The Finish Line

I am running.

I have been running so long my legs feel like rubber and my body aches.  My lungs gasp less than satisfying gulps of air almost as if I’m in a panic.

I am running from myself.  I am running from my past.  Dashing past my fears, dodging my insecurities and bolting away from memories.  I am running from pain, I am running from my future and I am running from you.

All the while I am running to catch up with my mind.

I cannot see where I am going.  I’ve but a faint memory of where I’m from and no concept of where I am now.  Demons bolt wildly over me, beside me and between my legs.  Twisted black creatures dancing to the shriek of misery.  They’ve always been there, biting me, clawing me, wearing me down.  They always will be, no matter how far I go; Like wading through an endless ocean of bloodthirsty vampires.

I’m not alone.  The shrieks and terrified yelps of others as they weaken and fall reach everyone; an unending chorus of agony.  From time to time one will rush out of the darkness and right past you only to fade again back into their own demons.Finish line

I have this incredible longing to join the fallen, and lay at rest in a much needed slumber.  I have seen them fall, I have heard the cries, felt the panic, and I have seen the revolting mess left by the demons who headed off in search of another tattered soul.

I’ve tried to help them, and felt them melting away between my fingers and down my arm.  I have smelled the vile stench of the failure.  I have seen the desperate pleading eyes…

…I too, felt their peace when at last they laid still.  Their demons quiet at last.  Their past, present and future no longer in existence.  Their thoughts put to rest.  The war was over.  Maybe they lost, but it was done and they didn’t have to fight anymore.

I long to give into the pain that will bring me eternal peace, the only way I could truly escape myself, but I don’t.

I have tried to slow down but I can’t.  Something keeps me going even when I’m on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, my legs still won’t let me stop.  My lungs won’t burst although I’m half hoping that they finally will.

Maybe I want to see the end, see where the running will lead.  Perhaps to the shelter my heart yearns for.  Perhaps the answers to the questions deep inside…Maybe, just maybe, it’s worth this agony and exhaustion.  Perhaps I will embrace peace again someday at the finish line.



Mental Illness

I’ve already said my piece about how people perceive labels as opposed to how labels should actually be used.  Now, I would like to address how we look at mental illness and why this is the wrong way to approach it.

When it comes to our mental health the majority of the focus is put on the symptoms and fixing the problems.  The problem with that approach is that the “problems” aren’t always problematic.

For example, my anxiety is sometimes an illness and sometimes a gift.

Let’s just say, for example, I lost my hearing.  It would be devastating.  I would have to re-learn how to communicate.  There would be a period of time where I would mourn the loss of one of my senses.

Once over that hump though, I would learn to use my other senses differently, more effectively.  Sound would be felt through vibrations instead of heard with my ears.  If I were to go blind, I’d learn to see through touch.  If I couldn’t taste, I would learn to appreciate texture.

When we can’t interpret the world or communicate with it through the more widely accepted ways we learn to interact with it in new ways.

When we begin to look at the world in new ways, we see new things.  We bring new talents, new ideas and new strengths to the world.

Personally, I think the symptoms of anxiety should look more like this:

-Feelings of panic, fear, or uneasiness
-Sleeping problems
-Tense muscles
-Difficulty concentrating
-Irritabilityvideo game
-Cold or sweaty hands or feet
-Difficulty breathing
-Increased or decreased sex drive
-Weight gain or loss
-Increased writing skill
-Great interest in at least one scientific field
-Reflective and thoughtful

….I’m sure you get the point.

Of course, not everyone will share the same symptoms and not all of the symptoms will present themselves at the same time.

If I did not have anxiety, I would not have the talents, strengths or weaknesses that I have.  The thing that causes me to break down and feel like a small child huddled under blankets for fear of an invisible monster about to grab my feet is also the thing that has allowed me to focus my energy on writing and art to learn how to express myself in an alternative way.  It’s also inspired my love of science.  It allows me to think in ways that are abnormal and unique.

This does not need to be cured.  It does not need to be fixed.  For me, it does not need to be medicated and numbed and mixed into a stew of side effects; though I am hesitant to say that it does not need to be medicated for all I’m certain there are many like me who are harmed more by the medications than helped by them.

