Fear and Loss in Polyland

Many of the posts in this series focus on the good and the great things about poly. But, like many good things in life, there is a darker side. This week's topic really highlighted to me, the 'less than great' parts of being a poly. Loss, a pretty broad topic, be it break ups, loss of a loved one or family member, or even of a familiar experience or item, is a traumatic experience.

Being poly means more partners, more love, more support. Sadly, it also means more loss. Having 3 people who love you is great, but losing 3 people who love you is less than great.

Last summer, I had the misfortune of experiencing 4 break ups in a very short span of time. All of them devastating, and several of them messy. Having so many losses in such a short time was quite a blow, and it all left me reeling. I wondered if poly was really the right thing for me. Each prior loss seemed to cause more problems in the relationships I had left and each consecutive loss seemed to compound the hurt of the previous ones.

On the bright side, having that much more... exposure... to hurt, allowed me to learn that much more about myself, and to experience that much more personal growth. To improve and be a better partner, lover and friend, next time. My experience dealing with different lovers and different types of relationships has better equipped me for future lovers and relationships.

I addition, the very same support network I spoke of last month, meant that in experiencing this loss, I was never really alone. I had people around me who knew what I was going through and understood. One must be careful to never imply that losing a partner when you have another partner would 'soften the blow' in any way, each relationship is different, and has their own nuances. They each need to be grieved. Similarly to a parent, experiencing the loss of a child, will not just shrug and say 'Oh well, at least I have another one', having more than one partner does not negate the pain and trauma of losing one of them.

But, having a larger tribe of those who love you makes any dark time easier to get through. In the end, I know that poly is for me and, despite the greater potential for heartbreak, the greater potential for love makes it all worth while.



Poly Means Many: There are many aspects of polyamory. Each month seven bloggers - ALBJ,DelightfullyQueer, An OpenBook, More ThanNuclear, Post ModernSleaze, Rarely WearsLipstick, and The Boy With The Inked Skin - will write about their views on one of them.

Poly Means Many - The 'Many'

When people ask me why I am poly, I often cite the same reason: That I think it is impossible for one person to be 'everything' for another. Different people fill different roles in our lives, provide different things, and bring out different parts of our personalities.

In being bisexual, poly, kinky and switch, this concept is pretty evident and important to how I form relationships. It is literally impossible for one person to be everything to me, to provide everything I need, and to satisfy everything that I am 'into'.

In a society where so much emphasis is put on finding 'the one', the person 'of your dreams' or who 'completes you', realising that a variety of people bring a variety of things to you life if pretty radical. To me, my poly is not just made up of multiple partners/lovers, it is made up of a rich diversity of friends and loved ones.

When you are poly, it is like being in a play where everyone has a significant role, not just the 2 leading characters. If you tried to map out the poly dynamics of those around me, you would end up with a complicated woven web of connections. Metamours, parametamors, megaparametamours, and so on and so forth. Those who are not your lovers form in framework around you, creating a network of loved ones.

In this network you find friendships that transcend the typical, levels of intimacy and familiarity that go above and beyond what most people expect and receive from their friends. The only thing I can liken it to is a family or a tribe. We are from all different walks of life, personalities and interests, but are connecting by tendrils of love, connected across divides.

To an outsider, it may seem complicated or messy, but to me it is simple. These people are my family. Not a family that I begrudgingly love out of obligation, but with whom I share my life and my love with out of choice.

Poly does mean many, and because of this, I am never alone.

Poly Means Many: There are many aspects of polyamory. Eachmonth seven bloggers - ALBJ,DelightfullyQueer, An OpenBook, More ThanNuclear, Post ModernSleaze, Rarely WearsLipstick, and The Boy With TheInked Skin - will write about their views on one of them.

The lucky one

So last week my article, Being Ben was published in Filament Magazine. The article outlines a bit of my transition, how my family responded, how it has changed my views on gender, advice for friends of trans people, and people who may be thinking of transitioning. The photos and the article turned out great, and I am really excited about it.

I did the article for two reasons. The first is to help others. If I could help one person who was thinking of transitioning make the right decision for them, or if I could help one friend or family member of a trans person understand a bit of what it is all about, I'd feel it was worth it.

The second reason is probably a bit self gratifying. There is a certain freedom in 'coming out' to the world. Having the article out, in an international magazine, that many/most of my peer group read, was a way to get my story out there so everyone could see it, and I didn't have to explain it.

