Sorry for any inconvenience. The images on my new blog Still Life With Goat are hosted in situ and will remain as they are.

In this absent time — my hiatus, if you prefer — I discovered some things about myself and have started on the road to an entirely new person. Some of the old person is still there. I still love India, and bhangra, and I still have a fondness for Punjabis.

I’ve joined a new community as well and found someone that has become very important in my life.

Due to these facts, and a million other reasons both profound and silly, I have begun a new blog.

I would now like to invite my friends and readers to continue our association over there.

Still Life With Goat

I am sincerely regretful that I have neglected you and this blog for so long. Many thanks to Amar in London, for the email that has caused me to get back in touch.

My life continues on the other blog. I will ask to join the IndiBlogger community under the new URL very soon.

See you on teh intarwebz!

I’ve been fairly distracted the last few days by various and sundry.

First, I’m still being unfairly treated by the Special Master. My ex didn’t do what she demanded by last Friday and she’s given him a week’s extension. I was told to write my concerns for the children without making any accusations about the other parent, be neutral as possible and ask for what I think I need to see them safe. I did so. He just ranted about a restraining order. Keep in mind that if he’s given a restraining order on me the first thing he’s going to do is call the police to have me arrested for violating it, by lying to them about me. And he’ll have the kids taken from me, and I’ll be in jail for something I didn’t do. And believe me, the courts do NOT give due process in custody battle restraining order hearings or I’d have one on him by now, so I’m very nervous about this.

He sent her a two page document that I got first thing this morning that has this litany of horrible things that I DID NOT DO. He twisted events HE caused that I reacted to out of fear and desperation to make it look like I caused them. I’m pissed because I’ve not been allowed to speak of things in the past, or things that have been “heard” by a judge already, or make any accusations even if I have evidence to back it up and he’s been allowed to say all these horrible lies about me that are going to go on the official record.

So far in this recent process with the Special Master I’ve not only been abused in a clinical setting by someone who’s supposed to know better, I’ve also been denied due process. Since I don’t get due process even in the courtroom, I oughtn’t be that surprised, I suppose; but I’m having to pay this woman out of my kids’ savings and that just chafes me wrong.

I’m supposed to meet her this afternoon, and bring D with me for a discussion about what he knows, but I don’t see it as being anything other than an excuse to bill me for another hour. I don’t see her believing anything D tells her, any more than she believes me. She takes any “evidence” and statements and fits them to her bias, instead of looking at the evidence and forming an opinion based on the facts, and that’s fucked up scary.

So I’m struggling this morning with that, because this is a nightmare I just can’t seem to wake up from and I can’t wait for it to be over. Just as long as I don’t lose the kids or end up in jail, that is.

I got Mephistopheles back yesterday! I have to spend the next several days reinstalling software and setting up my programs, such as GIMP. Soon, though, it will be business as usual on my Centrino Duo laptop instead of ancient old Renfield the Desktop.

***

And now, for the hard to talk about, even here.

Mj woke up a fire in me that I had been somewhat successful in burying. Now the genie is out of the bottle and I can’t seem to get it back in. However, the last thing I need is a “relationship” — boyfriend, husband, what-have-you. Due to the things I have been feeling since that single afternoon spent with Mj (who I have not heard a word from, BTW), I started looking into the local BDSM community, doing research, reading online, and I joined a personals site specific to BDSM. The scene here is very large, and fairly accepted. There are private clubs, support organizations and even some nightclub/dungeons that are well attended.

I located someone who is well-known and well-established in the local community, as a teacher and mentor. We have been in communication for a few weeks now. He is currently out of the country. Believe it or not, in his vanilla life, he’s a successful businessman and humanitarian who frequently goes all over the world to help people with various projects, Africa and India included.

I had started communication with him but didn’t disclose my HIV status at first. I just wanted to feel normal for a bit. When we started discussing meeting in person after he gets back next month, I realized I had to tell him. One of the key foundations of BDSM is trust. If your Dom can’t trust you, and you can’t trust him, then it doesn’t work and isn’t healthy. (I know, using the word “healthy” for something that is so far out of the mainstream is a bit funny, isn’t it?)