Though my own personal experiences lie with anxiety, depression, insomnia, and autism and I’ve never personally experienced any of the others…I still strongly believe that people with bipolar disorder, dissociative identity disorder, schizophrenia and so on have enormous stored potential that is untapped and overlooked because all of the focus is always put on the bad and the ugly and the need to “fix” everything so it all fits together perfectly like a nice set of identical dinner plates.  Just imagine the beautiful things that they could show us if we stopped telling them that they’re wrong and they need to work extra hard to become better.

What does need to start happening is that we need to start looking at mental illness as it is:  Strengths and weaknesses.  It’s a gift and a curse.  It’s a talent and it’s dysfunction.  It needs to be treated with love and support and an incredible amount of patience.  We need to start allowing these people to be educated in nontraditional ways and accept them as they are without making them feel broken.

Lets start letting all of our geniuses, artists, writers, entertainers and scientists really shine.

Grand Idea

I got this grand idea
That fluttered into my head
But when I grabbed a pen
It was already dead.
I tried to write it anyways
It was a shadow of what it had been
I tried to remember the details
Of the wonderful thing I  had seen.
It’s details did escape me.
It’s really unfortunate too
Because I had this grand idea
That I had hoped to share with you.




People are reluctant to seek help when they need it for fear of “labels”.  They don’t want to be slapped with a label or have their children plastered with labels.  Nobody wants to feel as though they have “Anxiety” or “Schitzophrenia” or “Bipolar” branded onto their forehead for all the world to see.  Nobody wants to feel that judged in every aspect of every day.

When I get a cold I admit that I caught a cold and I’m sick.  I just need to rest and I’ll get better.  I don’t try to cover it up or downplay it.  (No, no, I just have a runny nose I’m not actually sick.  I’m just clearing my throat, I don’t have a nasty cough.)

Yet I don’t just say that I’m depressed and I’m sick.  I just need rest and love and I’ll get better.

Why are the labels okay in one situation and not the other?

When I buy meat from the store I can be informed on what type of meat it is.  I would like to know if this is duck or if it is chicken.  It affects the what I do with the meat.  It doesn’t make one meat better or worse.  It’s just a way of understanding what you’re getting.

That’s how labels should be.

My labels were never meant to identify me, just my struggles.

We all have struggles.

What identifies us is how we’re able to use our weakness; how we rise above our challenges.  How we treat ourselves and others.

I am not actually a walking tangle of anxiety.  I am not a hollowed out shell whose weak limbs are too heavy to move.

I get sick like that sometimes.  I also get colds sometimes.

The label of disorders or mental illness should be meant strictly as a guide.  By having anxiety, I’m more likely to have certain behavioural qualities of someone else who has anxiety.  We share certain very basic thought processes, fears and actions.  We have similar coping mechanisms that work for us.  We’re more likely to seek out certain medicating treatments.  I will react better to certain medications and treatments.

I won’t share the same symptoms, behaviours or coping mechanisms with someone with dissociative identity disorder like I would with someone with anxiety.

If we step back from judgment than we can see that a label is actually a good thing when used correctly.

I need to be able to have a decent understanding of what’s going on in my mind and have ways to cope with it when my attacks happen.  I Labelswouldn’t be able to do that if I shut myself out of the idea of getting diagnosed.

If my children have mental disorders or illnesses, or any disabilities, I want to know what they are.  When I know why they’re struggling so that I can learn how to help them.  Until then I’m grasping at straws, flailing blindly and holding them up to standards that they cannot live up to.

I cannot control how you react to me and my struggles, but I can control how I respond to you and behave towards you.  I will not flinch if you tell me you’re a Christian or an atheist.  I will not treat you any differently just because you tell me you’re a millionaire or you’re homeless.  I will not be afraid of you if you tell me that you are schizophrenic and I will not fall in love with you because you tell me you’re famous.  All of these things give me tidbits of information about your life, but none of these things tell me if you’re a good person or not.

It’s time to stop covering up our labels and  hiding them from the world.  Wear them proudly because they are a way of allowing us to understand one another.  If someone should judge us based solely on the labels we wear, it is their flaw, their lack of knowing that led them to that decision.  They are likely still hiding their own labels with shame and need our support and understanding.

Hallways of my Mind

I am trapped in my own mind, and it’s my fault.

