sexsexsexsexsexsex

nsfw.
not suitable for work.
not suitable for anyone who would feel uncomfortable knowing SUPER intimate details about my life.


I'm lisapink. I'm passionate. About life, about love, about sex. lisapink. I know its cheesy. But it feels me. Lisapink is a color, did you know that? Or at least it can be. When I was young -- maybe ten or so -- I happened across a bottle of acrylic paint and the color was named lisapink. I fell in love. Prior to that I had "hated" pink: it was too "girly" and I didn't want to be a sterotypical anything. But this was ME. And then when you put it with black -- it is literally the color combination that describes me. Its strong as fuck. Its feminine. Its loving but also mysterious and badass. Its sexy and sweet and cool and happy and sad and basically not your average color combo. I'm not your average person.

I'm bisexual. Because oh my GOD sex is amazing. Sexuality is amazing. That feeling? You know the one. Its a moment of complete oneness with -- ironically -- yourself. But it is intimate. Not so much in the moment (or is that just me?) but after, I mean you're like -- wow. I just experienced this oneness with myself, and you were there! And you were experiencing the same oneness with yourself! That is so fucking intimate. Two people, just literally being... one... with themselves... together...

Okay. So yes, sex is awesome.

Jesse is too. He's really made me feel safe and secure in my sexuality. He's very supportive. We're both very open with our sexuality, both with each other and personally. There aren't secrets. He watches porn (if you ever say to me that porn kills love I'll punch you in the face). I masturbate to super random shit and he encourages me even though I won't have sex on the same day I masturbate (recently I may have experienced a second orgasm in one session... I'm not even sure, its so rare for me -- usually once I orgasm, there is no sexy-stuff in the following 24 hours).

Okay I keep trying to get to the point. Anyway, I like our sex life. We keep it fun, we keep it interesting. Jesse is a sexy man (I'm serious). But I would also like to have fun with a sexy woman. I started fantasizing about women when I was 16 or 17. I don't know if that's "old" or whatever. But its the truth. Weirdly they always wore jeans and no shirt. Boobs. But I digress. Well, not really. Because boobs.

I've kissed six girls. All of those are within the last four months (wow, I'm a slut [and its awesome]). Starting with a few days after I came out as bisexual. I've now made out with as many women as I have men - three each. And with one lady it went further than that. Not... far. But. God. It was amazing. I think some of it may be that, as a woman, its pretty easy to just let men lust after you and enjoy that and its sexy! But this was different. I was the one lusting. And it was so new! I can't even. I literally can't even. It was fun. And then there was this moment at the end... I was tired, drunk, happy... and I laid my head down on her chest and closed my eyes...

You know what my most recent fantasy is? Cuddling. Jesse is like, an olympian of cuddling.Its my cocaine. Lately I've had this nearly physical pull of cuddling with Jesse... and a woman.... at the same time. Yes, sex would be awesome. But even the closeness of a soft, caressing, boobie woman.... mmm. Okay. Yes. I'm bisexual. And I also crave physical intimacy (to get serious for a second, I think I trust physical intimacy more than emotional intimacy - its easier to trust a physical expression of desire rather than words - especially when words can contradict actions).

I am incredibly drunk right now. I could wait and review this tomorrow. Fuck it, I'm publishing.


love,
lisapink

Psychiatric Help 5¢ - The Doctor Is In

I had my first visit with a new therapist recently. I have tried therapy several times over the years, with little success. I'm at a place in my life now where I could be happy, but I first need to address the lifelong emotional damage I've been burying beneath the surface.

I never felt quite comfortable opening up to therapists; I didn't know where to start and how they could help me sort out my life. One visit with my new therapist and I realize: it isn't my job to know those things. That's their job. Its enough that I know I need help: they have to find out the best way to do that.

I won't lie: the thing I liked most about this guy (a guy! I've only ever tried female therapists before) is that he's ex-mormon. Separating myself from this religion is a process that's taken me ten years, and only in the last two have I found the path out. Someday I'll write about my process, but for now, I'll say that the path I found was the simplest of all: embracing truth. Unfortunately, while I can take myself out of Mormonism, I can't take the Mormonism out of my life. It was my upbringing. It was the foundation of my family. It is the culture I live in. It influences every relationship I can possibly have at this time. And it is largely due to Mormonism that I have the emotional baggage that I do. So being able to talk to someone who can not only understand but has lived through a similar life change will be immeasurably helpful.

