake up stressed and with a faint sense of annoyance at myself, without knowing the words for the emotions or why I’m feeling them. A more meditative person would start their morning with a mental cleanse that would address these feelings but I ALWAYS. FORGET. To challenge my morning mood and put the day in a better frame.

Stupid dreams.

(This is a long story, but needs to get out of me.)

My first memory of you was at Battle of the Books, when I was a junior (I think). I think it wasn’t the first time I saw you but it’s the first time I remember. I think we spoke, briefly, about who knows what, and that was it.

There’s a big time jump to Psych, senior year. I know we spoke in between then but I can’t remember anything specific. First day of class, I sat in a different pack of seats but you called me over to sit by you and your friend. Had you any idea how many years of change that one decision made?

You helped me come out of my shell. You just had no hesitation for my reservedness and walked right in. Immediately, I had no resistance. You said once that I’m always good to hang with because I matched your energy. The times we went driving and just talked were probably the most peaceful, fulfilling moments I had in high school, especially after the hell of junior year. I went to your mom’s house with her creepy boyfriend and once went inside your dad’s house. I don’t think I ever had you over. I just followed you.

From the beginning, you acted as though I was yours, and it never occurred to me to deny you. I remember once, we were watching TV in your living room when you insisted on laying on top of me, as I lay on my side. I wasn’t sure how to react, but the contact felt nice, so I let you. Your mom’s creepy boyfriend came in and commented on us. I was nervous and blamed you, but you were silent and never looked away from the TV. A little after, we sat up. Was I supposed to stand up to him? There were many, many points in my life where I recalled that moment and desperately wished I could change what I did. But, looking back, I doubt such a small moment made as big an impact as other things.

After high school, I think there was a period where we barely talked, but it was also when I was in a deep depression so I wasn’t retaining any memories (dissociation does that). I eventually improved enough to move out of my parents’ house, and that’s when I remember talking to you somewhat consistently.

It’s your fault that things changed between us. It was almost as if you were trying to reap something you sowed into me. First, you invite me to a threesome with your unconsenting boyfriend who was right there and refused it. I wasn’t sure what to make of it- you often talked at the top of your head. Normal people would probably have started running in the opposite direction.

And then… I don’t remember how it was brought up, but one day, you sat on my living room couch, legs on my lap and alcohol in hand, that you wanted to try opening up your relationship with your boyfriend and thought about asking me to have sex but thought I’d say no. I don’t remember exactly what I said in response, but I remember being quiet for a moment as I processed that. It was never the same between us after.

(Is that why you got so drunk from a few ounces of vodka? Were you nervous to tell me?)

I think I eventually said that I wouldn’t have agreed to it anyway, and the conversation shifted. Not too long later, your boyfriend came to get you and I walked your stumbling ass to him. He was upset at your condition but it wasn’t like I poured the drink down your throat.

Time passed, maybe a week or two. We see each other again, at Noodles and Company, where I tell you that I was actually interested in having sex. Your reaction is cemented in me. You were looking at your food and slowed to a stop. You set the utensil down and looked at me carefully. What you said sounded rehearsed. Your new boyfriend, Allen, warned you that I could change my mind like this. You told me that you were wrong to ever bring it up.

I don’t remember how the hangout ended. I actually don’t know if we ever hung out again before my last attempt. I think this was the stretch where you had promised to be my best friend but was really struggling to find time for me. We watched Moana once. I think that was the majority of our time spent being best friends. Later, you would apologize for making that promise you couldn’t keep. I didn’t blame you for being busy, but for stringing me along.

My feelings for you were growing. Either I was feeling things I’d always felt (most likely option) or I just started to fall for you. From the first second I knew we were doomed. But I somehow convinced myself that I still needed to be honest and couldn’t keep it inside. I honestly can’t remember anything about my confession- actually, I do now. I drove by after work, dragging you out of your dorm, and told you on the street. It was a short meeting, I think. I started crying on the way out; I remember your face looking so sad after me. At home, I shut myself in my room and got drunk off one drink and an empty stomach.