Come with me as I walk through the hallways of my mind.  Please stay close by and I’ll do my best to ensure your physical and mental safety.  And remember, if you see something that scares you, that it’s all in my mind.

This hallway is the hallway of knowledge.  The one above us is the hallway of spirituality, but you don’t want to go there.  Some of it is wonderful and artfully designed, but mostly it’s cracked and very fuzzy.  I’m afraid it’s not nearly done yet.

You’ll see the walls are covered with quotes that define or amuse me.  Don’t bother trying to read them all, you don’t want to be in here that long.

To the right there’s a room labelled English.  No, no, don’t bother going in.  If you can understand me, than you already know all of that language that you need to know.

All along here you’ll find your typical school subjects; Mathematics, Home Economics- that’s a small room, and Science.  That door opens into another hallway that has rooms off of it with different sub-divisions; Geology, Biology, Chemistry, Anatomy…that sort of thing.

This stretch is for History, Geography, and politics.  It’s a little dim here, so please watch your step.

You see, how it works on this floor is when I need information on any of these topics in particular that I already know, I come up to this floor and open the door.  Usually the answer will jump out at me after it’s opened.  Sometimes though, I need to go in and dig around a bit before I find it and I have to be very careful not to mess things up.

I’m a bit short on memory.  If you know any places that sell memory I’d appreciate it if you let me know.

Please follow me down the stairs.  The floor below us has rooms labelled “Family”, “Sex and Sexuality”, “Friendship” and so on.  Don’t get too excited, we won’t be walking down that hallway, though I’m sure many of you are dying to do some snooping in there.

Please, down this next stairwell.  This floor is not a hallway.  It is just a room.  To the left I’ve gotten my thoughts and thought processes organized and it looks much like a library.

I’ve dedicated a lot of my time to this room.  I’ve mixed in all of my knowledge of psychology in here as well as yo ucan see by the back wall there under the big sign “Psychology”.  It is there because I’ve been studying my own thoughts and their patterns.  Once I can isolate the problem thoughts I can work on correcting them.

I’m sick, but I’m getting better.

This chalkboard in front of you is the Board of Debate.  I can come in here and write out a thousand reasons why I believe what I believe so when the debate is on I can argue my point effectively.  It’s large so I can take notes as I’m debating.  I come back to the notes and reason out a new opinion if necessary.  I am not completely closed minded after all.

But alas- I should have invested in a Board of Arguments because once the discussion takes that big step over the fine line into argument and away from debate, the damn thing erases itself and I can’t, for the life of me, remember what was on it.

And if that’s not enough, it will write out the other person’s argument- not all…just one hurtful phrase.  And then of course, that’s all I see for the rest of the argument.

You see those messy bookshelves, overflowing boxes and stacks across from my library of organized thoughts?  Those are my unorganized thoughts.  Many of them aren’t worth keeping, but I need to sift through them all so I don’t throw away the real gems.  That is why I spend so much time in here, but there are always thoughts falling out of thin air.  Constantly, as you can see.  There’s just no real way of sorting them out without hiding inside myself for the rest of my life.  And as much as I hate the clutter and confusion, I’d like the alternative less.

But enough of this room, as intriguing as you guys seem to think it might be.  Our destination is not here.  Please follow me down another staircase.

YOU may have noticed that the staircases have become a little more twisted and misshapen each floor we go down.  I’m sorry about that, I had no control over the construction.  I merely shaped the rooms.

This floor, another room of course, is dedicated to creativity.  I tried building rooms, but I found that I couldn’t label the art properly, so I stopped trying.  I kept most of the walls though, so I could hang up as many pictures as I could.  Many beautiful paintings.  I put in a lot of shelves too, for all the items I find appealing.

Why yes, that is a houseplant.  Isn’t it delightful?  Please don’t touch those rocks, I found them when I was very young and they have sentimental value.

Over there is my written creative section.  All of the good creative ideas I have upstairs get copied and brought down here.  There are also many writings that I’ve done myself and the most wonderful ideas from other people.  In them, I find inspiration.

And over there we have music and entertainment.  The music section is larger of course, as it fuels my passion much more than entertainment.  It’s probably good I don’t know how to play any instruments.  I think it’s too crowded in here already.

All throughout this room are my works mixed in with other people’s.

I like this room the best.  It’s so…motivating.  I can spend hours in here just soaking up the energy.

