Fuck. Where do I even begin? Every time this past week when something major has happened — and there have been a number of those times — I tell myself, “Sophia, you need to sit down and write about this while it’s fresh. Don’t put it off — you’ll lose it.” Then I think I can get away with waiting “just a little bit” and doing some other shit first… so it’s been a huge week, and I’ve lost the intensity of most of the things I felt and experienced. I’ll try to catalog everything I do still remember, and I hope it’s enough…
Tuesday is forgotten. Perhaps nothing of import occurred, nothing notable to document — I don’t know now.
Wednesday I went to my general care doctor for a follow-up appointment regarding a cough I’ve had for years; after a lung test I was told I have Reactive Airway Disease, which my dad tells me is the fancy new way of naming what would have previously been known as a mild case of asthma. He asked if I had any other medical concerns, so I asked him to look at a spot under my arm where the skin was very thin — I couldn’t easily show him while my shirt was on, though, so I first asked his permission, then removed my top, which was the only thing I was wearing on my upper half that day. He examined the spot on that side, then checked the other side for a comparison, and explained that there were simply a couple of spots where I didn’t have any collagen left — when I “blimped” about 8 years ago and then got back to a healthier weight, I got really bad stretch marks and those were the worst of them. I finally put my shirt back on, and he cautiously asked if I had anything else to bring up. Well, I did — it was a spot on my mound that had opened up and bled a few times, seemingly at random, and might have years ago been bad acne, but I’d never had it checked out — it was also buried under a huge wad of hair before. I described the spot to him, in as much detail as I could, but he finally said, “can I look at it?” so I undid my pants and pulled back my panties (I was wearing the Sapphire Cameron Boy Short I mentioned a week ago) just far enough for him to see the spot but not quite far enough down to get a “good look” — but he had been very professional the whole time, and didn’t act as if it were any big thing, which I thought was great. He told me, to my relief, that it was nothing to worry about, but if it bled again to simply dab some neosporin on it.
Thursday — ah, Thursday… I was scheduled to see my psych doctor. Or so I thought. In fact, I’d been nearly at the point of counting days to the appointment, and that since only a few days after my last, in early October. I had so many questions, so much to celebrate and share, a number of concerns to bring up, and I really needed some advice on a couple of matters that were very important to me. But when I walked in and told the receptionist I was there for my appointment at 3, she looked at me and told me that my doctor was already seeing her 3-o’clock appointment… and after checking for my name in the computer, corrected me by saying that I was scheduled for some doctor I’d never heard of, let alone met with before. To top it off, this other doctor was a guy! The receptionist offered to “let” me see the doctor I’d been mis-scheduled with, but I really couldn’t see myself sitting down and telling a complete stranger things like, “I’m really excited that I started shaving my pubic hair!” and “I’m sick of hiding my sex toys and nice lingerie from my parents, and I want to be able to talk to them about the Real Me, but I don’t know how to bring it up, and I’m scared shitless that if I do tell them, they’ll refuse to keep me under their roof. What should I do?” I just didn’t feel like it would do any good to have someone who knew nothing about me, who had never spoken to me — to have him try to give me answers for everything, assuming I even could bring myself to tell him any of it.
Oh, something I haven’t mentioned is that the receptionist who this all happened with was actually the person who fucked me over with the scheduling. I know it was her because I’ve made a point of trying to interact with her my last few visits, because she actually seems to care about the people she deals with, unlike the mustachio’d cow that’s always there at the other window — she acts like she’d always rather be anywhere else, like the folks who come up to her are inferior pests interrupting what little time she has away from human interaction, and generally being — dare I say it? — yeah… a bitch. So, I was happy to schedule my appointment with the kind, human receptionist last time, and to her credit, she was quite distraught about the whole mix-up, apologizing profusely, fretting and wringing her hands and scowling at the computer then smiling weakly at me while she apologized yet again. I don’t think that short of having a previous career in professional acting, she could have faked that — she was genuinely distressed at my predicament, and it endeared her to me that much more.