Over the past year, I have been coming out to friends, new and old. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I spent about 6 years being 'stealth'. In the closet. No one but my partners knew. I missed out on a lot, and it took a lot of my energy to keep it up.

I kept it up mostly due to fear and self-loathing. Fear of that people would think of me different if they knew, that they wouldn't want me, or that they would judge me. This fear has been widely unfounded, as my friends are awesome and no one has judged me or been anything other than supportive. Hell, not even supportive, just treated me normally. The self-loathing is a bit harder. Self-loathing in that I wasn't a real man, that I had something to hide, that I was less than, that my partners were settling, and secretly wanting the real thing. I don't feel that way anymore. I know who I am, I know what I have to offer to the world and I like that. I like me. I'm happy, really happy.

I wasn't always though. A friend posted a YouTube video this morning on Facebook that nearly had me in tears. It was like looking at 13 year-old me. The video can be seen here. It's only a few minutes long, so please watch it.

I was that kid. I started getting bullied at about 6 or 7. It didn't stop until I left highschool at 17. It was constant. It was from boys, from girls, even teachers. No one stood up for me, no one protected me, no one stopped it. I was different, which made me an easy victim. As a result, I acted out a lot, almost got sent to a special school for kids with behavioral problems. In my teens, I retreated even further into myself and took drugs and alcohol. A lot. I didn't go to prom, I didn't even go to my graduation, I was so happy to be away from there. I tried sports, I tried the military, I tried art. Nothing made it any better until I finally transitioned and moved away.

But watching this little boy's video, watching the tears and the pain, and remembering shedding those very same tears and the weight of that pain, I kind of wonder; How did I make it? With the media being abuzz with pre-teen suicides, and the It Gets Better campaign growing massive amounts of attention, I know that not all kids do. I wonder what was different about me, how I got through relatively unscathed, how I made it into adulthood largely successful, happy, loved.

I wish I knew what the magic formula was, as I would package it and send it out to every single one of those kids. No one should have to feel the way I did, the way the boy in that video does. Certainly not a child.

I made it, I don't really know how, but I did. I'm one of the lucky ones, and I count my blessings every single day.

Wants and Needs

This past New Years, I made a resolution to be less subtle, and ask for what I want. I have done fairly good at achieving this, and had some wonderful experiences that I would not have had if I had let my shyness prevail.

As I'm suddenly thrust into singledom again, a stark realisation has occurred to me. I've been learning to ask for what I want in the short term but I have been failing miserably at getting what I *need* in the long term. (Let me explain here, that I mean want/need in terms of relationships, sex and dating).

I'm not looking to any time soon, but at some point, I am going to start dating again. I'm a relationship type of person. I like being part of a couple, I like having a partner. I have had some pretty spectacular failings in relationships, but I am determined, that this time, I will have learned from those failings. I am slowly forming a figure in my head of what my perfect mate is, what I truly need from a person and a relationship. I thought I'd write it down, for posterity. (NB. I am using the word want below, but these things together all combine to be what I need in my next partner, also, this post is not to say that my previous partners didn't contain many of the below features).


I want to be chased, not to always be the one doing the chasing. I want to be cared for, even though I find it hard, and I in turn will care for them.

I want someone who has their shit together, to be strong, secure and independent. I don't want to be held accountable for the actions of my predecessors, or the daemons in their head, but accountable for my actions and my words.

I want them to have a life, ambitions, goals and dreams. I want them to be driven by passion and to have crazy things they cannot live without. I want them to take chances, to have life experience behind them and interesting stories to tell.

I want them to enjoy spending time with me, but not need to spend time with me. I want to be free to have fun with my friends, to meet new people and explore new things. I want to be trusted and respected. I want to be able to play with my friends or new people I meet and be open to potential, but to feel secure. I want to know who I go home to, and for them to know I will always go home to them.

I want to be a priority. I want to be the most important thing to someone else. I want to be considered first. I want them to never have to choose, but to know if they did, it would always be me.

I want someone to want to do bad things for me. I want to be good for them. I want them to not be able to keep their hands off me. I want them to wake up in the middle of the night wanting me, and I want them to take me. And, I want to be able to do the same to them.