So I emailed him and ‘fessed up. Then I spent a day worrying, and feeling sorry for myself, as I had myself convinced that it would be over before it had begun. This is the way it’s been for me since I started looking around of late.

The next day I had an email from him. Because of the work he does, and because of the mind-set of the BDSM scene and their awareness of HIV and how it spreads, he isn’t phased at all. He said he’d just take proper precautions. This was very much not what I was expecting. It took me aback considerably, but I got over it rather quickly.

Ever since I can remember, my entire adult life, I’ve been attracted to a certain subset of the BDSM experience, that of Dominance and Submission. The Story of O for example, has always turned me on since I first saw it when I was about 20. I’m not keen on the whipping and branding, but other things … being helpless, tied up or chained, things like that … *shiver*

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this since I started communicating with Master H. I’d played a bit in the past with some of my past boyfriends but it didn’t work with them. The dynamic of being in a relationship where during the “day” I was the dominant one, being the only breadwinner, for example and during the “night” I wanted to submit, just didn’t work. I didn’t respect these men deep in my heart because they weren’t worthy of it. The vanilla relationship got in the way of the deeper meaning of BDSM.

I’ve been working a little with Master H via chat and email. It’s been exhilarating. Giving myself over to someone like that, giving him control, doing what he asks of me (things I probably wouldn’t do on my own) has fed that fire Mj rekindled.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the subject. I wonder if I might be one of those people who is a natural submissive, and that is what I’ve been seeking all my life, just not finding it because I was looking in the wrong places and looking to the wrong people.

This is very different. I found Master H for what he does in the BDSM lifestyle, not as a boyfriend. He doesn’t want a vanilla relationship. He likes training people new to the scene. It feels very different from a “straight” relationship. Master H asks me questions I wouldn’t have answered to Mr. Ex, for example, and yet I am happy to answer him. It makes me feel free and alive in ways I never have.

Just being allowed to call someone Master and not feel stupid doing it because the man isn’t worthy of being called that, or his heart isn’t in it, or whatever, thrills me to the core.  He had me watch Story of O last night for the first time in 20 years. When I speak to him next, I will have to tell him what turned me on in the movie, and why. I’m already happy to comply with his orders, in ways I’ve never been before.

I have boundaries, which he will respect. There are things that do not attract me. There are things I have no experience of that he will introduce me to if I wish, and help me discover whether I like them or not. He has become my mentor in this, and will guide me while I explore.

I’ve checked him out as thoroughly as I can with what I know so far and I think he’s safe. The beauty of the BDSM lifestyle is that I can always just walk away if I change my mind. I don’t have to do anything I don’t consent to and nobody will make me stay. I can negotiate what I will and will not experience in any given session. This might be what I’ve looked for all my life, but not found because I just didn’t know there was an alternative. The internet has certainly made things more interesting in life, in all ways.

Master H gets back at the beginning of July and I have a physical meeting with him soon after.  I’m terrified on one hand, and overwhelmed and exhilarated on the other. From my research, this is the way it’s supposed to feel.

I don’t remember ever feeling so alive. And all I’ve experienced so far is just electronic communications. When I finally meet Master H I hope I don’t explode from the sensations.

I’m not getting any younger. Life’s too short. As the Red Hot Chili Peppers said, It’s better to regret something you did than something you didn’t.

Don’t fear for me. I will be safe and take precautions. I don’t automatically trust Master H. The trust will have to be earned on both sides, though my confession to him apparently made him comfortable enough with me to give me his real first name, something that’s not always done. He has a high profile life, so it’s an honor to know who he really is. His accepting me despite my virus because I’m a “person with needs” as he put it, took me a long way down the road to trusting him. It’s because of the way he handled my confession that I decided to meet him.

But that’s two weeks away. The anticipation is building. At night I can barely sleep thinking about it all. My mind drifts off onto the subject without warning. It is certainly helping distract me from the nightmare Injustice System. And that right there is reason enough to continue for now.

Two weeks can’t go fast enough.

I’m still depressed, but I’m not so depressed as I was when I wrote the previous post, so that’s something.

I finally got the balls to open that letter from the Board of Psychology. It was a form letter saying they’d got my paperwork and they have a back log now, so don’t worry if it takes a while to hear from them. All that freaking out for nothing. Story of my life. If I’m really lucky, the investigation won’t commence until after she submits her report to the court and it will be too late for her to take the kids in retaliation without showing her true colors.