Me, on the other hand… I played it down. I kept commenting that “life happens!” and that it really wasn’t a big deal… at one point I commented to her that she was more upset about it than I was. I realize now that I was still rather in shock about the whole situation, and I think I was trying to deny to myself that it mattered at all. Step one, denial.
Then I got back to the car where my mom was waiting, and as we drove home, I went on a bit of a rant — an angry rant — about how “that stupid receptionist” ruined everything, how I had needed to see my doctor and now I couldn’t until sometime in January, on and on I went… Step two, anger.
I got home, and realized that all I wanted was to get away. From life, from reality, from the situation I was in… so I told my parents I realized it was escapism, but I was going to go sleep. I actually had initially planned to masturbate while enjoying some fairly new pornography I’d gotten, but when I got to my bed, I was just so numb I didn’t care about fucking, I didn’t care about sleeping, I didn’t want to be awake… I felt like crying, but I had no tears. Just numbness. I sent a text message to Baby Hipster — “Have you ever needed to cry, to let the pain wash away with the tears — but the tears refused to come? I am a sad and lost Sophia right now and not even the Mother’s gifts are any help.” Waited about 10 minutes and with no reply (I later found out her phone was nearly dead and her charger was missing, so she’d turned it off) I decided to call up RPJ He answered, but let me know he was just on his way to the restroom, which was a big deal for him considering he’d just had his gall bladder removed and was just barely out of the hospital. I told him it was fine to call me back, hung up….. and it all hit me. The tears finally came; so many tears, and I lay there and sobbed into my pillow, cried out into my room, just let it all out. I remember a little voice from somewhere in me saying “There’s my good girl. Just let it out, let the tears come, cry it out — let it all go. This is what you need now. Good girl.” I know it was a part of me, detached from the situation, looking down and offering comfort and encouragement, not patronizing or condescending at all, but I don’t really understand how I could be fully letting everything out and sobbing like I was but at the same time totally calm and collected, and speaking softly in my ear. I don’t need to understand it; it just intrigues me. Anyway, RPJ called back, and I told him the story, with quite a different tone than I had to my mom, though choked-back sobs and plenty of apologies — for crying, for taking his time, for babbling… at some point one of us suggested that I see about getting myself over to his place; he was more than willing to be my shoulder or at least just an old friend to share the silence with. Asked my parents if they would drive me, and they were happy to do so — they could tell how bad I was feeling and wanted to do what they could to help. Step three, depression.
Spent some time over there, laughed a little, forgot about things for a bit, but the low never really left me completely. Martian drove me home, and on the way I filled him in on the day’s events, and found myself becoming angry all over again, so I stopped myself, forced the discussion to other “small talk” subjects, and when I got home around 11PM, I went to my room and climbed in bed. I fell asleep pretty quickly, and when I awoke around 5AM I was steaming to go like a bitch in heat, so I pulled out my big toy, gave myself a nice, hard assfuck while I worked things hard on the other side until I came with a truly beautiful orgasm that left me spent physically but extremely peaceful and calmed. I went back to sleep with eight inches or so keeping me filled tight and very satisfied, and when I woke up again around 11:30, I was happy, I didn’t care about missing my appointment the day before, I could be happy living just like I had been until I see my doctor again… everything was okay. Step four, acceptance.
I had grieved that day, but it wasn’t until earlier today that I had realized that I’d gone through the textbook steps, or really that I had even been feeling grief for a loss. Anyway, Friday…
Friday, as I mentioned, started out excellently. I decided to head out to Wal-Mart to pick up a new pair of sneakers, since the pair I had was getting really junky, and I’d planned on getting a new pack of razor blade cartridges for the same razor I’ve used for years. It’s a pretty basic piece of shit, but it does the job — or so I thought. On a whim, as I was in the aisle with the razors, I decided to actually look around. I found the Venus Breeze and after looking at the package a little, bought it along with a pack of 4 extra cartridges. Got home and realized I hadn’t yet bathed, so what better opportunity to try it out?
