I think I figured out why you didn’t receive any of your pictures and some of my letters. I read through the mail rules on the website the other day. It says you can’t possess more than 40 pictures at one time, and additional pictures are considered contraband. It said you couldn’t trade the pictures in your possession with ones being kept from you, so it seems you have to throw them away. If you write down the numbers of the ones you want reprinted after all is said and done, I will do that for you. It might be best to throw mine, because I can guarantee they’re replaceable. I could also get a bunch of pictures printed onto one bigger page. Do you know if there are mail size restruictions? It’s also strange they haven’t contacted you about this. It says in the rules that they would make you choose whether you want to cover the costs of returning them to sender, or having them destroyed. That almost makes me unsure of whether it would even behoove you to throw the ones you have away? But if you did, then you would, for all intents and purposes, no longer be in possession of them..? I wonder why they have that rule. Its really fucked up. I feel like it might seem less cruel and unusual if I understood the reasoning?. Are they afraid of you skadooing? (Blue’s Clues).
As for my letters; I was somewhat aware that you were not allowed to have anything that would keep you from buying stationery items from commissary, or enable you to send mail that doesn’t look like it’s from a prison, but also; There postal service has size restrictions for how small a piece of mail can be, and the envelopes I make are too small to be sent through post. I have reprinted all the typed letters you haven’t received. There are about 4 handwritten letters, I’m trying to remember as much as possible of what I wrote This is another major reason why I usually photocopy my $#!+, because this seems to happen quite a bit just through the regular post to anyone. I am a relic in that way. I use snail mail and do cursive writing. They did give you one card that had a tiny envelope in it- did I write on the outside of it? I know I didn’t write on every single one of them; But they weren’t technically unused because they were stuffed with letters. If that’s all that really stands between you receiving and not, that would be really simple and nice, because I do get a kick out of being cutesy, “like so”. I wish they would have kept the envelopes and given you the letters. Hhhh. I will find a way to stay, “like so”.
I was thinking about how you grew up, living in close proximity with so many people; How that may have given you a more careful and considerate way of peacekeeping in your world than I have had in mine. I respect that about you. I want to know more on your beliefs and opinions on conflict, miscommunication, and discord. I will tell you about myself, so that you might gauge where I’m coming from; But we both can learn wiser ways to communicate together, and ideally our beliefs will converge and be redefined. I see a lot of benefit in my way of emphasis on openness. I see a lot of benefit in your way of respect.
I feel endeared by some discord because it tells me we’re both being genuine. If I’ve if a person I’ve known for awhile, never shows me a sign of irritation, it’s a bit suspicious, because they’re being too polite to possibly be real. I have specific guidelines for myself, and expressing anger. I think it is within acceptable boundaries to use words to say why we’re angry. It isn’t okay to say things for the sole purpose of being hurtful or mean to someone. For the sake of the openness, I try not to discriminate on harsh intonation in others, as long as the content is deemed appropriate by those standards. I have a lot of trouble changing the tone of my voice while I am still submerged in emocean. Each time that you felt i snapped at you, I was very emotional about my mom. That’s worth noting. Both times, when I reread the messages later on; I could totally see how I came off harshly, but in the moment I typed them, they didn’t seem that way. (I apologized in my previous letter, so you already know. This is my analysis breakdown. Just to iterate, I’m not trying to justify myself.)
Men are more able to compartmentalize their emotions than women. If you could view this in the form of finger paintings, A man would have his colors each neatly separated in their own respective sections. A woman would have her colors everywhere, with no specificity of section. Everything blends together. If I could choose to function more like a man, It completely seems more efficient, communicatively.- Because, I mean, even though you had no true fault in my harsh emotions; They permeated my every expression to you.. I did already send the letter about how much your calls honestly mean to me, and all that gushy stuff I’m not supposed to actually say. It probably made you roll your eyes at me. I could already sense that my letter might reach you before you reach out to me.
Yes. The taser. Remember how I told you that my worst fear is losing my memory. I am very aware that electric current through the brain, or trauma to the back of the head can cause these things, and if there is anyone in the world who has the right blend of qualities to responsibly taser themselves, it’s me. Also, leading up to this extreme measure; I am trying mild electric current massaging. This will weigh into my ultimate decision of whether it influences the pain. Usually, if it has any effect, there is a measure of potential for it to exert the opposite effect. I am also going to try acupuncture, and deep tissue massage, since I do really believe the source of this is tension.