Work was awkward, but I made it through each day okay. Honestly, the worst was knowing that people were getting told some story (by you- who else?) but not talking to me about it, so I walked in tainted air. Eventually, something inside broke, and I tried to kill myself that April. I didn’t see you for weeks. I had one week in the hospital and then another one or two at my new home. Around then, I met with my old bosses and got my job back.

I don’t think we spoke much at all, but I think I felt a rush of… life? when we did speak. After some months, you and Allen broke up, and you quit shortly after. I think this was the last time we regularly saw each other. For the next five years, we talked sporadically, never consistently. When we did talk, it was so fucking easy. I’ve never had to think around you. Everything, from words to action, was natural in a world where I’m self-conscious about every sound or gesture I make. We might not talk for years but pick things up like it’s only been a week. I think that’s why I keep thinking about you. It’s only nature to follow the path of least resistance and it felt like we connected so innately.

The first time we talked, after that job, was a little tense at first, but very quickly we were chatting. One drink at a coffee shop turned into two hours of talking. You were about to finish school and had a boyfriend. You were never one to mince words (I don’t know if you’re capable of tact) so I was blunt in that I wanted to be friends, but would pull away if I was getting feelings again. You were caught slightly off guard by that, but you accepted it.

The thing is, the most I ever felt for you was that time I confessed. My emotions for you since have been so mired in frustration that I don’t know how I truly feel under all these layers. You manipulated me, intentionally or otherwise. But whatever was between us was undeniable.

I sent you a message last month, when I completely changed my perspective on life. You responded, and we talked for a while, but then you stopped, and now I’m here in my own mess. What do I want from you? Closure? Sex? To keep talking and talking in our own bubble and watch the world race by?

I can’t forget you. I’ll always use you as a metric for how naturally I act around someone. Typing this out, I almost feel like I’m mourning. Our lost opportunities and doomed connection. We would never have lasted. I know it’s true, and it’s probably life preserver I’ll cling to, to get over you.

(Thanks for reading.)

I’m slowing down my school schedule and I’m almost ecstatic about it.

For months, I clung to school and an eventual degree as my lifeline to get through each day. I was almost completely unaware of how lost I felt. I thought I was good now! I have direction and purpose! But the symptoms were growing with each month. I gained weight from eating takeout almost every day. I didn’t work because the thought of working made me want to crumble. I latched to every income source I could (and as a result, I have a long list of people to repay) because I was back in the get-through-the-day mentality that I haven’t been in, in years. I think I was too scared to admit that I was struggling, and that the depression I thought I had under control was actually in charge.

While I have a relatively large mountain to climb, both physically and financially, I’ve never felt more connected to my body and the potential that waits outside. It feels a little crazy to credit my entire turnaround to bdsm but it’s hard to describe how closed off I was sexually, even for myself. Granted, my birth control might have had an effect on that, so weening off of it this year has shown me what arousal truly feels like. If I had known that effect, I probably wouldn’t have been on it as long! That, combined with a lifetime of near-asexuality had me under the false notion that sex wasn’t an important part of my life. Well…

As I told my friend: “The trajectory is nothing but up!”

Class let out a bit early yesterday. The teacher said he couldn’t in good conscious keep us there while the weather was so nice. Fifties and sunny! Of course, I had to work on a computer in a lab so I missed out on really enjoying it.

Late in the night I was still awake and happened to look outside. It seemed like it was raining but I couldn’t be sure (it was hard to tell from the streetlight). My first emotion was joy because the rain always makes me feel better. I opened the window wide and slept to the sound.

This morning, I can see how all of the snow was melted away. We’re almost halfway through December and had our snow rained away. That’s when the reality of hit me and I started feeling uneasy about it. How much of a winter will my town get in the next five years? The last five have all been disappointing, or all of the snow fell in spring where it’d melt away fast. The gray sky is not helping me to feel better.

The thoughts of the winters my nephew will see are making me more upset.

So I listen to the rain.

The meaning of life is to live. You’re only doing it wrong by dying. You are how the universe furthers entropy. The only “role” you have is to have a role.