Pardon my sigh.  It’s just that I never look forward to walking away from this room.

Alright, down another staircase.  Please be very cautious on these stairs.  They are very deformed.  Hold onto the wall, not the banister or you will end up with nasty splinters.stiars

I apologize for the odor, but that’s part of what you came here for.  Don’t mind the noises.  I know they set off a wave of panic, but they are utterly harmless.

We descend now into the basement…the dungeon.  This is where I keep my demons…when I can capture them.

Don’t worry, I did a walk-through before you got here to ensure that they were properly caged.

Behind this door, you’ll find Greed.  He’s always hungry.  He’s a slippery creature.  Every time I think I’ve found a good way to chain him down he always seems to find a way to break out.

This is Anger.  Even if you opened the door- which I don’t advise- you wouldn’t see him.  I’ve lost track of the number of walls I’ve built around him.  Still he pulses through from time to time.

The room with the open door is Guilt.  it seems he got out again.  I can never keep him locked up for more than five minutes.  He is definitely a hassle.

No, don’t be concerned.  He can’t hurt you.  He’ll only attack me.  I’ll lose of course, but there won’t be any gore for you to see.

There’s many of them, as I’m sure you can see for yourself.  And my, they do love to feast.

On their own they are often no more than annoying, but when they gang up on me; Anxiety and Fear, Depression and Laziness, Hate and Jealousy….in whatever combination they decide to attack, it gets rather unpleasant.

Some days it’s just impossible to battle them.  I’ve had most of them at all once before.  It took me a long time to recover from that.

My friends, what you have come here for today lies behind the door at the end of that hall.

I’ll thank you in advance for not opening the doors.  I’m afraid she’ll get confused if she sees you.  She can’t see you through the glass, it’s a mirror on her side.

May I now introduce you to the real me?

What she is doing right now is removing her face.  She’s worn many different masks- all in the shape of her own face.  All of which she honestly believed was her own face.

No, she hasn’t discovered herself yet.

She spends all day trying out new things, reading organized thoughts and wandering through the creative room, spending hours in the family room.  Once in a while I see her up on the spirituality floor, but not often.

She’s been in here all day today trying to find herself.  Who she is, what she wants, how to be better, and so on.

Why down here?  You ask.

Yes, this is the deepest, darkest section of my mind.  She is here because of the demons.  I need to deal with those before I can find myself.  I need to face them.  Keeping them caged isn’t enough.

She is down here so she can study them, so that she can defeat them.

But I’ll have to ask you guys to leave now.  Anxiety has broken out and is pulsing through me at this moment.

I’m going to soothe him with a cold beer and a couple of hours in the creativity room.

Thank you for stopping by.  Any time you need a change from your drab, sane world, I’ll be here.


I Don’t Know

“How are you feeling?”  You ask me.

How am I feeling?  The words echoed in my head.  “I’m fine.”  I say, not looking up.  It’s an automatic response, I’m full of them.

A question like that really shouldn’t be so complicated, should it?  If I think about how I’m feeling, it’s never quite so simple as “good”, or “fine” or even “bad”.

At any given point of the day – any day – I’m just a bundle of mixed feelings.  I always feel like I’ve done something wrong and like I’ve done something right; guilty, yet righteous.  I feel excited, I feel happy, I feel scared, I feel sad, I feel tired, I feel alert, I feel smart and I feel dumb.

I’m feeling everything.  I’m feeling confused.

I guess the proper response would be to say whichever one I’m feeling the most and right now that would be sad.  But I’m not ready to get into that with you.  You’ll ask me why and I won’t have an answer for you.

“Why are you sad?”  You’ll ask me.

“I don’t know.”  I’ll tell you.

That won’t be good enough.  You’ll think I mean that I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or why I’m sad.  That will frustrate you, rightfully so.

But what I really mean when I say “I don’t know” is “I don’t know how to explain it to you.  I don’t know how to show you.  I don’t know how to help you understand what I don’t fully understand.  I don’t know how to just tell you.  I don’t know how to cope.  I don’t know how to make my problems easier on you.”

So I just say, “I’m fine”, because it’s much less complicated and less infuriating than “I don’t know”.DSCF0661

Apples And Oranges

Apples and OrangesOnce upon a time, there was an apple tree.  The apple tree never felt like it fit in with the other apple trees no matter how hard it tried.