Wow. I had resigned myself to always ending up with some roughness and stubble after I was done shaving my pubic hair and my legs… but, just — WOW. This was the most incredible, silky-smooth, damn-near-close-to-a-perfect-shave feeling I got, and it left me quite literally breathless and very nearly speechless. It was a beautiful thing. However, my joy didn’t last very long.
I had gotten out of the bath and dressed again, and my folks had gotten home from wherever they’d been, and I wanted to sit down and share my day with them. I wanted to show off my new shoes, and I wanted to let them see the shirts I’d bought that day too — I stopped by the mall on my way home from Wal-Mart and found some nice tops — but I was turned away because they were too busy watching TV. I sat down and wrote the following, intending it to be the beginning of a blog post, but didn’t get around to actually posting then. So here it is:
In any societal interaction, there’s a behavioral hierarchy. Some clearly fill leadership positions; other’s attitudes suit them better toward more submissive or subservient roles. It doesn’t often take long for a given group of people who interact on a regular basis to find and accept their place in the “pecking order,” and it’s certainly been made clear where I stand in my small family. My dad takes the full lead, while mom sits slightly below him. I, on the other hand, am placed squarely in a level of inferiority, considerably below their other child, the television.
As an example — and this is by no means an exceptional one — I went out shopping today, and when I arrived home again, I was excited about my purchases, I wanted to share a few interesting and funny stories of things that had happened to me that day, I wanted to show off the things I’d bought, and I wanted to just spend a bit of time interacting and having some fun with my folks. But I got home a few minutes after 6 PM, which meant that the Rachel Maddow Show had just started on MSNBC, and as I’ve been clearly told over and over again, I need to wait until a commercial, at least, so I don’t make them miss their show. Of course, if what I have to say lasts longer than the break, I get cut off mid-sentence so that their watching can resume as quickly as possible — again, I can’t make them miss their show; after all, this is Rachel Maddow! It never seems to matter that they’re using the VCR to record the episode that they’re currently watching, or that the episode in its entirety can be viewed online as early as sometime the same evening if not for sure the next day — I must not disrupt their viewing under any circumstances.
Of course, as one commercial break began, I mentioned to my mom that I’d like to talk with them a bit, and probaby longer than just the duration of the advertisements, and her only reply (in a tone that quite clearly conveyed irritation at my lack of awareness) was, “Well… the show is going to be over soon…”
Then again, waiting for a given show to end is risky too — there’s frequently another show just after whatever’s on now that’s just as critical to watch as this one, and the same rules always apply: don’t speak until the mute button is pressed at the commercial, and immediately cease speaking when the mute is toggled again as the show resumes.
At least I know my place, and know it well… that’s gotta count for something, right?
As you can see, I was rather upset, and half an hour after their show was over, my mom sent me an IM asking if what I needed to “talk” about would take long — her quotes, not mine. I told her that I didn’t feel that anything I had to say was worth being put on hold for an hour for their TV show — that I had just wanted to chat a bit, show off what I’d bought, spend time with my parents… nothing important. She didn’t reply.
Saturday…Well, it was the weekend. I wanted to get out of the house, and after lots of sitting around not doing much, I decided to ride the bus to the mall. Of course, this was about quarter past 3, and after counting my cash to make sure I had bus fare both ways, as I was heading for the door and checking the clock again, I realized that, being Saturday, the bus service stops at 4:30 in the afternoon — I could go, but I’d be stuck. I said all this aloud, and my mom offered that she or my dad could probably drive out and pick me up when I was done. That was useful, and also meant I could afford to wait for the more convenient bus at 3:55 instead of running out the door right then. As I was sitting and waiting, my mom told me she and my dad were going out to do some errands, and asked if I’d like a ride to the mall as well. I certainly wasn’t going to refuse, so I managed to get there quickly and without the cost of bus fare.
