Buy the ticket, take the ride.

[Inaniel]

I feel melancholic today; or is it nostalgic? The two are intertwined in my mind.


I often think about how I got where I am today. And how my life would look if I made slightly better decisions, or slightly worse decisions, if I were a little luckier, or a little less…

“Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t. You’re right.”

I wrote that on the edge of a bookshelf above my desk when I was 20 years old. It is a quote from Henry Ford; a man I had never sought inspiration from before. However, when I reflect on my life, that moment in my life, when I wanted so much for that quote to be true; it changed my life.

At 18 I found myself a highschool drop-out of two years. I was emotionally erratic, insecure, and volatile. Jigi witnessed it, my downward spiral into depression, sex addiction, and drugs… I smoked marijuana for the first time at 14, lost my at virginity at 15, dropped acid for the first time at 16, I was violent, and self-mutilating… I bear scars on my arms 20 years later, and they still look like it happened a month ago. Skin has a long memory, self-harm is so brutal.

I grew up in a southwestern town in New Mexico, a border town. In the late 90s Mexican pharmacies didn’t know the gold mine they sat upon. Blister packs of xanax for a few dollars, large vials of ketamine for $15. It was like the dollar store for drugs. At the border crossing they never searched Jigi, however the drugs were safely stowed in a vibrator inserted into her vagina, just in case…

The name of this forum is “Life stories and blogs”; right about now I am thinking this is not the type of story they had in mind… I usually lean-in to this feeling and avoid sharing my life with people, but I am trying something different today.

I grew up in a Christian family, Nazarene… My father is an orphan and was sexually abused, my mother also came from an abusive household but never talks about it. One of my earliest memories was at 4yrs of age, my cousin and I were playing with matches and burnt the rug in the laundry room. My father taught us a lesson by lighting a match and burning it out on each of our arms. It was painful and we still have matching scars… Huh.. “matching” scars.. heh.

I spent summers on my grandparents’ farm. They were simple people, biblical. I was always at odds with their ideology. But I loved the farm. Fields as far as you could see. I could walk out to utter and complete solitude, I might be obliged to say hi to a cow, If I felt like it.. My imagination ran wild on the farm, always playing, and climbing, and riding. I also got into a lot of trouble, and the beatings at the hand of my grandfather were much more severe than what I got at home. I did not care though, he could beat me with his belt until he was blue in the face, I still was not buying what he was selling.

As a kid I had a love for animals, but I always felt like they hated animals at the farm. The echoing pain of a calf crying out as its branded, decapitating chickens... As a child I found these things disturbing. The first time my grandfather killed a rattlesnake in front of me I told him it was wrong to do that. To which he replied “serpents are the root of all evil and god expects us to kill them”… I loved snakes, and lizards, and spiders... Like I said, I was never buying what he was selling.

I think I was around 10 yrs old, my cousin and I liked to scare the sheep off the feed trailer. The feed trailer was a large dual axle unit with rebar welded on each of the sides forming a V shape in the middle, this cradled the round baled hay. Sheep would climb up on top of the hay to feed, and we thought it funny to watch them scatter in every direction as we snuck up to scare them. This exercise didn’t end well, a sheep caught a piece of sharp rebar after leaping off the top of a hay bale, ripping the belly open end to end and spilling the organs. The poor thing was not dead, and the cry was dreadful. We could hear it echoing throughout the whole farm as we walked back to the house to tell my grandfather what we had done…

I didn’t get a beating that day. Instead, my grandfather placed a pistol in my hand and told me to clean up my mess… Perhaps he thought that was worse than a beating, perhaps it was. I stared down at the pistol in my hands the entire journey back to the pasture. I remember it vividly, so well I can identify the firearm from memory, a 1960s vintage Colt Trooper 357 revolver, first generation. What a fitting place to encounter such a firearm… It took two shots because I closed my eyes. It remains one of the most vivid lessons about consequences that I carry from childhood...

 

[Inaniel]

By the time I was 17 I was rebelling hard against my family, I felt like I never met the expectations of my mother and loathed her trying to control every aspect of my life with force. My father was passive, to a fault, we got along but he never told me he loved me, not once. I think, in hindsight I was in a lot of pain and I channeled it inward. Self-harm was soothing, drugs were soothing, I was in such disarray about not feeling loved or accepted by my family that I found the answer to all my problems in girls, drugs, and self-harm.


Jigi, she was a beautiful petite “goth girl” and interested in a broken boy. We met when I was 15 and we had a 7yr relationship. Jigi was bisexual, she introduced me to a lot of different ideas and experiences. Atheism, sex, and psychedelics most notably. She had a way with girls, and many were very forward about wanting to have sex with her. To which she would offer to have a threesome with them, and sometimes we did, leading to my first group sex experiences at the age of 16. We also fought, massively. Jealousy on both sides, possessiveness on both sides, lies and betrayal. We were children.

There was an inflection point in my life around this time. Jigi and I went to the State Fair, and decided to dose psychedelic mushrooms in the parking lot before going in. By the time it kicked-in we were already arguing, and she decided she wanted me to take her home. The parking lot looked like a damn ocean by the time we got back to it and I was incredibly pissed and scared to make the 15-mile trek home. My heart still races when I think about this. We went over a median at speed, screaming at each other. I ended up in hand cuffs that day. A month later I ended up in handcuffs again on marijuana charges and reckless driving.

When it came time to face a judge, I would like to say I got lucky, but it was not luck. My parents are resourceful people, and financially sound. On my day in court I had legal representation, a new suit and a fresh hair cut with two well dressed concerned parents at my side. The final ruling - all charges would be dropped If I saw a counselor and attended a defensive driving course. Unbelievable. In contrast, Jigi was placed on probation. I do not think it had occurred to me before, the power of manipulation, and how unjust the world could be.