Who knew that the state budget crisis might help me in a sticky situation?

Child Protective Services will be here in less than an hour. I don’t know why. I’m guessing they are investigating the police report from the “home alone” incident. It’s the same investigator as we had two years ago, and she’s sympathetic and can see what’s going on, so hopefully she’ll have some stuff to reassure me with. Since she’s already interviewed Mr. Ex and Company, she’s got their version of the story. She’s sharp, though, and maybe she saw what was going on.

Then the kids come home for four days after that. No having to see their dad or his girlfriend picking them up and dropping them off every day. No rushing around to make sure we’re ready at the pickup time. It’s downright civilized. If only their dad was a normal human being, I could go along with this no problem. They’re all so busy assuming I’m just out to get him they haven’t heard me when I’ve said I am tired. I want some time to myself. But I think he’s dangerous.

I mean, come on, people, haven’t you heard of Occam’s Razor? The simplest explanation is usually the correct one? Or is it simpler to believe a woman will be a cunt and fuck everyone over just for the sake of it, not caring what it does to her kids?

At any rate, I have some time now, and I intend to get that Special Master. She can’t be allowed to get away with re-victimizing people, which is exactly what she’s doing.

She said she was very close to retiring. I hope she has her retirement funds in place because I am going to go forward with my complaint and see it through to the end.

How many women has she done this to? How many people have given up because it seemed hopeless and just let her get away with it?

Here’s hoping it was one too many. I hope my bravado this morning can transfer to the long haul. I’m tired of family court and the vampires that inhabit it. The world would be a better place if they were all fed to sharks on Pay Per View.

Do I continue with the report because it’s the right thing to do?

or

Do I drop it because I’m likely to lose my kids?

Nobody in positions of power believe what I say. They all think I have ulterior motives and refuse to look and see if maybe I’m for real. The assumption gets stuck over the real me, and nobody sees.

If I continue with this report, the way things have gone, the court probably WILL take my kids from me.

But when I think about it … what can I do for my babies? I can’t provide the things they want, just most of what they need. I can’t protect them from their dad or a corrupt system. When they’re with me, I’m tired because I have no help and I don’t think I nurture them the way they need. In all honesty, sometimes they’re a burden I don’t know if I can carry by myself.

Maybe they’d be better off without me.  Their dad may be an asshole, but he can afford to take care of them. Now that I’m about to lose most of the child support because he has joint custody, I can’t even do that properly. They’re young enough to forget me.

I wish I had the guts to end it all. The pain of living hasn’t become stronger than the fear of the pain of dying. Yet. But it’s getting to be a pretty close race.

What’s there to live for? All I’m doing is using resources that could go to someone who has something to offer the world. Every bite of food that doesn’t go down my throat can feed someone who is hungry.

I have nothing to offer anyone. I can’t take care of my children. I’ve done nothing to improve or change the world.

So what am I doing here, really?

Just wasting resources and taking up space, that’s what.

I guess it’s too much to hope I’ll just die in my sleep. It hasn’t happened yet, though I’ve yearned for it.

But I don’t have the strength to end it myself. I’m too afraid. And as bitter as life is, it’s all I have. Mj may have had a point: something is better than nothing.

My life has been pain upon pain upon pain. From the very beginning, through my childhood, at the hands of my mother (with no malice intended; it’s all she knew) and at the hands of other children and even teachers at school. Then when I was on my own, I did it to myself. Choice after choice made impulsively and destructively. Choosing men who treated me like shit, reinforced what I learned as a kid. That I’m worthless and life is nothing but pain. And now my ex, and the courts and the whole world is conspiring to keep me in the shit. I can’t see any way out and I’m too much of a fucking coward to take the one way that is ensured that I can choose for myself.

Hell, I can’t even bring myself to drink this bottle of wine I have and go for a drive with my eyes closed and my seat belt off because I might hurt somebody else.

I’m afraid to cut my wrists, because I don’t like pain. Ditto drinking drain cleaner, jumping off the bridge or off a freeway overpass.

I don’t have any meds in the house that are lethal in high enough doses and if I ask my doctor for some, she’d know what I was up to.

