It would be wonderful if life was an endless stream of cinematic moments, though instead I can only take them as they come.  I spent yesterday cleaning my old apartment, it was nearly empty and I spent my time contemplating the last year.  “The room of divorce” is a popular poetic image, as it is so often what leaves the memory.  As that person who once occupied that space is gone, and all that is left to ease the loneliness is the walls.

The cinematic piece of the day was that my divorce decree was on the mail table when I walked in the door.  It sat on the mantle as I emptied the space and my mind of all that has happened there in the past year.  While I can count the times my ex had been in that apartment in the time I was there on one hand.  Those were still my rooms, they were my exodus and my loneliness.

Despite the amazing amounts of personal growth and change, the people I’ve met, the ways I’ve florished. Returning to kink, returning to art, returning to anarchy, returning to the heart of my field in psychology; it was still a terrible year.  As nothing can stop the gasp of loss.

It’s funny to once again be at a crossroads.  I once again get to choose where I go.  Though this time without the heartache.  I have worked so hard to get to this place, and I can’t wait to see what I find within it.  As I closed those doors behind me.  Frustrated and tired with my old landlord, wishing it could have gone smoother.  Though in the end simply happy that it’s done.

I came home and went up to my studio, so similar to the one from the marriage.  I found my cat sitting on my chair waiting for me.  As we returned to that old ritual of her purring on my lap as I type.  The ritual is the same, the space that contains it similar, though it’s contents and context are so radically different.

I am so much stronger, and in a sad way wiser.  Grown into my odd activities as I checked on fetlife how the party went for everyone last night, and am sitting thinking about photos with a new piece of lacy lingerie sitting on the corner of my desk.

With a partner who will come home as excited about all these things I’m doing as I am.  Not anxious about what insane move I’m going to pull next.  We’re rebuilding our lives, though with a constant recognition of the ones just past.  Up from the fire we’re learning to build with brick, with a recognition of the value of our labor.

The cat is now laying on her back sleeping with one paw over her eyes.  Something I have seen her do many times before.  Just as I have always sat here plotting, and writing.  While we rarely change, we can always grow.

Empty house, new panties, pony socks, two switches, and a camera.  The results?  Priceless.

When I was 18 I was so happy to get a camera, as I had few good photos of myself.  I got it as a means of taking source photography for graphic design.  This picture was taken while gathering material for another shot, except I was only wearing that skirt.

As I got more comfortable the themes started to bridge more into sexuality.  I also started getting more into communicating directly with the camera, this was a graphic done a few years later on the concept of Vertigo.

What had started as using my body just because it was easy, quickly turned into honoring it and using it to communicate with others.  Meanwhile, BDSM had worked it’s way into my sex life.

When I was 20 I was left without my dominant boyfriend, and ended up with a switch obsessed with porn.  He took interest in my exhibitionism.  We loved beating the crap out of each other occasionally the camera came out:

He wasn’t a very good photographer, we also had very mismatched aesthetics.  However, one of my favorite graphics was salvaged from his work:

Shortly thereafter came the dark days, and I thought all of this would simply remain a whim.  Someday to be labeled as a childhood phase.  It made me so sad that I fought to change it.  Last spring I found myself wound up with duct tape and the tripod out.

Which actually led to the establishment of this website.  The photo came from a concept for a performance piece put on during erotica festival ‘08.  My mainstream audience was a little too amped up for comfort, though I simultaneously missed the kinky.  By the end of July it seemed I was nearly back to normal.

Just more experienced . . .

Here are a few shots from a self shoot done in 2003 in my college dorm room.  I find them nostalgic, cute, and amusing.  Just short of too embarrassing to share

“O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!”

I am doing my best to not hyperventilate as I look at my very full and unpacked apartment.  Instead focusing on the wonder that lies within moving on.

My divorce is a breath away from finalized, I am finally feeling competent and comfortable at work.  My job ceasing to feel new and impossible to me is beginning to give me a chance to breathe and enjoy the rest of my life.