I was 18. Jigi had a strict curfew now, and I was living with my best friend Duran. I loved hanging out with Duran because he didn’t do drugs, but didn’t mind when I did, often serving as my dd. I remember one inspiring night I took some sort of psychedelic and we decided to take my dog Buddy on a walk at the local university campus. The campus had a large field that we laid down in, I could hear the echoes of people practicing instruments in the distance. The Music building was located opposite to the Research Sciences building which stood proud with the glowing sunset gleaning, shade was cast on the last of the markings of a giant sun dial statue in front of the building. I suddenly envied the people coming and going, I sat and watched them. I asked Duran if he thought I could ever do something like “that” with my life. He told me, “I have always felt like if any of us succeed, it will be you.”. As the token druggy-burnout of my small group of friends, I was completely surprised by that response. I don't know why he believed in me... I should call him.

I began to work on myself, surrounding myself with positive affirmations, and I completely stopped self-harm cold turkey, never did it again. I decided to go back to school, a local community college. I don’t have a high school diploma, so I had to take a placement exam when I decided to attend my local community college. I placed in remedial English and basic arithmetic… So that is where I started. I wanted to be a “scientist”, though I did not have a developed concept of what that meant at the time. I recall being in the math tutor center, an engineering student from the university was helping me with my algebra homework. He realized quickly that I didn’t have the multiplication table memorized, and at some point, asked me what my major was. To which I replied that I wanted to be a scientist, maybe even an engineer like him.

I realize now how naive that must have sounded to him; his sympathetic response was that I should choose a major that requires less math because people who study in the sciences are much better at math than I am. That hurt. But I proved him wrong. It took a lot of work and time to earn enough credits to be accepted to a university, which is where I finally found direction and real inspiration. It was the day of my first chemistry lecture, the professor said - “This is the periodic table of the elements, and you are going be learning about all of them, well, not all of them, those at the bottom are the lanthanides and actinides and they break all of the rules, so we won’t be learning about those”.

Elements that break all the rules? Oh hell yeah! As it turns out I would find that group of elements so captivating that it would guide my future studies and career. I eventually accepted an academic scholarship for graduate studies and moved to another part of the country, eventually earning my masters degree in a field of applied particle physics. When I tell people now that I am a high school dropout, nobody believes me. When I stop to think about it for a moment, I am really fucking proud of that.

 

[Inaniel]

Jigi and I were struggling while I was in undergrad. My perception of her changed, I started to see her as a stoned slug that never wanted to leave the couch. My attraction for her waned. And she became romantically attached to a female friend, Rainy. I liked Rainy, I thought she was good for Jigi, but the dynamic became strained after a threesome, the morning after which Rainy and I had sex alone which was NOT okay with Jigi. We decided to take a “break” aka. have sex while technically “broken up”. Which worked fine for Jigi, until her best friend Bird took an interest in me and I in her.


Bird was the exact opposite of Jigi, a hard worker and highly active. Bird loved camping, and hiking, and music. We bonded over unique music interests and the rest is history. Bird is now my wife and we have a beautiful daughter together. Jigi and Bird had a fallout of epic proportions and have not spoken since. It’s an odd contrast, Bird and I have a certain love for Jigi and at times will talk to each other about it, celebrating if you will, the impression Jigi left on each of our lives. Jigi on the other hand, thinks we are scum of the earth… Maybe we are…

Bird knew everything about my history with Jigi and in the beginning was open to something like non-monogamy, the term polyamory still had not entered my vocabulary yet. Bird openly talked about her openness to surrogacy, as well as her desires to share a man between two friends. Bird assumed I was sex positive, kinky, and sexually expressive. But the Christian moral indoctrination I received as a child was deep rooted. And I didn’t know how I felt about formalized non-monogamy. Bird would openly talk about sexual experiences with her exes and I found myself jealous and insecure, we started fighting about it. I wasn’t what she thought I was, in fact I didn’t know what I was at all… We tabled the conversations, all of them, and were monogamous. But ultimately the relationship ended and Bird moved out.

I briefly dated a wholesome girl that I met in one of my classes, Dove, sexually inexperienced, prudish, and judgmental. She was everything that my mother had modeled for me, something inside me was saying this is the most desirable “type” of woman, this “type” of woman is a keeper. Dove vehemently opposed my use of drugs and was very jealous and possessive. It was the first time a woman had ever asked me to stop hanging out with my friends. To make matters worse, during this time I started getting word about people in my extended friend group passing away from overdose. Maybe she was right... I began to see two distinct paths open up for my future…

 

[LoveBunny]

Very interesting! Can't wait to hear what happened next

 

[Inaniel]

Dove triggered something inside of me. She initiated my program. It begins as sort of an innocence in love, followed by not meeting her expectations, and ending in animosity and conflict. This felt familiar to me…

Sex, for Dove was confused with an internal conflict of guilt and shame. She had a nervous demeanor in the bedroom and was quiet, stifling her voice. When her defenses were down, during an orgasm, she let out a polite squeal and clenched hard, leaning into the feeling. I found this dance quite erotic, but I felt like an observer. I would observe her during sex, analytically, she preferred it gentle and slow, with her eyes closed. And yet, she was holding on for dear life, tense and scared. I was inside of her, but there was no closeness. After release, she would look at me and let creep her first smile, like she was relieved the ride was finally over…

Eventually I realized that I saw Dove as a perfect little thing.. To defile.. I was objectifying her. Near the end, I could not figure out if I felt love or hatred when I fucked her.

Dove positioned herself squarely against my friend Todd, he was enemy number one. It was my fault, Todd was at my house one night and I texted Dove a picture of a coffee table topped with an assortment of drugs and alcohol, at 3:00am; no doubt accompanied by a snarky remark. I did not realize it at the time, how I was trying to provoke Dove the same way I provoked my mother as a teenager. It worked. I realize now, I resented Dove, as I resented my mother…

When I speculate about how different my life could have been, this moment is pivotal.

I admired Todd, he was charming, socially bold, and played cute folk music on the guitar. A sort of anachronistic dress style… Ok, he was basically a hipster. In my eyes he had this sort of natural magnetism for women, and always a cute female by his side. I looked up to him, I wanted to be more like Todd. We shared a humor together that clicked, and I valued the friendship.