And worst of all, at the bottom of it all, down in the depths of my very core, there’s a part of me that just won’t let me do it. I know, because I tried before when I was young and couldn’t carry through. The will to live is too strong. No matter how bitter life is, no matter how much it hurts, I still want to live. And I wish I didn’t, but I guess I haven’t quite been beaten down enough yet.

The stupid little core still thinks there are happy endings for people. The fucking thing called “hope” won’t die no matter how life crushes it.

I hate it.

Fuck you, hope. If you weren’t there, maybe I wouldn’t suffer so much. If I didn’t hope despite everything that’s happened, I might be able to force myself to accept circumstances as they are and not drive myself crazy trying to make things come out right so I can be happy. Why can’t I just accept that life isn’t going to make things right in the end? Why can’t I just accept that I lost my battle for my kids, that I’m not going to find anyone to love, that life is harsh and there aren’t any happy fucking endings?

It must be a delusion. A delusion is defined as an erroneous belief that is held in the face of evidence to the contrary. I keep hoping things will come out all right in the end. But what end? Life doesn’t work that way. Things don’t get better. Hope is a delusion, among all the others.

I wonder what compound in the pharmacopoeia can be used to crush that particular aberrent delusion?

Waiter! More thorazine, please! And leave the bottle!

Bad things happen to good people.

Being decent doesn’t bring any rewards.

The girl doesn’t finally get the perfect guy, who understands and treasures her for who and what she is.

Evil usually triumphs over good.

Good guys do finish last.

No justice.

No peace.

No happy endings.

It’s lost me my battle to save my children. It’s cost me the opportunity to have someone in my life to lean on. It’s left me alone, and afraid, and powerless.

And I don’t even have the excuse of a religion to fall back on, because it’s what “god” expects of me. I do it because it’s the right thing to do.

And the right thing to do gets you sweet fuck all.

I hate being ethical.

I hate my life.

The reason I’m trying not to panic is that Mr. Ex sent an email to the evaluator lying his ass off about stuff that didn’t happen yesterday to try to gain advantage. He said I flipped him off when he picked up our daughter. I don’t even look in his direction and the last thing I’m going to do while under the fucking evaluator’s microscope is something like that. He also lied about things that the police supposedly told him while I was on the scene at the home alone incident.

If the evaluator was a normal human being and not a controlling bitch, then she would just brush off what he said because he gave no evidence. In this particular forum, however, she takes his word as truth, and my actual evidence as petty. How can I fight this? I’m afraid. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. I’m swallowing my fear and pride and anger and doing what she says, and I think she’s still going to fuck me over.

The guy at ALRP said what she’s doing isn’t right, but if they can help me or not, who is to say?

I better stop now. I’m starting to cry from exhaustion and fear, and my kids don’t need to see it. Better to cram the genie back in the bottle and cry later.

Thanks to all my friends for their patience with my not being on YIM or looking at their blogs lately.

This morning I bolted awake at 5:30, with my teeth aching from being ground so hard all night. I tried heroically to go back to sleep, but couldn’t do it. My heart was pounding so hard it was shaking the bed. I forced myself to get up about half an hour ago and write the counter-proposal that the doctor wants from me regarding custody. It was not an easy thing to do, act like I’m fine with what is being done to me and the kids. But children get taken away from their mothers regularly here, for “overprotection.”

The courts treat children like assets to be divided up here, and certain types of people use that to continue to control and ruin their ex’s lives. Alec Baldwin and his ilk are the driving forces behind this new nasty phenomenon. Just Google Father’s Rights to see how they give “tactics” on how to remove children from their mothers.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I think a father or father figure in a child’s life is necessary. But removing children forcibly from a mother who’s been the primary caretaker, who is deeply attached to them, to force her to share them with an abusive parent on equal time is wrong. The bond of mother and child is the strongest one in nature and the current state of family court here in America is doing its best to destroy it. All the while pointing the fingers at the mothers and saying they are over-protective.

Ah … I didn’t have coffee because I was too nauseated and now it looks like maybe I can get in a little cat nap before the kids get back from Mr. Ex’s house, now that I’ve sent off the document that evaluator wanted. Here’s hoping.

I’m too much of a mess mentally to be coherent right now anyway.