But there's more to it than that. The thing I liked about this guy was that he was so direct, very solution driven, and not afraid to call me out when it was necessary. From the moment I walked in his office, he made it clear that it was his job to help me get to a better place in life, and he wasn't going to let anything - even my own fear - stop him. I had Jesse with me at that first appointment, for emotional support, and the therapist straight said that while he did want to hear from Jesse, I didn't need to be scared: therapy dude is great at his job and is going to be able to help me.

I was telling him that, due to my fears/struggles in life, I felt that I had a hard time making friends. I told him that I felt like I was always reaching out to people and really trying, but that no one ever tried back and/or ended up abandoning me. He validated my feelings, but then asked me if I was really reaching out, or if I just expected to be abandoned and so kept an emotional distance and eventually separated myself before I could get hurt. It really struck home. Its easy to blame others, but I need to take accountability for my own emotional sabotage. And I need someone who isn't afraid to tell me so. I don't need to be coddled, I need to be told what areas I can take charge of to help myself.

So I'm feeling hopeful. Just even that one session left me feeling like maybe I wasn't entirely alone, like maybe my life doesn't have to be dictated by the emotional mess inside me. My next session isn't for a few weeks, but after that I have weekly appointments set up.

I really, really, really want to get better. I want to get off medication (eventually), I want to heal, I want create a life I love. I want to stop isolating myself.

P.S. Jesse is so supportive and amazing and I am so lucky to have him.

P.P.S. The insurance through my work covers mental health care at 100%, which is like, the coolest fucking thing ever.

P.P.P.S. I also have a really great physician who referred me to this therapist about hearing a little about my family/religious conflict. It really feels like everything is lining up just perfectly. If I believed in a higher power, all I'd have to say right now is Allahu Akbar!

[Grief] Death is not always physical

I am mourning. I am mourning the death of my parents. They have not died, but the death of our relationship is as real to me as if they had.

For people who haven't experienced this kind of loss, for those who don't know my story, it may be hard to understand. But my grief is real. It does not have to follow any pre-conceived notion of what is and is not loss. It does not care who and who does not approve. Its here. It hurts. And it is time for me to fully accept my grief in order to begin the healing process.

Every individual needs love. It follows right after physical health and safety on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. And the most instinctive place to look for love is in the people who first provided for us. Our family. Those who raised us, helped us grow, looked after our health and safety. Those who loved us first. So we loved them back.

I love my mother. She loved me, too. She loved her child. I am lucky to have many good memories of my childhood. As the youngest, its possible I was actually closer to my mother than my siblings.

But children grow up. They gain an identity beyond that of daughter, son. Their world expands with each new experience. They start defining what they value most. They make mistakes, hurt, learn, grow, try again. They begin to build themselves into the individuals they will become.

I did not become who my mother assumed I would become.

My parents are very religious. Their life, and therefore my life, revolved around this. I went to their church. I read the scriptures, prayed to their God. I felt the spiritual confirmations they had taught me to feel. I was happy. Until, I wasn't. Wearing the identity they had created for me began to hurt. It didn't work for me. My self-esteem plummeted. I was taught that my value came from external sources: God's "love" for me, how well I kept arbitrary rules, how "virtuous" I was. I was different from the people I was surrounded by. It was so easy for them, to do and think and feel as they were told. I couldn't find worth in the places they did. I couldn't find myself.

So I began to look elsewhere. I read voraciously. I poured out my emotions into notebook after notebook. I made new friends that were more like me and less like... everyone else. I moved out and became more and more independent. I stopped allowing anyone to tell me who I was. I started deciding who I was. The more this happened... the happier I became. I felt whole. I felt real. I found out just how awesome of a person I actually was. I liked myself.

This is, ironically, the point that my relationship with my parents began to deteriorate. Their religion was their life. My life no longer revolved around religion. I no longer needed to follow arbitrary rules to have self-worth, so I didn't follow them. The more authentic I became, the more they showed me that the love they had given to me all my life was conditional.

Conditional love is not love. My parents consistently made it clear that they valued their beliefs, "morals," and chosen life path above my happiness, well-being, and identity.