During spring break my friends planned a camping trip. Bird would be there, and Todd obviously, amongst a larger group. I lied to Dove and told her I would be visiting my family. This camping trip would become memorable for two reasons.

The last night was unseasonably nice, the clouds retreated, and the stars contrasted the black sky beautifully courtesy of a new moon. I parked my pickup next to the fire to combat the cool breeze. In the back, Bird, Todd, and I laid under the stars, swallowed by a half-deflated air mattress topped with a ragged goose down comforter; a thrift store-find belonging to Bird no doubt. A bit of chemistry between Todd and Bird did not go unnoticed, and I thought about whether they would be having sex. The thought fled my mind just as quickly. I did not feel jealousy, I felt accepted, happy, and content. Cared for. The three of us fell asleep under the stars that night. Together.

I am an early riser, and often alone in that department. The next morning, I brewed my coffee to go, and went on a hike. When I returned, the group was concerned about Todd, he wasn’t waking up.. As I approached him, I noted that his bottle of liquid valium was cashed. I was sort of relieved, valium has a long biological half-life, and I did not see any evidence of mixing. He was breathing, so we let him sleep it off. I noted it as a close call, but not foreshadowing…

I always preferred drugs that made me feel something. The magic of downers like benzos and opiates was lost on me. I could feel numb all by myself, and often did with no assistance required. I despised opiates, cold blooded killers, and refused to have them in my house. Two weeks after the camping trip, Todd texted me looking for Oxy. I knew. I knew at that moment the significance of his addiction. Because Todd knows how I feel about opiates, he must have been desperate.

My studies were suffering, my relationship with Dove was turning toxic, and I felt the weight of my friend group pulling me down. I was at a crossroads, a path towards tradition with Dove in one direction, or the path to destruction I was already on. I snapped under the pressure and chose neither. I walked away from everyone, cut-off all contacts, and I walked away from illegal drugs completely, never using again. Dove and I went down in flames. I recall household objects hitting me on the back of the head. And placing my knee through piece of original canvas artwork; It was a gift, painted by Dove, commissioned for my birthday two months prior. We never spoke again... Dove is now a full-time artist, internationally admired. My hope is that she has stricken me from her memory completely.

Years later, I discovered through social media that Todd passed away from a drug overdose, leaving behind a wife and two young daughters. I think therefore, that is why I say nostalgia and melancholy are intertwined in my mind. I cannot reflect on these memories fondly. In part, because I abandoned Todd, perhaps at an important time for him. If I had not walked away from Todd, what would it have meant for his life? What would it have meant for mine? What caused me to walk away at that moment… He passed away 8 years ago, if his memory strikes me at a particularly vulnerable moment, I still shed a tear. I am feeling the weight of my years today…

 

[Inaniel]

Perhaps consciousness of one’s illness is the biggest hump in recovery… I saw my therapist today Angel, he has a suspicion that I was traumatized as a child… My father is critical of therapists, so much so that I have kept my pursuit private. He is of the opinion that therapists only serve to blame someone’s problems on their parents… I interpret that as an admission of a guilty conscience.

I have a different perspective. The gift I have found in therapy is the instant wisdom that comes from identifying a problem to its origin, it impowers me to see past behaviors from a new perspective and retroactively learn new lessons from past experiences. I can love my parents for the good lessons they bestowed and forgive them for the bad ones, I can choose to reject the programs that do not serve me, it is not personal. Educating myself about trauma has brought me empathy for my family. I see how they were following a program derived from personal traumas, passed down through generations. The affronts now feel less personal…

I have been slacking at work this week, and I feel bad about it. I have had a lot of distractions since my transition to working from home in March of last year… Daisy, my gf, works from home too, some of the distractions have been welcome… Though my afternoon yesterday was shot after being recruited to install a cat genie; it is a toilet for cats... Daisy wanted it for her birthday, I was skeptical about the suitability of such a gift for a celebration, but upon arrival she welcomed it with more excitement than the diamond earrings I bought her for Christmas... Shows what I know…

I have not formally introduced Daisy yet, and probably wont for a while if I am to stay dedicated to a chronological organization in my journal… I’m very disorganized and have left many journals abandoned in my wake, so I am trying to be better. I find writing on a medium very frustrating. I inevitably think of details later that I wish I would have included, and even entire parts of a story that I left out but suddenly seem relevant to me. I begin to see my writing as a flawed document no longer worthy of life, so I shoot it in the head like an injured lamb and discard it, but like I said before, I am trying to get better…

 

[Inaniel]

I enjoy typing on this keyboard, I should hope so because I designed it specifically for myself. During the infancy of mass personal computing emphasis was placed on the design and function of keyboards, ideal tactile key feel was thought to be essential to the success of a platform. The inscriptions on the key caps were designed to never fade away, often penetrating through the entirety of the plastic molding… Legends such as the IBM model F were cradled in a metal frame, if an intruder were to break into your office you could bludgeon them to death with it, and then continue typing where you left off.. Keyboards used to be akin to a rancher’s saddle, providing decades of service. They have since gone the way of the commodity, manufactured so cheaply it feels like typing on lumpy mashed potatoes…

My keyboard is a culmination of countless hours of research and trials. At its core, a frame and PCB from my favorite manufacture, they do not sell these components alone, so I had to disassemble a complete unit and de-solder all 108 key-switches. The original key-switches were discarded. I desired a different type of switch altogether, although even they were not sufficient on their own. So, every switch was meticulously disassembled, and the spring replaced, PTFE lubricant was applied to the slide-tracks. Once the individual switches were ready, I soldered them back on to the PCB; 648 solder joints later I had reached... Perfection. If you are curious about how much money I spent on this venture; It is not polite to ask..

I am placing this story here as an example of my struggle with “perfection”. And I DO mean struggle… My wife Bird would probably use the word “obsession”. My mother was a perfectionist “Do Not Embarrass Me!” echoes throughout my childhood memories. My mother’s priorities are clear, her image as a perfect mother, with a perfect family, prevails above all… She cares deeply about what her children’s misdeeds mean about herself. Actually no. She cares deeply about what outsiders might think about her, if they were to become aware of her children’s misdeeds… If she can convince people her life is peachy, it does not matter to her how fucked-up it truly is underneath the veil of dishonesty.