I didn’t express very clearly that the realization I was having & crying about the day before I heard from you, was how much my mom is suffering, and leading to her being ready to die. -And requiring me to observe compassion of great heights. I don’t really want her to suffer. I noticed am a lot like my grandpa in the way that I emotionally react to a loved one in pain. It irritates/annoys the daylights out of me. At first, the connection isn’t always clear. It seems like I’m annoyed at her in general,-like towards her; when actually I’m annoyed on her behalf of suffering, and at my inability to influence the situation. Powerlessness (power starved). This agitation. This wanting to have a break from her, I am recognizing it now as the first steps of my letting her go. I am letting those feelings happen instead of shaming myself over them. I am realizing there is a difference between mourning her before she’s gone, and planning my future. I can imagine that being in prison makes you also feel power-starved. I sincerely don’t want to add to that..
I don’t know why this is so difficult for me to admit, but Your positivity is an asset to me. I didn’t even really realize that until I ghosted a motherfucker from High School for telling me he never laughs or smiles unless there’s a good reason. I told you this already, lol. It made me see that absolutely I do cherish it in you. I smile, and laugh, numerous times, every single day of my life; There’s no good reason not to. I still feel that positivity is my weakest quality at the moment. It hasn’t always been this way. I was a fanfare-fairytale fool, doped up on hope. I think that’s why I’m on the offense toward optimism
There is something to be said for realism. To believe right now that there is any legitimate possibility for the cancer to be gone forever from the previous treatments she has had; Is delusional. To believe that there is any real possibility for there to be a treatment that takes the cancer away forever; Now thats feasible. I don’t know if it’s attainable within her lifetime, or even mine. I think it’s going to be something in a coral reef. I’m getting off track again. What I’m trying to say, is, yes it’s hard for me to stay positive. Sometimes it’s not realistic, and also; Often, something that seems very grim to the outsider, is actually my extended effort to discern positivity in what is traditionally considered negative.
I don’t want to say that identifying with others isn’t important to me; あ contraire. It’s just that I’m beginning to give up on it. I think that maybe, being understood isn’t as important to my reason for existing., as being understanding is. I used to find so much relief and mental clarity from writing in my diary, and letters, and anything really. Even cold, dry, research. I lost that catharsis when my mom got sick, because the more intimately I understood the situation, the deeper I hurt. No release. That is only true of this one thing, but this thing permeates my essence. Depression makes you hungry, because eating is the highest natural dopamine pay out. It’s a 6. Sex is 4, Drugs are the actual highest dopamine pay out, which are a 9. OMG I am getting so off my track. I need to do bullet lists again to remember where I was going with shit.
I need to be ready for her to tell me she doesn’t want treatment anymore. I need to be able to say, “Mom, I support you”, and stand strong behind her in whatever path she chooses. I can’t react by throwing a temper tantrum and begging her to live. She has been making all of this sacrifice for me. It will become my turn to sacrifice her, for her sake, There comes a point when everything turns upside down, I’ve been told that I will feel relief when she dies. I believe this because it’s how I felt for my grandpa. I am not as selfish of a person as I feel I am. I just can’t imagine the point where I feel acceptance of losing her from the self centered viewpoint.
I was listening to all these freestyles I recorded through the second half of 2016, and the first half of 2017;- Hours worth of material. I feel like I was a completely different person. Sillier, less serious, more giggly. Ahhh…. That made this strange and wondrous moment from August last year, pop into my head…..: So, I stay with fresh teardrops tucked right behind my eyes at all times, and I was listening to this song that started sounding sad, so I CMAO. Then the song was like, “I wanna cryy”, so I chuckled a bit, and marveled about the amazing emotional intent that completely landed with me, so I enjoyed that. -Kept crying through the song. There was some phrase in the next song that made me continue the soothing melancholy, “Don’t wanna say goodbye”, somethin like that. The first time I dare to actually cry to my core about my mom’s whole situation since 2014. Deeper than ever. I imagine sitting across from a close friend who doesn’t know the story, telling them all about it. This forces me to internalize the story in a profound way, and I get so far into the depths of emOcean, I surface on the other side intimaSea.. A synth sound, almost like a voice mutters the word, “rectum”. I laugh my ass off, immediately. Then, just as instantly, I become skeptical of my own ears. I must be fishing myself out of the abyss, subconsciously? Surely the song didn’t actually…..”Rectum”…Woah.Em.Gee…There it goes again 🤣 I sobbed deeper in laughter than I have ever wept; then I writhed in climactic crying until it turned back into seizing laughter, and I was so godamm full of boogers. I finally felt (emotionally) ready to record my first song! So I did. I still have it somewhere, rough rough draft. The rectum cry was epic.