Of course, it assumed that apple trees were supposed to feel a certain way.

Our little apple tree always thought that it should have been an orange tree.  It felt just plain wrong about not being an orange tree.

Mother nature must have made a mistake, after all, she did create the platypus.

After years of living as an apple tree unhappily, the apple tree decided to start painting its fruit orange.

This confused the other trees because the apple tree still had the features of an apple tree, but its apples were falsely orange.  Some of the other trees would get so uncomfortable with this concept that they would become angry and irrational, and sometimes violent.

Those trees were raised to believe that apples are apples, and oranges are oranges.  They assumed that everyone else should share their beliefs.

The apple tree still wasn’t happy.  It started taking orange hormones so its leaves and branches would begin to take on a more orange-like appearance.

By now there was a new type of confusion on which bathroom it should use.

Technically the apple tree was biologically an apple tree.  It still had all of the apple parts to reproduce and make more trees…but it looked and felt like an orange tree.

Even though it had all of the apple parts it was not comfortable being in the apple bathroom with all of the other apple trees and their apple parts.  It preferred to use the orange bathroom instead.

Many of the orange trees weren’t comfortable sharing their bathroom with an apple tree and its apple parts.  Many of the apple trees weren’t fond of the idea either.  These orange and apple trees are insulted, put down and labelled as intolerant by the very apple tree that refuses to share a bathroom with apple trees because they also possess apple tree parts.

Somewhere along the lines, being intolerant became an unforgivable offense.  Soon we’ll have to change the name of terms like “lactose intolerant” because intolerant will no longer be politically correct and will offend the person with the lactose intolerance….or it will offend the people who assume the lactose intolerant person should be offended.

The apple tree is increasingly unsatisfied with being an apple tree as it resembles one less and less.  It visits a doctor tree and has a surgery to change it into an orange tree.

This process removes all of the apple parts so that the apple tree will not be able to pass on its seed.  The surgery also adds on fake orange parts that are for cosmetic reasons only and that will not function the way orange parts are designed to.

The apple tree that felt like an orange tree became an orange tree-or as close to one as possible.

But the now-orange tree’s birth certificate still says the tree was born as an apple tree; and why not?  Our birth certificates provide information regarding our births, right?

this displeased the tree who desperately wants to be an orange tree in every way possible, even if it means destroying or changing any evidence that the tree was born as an apple tree.  And so, the once-apple now-orange tree has its birth certificate changed to state that it is, indeed, an orange tree.

As long as the now-orange tree avoids a DNA test, no one would ever need to know it used to have apple parts.

Some of the trees in the past that have undergone the same procedure lied to the trees they were in a relationship with.  They went to great lengths hide any truth.  They did that because they were afraid of being judged and rejected.  they thought that living in fantasy and lies was going to bring them happiness when instead it created stress, mistrust and anger.  They assumed no one would love them if they knew the truth.

Now that more trees in the forest have gotten to know trees that struggle with the identity of their fruit and who reach out their own branches in support, we hope and expect our now-orange tree will do the right thing and disclose information responsibly and honestly in any relationships it becomes involved in someday (much as we hope and expect any apple or orange tree to).

In fact, by now, our little tree has accumulated so much support from the forests that some of the trees are trying to say that there’s no distinction between apple trees and orange trees; that terms like “apple tree” and “orange tree” should be avoided to not offend anyone or to prevent bullying.  One can be an appange tree, an orapple or even an appora tree…but we should refrain from anything that implies there is some sort of difference between an apple and an orange tree that could cause confusion.

What blows my mind and ruffles my leaves is that nobody ever thought of telling the trees that there is no real way for an apple tree or an orange tree to feel.

The oldest tree among us doesn’t always feel old.  The wisest doesn’t necessarily feel wise.  The sapling feels as though it should be fully grown already.  The widest tree doesn’t feel bulkier than another tree.

There is simply no way that we should feel considering we are all unique trees, born the way we are for a reason, all equally confused and struggling to navigate our way though a complicated world.

That’s okay.

It’s time to stop using our branches to knock each other down and stop using our roots to choke each other out.  It’s time to start being honest, tolerant and understanding towards all of the apple trees and orange trees (and appange, orapple and appora trees) in the world.