Therefore, perhaps recognizing that her son was having problems illuminated things she did not want to believe about herself, so instead it was ignored… This is still a sticking point for me, as I am now a father, I could not fathom sitting idle while my child hurts herself. I come back to this often; why my self-harm was ignored I will never understand…

I feel like I inherited the worst of each of my parents… Now that I am out of the closet as a perfectionist it goes without saying my partners were victimized by it… If I was not the disappointment, my partner was... If I was not dating Ms. Perfection, I was Mr. Perfection, and in this role, I was often disappointed, dare I even say “embarrassed” by my partner’s behavior. And how did I react? I knew what to do when someone disappointed me, courtesy a lesson my father taught me as a boy, when I was caught playing with matches. You cause that person pain; you scar that person for life, so they do not EVER forget the consequences of disappointing you.

That is the program I was running when I destroyed the painting Dove created for me. That was the scar I left on her life. I knew its creation was a vulnerable gesture, and how proud of it she was. I wish I could say it was the only sentimental or irreplaceable thing to ever get destroyed by these hands… I wish I could take back thousands of hurtful words, customized perfectly to be delivered in a way that maximized damage and pain…

I feel like a popular saying is “I have no regrets”. I cannot identify with that word combination, at all. I have a lot of regrets. Most of all, I regret not getting help with my mental health sooner. My therapist says that a little bit of guilt is a good thing, it can motivate a person to change. When I lean into the feeling, and become overwhelmed, I begin to try and justify my abuses. I think it is some sort of defense mechanism… Regardless, I must be careful. Recovery is a delicate balance.

 

[Inaniel]

I feel so different this week…. Is it normal to feel guilty about bad things you did a decade ago?

This is an exciting week! Coming down from a refreshing holiday weekend I just realized I have a 3-day work week. Saturday night I found myself in the company of all my favorite people, my wife Bird, my girlfriend Daisy, and my daughter… The three of us sat in a circle in the living room and played giant Jenga… I sat on the floor, soaking in the warmth of the fireplace and the soft introspective ambiance of Mac Miller. The perfect amount of beer was in my belly, just enough to put a smile on my face. For a moment I removed myself from the conversation and observed the fire-light dance on their three smiling faces… It was, in a single word, euphoric. A testament to something else I overcame in my life. How to have successful romantic relationships…

After my relationship with Dove ended, my deficiencies as a companion were illuminated and I could no longer ignore them. I knew that I needed to work on myself before my next relationship… For the first time ever in my life, I began receiving counseling at the University I attended. It was a fantastic resource, and during this time I was able to shed light on many of my worst thoughts and feelings, and course correct.

I used to ruminate, and obsess over my partners flaws, particularly if I felt like they had done me wrong. Character Assassination. Incredible how a single concept can be life changing; I realized I was doing it all the time and in all that I did… For example, the benefits of journaling are self-evident. However, when I used to journal, I would write about my partners flaws, all the things they did that hurt me and how bad it made me feel. I would begin to cut my partner down, and insult them in my writing… Journaling is such a powerful tool, and when weaponized, my journals only served to instill negative ideas about my partner, and a victim mentality deeply within myself. This realization stands out in my memory…

I was excited. This self-care “stuff” was better than drugs! I would soon meet my next love, a dark blue 1980s Schwinn Passage bicycle. My home at the time is best described as a shack in an alley, more specifically, a rundown guest house located behind a modest home original to the neighborhood. However, the area was quickly becoming gentrified. This time in history would be known as the run-up to the Great Recession in America. Houses in the neighborhood were changing hands constantly, and as a result the alleyway were well stocked with discarded possessions. That is where I came upon this bicycle.

It was a relatively sad machine when I first encountered it, 20 years of dust covered the decals, the seat and tires were rotten. I walked the bicycle a few blocks over to the local bicycle co-op and found much more than I was looking for. The co-op worked like this, if you completed the classes for a modest fee, you became a certified bicycle mechanic. After that if you stayed on as a volunteer you were granted unlimited access to all the tools and the spare parts bin at no charge. Over the course of several weeks, I spent every Saturday night at the co-op and did a top to bottom, inside and out restoration on my bicycle… It still makes me smile.

I volunteered at the bicycle co-op for about a year. In retrospect, the opportunity to make new friends around a shared interest, a healthy one, was enormously valuable. During that time, I restored many bicycles and even sold a few creating a little side business as I continued to work my way to a bachelor’s degree. I enjoyed the emotional autonomy of my life during this time and became interested in casual dating with a sort of emotional confidence. Coincidentally, the co-op began doing a bicycle art program, and as one of the more competent welders of the group I was asked to volunteer.

One evening, Bird walked through the door. Bird and a group of friends were working on a bicycle sculpture and I assisted as needed. I enthusiastically told her all about the bicycle co-op and she was inspired to restore her own bicycle with my help. One night after closing, Bird and I pedaled off for an evening adventure. We talked and laughed the entire ride. Assisted by a cool breeze, I felt like I could ride with her all night long. Our adventure would end that night at my home, eating a refreshing meal illuminated by candlelight…

 

[Inaniel]

My staff has flooded me with work to review this week. My job is like a tsunami; I am either standing in the calm or drowning in the tidal wave…

I feel scatter-brained… I am just going to see where my fingers take me today. Bird lost the mailbox key... It normally would not matter but the mailbox was holding a $20k check hostage belonging to Daisy; It is an insurance check; compensation for her vehicle that was totaled over six months ago. I guess I am installing a new mailbox this weekend because I cut the old one open. I have been wanting to relocate the mailbox on our property anyway so that I can widen the driveway. Speaking of which, I pulled-out my project vehicle and went joyriding yesterday, the weather was nice and I was feeling excited and celebratory, some of you may know why...