I want to make them smile. I want them to be excited to see me. I want them to be proud to call me their partner. I want to be shown off to friends and family.

I want to be supportive, and a shoulder to cry on, but not to be constantly firefighting. I want to reassure, but not be a source of validation.

I want to be surprised. I want to be treated. I want the little things, the secrets, the hidden notes, and spontaneity.

I want someone to want me to be better than I am, and I want someone who wants to be better than they are. And I want to enjoy that journey together, but knowing that neither of us can change the other, we can just be the reason for the change.

Most of all, I want stability, comfort and love.

Will I find all these things in one person? Who knows. But I know I won't stop looking for them, because my heart needs what my heart needs.

How To Make Love To A Trans Person

I came across this through a friend's tumblr, and was overcome with how beautifully written it is. I felt I had to share it with you all. I hope you all read it, and share it with your friends too.

HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A TRANS PERSON

By Gabe Moses

Forget the images you’ve learned to attach

To words like cock and clit,

Chest and breasts.

Break those words open

Like a paramedic cracking ribs

To pump blood through a failing heart.

Push your hands inside.

Get them messy.

Scratch new definitions on the bones.

Get rid of the old words altogether.

Make up new words.

Call it a click or a ditto.

Call it the sound he makes

When you brush your hand against it through his jeans,

When you can hear his heart knocking on the back of his teeth

And every cell in his body is breathing.

Make the arch of her back a language

Name the hollows of each of her vertebrae

When they catch pools of sweat

Like rainwater in a row of paper cups

Align your teeth with this alphabet of her spine

So every word is weighted with the salt of her.

When you peel layers of clothing from his skin

Do not act as though you are changing dressings on a trauma patient

Even though it’s highly likely that you are.

Do not ask if she’s “had the surgery.”

Do not tell him that the needlepoint bruises on his thighs look like they hurt

If you are being offered a body

That has already been laid upon an altar of surgical steel

A sacrifice to whatever gods govern bodies

That come with some assembly required

Whatever you do,

Do not say that the carefully sculpted landscape

Bordered by rocky ridges of scar tissue

Looks almost natural.

If she offers you breastbone

Aching to carve soft fruit from its branches

Though there may be more tissue in the lining of her bra

Than the flesh that rises to meet it, Let her ripen in your hands.

Imagine if she’d lost those swells to cancer,

Diabetes,

A car accident instead of an accident of genetics

Would you think of her as less a woman then?

Then think of her as no less one now.

If he offers you a thumb-sized sprout of muscle

Reaching toward you when you kiss him

Like it wants to go deep enough inside you

To scratch his name on the bottom of your heart

Hold it as if it can-

In your hand, in your mouth

Inside the nest of your pelvic bones.

Though his skin may hardly do more than brush yours,

You will feel him deeper than you think.

Realize that bodies are only a fraction of who we are

They’re just oddly-shaped vessels for hearts

And honestly, they can barely contain us

We strain at their seams with every breath we take

We are all pulse and sweat,

Tissue and nerve ending

We are programmed to grope and fumble until we get it right.

Bodies have been learning each other forever.

It’s what bodies do.

They are grab bags of parts

And half the fun is figuring out

All the different ways we can fit them together;

All the different uses for hipbones and hands,

Tongues and teeth;

All the ways to car-crash our bodies beautiful.

But we could never forget how to use our hearts

Even if we tried.

That’s the important part.

Don’t worry about the bodies.

They’ve got this.

(Source: genderqueerchicago.blogspot.com)

Tears for fears

I thought it fitting that the only post I have left on this blog be about my desire and inability to cry. It allows me to segway easily into this next chapter.

Last night I cried, I cried on Sunday past as well, for very different reasons. Last night I cried in a busy late-night restaurant, in the company of two fantastic friends, and after several cocktails has been imbibed. But, I cried.

The tears were linked to something that is a quite deep and core issue for me, and that is the feeling of not being wanted. It stems for my childhood; from abandonment issues to do with my mother, school-yard bullies and being an 'ugly kid', being awkward and confused as a teen.

These feelings have prevailed into my adult life as well and have manifested themselves quite neatly in my kink life. I'm a switch, a true switch I would say. I couldn't chose between roles, nor do I have a preference. Well, no, that is untrue. I probably prefer to Top, but some of that preference is out of self preservation and convenience.