While I was there, I stopped in at Fredericks as usual, hoping to find something in that lovely Sapphire for a top to finish off an outfit. Actually had been hoping specifically for the Sheer Lace-Trim Babydoll but naturally the XL sizes in Sapphire were gone early that morning. I did find, however, the Cami & Short Set which was absolutely darling with the lace-up back and criss-cross straps… so I picked that up, then wandered around a bit and ended up at See’s where I decided to get a half pound of my mom’s favorite, Almond Squares. Walked around a bit more and was a bit thirsty, so I hit the Orange Julius and tried their seasonal flavor smoothie, which was Cranberry-Raspberry. They had some silly name for it, but it must not have really struck me, since I don’t recall it now. My final stop was Bath & Body Works, where I picked up a tube of this lip balm I’d had Pouf mention to me before; I hadn’t realized it was really minty, but that was a great bonus! I didn’t really care for the “Coral Mint” she’d been using, but there was a “Pink Mint” which I bought and it had just the perfect hint of color without screaming “Stare at my lips!” and actually matches my natural lip color very closely.
Sunday was uneventful; I planned to clean my room, I planned to fuck downstairs while my folks were away all afternoon, I planned to get some work done on a couple projects…… and none of it happened. I sat and surfed the internet, chatted with friends a bit, and basically did nothing all day.
Monday I woke up and had my first cup of hot chocolate in probably a couple years. I’d forgotten how lovely it can be to have the hot mug in my cold hands and the beautifully warm liquid flow down my throat. I fucked around doing shitloads of nothing on my computer for a few hours, then decided to watch a movie. Good film, called “Son of Rambow” — I quite enjoyed it. Then I tried watching Fight Club for the first time. I say “tried” because I can’t let my parents see me watching it; after all, according to their religion — which they seem to think I still share — any movie rated “R” is forbidden to be seen. To them there’s no serious distinction in evilness and sin between an R-rated theater release and a hardcore porno DVD ordered from online, so if they’re anywhere at the same end of the house as my computer — for example the kitchen — I have to hide my movie or deal with the Inquisition: “What movie is that? But isn’t that rated R? Why would you do something so wrong? Can you understand the sin and evil you have brought into our holy home?”
So when I was watching and my dad came in to destroy the windowsill in there to prep for replacing the window soon, I had to pause and minimize the film. When he was finally done, they left to go to the store. I got a few more minutes down, and they got back and hovered in and around the kitchen again for ages. Just as they finally left, and I was about to start watching again, they called me in for another installment of MAFIADON (or FHE if you prefer their niceties) and I had to go in and sit through 20 minutes of this fucktard on their church DVD droning on about how he was soooo happy, and the church had saved him and all kinds of other shit. Luckily I was able to tune most of it out but when I was finally excused, I felt so sick that I went back to my computer, turned on “Sexy, Naughty, Bitchy” at much higher volume than I should have my earphones at, mouthed along with the words as it looped, 3…4…5…8 times or more, shaking with anger as I tried to clear my thoughts of the preaching and center myself on my own beauty, my own personal triumphs, and my hope for the future. Half the time, my dad was in the kitchen with the vacuum which always reeks when used, and the other half of the time he was standing just outside my door, pretending to examine something on the bottom of the vacuum for at least a full 3 minutes while really just sitting there to fuck with me or spy on me or whatever. Finally he decided to GTFO, and I had just gotten to the height of the movie, right where everything was coming together before the end, when first one, then the other, then both of my parents decided they wanted a snack, but had to eat it in front of the TV (since we all know it’s that important!) which meant at least 4 trips past my room — each — so after about the first half-dozen or so I just put the whole movie on hold again and finally was able to watch the last few minutes when they were all done..
I was angry enough still that I told them I was going to my room for the night, and left. Got up here, insisted to myself that I blog finally, and started this post at 11:12 PM. It’s now 3:08 AM, and I’m wrapping things up and preparing to post. I’ve added these timestamps to help me see if I can figure out what’s getting fucked up with the actual “time posted” info on my posts — it’s always right initially, but going back a few days later I find all the post times impossible, like one that says “It’s almost midnight” and lists the post time just before 6 PM.
Anyway, 4 hours to write all this — now I really need sleep.
Edit: 3:35 AM final proofreading and actual posting.