Over dinner, we made a commitment to finish-up some home renovation projects that were started during the pandemic; some of them -ahem- before the pandemic… So, my relaxing three-day weekend has filled up… Daisy gets the second dose of the vaccine today, and if it knocks her on her ass again, I will be working solo this weekend. A shame really, I enjoy working with Daisy on projects.

I am struggling with chronology again… And I recognize the irony of how this poly journal began with sex, drugs, and threesomes only to become an enthralling account of my adventures handling such dramas as broken mailboxes and home renovations… Full disclosure, the latter is my polyamorous life as I know it today. My poly is not about kink, or D/s, or having a flavor of the week. We are simply three adults, sharing a life, owning a home, and raising a little girl. We are not part of a larger polycule and we do not have a rotating door in our home. Our dramas are mostly domestic: sledding accidents, broken mugs (damn ceramic sinks!), managing finances, planning trips as a family, and the overall navigation of an alternative lifestyle in a traditional society.

Truth is. I should probably take breaks from writing about my past… For good reason. Writing about my past is an emotional drag… I have had successes, and I have tried to represent them fairly alongside my failures. But my failures hurt. Deep in my soul… I wish I could run away from every failure and pretend like it never happened. I suspect people often do, perhaps they are happier for it… That type of approach to this journal would feel disingenuous to me.

At this moment I am thinking about how I ended up identifying with polyamory… My very first relationship with Jigi modeled a somewhat non-monogamy configuration at a young age… More interesting to me though, is that as far back as I can remember I always felt like if a woman whom I was attracted to wanted to have sex, I would have sex with her, no question. Even if I was in a relationship, have the sex – ask for forgiveness later… I must have found something really validating in that attraction and sexual exchange...

After Bird and I reconnected at the bicycle co-op we began a fwb type of relationship... Sort-of… She did want a relationship, but I did not. In retrospect she was probably settling when she made the fwb agreement. During this time, I began dating, prolifically, some weekends having three or four dates. Bird was not happy about me having so many partners, I could sense her annoyance. Eventually she would tell me not to stop by her house if I was going out on a date that day, and ultimately not to talk to her about my dates at all…

This period is hardly worth journaling about. I had many sexual partners; I was basking in the validation of it all. I had a brief relationship with Candy, purely sexual. I introduced her to squirting and after a bit of practice, we could work her up to beautiful rhythmic piv orgasms while she squirted all over my chest and face. TMI? It was like a porn I might find myself jerking-off too; the satisfaction was just as fleeting… Candy and I never connected emotionally, regardless of how good the sex sounded to the neighbors, sex without emotional connection is not very enjoyable for me. That was a significant realization.

My declining interest in dating was matched equally by my interest in rekindling a more involved relationship with Bird. And coming events would expedite this process… One morning, bird had stayed at my house and woke up early the next morning to ride her bicycle to work. I drifted off back to sleep and was suddenly awoken by my phone ringing, it was an unknown number… I reluctantly answered the phone and a police officer introduced himself. My first thought was: “Shit! how did they catch me stealing cable so quickly!” lol. The police officer asked me if I knew someone named Bird Xxxxxx.. I answered: “Um… yeah….”; he responded with: “She has been involved in a traffic accident.” …

I panicked! I jumped out of bed and told the police officer I would be right there and began wrestling a shirt on. As I am running out the door tripping over myself as I attempt to put on my shoes it dawns on me that I have no idea where I am going… Just then my phone rings again. This time the officer says immediately “Now Son, calm down you don’t even know where you’re going yet. She is going to be okay; she is requesting a ride from you.”… Jeeze. He could have started the conversation with “Everyone is okay but…”

Anyway, on her ride to work Bird was struck by an SUV as it was pulling out of a parking lot. She went under the vehicle and her ankle was crushed between the undercarriage of the SUV and her bicycle, pinning her in place. If the driver had fled, Bird may have been killed. The very same day of the accident, Bird was let go from her employer. It was a shit day… Unemployed and with a temporary mobility issue, it was clear that Bird needed my help. I offered to move her in with me….

 

[Inaniel]

Board meeting today. My nerves were a wreck, I had to meditate before signing-on… What is going on with me? I never get nervous about meetings. Is sheltering in place getting to me? Am I becoming anti-social? Is this big city life not right for me? A cesspool surrounds me, plagued with.. well.. The plague. I long for something different today. I am going to close my eyes now.

Almost heaven, West Virginia
Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, growin' like a breeze

Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads

All my memories gather 'round her
Miner's lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye

Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads

I hear her voice in the mornin' hour, she calls me
The radio reminds me of my home far away
Drivin' down the road, I get a feelin'
That I should've been home yesterday, yesterday

Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads

Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads

Take me home, down country roads
Take me home, down country roads
~JD

 

[Inaniel]

Bird’s cycling accident affected me.. It happened at a time when I was consumed with myself, I think it snapped me out of it. The threat of losing her illuminated how special she was to me. I think I knew she was waiting for me, and I took it for granted.

My dilemma was that I was awful at relationships. Which is why I preferred FWBs, it was a structure where I was free to experience whatever I wanted to experience. That is what I wanted. Freedom. The opposite of freedom is being trapped, which is how I felt with Dove. I felt trapped my entire childhood. Breaking those chains and making my escape was an important part of my journey. Although how I coped, and how I escaped was not tactful, or calibrated. It was messy and erratic. That was my cognitive program labeled “escape”; and when initiated, consisted of a vicious retaliation, or deliberate sabotage against any feeling that brought me back to that pain. Visceral and swift, leaving me broken and confused.

Bird told me that she abstained from new partners during our time apart… It is perplexing even now. The only explanation she ever gave me was that she once came close to having sex with another man only to panic at the last moment. She said that she felt like having sex with him would mean that she would have to emotionally detach from me, she felt like that meant giving up on the idea that we would one day be together. It’s an interesting distinction between us.. I was having sex with lots of people, but I never felt like it detracted form my emotional connection to her…

Bird and I had a lot of shit to sort through, and we probably brushed-off more issues than we should have. By the time she was back on her feet with a new job, I had my new shiny college degree, it was worthless due to the recession, but I did not care. My excitement over this accomplishment propelled me into healthy place both internally and with Bird. We both worked part time and I really enjoyed this time in our lives. Hiking, road trips, beaches, camping, concerts. It was great.