I had a discussion with an aunt about how large the universe is to us. She talked about how small we are, and how that could make any insignificant. I answered by saying that because we’re insignificant, there is no higher order or rules we should be following. Literally everything is up for us to decide. Though, we have biology to guide us. Some consequences of being a social species can include supporting the weakest and avoiding harm to each other. It’s really up to humanity to choose. We have all the power we want to have.

Life is a cycle. You gotta exist to reproduce but then you gotta get out of the way at some point.

People apparently think that math is emotionless and takes away any spirituality from the universe. I could not disagree more. Math shows that reality is not straight and is in fact very bendy! I think people get stuck at a level of math where they think it’s a dusty toolbox instead of a language. If they pushed further, they’d see how math proves an uncaring universe wrong.

Being fiercely independent has its drawbacks, including needing to be needy sometimes. I was trying to go it alone for basically my entire life and finally hit a wall this year. Spinning wheels, burning money, delivering pizza to usually grateful people. School was progressing and sure, I had a dream to change my town, but nothing felt real. I marked each day on the calendar, riding the bus of life. Now I feel like I’m driving it.

I snapped one day and confronted maybe my deepest fear, intimacy. I was so anxious that I blew past my reservations and let myself admit the thought- I need someone. Going it solo was not working. I couldn’t get nearly as far alone.

Sometimes, in the cruel way it has, anxiety will push me past the walls it helped me build and swing blindly into the future. Success rate: varying.

What appealed to me so much about bdsm was letting down my guard enough to not be worried about the environment or a knock on the door or being too loud or pretending to be someone different. Looking forward to giving someone control of me?? The high from intimacy is better than a wake-n-bake that lasts through the day. AND, it’s a two-way road, I get to give pleasure while satisfying my urge to satisfy? It’s genuinely incredible. It’s also done wonders for my own philosophy. I’m seeing parallels everywhere.

But, I haven’t been in that kind of dynamic yet. I think I need a dynamic that grows individually, where both sides don’t necessarily have expectations. It might be the true demisexual way.

Now that nearly all of my thinking is long term, I wonder what habits I should get into to maintain anonymity. For one, the more time is the more chance to slip up. I’m imagining things like deleting internet history regularly, keep a phone lock, maybe change phone numbers every so often? Also, there’s more time to be outed, especially since data security is ever more perilous. I’m thankful to not be in an area that’s dangerous to be known, but given how people reacted to Susanna Gibson, I will be limited in some ways if people think they know me from an acronym.

While out in the wild, has anyone found hints that someone was one of us? I’ve heard of those with the Fetlife tattoo but I think that’s a bit too known now. On dating apps, I’ve sometimes seen “looking for a connection” isolated. Not just a random statement, but in its own paragraph. Is that…?

Where bdsm gets the ability to probe limits is trust. Where demis get attraction is trust. The connection is there. The next time I hang out with a certain friend I’m going to talk to them about the potential for demis to lean into bdsm. Be a demi long enough and you can only dream about being so intimate with someone- until bdsm! This is the same friend who I reached out to when I first realized. I think they feel about sex the same way that I felt so our conversation will be on a level we’ve barely broached before.

I’m really curious what the average age of a lifestyler is when it comes to how they’ve been exposed to the idea of demisexuality. I’m sure they’ve come up with similar words. I’ve legitimately started my own dictionary for the acronyms, this language is kinda fun to figure out.

How do I tell people that my day was just fine?

It’s the time of year when I have to see both regular and irregular family. The distant ones will be no big deal to talk to, it’s the close ones that I’m going to struggle with. I don’t know what to say when they ask me what’s new. I want to be honest, being an open book is very healing to me, but there are some boundaries I have to form when merging these worlds. I tend to ramble so I don’t necessarily trust myself to give some details but not enough for others to connect any dots. I fear that I’m going to end up lying somehow, and dishonesty is so abhorrent to me at the moment. I’m being honest with myself like never before; it goes against my new rules of life.

I blame this post-Puritan, American culture. Sexual freedom is a big no-no here. How are we to control the people if they understand their bodies? A lot of us lack the words to express these things and even fewer of us have the bravery. I’ve only had a little time to adjust myself to this world but already I’m bracing myself for public rejection. I think I can handle the conversation but not the idea that my people will pull away.

Thanks for reading.