Your Cow Can’t Produce Milk

Recently, I’ve had the honour of reading these three wonderful posts on marriage between a Christian husband and his submissive Christian wife.  Some parts had me laughing, some parts had me rolling my eyes so hard that they almost got lost in the back of my head, and during other parts I wanted to cry.

You really only have to read one to get a good feel of this man’s overall advice, but I was feeling spunky and curious so I kept on going until my brain was ready to burst with “Wait a minute…” and “That doesn’t make any sense”.

This man clearly considers men and women to be mere animals in his dating and marriage beliefs.  He feels as though a man must be capable of providing for his wife before he gets to own one.  A man is not expected to have much control over his sexual urges, but it is up to the woman to refuse men before marriage and cater to her man’s sexual appetite after marriage.  If she doesn’t put out enough, he’s got so little control over his desires that he’ll be forced to look elsewhere and the blame will be on his wife.

I understand the cow analogy isn’t actually his; “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free” and in his own words “You don’t pay for the milk when you own the cow” but it is perfect..

When does a cow give milk?  When you’re thirsty?  When you tell her to?  No.  A cow’s milk has everything to do with reproduction.  Her body is not biologically designed to squirt you with her creamy goodness whenever you crave it.

Yes, yes, I know, I’ve taken it and twisted it.  We’re obviously not talking about milking cows, we’re talking about sex…while assuming humans are basically animals.  So let’s look at it from a different stance.  Why do animals have sex?  Most animals have sex just to reproduce.  If a male tries to have sex with a female before her body is ready to become pregnant she will reject him…sometimes violently.  Even with species where a man’s found a female partner to be with for life, she only allows him to have sex with her to reproduce.  After a baby’s born, she doesn’t even put out at all until she’s ready to have another baby.

Maybe your problem is that in reducing a woman to being nothing more than an animal, she’s acting like one.  Maybe she only wants to have sex with you when she’s ovulating and her body is ready to become pregnant.  Her body will naturally become prepared for sex during this time and her hormones will make her want to reproduce no matter how she actually feels about you…so you’ll have that going for you.

You’re probably just expecting too much sex.  You’ll be much more satisfied if you only expect to have sex while she’s ovulating until she’s pregnant…thSkinny Cowen not at all while she’s pregnant or breastfeeding.  I wouldn’t go expecting to have sex after she’s done bearing children and can  no longer psychologically handle raising children, or after he body’s too old to carry a child.  So…um…get that in during her fertile time while she’s young; because if she’s not enjoying it, and it’s not for reproduction…why would she do it?  .

One of the things that catches my eye is that to this man, the reason we become married is so that we can have sex with a person.  Really?  I find that to be very sad…I couldn’t imagine living in such a loveless marriage.

I’m sure we all understand that dating and marriage have changed a lot over the years.  A man can choose a woman based on so much more than her physical appearance, his “bride price” and her father’s blessings.  He can meet her, talk to her, and learn how to love her before he promises his life to her.  I mean really love her…he can adore her laugh, desire to make her happy, and admire her strengths while wishing to hold her and help her through her weaknesses.

And a woman can…choose!  She can take the time to fall in love with you.  She can learn to love your quirks, appreciate the sparkle in your eyes when you’re truly happy and she can admire you before she dedicates her life to you.

That my friend, is a beautiful thing.  I can’t imagine what dating would be to you in this day and age, but I can’t help but feel it’s more like an awkward, entitled business arrangement rather than an attempt to find a compatible partner to share your life with.  As if you find the first person who turns you on physically and you marry them…out of expectation or guilt, and try to force love and sex into the mix.  I’m sure if I trudged through more of your advice I’d find out how a couple should date…but in all honesty, I’ve spent all the time I’m comfortable with in your world already and I find it sad.

Another thing I’ve noticed in your writings is that you seem to be under the belief that women generally don’t enjoy sex.  I can see how that would have been your experience.

I suppose if I had to be in a loveless marriage with little to no choice of my own and left to feel as though I’d be suffering for an eternity if I tried to find a way out of my living misery, it would become a chore and an unpleasant thing to do.  I would find it more disgusting than cleaning up dog poop, or making a grimy, limp doll from the sludgy hair that gets caught in the bathtub drains.