Bird made a new friend at work, Miko. Miko was slender with a big head of messy hair, it complemented her erratic personality perfectly. I found her intriguing... She was fluent in Japanese, played the guitar and was in a local band. She was smart, with a big bright smile, and was a bit of a basket case like myself. I liked her right away.

We had her over one night. I think Bird and Miko were coloring each other’s hair. They were in the bathroom for hours giggling. I was distracted making a playlist, taking breaks to talk to them. The night continued at our favorite restaurant. On the menu: Pasties and Irish car bombs. We got wasted… After we returned home the night is sort of a blur, I remember us all dancing in the living room and Miko spilling something on her shirt. She later emerged from the bedroom wearing Bird’s favorite dress.. Bird partied a little too hard that night, throwing up in the bathroom and eventually retiring to the bedroom; Miko and I stayed up listening to music and talking.

Miko and I bonded over common struggles. I don’t remember what was said in the conversation, only that it was heartfelt and connecting. We migrated to the couch where Miko picked up my guitar and asked me if I wanted to hear a song. I sat and observed her, her eyes welled up. light danced on her lip ring as she began to softly sing.. Her lips.. Oh God.. She looked so tiny and cute behind the large acoustic guitar, with her legs crisscrossed underneath her. The dress was pulled up just far enough to see her panties… It struck me, and I looked back up at her just as she was closing her eyes, as if to not admonish me for glancing down.

I wanted her, so badly. Anxiety rushed up my spine and filled my chest. I was frozen watching her. Conflicted. This cursed relationship... I told myself “just go to bed. Bad idea! Bad idea!”. Miko was in tears as she finished the song. We embraced, and she held me tight. I didn’t want to say it, but I did. “I better go to bed”. She responded, “Please don’t go; lay with me for a moment”... Our embrace fell onto the couch, her arm lifting off of me to turn off the lamp.. My pitiful willpower reserve was exhausted. I began kissing her. She unbuttoned my pants. I slid the straps off her delicate shoulders, exposing her breasts. Miko climbed on top of me, and I entered her. She was wearing Bird’s favorite dress…

 

[Inaniel]

I woke up the next morning lying next to Bird, I could hear Miko in the kitchen talking on the phone with her boyfriend. I did not know what they were saying, the conversation was in Japanese. Judging by inflection, he was wondering where the hell she was… But I am reaching. Also, yes, I knew she had a boyfriend before I fucked her…

I was now sober and immersed in the guilt of my actions. Miko asked me for a ride home. The drive was brief, I was silent… We parked in front of her apartment. She told me that I was not a bad person, and that I was special to her. She then wrote down her phone number on a napkin and kissed me on the cheek, I pulled away…

When I reflect on my youth, the word mischievous comes to mind. As such, learning how to manipulate my way out of trouble was a valuable skill. When I was 16yrs old, my good friend Donnie owned a 4th generation Ford Mustang. If you were to park that Mustang next to a Crown Victoria (the standard issue police interceptor at the time.) and observe the two vehicles from the front. Most people would be hard pressed to distinguish them as different models. Particularly at night and from a distance.

JC Whitney was a mail-order auto parts retailer that showcased products through a catalog. On Friday evenings Donnie and I would go to the local bookstore to read car magazines. We would meticulously explore the JC Whitney catalogue for parts to assemble our imaginary dream cars. As I was sifting through the endless pages of the catalogue, I came upon a product called “rotating magnetic light”, it was offered in colors amber, red, and blue… No picture available. I was inspired by the description…

The lights arrived and had had a teardrop shape with a magnetic base and were designed to be placed on the rooftop of a vehicle. Inside of the colorfully tinted acrylic shell a mechanism rotated a reflector around a light bulb. In my town there was an infamous stretch of road equally hated by all. It was a two-lane road with a very conservative speed limit and double lines (no passing) … Those obedient enough to abide by the speed limit were inevitably overtaken by aggressive drivers. Donnie and I realized a good opportunity for a bit of mischievous retribution and a good laugh. We would drive his Mustang along this road at the speed limit waiting for someone to speed past. As soon as this would happen, we would place the lights on the roof and give chase. As soon as the victim pulled over, we would make a sharp U-turn and dart off into a dark neighborhood where we would kill the engine and lay down in the car snickering.

I knew that if we were ever caught with the lights, we would be in big trouble. So, I devised a story. The story went like this; I ordered the lights from a catalogue along with some “black lights” because I thought it would be fun to have them in my bedroom. When the red and blue lights arrived, I discovered they could not be plugged into a household outlet… So, we brought the lights out to Donnie’s car to “try them out” in my driveway. After that we forgot all about them and never used them again.

Donnie was less detail oriented than myself, so I rehearsed the story with him often. We would soon have an opportunity to perform. Donnie worked at a local gas station and quickly became the overnight manager. Every paycheck he made went into his car. My father was very generous with his tools, so when Donnie needed to work on his car, we did it at my house. One day Donnie showed up at my front door with a brand-new exhaust system for the Mustang, three big boxes filled with shiny mandrel bent tubing. We finished the installation around midnight and immediately went on a test drive.

Down the street we came upon a house party. Parked in front of the home was a jet-black Camaro SS and a white Mustang GT. We revved the engine as we passed by; the new exhaust screamed. Of course, two dumb teenagers answered the call… First, we raced the mustang and handily defeated him. Next, we pulled up to a four way stop next to the Camaro and began revving our engines. We were so distracted with each other, neither driver noticed that a police interceptor was also stopped at same the light traveling the opposite direction. The light turned green… The Camaro handily won the race, as we were letting off the gas, I noticed police lights in the distance behind us. My friend started slowing down as the white Mustang sped past us, he was running. Just then the Camaro also began accelerating and darted into a neighborhood. I yelled, “follow the Camaro!!”. The Mustang went straight, I figured he would be the obvious choice of pursuit. I was wrong... We followed the Camaro into a dead-end road. We were busted...