This is the statement I go back to when I start to feel myself falling back into the deeply rooted yearning for a relationship with my parents. People talk about one or both of their parents being their best friend; certainly I will never have the opportunity to experience that. I will never be able to fully explain to what extent this is true, how much hurt they inflicted on me. Though I was an adult, they used every means necessary to control me, and voiced their disappointment frequently. A few examples:

• My mother told me she was not willing to help with any medical situations if the cause could at all be related to "sinning." This included "banning" me from using her insurance to obtain birth control.
• My mother told me on several occasions that my actions/lifestyle were "embarrassing" to her and tried to demand that I hide and/or lie about it. This includes things like refusing to tell her friends that I was living with my boyfriend (Jesse), worrying someone she knew would see me at the liquor store, and asking me not to "flaunt my lifestyle" on Facebook. 
• After I fell in love with my wedding dress, my mother pulled the salesperson aside to ask them to convince me that the (sleeveless) dress would look better with a jacket. 
• She frequently would criticize/express her disappointment in my choices to her friends and to my siblings. 
• As the only non-religious person in my family at the time, I was very much made to feel like a second-class citizen. Many people in my family were intentionally or unthinkingly condescending, judgmental, and dismissive of my identity and my feelings.
• My mother once told someone that I was doing well, and that she didn't see where the "lack of blessings" was coming in. Clearly, because I did not live by her values I did not deserve a good life. 

These were all symptoms of her conditional love. Where most mothers would celebrate whatever happiness their child found, my mother only condemned it. I believe there are many contributing factors to this, but the most severe of these is this: my mother loves her religion more than she loves me. She has complete faith in a religion that's core message is that I am not worthy. According to her religion, I have committed sins next to murder. I have denied God and been deceived by Satan. I am not righteous, I am not virtuous, I have chosen evil. I am not worthy of (the best) heaven and I am not worthy of being with my family forever. 

How can you profess to love someone when you also believe terrible things about them? 

The only reason the relationship with my mother persisted for as long as it did is that I would literally fight and force her to "accept" each aspect of my identity. But she never truly accepted any part of it. She has continued her hurtful and disrespectful dialogue for ten years. This past year, after kicking Jesse and I out of her basement we had been living in, I have slowly stopped fighting. I was too exhausted. The emotional distance was too great. Our relationship dwindled until it was simply proximity-based revolving around my nieces and nephews: we both helped out with them and we both attended their birthday's/school events. 

Then six weeks ago, my mother told me they were thinking about moving. To Washington. 900 miles away. She gave a few reasons for this such as wanting to live near the ocean, wanting to meet new people, etc. But she also admitted that it was also because her relationships with her non-religious children have deteriorated. 

My parents moved this week. They are gone. It was abrupt and shocking. I didn't truly believe it until I saw their empty home. They ran away from our issues, from our relationship. They chose not to stay and fight for it. I tried for years, but they couldn't put in that same effort. They didn't value me enough to fight for me. They never tried to show they loved me; they just kept expecting me to believe their claims while their actions proved opposite. And now they won't even be around to try. I won't see them at family gatherings. Our lives have no reason to intersect anymore. There was a vast emotional distance between us, and now they have added a physical distance as well. 

What's left? 

Nothing.

They're starting a new life with their new family. It doesn't include me. It includes their 7-year-old adopted daughter (adopted abruptly about a year ago, against the wishes of all of their biological children). It even includes their new daughter's 19-year-old (LDS) nanny who's been living them for awhile and is now treated like family. She'll be moving with them, they want her to be part of their lives. But not me. That's not important anymore.

I did everything I could to make my parents love me, truly love ME. The only thing that would have worked is to sacrifice my personal integrity and live a religion I do not believe in. That isn't love. And with their very literal abandonment of me, comes the knowledge that it never will be. My parents are incapable of giving me unconditional love. 

It is painful. I have lost a lot of relationships over the years. I've grieved for many of them. I have never experienced a loss as devastating as the one I'm going through now. For the first time in years, I actually believe maybe teenage me was right: maybe I am worthless, unlovable, evil. After all, if the very people who brought you in to this world and cared for you cannot love you -- how could anyone else? I wish my parents loved me. I still love them. It doesn't make sense, but I suppose that's humans for you. I formed a bond when I was young and I cannot sever that bond no matter how hard I try. 

Yet... I will never be able to feel that bond again. The things they have done and said... its very hard to imagine there will ever be a situation in which we would truly be able to reconcile things enough to have a meaningful relationship. 

My parents are no longer in my life. They may not be physically dead, but my relationship with them is. I am grieving the death of our 26 year relationship. I am in mourning. I am an orphan. The roots of who I am have been destroyed. 

It really fucking sucks. 

love,

lisapink

P.S. I suppose I should mention my dad. Between his work/business trips/church responsibilities/own introverted-ness he was always somewhat emotionally distant growing up. He is also even more devout a believer than my mother... So... That distance has only increased in my adulthood. Nearly all of my communication has been exclusively with my mother. About a year ago, he said something that made me realize he has no interest in a meaningful relationship with me, and probably hasn't been for a long time. I had asked him if it bothered him that, according to his religion, I would not be with him in heaven. His response was, "I'm over it." So yeah, that's really all there is to say about that.