When I was a teenager (literally, the month I turned 18) I began a D/s relationship with a much older person that was possibly the most satisfying and intense relationship I had ever had. Through my submission to this person, I felt whole and fulfilled. It went on and off for about 6 years (all but 1 year of it being long-distance, and secondary), and eventually ended for reasons to complex to discuss here.

Since then, with the exception of a few scenes and 'mucking about' sprinkled over the years, I have not subbed. At all. For a while I didn't want to, or didn't want to admit I wanted to, but for the last two years, I have not just wanted it, I have craved it to my bone.

The really hard part has been in finding a suitable dominant partner. Well, a dominant partner full-stop. I have had some offers for play here and there, and I know I have some lovely friends who I could have a lot of fun with, but what I am craving is much more than that.

I want to be wanted, to be needed, to be owned and to be used. I don't just want a flogging in a noisy club, I want someone to call me theirs and be proud of me. I want to adore, to serve, to offer myself up, and to be safe. And well... that is pretty darn hard to find, especially as a submissive male.

The tears last night were a bit self-indulgent, and I look back feeling like that response was a bit ungrateful. Ungrateful for the loving and wonderful partners I have, my amazing friends, and the play that I do get. Yet, the tears flowed from a place deep inside where a little boy full of fear and sadness just wonders why no one wants him, why he isn't good enough, why so many people around him get that, and he doesn't.

I know when the time and the circumstances are right, I'll find my Dominant, and they will love and cherish me, control and torment me, and be proud to call me their own. In the meanwhile, I need to focus on making myself as good as I can, and to enjoy the amazing plethora of people and experiences I have in my life.

And probably shed a few tears.

Tears, Shame and Permission

It has been a while since I posted, the biggest reason being, every time I think about doing a blog post, I can think of about 4 or 5 things to blog about. I should probably blog more often. I'll try to limit this to one topic for now, but several might follow as I try to compartmentalise.

Over the last day or two I have been in a pretty low. Depressed, moody, overwhelmed, stressed, sad; the list could go on. On an intellectual level, I know what I need to do to make things better. I need to make lists, prioritise tasks, and just get things done. I need to find ways to get my needs met. When I have too much to do I find myself paralyzed, and then I don't do anything, which results in me spiralling; angry at myself for being 'lazy', and then time passes and I have more things to do, and feel worse about how long it is taking me to do what I have to do. I feel like I should just get on with things and do them, then they will be done and I won't be stressed anymore. The kick-in-the-butt needed seems out of reach though.

Through all this, I have had an overwhelming desire to cry. I almost cried in counselling on Wednesday, but held back. The Kid has even come right out and said she wants me to cry, and to cry on her. I still feel unable though. Like I have a huge mental block. I have struggled for years with crying. I used to cry a lot, often and easily; I found it a great release. But, over the last few years I seem to have lost the ability. Or rather, the ability to give myself permission. Even when my marriage ended, I didn't cry until weeks later, and only for about 2 minutes.

I don't know what I am afraid of. Possibilites are of being too vulnerable, or feeling un-masculine, or perhaps I am afraid that if I open the taps a bit, there will be a never-ending flood. I struggle with feeling sorry for myself. I don't think I should feel sorry for myself; I have a really good life overall. I feel like crying is selfish and indulgent. I feel like I am supposed to be the strong one, and crying seems weak to me.

I also struggle with the gender norms around crying. Like the adage 'boys don't cry'. While I don't think going out and smashing something up is the proper way to deal with emotions, I struggle with being a man and being that emotionally vulnerable. This is additionally frustrating to me, because I am someone who prides himself in my ability to forgo gender stereotypes, and allow myself to take on roles and behaviours that are considered feminine, as well as those considered masculine. I'm just as comfortable in an apron baking as I am shouting at a football match, or the like. Why do I hold onto this one gender stereotype?

Over the weekend I am going to really try to engineer a time and environment to get a good cry out. What and when that will be, I am not sure. A comfy cuddle, a beating, listening to a sad song on my own, I do not know quite yet. I know that when I do cry, I would really like someone to be there, to cuddle me and comfort me, to witness my vulnerability and to give me permission to be so. I have a very busy weekend coming up, but hopefully I'll be able to get that in.

I have a feeling I will feel much better for it, and perhaps removing that block might let my productivity flow, and free me from this foul mood.