Where I am moving to is no surprise to me, though it was a concerning thought back in September that I would be leaving here alone.

Not only is that no longer the case, I am also supported through all that matters to me, all I care about, and get to also enjoy the wonderment of another as they deepen their interest in the BDSM scene.

The new house excites me, with so much space, for so much amazing.  I also look forward to getting reconnected with fire in our small backyard.  A few weeks ago I got my first prolonged play time with hotter fuel for my torches, and I crave getting more frequent opportunities to play with the stuff.  As well as all my other equipment which is beginning to have issues with the wicks due to the lack of burns.

Moving forward without reservation, and with trust and a building faith in another is a wonderful thing.  To also be moving back to where I belong, into a house come out of a peaceful dream makes this whole experience feel unreal.

It seems only fitting that all this be tempered by a bit of misfortune.  I got news this week that my mother has cancer, her prognosis is excellent, though she is going to have a very difficult summer.  Harder still is that my family is well aware of what this process is like as my father had cancer 9 years ago.  While he made a full recovery it was a difficult period in our lives.

It causes me to remark on the balance of life, beginnings tied to endings, joy with sorrow, grief with gain.  However, I take comfort in the fact that I at this point in life am strong enough to keep moving forward.  As the next few weeks gain speed and my shelves turn into boxes.

This evening the needle box was just too tantalizing, so I took a few of our little 23 gauges to my skin.

A week ago my partner’s long anticipated package arrived, a sampler of needles and various related supplies.  He of course is delightly sticking himself with needles, and talking about all the contents when he says “you know there’s a scapel”.  I felt my entire body seize up and my mind silence at the very word.

It has been 3 years and 3 months since I gave up self injury.  I realized when I had gotten to the point that I was carrying a razor with me everywhere I went, and putting deep marks in my shoulder when I woke up in the morning that I *might* have a problem.

Caught up with my healthy masochism, and submission are some really fucked up issues.  I am continually working through them in regards to play, as well as my day to day life.  Trauma just works that way, it’s a continual process of reteaching bad lessons, replacing maladaptive behaviors with healthy ones.

Slicing open my arm to, “make the noise stop” and otherwise quiet my crazy was not exactly healthy.  Along with my ritualistic behaviors of sterilization, and bandaging, I was also known for being impulsive.  At the time I stopped cutting I was not active in the scene.  It seemed simple that the limit I place on myself was to not hurt myself.

The following years taught me that this wasn’t the healthy answer.  Abstinence from pain left me feeling numb, lifeless, and in an continual state of ennui.

I’ve been stepping through what I am ok with in terms of injury, and what I feel helps me rather than harms, and fits into a healthy lifestyle.  It’s been a process from deep bruises, long scabby scrapes, it was only a matter of time that I was confronted with blades.

Truth is, I fucking love blood.  One of my hottest memories ever was when my ex boyfriend and I reunited, and my back was ripped open.  It was amazing, and damn I love pain.  Especially abrasions, scrapes, prolonged constriction.  Bruises are ok, but these are the things that make me tick.  Pain has been incorpated in my sex life, well since the beginning.

So the other night my partner brings the needles out again.  I was dealing with some nasty sniffles, and a slight fever.  Needle play has a huge appeal due to the lower risk of scarring, the ability for prolonged pain, and a lot of applications for awesome.

I’ve tried various things with needles in the past, that night being my first with a hypodermic.  For me it was less then satisfying, for whatever reason I don’t like the feel of it.  While I hope to adapt with time, simply because needle play is awesome, for the moment I simply felt left out.

Especially with my favorite kinda of toy laying in a box on the other side of the bed.  I wrestled with the idea, talked it out.

I ended with a few fresh blade marks, enjoying the familiar ritual in a whole new context.  It was cathartic, it was healthy.

Currently I’m letting a few test spots heal to see what I end up with when it’s done, though overall I’m pleased.