I think if I had the choice between that physiological-emotional influx, and multiple orgasms tonight, I would choose the emotional influx again. But eh… Talking about orgasms with other women, and giving orgasms to other women; It has been thoroughly determined that I have never had just a single orgasm. Every single orgasm has been a multiple for me in my life so far. Except, maybe when I was handicapped from the prozac. I am so SoOo0oOo moThErR FuUcCkKi!nNGg GLAD there was another option for me to try. When you first asked me if I masturbate every day, I averaged about once every 4 days. I also don’t exactly know how to figure my averages, because it’s like I get an appetite, and then the craving in my body from the flavor makes me NEED It again, and again 4 times in one day. Or it could be something innocent, like- Not being able to empty my bladder at bedtime. Well, you know how the alphabet goes. O comes before P, and after that you get to Zzz- So absolutely true for me. My masturbation average has now increased o lik- 2 times every other day.
How do you feel about the concept of a safe-word? I have mixed, ambivalent, contradictory feelings. On one hand, I feel like that puts too much of the power back in my hands, and I wouldn’t want to be able to call it to a complete stop. Maybe just a pause? I don’t trust myself to know when to use it. There have been times when I should have used it, and didn’t realize i was beyond my limit, didn’t want to stop. There have also been a couple times when I stopped it, and afterwards I lingered there in my wondering what it could have been, restraining and spanking my own butt.. Also though, I don’t feel like it’s healthy to force open lines of communication through such a narrow avenue as a single word. Why not just say what we mean? Example: Sometimes I want to be gagged. I made a double gag, with a squishy stress ball that goes in my mouth, and a silk scarf that covers it on the outside, making it impossible to spit out, and if I’m crying enough, my nose will get so stuffy I can’t breathe at all. It’s so fucking sexy to have someone who knows the difference between the need to remove the gag, and the opportunity to enforce tough love by talking me through it, calming me down; getting me to breathe while Keeping the gag on.
You know, if I feel like you’re stopping for any reason other than your own decision, (like you perceive that I want it to end), I will beg you to continue until You decide it’s finished.. On the pro side of a safe word, it’s the kink equivalent of the way you told me you’ would let me know if you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. (Which is pretty much what you gotta do with me. ..“Don’t keep asking if I’m mad! I’ll tell you if I’m mad!!!!”) Like, if there is a problem, I will let you know; Otherwise you’re fair to assume everything is good. It could potentially make you feel more able to push me further; and I would want to grant as much of freedom as possible.
I have this one idea of an arrangement I feel would work really well for me; but I feel like it almost flips the dynamic of power and lets me top from the bottom; Which is a thing that is generally frowned upon (but intriguing to me) for some unknown reason. Where, doing certain things for me earns you points, and the longer you accumulate your points, the more intimate and vulnerable you will be able to spank me, and so there is that aspect of control still, like how you choose to build them up and use them against me. Spend them always as instantly as you earn them on small playful panty swat spankings, or save them up until you have enough points to severely paddle me, fully naked, and restrained spread, until I am convulsively sobbing. (Idk, why I love it. DemiSexuality?: Someone who needs an emotional connection with someone in order to be sexually attracted to them)- I think that’s more definitive of me than pansexual even. Maybe it wouldn’t give me too much control if you held the final say in what earns points, and amounts of them, vs amounts required for specific activities. This idea is cool because it gives us a way to create this interaction without there needing to be a point of real or fabricated contention; but rather through a series of delightful exchanges….
So like, I was listening to standup comedy on the radio, and there was this guy talking about feeling intimidated/upstaged by the funny factor of a dog eating another dog’s turd . It made me realize my own dilemma with comedy. Once i’ve declared myself to, “be funny”, I’m taking myself more seriously, and expecting more without acknowledging that. When I first started doing these recordings, the stakes were set much lower; I just wanted to remember who the hell I am, because every day I foggit again. It’s what blogging first was, but then I begin to feel removed from the writing, like it couldn’t have been my words because they’re too eloquent, and how did they know me so well when I hadn’t an obtuse clue of who I am? The words do tell the answer, but that sure seems back-ass-wards. It happens more undeniably when I hear it in my own voice. There is this one part where I rhymed the word, “booger”, with “look here”, like”looger”. That was hysterical to me. I can’t find it again. It was just so quick, and ridiculous yet fitting. I miss her! I take myself too seriously to be that model of myself anymore. And it’s funny, because when I was her, I missed being her previous model. I that must mean I’m still fuckin’ WoWsome ❣ Awe! You so lucky to have Me😜
[[Then, Suddenly but not so suddenly: Discord handled completely wrong on both sides, Subsequently leading to the relationship being harshly terminated. (by me) Will post entire SMS thread from the first time we meet till the final message. I can't login right now to my iMessage for some reason. I just changed the password and used it twice today, so I know it is right.]]