Is with permission (so you don’t have to feel guilty or she can’t legally say “rape”) but against her wishes (grudgingly), and clearly without enjoyment on her behalf the absolute best you want for the woman you’ve dedicated your life to?


Those poor wives.

If you want a marriage where the man is the head of the household and the wife is submissive, that’s fine.  Just do it properly.  You are the reason people automatically think “controlling” and “abusive” when someone discusses the submissive wife.

The part you seem to skip over in all of your writings is that the man has a great responsibility to see to the best interest of the wife and children.  It ends up being a beautiful, intense relationship when done right.  It requires a great amount of trust.

Let’s take a look at the mother – child relationship for a moment.  I expect my children to listen to me when I tell them something, without argument or questioning me…but that is only if I’m looking out for their best interest.  In other words, I expect them to listen to me when I say “Don’t run out in front of the cars” but I wouldn’t expect them to listen to me if I’m telling them to take the casserole dish out of the hot oven with their bare hands.  If I am unable to take proper care of my children, I lose my right to raise them.

Likewise, you lose your rights to have a submissive wife if you fail to meet her needs.  At no point in your ramblings do I get the sense that your woman’s emotional needs are being met.  If she’s asking for help with dishes before she’s willing to have sex with you, she’s feeling stressed out and overwhelmed and asking for you to help remove a small portion of that stress so she can have a moment of enjoyment with you.  If her emotional needs are being met and you’re being respectful of her, she will have a sex drive.  Period.

I can’t help but wonder;  You’ve mentioned that her body becomes yours and your body becomes hers…does that mean if she desires sex can she demand you come home from work to please her?  Can she pull you away from friends when they’re over and talking with you?  Can she drag you away from tv/hockey/football/(show or game of choice) because she’s feeling aroused and she’s decided she wants her property in the bedroom?  It would be your responsibility to give in to your wife.  You could take a rain-check and cash in on that at the soonest possible moment, but that would be the exception, not the norm.

I’m actually deeply saddened that you would find this a reasonable excuse for divorce.  I really am.  To me, marriage is for better or for worse, until death do us part.  The love I offer is without conditions.  I won’t leave him because I’m not sexually satisfied, I’ll work on fixing the parts of the relationship that led to the difficulties of coming together sexually.  I’ll continue to love him no matter what mistakes he ends up making and I know he’ll do the same for me.

And yes, he “earns” things from me every day and I do my best to prove myself to him. I try to make an effort to “earn” his love and respect every single day.  Some days I’m not as good at it as on other days, but I’m only human after all.  I didn’t sign onto this relationship I’m in to just put in effort in the early days and slack off for the rest of my life.  His love is something I strive for every day.

In truth, you don’t buy the cow.  You don’t own the cow.  The cow doesn’t squirt you because you’re thirsty.  You love the woman, you marry the woman, you take care of the woman’s needs, she takes care of yours.  You respect your woman and earn her respect in return.  You are a partnership, not possessions.

But what do I know?  After all, I’m in a relationship where we love each other through our faults, respect each other, support each other, we work through our difficulties and we’re not even married.  We’re just “playing house” and doing a better job of it than you seem to be.

Mother, Father, Please Remember

Mother, father, please rememberUntitled
That I’m a mere human – just like you.
I make mistakes and forget things
Just the same as you do;
And when I do, I’m ashamed
The same as you would be,
Please keep that in mind
Before you deal with me.
And when I’m acting out a lot
It’s because something is bothering me.
I’ve all the same emotions as you
But I don’t know how to tell you, you see…
I don’t quite have the words yet
To say “I’m frustrated”, “I’m distracted” or “I’m hurt”
Some day I’ll be able to tell you
But you have to teach me first.
And I need to feel like I’m important
As if I have a say too.
I realize you’re the parents and I’m the child
But I need to know my opinion means something to you.
Please keep in mind, mom and dad
I learn a lot about life from you
So if you talk to me with anger
That’s what I’ll learn to do,
But if you look at me and listen;Baby boy
if you’re compassionate, kind and teaching;
If you show me how to be patient and loving
I’ll learn to behave as you’re preaching.
Mother, father, please remember
That I’m a mere human, yes it’s true…
And in order to learn to treat others well
I need to be taught by you.

Rose-Anne Meyer