A police officer approached us with a big Maglite that pierced through the dark tint on the rear windows. Thus, discovering a probable cause to search the vehicle. Two magnetic rotating lights, one red and one blue… I heard the mumblings of the police officer with dispatch discussing the lights. It was evident they were getting reports of a vehicle impersonating a police interceptor… Donnie and I were removed from the vehicle and handcuffed. We were separated and interviewed by different officers. I was asked to repeat the story about the police lights at least three times. The officers took breaks between each interrogation to compare notes; they were clearly frustrated… Donnie walked away with 5 traffic tickets that night. No charges related to the lights were levied. Nor were the lights confiscated, I was told to take the lights home immediately and put them in my room where they belong.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am a good liar. I never had any qualm about lying to my parents or other authority figures… But when it came to relationships, I could not do it. I have always felt this way but could not always put it into words. A hard line for me in relationships is transcendence of the oppressor dynamic. It is a matter of emotional congruency. If I cannot be myself, even my worst self, I cannot engage, I cannot release, and that relationship will end...

 

[Inaniel]

Around the time I had sex with Mico, Bird and I took walks together every evening. Our rout would take us out of the neighborhood and along a busy street, after a short distance we reached a canal and made a right-hand turn. To promote alternative modes of transportation the city created walking and cycling paths along the canals creating a network of paved paths all over the city. After approximately one mile on the canal, we would then make a right-hand turn at the golf course. A breezeway of sorts divided the golf course, a tunnel made of a soft netting material for the purpose of deflecting stray golf balls. This was my favorite part of our walk; the golf course was peaceful and smelled nice. I also found the netted tunnel intriguing and unusual, the overhead lights shined through the net casting a checkered pattern on the concrete path, I thought it something like a worm hole, granting safe passage through a field of flying objects.

That is where I told bird about Mico, just as we entered the golf course on our walk the next evening. There was no escaping the conversation there, it felt like a safe place. I told Bird something was weighing on my conscience. She interrupted, “Is this about Miko?”… She already knew, or at least strongly suspected… For a moment, I felt relief, it was out in the open and she was not in tears.. And then she asked me; “Was she still wearing my dress when it happened?”. My heart sinks. I have never had anyone in my life be as accepting and patient as Bird. I have never known anyone as nice and as caring. When Bird smiles, the world as I experience it gets a little brighter. And when she cries, it feels like an angel has been shot in the stomach.

Bird was wearing that dress in many of our photos together… It became a point of contention. Bird would only tell me that she felt like Miko looked better in the dress. And she wished to not see photographs of it any longer… I gathered up all the offending photos and placed them in a private directory on my computer, “The Blue Dress”. I still have them. Bird looked lovely in the dress by the way…

It dawns on me that I have never aired this out with anyone other than Bird. Last night I talked to Bird about this topic. Her recollection is minimal, she cannot recount any details... I am not surprised. I remember a lot of details. I remember specific songs we listened to that night, what restaurant we went to, what we ate, and what we drank. I remember the dessert we ordered, and I remember the topic of conversation on the way home… I mentioned the dress to Bird... Bird responded, “dress??”..

I looked in her eyes, and said her mind is mysterious and inspirational to me. Because if it were me that had been hurt, I would remember every detail… Bird told me she makes a conscious choice not to lean into negative feelings and not to bother thinking about negative experiences. She said her feelings are meaningless and do not serve her, that when she has leaned into feelings in the past, they have let her down. I asked her if she has spoken to her counselor about that…

At 4yrs of age Bird’s mother, Nagaina, abandoned her. Nag fell in love with a guitarist in a local band and ran off; leaving Bird’s father to care for their two young daughters. Once everything was settled in court, Bird and her sister were split up, Bird went to live with her mother. As an adolescent Bird feared that if she expressed feelings to her mother, Nag would abandon her again. Early in our relationship, I felt that Bird’s control over her emotions was like a superpower. Now that I understand Bird’s history better, I see the perception of her emotional stability is a result of her own traumas and fear of abandonment. Her traumas and her superpower are intertwined. Like any great superhero.

I am the opposite of Bird in this regard. As I child I was told not to feel, not to care, not to ask… Be a man, do not cry, do not question God. I never felt like I would be abandoned, to the contrary, I felt like I would be trapped forever. For me, feeling was part of my adolescent rebellion. That is why psychedelic drugs were so desirable to me, they pierced through my programmed inhibitions and allowed me to feel everything, about anything. It was liberating... Although, anything can be taken too far. When I was a teenager, at the height of my instability, I could have probably been diagnosed as borderline… The key for me, was learning how to apply safe translations to my feelings. I see it as an initial miscalibration of sorts, a stumble as I discovered this side of myself. Real talk, I probably should have been in a trustworthy counselor’s office instead of crying in a field talking to trees. I have digressed...

Sex with Miko turned out to be foundational. It led to an authentic conversation about my limitations with monogamy. It was the first time I felt comfortable being honest with myself about it. I told Bird that I could not imagine myself being monogamous. She said ok. That she still loved me and wanted a life together. We would figure it out... I was stunned. That was the poly spark, that moment in year 2012 that I realized we had the power to define our own relationship, any way we wanted to…

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

~Pablo Neruda

 

[Inaniel]

I made two embarrassing typos in work emails today... I also realized the quote in my last entry has a typo… How did I make a typo in a quote!? I copy-pasted it! Jeez! Typos are the bane of my existence…

In graduate school I once emailed a professor with the salutation “High Dr. Jones”… lol. So, embarrassing! I have no excuse.

I feel good this week. I am now back down to my pre-holiday body weight. I have been intermittent fasting, also referred to as an eating schedule. The term I have coined for it is “systematic starvation”; it seems like the most apt descriptor. The first week was brutal but I feel the benefit of it now.

In my last entry I said the poly spark hit me in 2012… That is not exactly true. It was more like a rock in the soil that I tripped over, tumbling down a mountain for 2 years before finally landing in something like poly… My limitation in this regard is that I am still learning the non-monogamy nomenclature… I will do my best to explain.

The year 2012 was a difficult one. Bird worked part time as a Barista, and I was floundering with an undesirable part time job. The state of the economy in 2012 was such that if you had a useful skill like Bird, you could possibly find employment. In contrast the prospects for young college graduates were dismal. My bachelor’s degree was in a broad science; and with no specialization and no experience I simply was not worth anything to an employer. I was discouraged. I overcame a lot of personal obstacles to earn a degree and accumulated a lot of debt in the process. It felt like drowning. Or like I had been tricked by the system. I saw two paths forward, try something completely different, or double down and go back to school…

Sometimes I have bouts of acute insomnia. As a child I required a medication that was classified as a stimulant. When I needed the medication, I could not sleep at all; I wonder if that had some sort of lasting effect on my brain chemistry… My mother used to lie with me on the couch and we would watch tv; inevitably she would fall asleep and I would stay up well after the paid programming took over the network stations. Paid programming is also referred to as infomercials; a program where a salesman tries to talk you into some sort of kitchen gadget. I was sold every time... I would write little notes to my mother telling her about the product, and how it only costs “4 easy payments” of… I would stick the notes on the refrigerator to ensure that she read them before leaving for work... I never did convince her to buy any of these life changing products; but she still likes to tell this story.

I share that story because it came full circle one night in 2012 when I had insomnia. I was sitting lifeless on the couth watching deadliest catch, when suddenly my tv mysteriously turned off. I saw my reflection in the tv screen and something inside of me screamed: “Do something!!” That was the moment I decided to go to graduate school. I sat at my computer and did not logoff until the early morning hours. I assembled an excel spreadsheet to organize the various options that met my criteria. I soon realized the biggest constraint was the application deadlines, many of which had already passed for the year. I decided to give myself one month to study for the GRE. After accounting for this, my list only included universities that had application deadlines in the late spring months. After sorting through all the possible options, only three programs met my criteria; and all three programs would require relocating to another State… Of the three, one program stood out as my top pick.

I knew Bird would be getting up early for work and I would be asleep… So, I wrote her a note. She still has it…

“Bird, I know it is odd me writing you a note like this but hear me out. I think I know what I want to do with my life.

I want to get a master’s degree from (such and such) University. I have been researching it for hours and I think that I would love doing it.

The university has “connects” with all the big employers and I think I could get a good job. Any way I think this is a great fit. All of my science studies won’t be in vain and I love science, and I love nature, and I LOVE YOU! I think I could wake up excited every morning about what I do.

I am sure you can get a job in the city and the rents aren’t high. We have to move fast! And I really think this is it!

So anyway. I am just excited and wanted to let you know about it. Please read the stuff I stapled to this note when you have time.

I love you so much!
-Inaniel-”

I think that if I have a strength, it is that I do not let anything get in my way. And If I have a flaw, it is that I do not let anything get in my way. There in me exists a duality. I do not know why Bird followed me. Is it because she knew that I would leave with or without her; did I trigger her fear of abandonment? Or was she excited to go on this adventure with me?

After completing the GRE, it was time to begin assembling all the materials for my application, most importantly, my personal statement. There was only one person who I knew who could maximize my chance of admission: Mother. She instructed me to begin the document with an anecdote from childhood that inspired me to work in the field, followed by a struggle that I overcame to get where I am today. And only after that to begin writing about my qualifications.

Mother understood something that I was oblivious too. Behind every decision, whether it is a job interview, school admissions, or an online date; there exists a human being. And if your communication can incite an emotion or inspire that person to be a part of your journey, it can have a profound effect on the psyche; most importantly, it can influence that person’s decision. Mother appears to have an instinctive understanding of this concept, executing it perfectly even in the most intense and high-stakes situations; the ethics of how she executes it, I have questioned. However, I cannot deny her success; I will never be worth what she is. Three months later I arrived at my university of choice, the admissions officer said that my personal statement was the best he had ever read…

My Mother always took risks, and she encouraged me to do the same. In contrast my father always told me to play it safe, when I told him I wanted to go back to school he advised me against it. My father always told me to start with the minimum, to learn a trade, or get a technical skills degree like he had. During my childhood Mother was the primary “breadwinner” of the family. Father was passive and soft spoken. Obedient. Mother once called the police because Father was two hours late coming home from work; he had been distracted looking at a coworker’s new car. Father never had friends, and never went out with anyone other than Mother’s friends. Today, my father walks around like a puppy that has been in trouble his entire life. Emasculated. I cannot claim to understand the complexities of my parent’s relationship. However, I knew as a young adult I would never be like my father; a caged puppy praying for the affection of a domineering woman… No thank you.

Graduate school was the biggest risk I had ever taken. My application was submitted near the end of the deadline and I was one of the last students to be accepted, no funding assistance was offered. When Bird and I arrived in the city neither of us had jobs lined up. Our savings consisted of what little money we accumulated from selling most of our meager possessions. We rented the cheapest apartment we could find, and despite our best efforts we ran out of money before my first loan disbursement. I recall standing next to Bird in the kitchen one evening, eating plane steamed rice out of a bowl, I said aloud “hard times.., hard times”. Bird rebutted, “Na.. good times.., good times”… It occurs to me that I will likely never experience this again with another partner; It gives me a deep sense of loyalty to Bird.

Not long after that, I received a call from the admissions office. One of the students had dropped out of the program and they were offering me his funding opportunity. The funding would cover my academic expenses and include a monthly stipend. The stipend alone was worth more than what Bird and I were accustomed to… I imagine what I felt that day is akin to winning the lottery, my life changed in an instant. Had I not uprooted my life and pursued something that felt impossible. Had I not taken a risk… it would not have ever happened… The scholarship was worth in excess of $50,000. The only catch was, if I did not complete the program and go on to work in the field, I would have to pay it all back. Every cent…