MOOP!

Several weeks ago, a friend of mine had an idea to do a mini-production of The Vagina Monologues. This would differ from the traditional v-day scene in a few ways. It would not be performed in a theatre, but in her kitchen (which while a very large kitchen probably only seated 20-30 people). She would not have a cast comprised entirely of cis woman readers, instead including genderqueer individuals and people with penises. And it would be done entirely in the nude.

The evening before it was to occur, I received a text from her that was basically "hey, I had some drop-outs, you had enthusiasm for this project, would you like to read?"

I do not do nudity. In 2011, I wrote a pretty decent post on the subject, and I stand by basically all the reasons in it. In 2012, I wrote another post on the subject, that listed a more significant reason for my reluctance towards nudity(Trigger warning!!), one I had not previously considered. I stand by that reason even more. I do not do casual nudity, because I have been taught very thoroughly that if people see me naked, they will expect⁰(obligate) to have sex with me.

So I immediately said yes, of course. But given the above, let's talk about why.

The most obvious reason is simply that this sounded like a cool idea, and I like being a part of making cool ideas happen. I thoroughly want to live a life full of adventure, and one of the easiest ways to do that is to say yes to adventurous things as they come your way. Do The Thing is Racheline's recent mantra, and it's a _really good idea_.

Similarly obvious, to me at least, was the fact that my friend asked me to, and it would help Make Her Life Easier. I wrote just the other day about how I pretty much exist in order to Make Other People's Lives Easier. That's not to say I'm not capable of the sentence "I'd love to, but I just can't" --I keep it in mind as a thing and use it liberally. But when I *can* do something to help out a friend, I absolutely want to.

Less obvious: I crave the spotlight. I love performing, and even when I get super shaky afterwards, I feel _really_ good about being onstage and doing something in front of people. Bonus points if I can make them laugh --and I could, I read "Because He Liked to Look at It" which is one of the happy ones¹. I also got hooked in to be one of the three people for the introduction, and tapped to be the question-asker for "I asked a six year old about her vagina". I like being on stage.

Not obvious, but most important: I hate being scared of things.

I hate having phobias (which has led to me actively encouraging Natasha to let me play with her rattie³ even though he skitters and has tiny claws) and I hate having things to worry about and I hate having legitimate fears. I hate not having control over my mind and body and Self. I cannot stand the idea that I could be bested by something that terrifies me, because damnit, no!

I am stubborn. I am _so very_ stubborn, and also patient, and I'm not going to let fear or discomfort stand in my head if I can do something about it. Often, the something is aversion therapy, is taking my fear and confronting it head on, because if I confront it head on, then I am the one in charge and in control of the situation.

I have discomfort, bordering on fear, of being naked in front of people. That is _not okay_ with me. One asshole from eight years ago does not get to ruin my ability to decide when and how to present my body. And so doing things like this --where I am thrust into the spotlight, and forced to be naked, with people looking-- are a way to show my stupid hindbrain just that.

(this same friend has asked me to come live model sometime, when schedules line up. I am *super* interested)

Not obvious: Because I wanted to. Because there were lots of my friends in attendance. Because I was trying to impress at least three girls. (and once I got there and saw the rest of the guestlist, at least one boy). Because my body is toned from years of dancing and bicycling and because I have scars like lightning⁴ and like the moon⁵ and want to show all that off.

Because, like I said, if you're gonna lead a life of adventure, the first thing you have to do is say "yes" a lot. You have to create your stories before you can tell them⁶.

It was a good time and I am proud of myself for doing it.

~Sor
MOOP!

0: Expect means predict and expect means obligate, and I have started adding the extra words to defeat the ambiguity.

1: I find almost all of the Vagina Monologues to be sad, even the happy ones. Because underneath the joy (mine, Coochie Snorcher, The Woman who Loved...) there are always these tragic undercurrents that just strike home the fact that people are not supposed to like vaginas, that they are gross and weird and smelly, and that for centuries, they were a completely ignored (insignificant!) part of the body.

I grew up with better sex-ed than nearly anyone I know, and one of the pieces that was so great is that I never had any shame about my vulva or vagina. I was always able to ask questions, I was encouraged² to masturbate, and I was given accurate and useful information about menstruation, long before it became relevant. So the entirety of the Vagina Monologues is a reminder of just _how_ lucky I was, and how deeply, actively, unlucky most people with vaginas are.

2: I don't know that this is exactly the right word to use, it's not like she told us "hey go have a good wank!" or anything, but she always made it very clear that it was a completely acceptable thing to do in the privacy of our own rooms, and that she wouldn't disturb us. She talked it up as a great alternative to having sex with teenagers (I think she is entirely right). It is a wonderful form of self-care and self-awareness, and I do it often.

3: Oh gosh, he's really cute. He might be the cutest non-human mammal I know right now. (This is not hard, I am not particularly fond of non-human mammals.) He likes exploring and barely uses his claws and his teeth not at all (so mostly does not trip my tiny-sharp-bits phobia) and he is not small enough nor does he move fast enough most of the time to trigger my skitter-phobia and I am enjoying interacting with him immensely when 'Tasha and I hang out.

Anyways, normally I'm phobic about things that skitter (includes rats) and things that have really tiny teeth and claws (includes rats) so I try to make a point of interacting with rats as much as possible.

4: I had reason to twist around and look at myself recently, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I have cellulite and it is looks like lightning, dancing across the tops of my thighs and bottom of my ass. It is, right now, one of my very favourite things about my physical self.

5: Facts I make sure everyone knows about me as quickly as possible: I have a long scar on my back, curved like a crescent, from my heart surgery as a very small child. It is pretty much the top of my list of favourite things about my physical self.

6: And storytellers never die. Have I mentioned that I am going to be immortal? I am not joking.

Happy Thursday, y'all! Let's get half naked!

(Yes, I know it's Sunday. This is a Half-Naked Thursday post, and will therefore be posted whenever I damn please)



This here is a picture of the necklace I wear pretty much every day. I call it the necklace o'religion, and it's technically only three-fourths complete (I need a Sacred Chao, for Eris).

Religiously, I identify as polytheistic, hence the reason there are a bunch of charms on there, and not just one cross or or pentacle or Star of David or whathaveyou. I've been collecting them for about three years now and I'm very pleased with the idea of having *something* to wear every day, to the point where -while I don't feel naked without it- I occasionally feel wrong when I realize I skipped putting the necklace on.

(I do take it off sometimes specifically to use as prayer beads --I'll hold the charms in my hand or fidget with them back and fourth when I need an extra burst of focus. Additionally, I learned while I was in Chicago that there are certain places in the world where I simply feel too closed off from my gods to wear their signs, and so I spent most of the month there keeping the necklace in my pocket, and only putting it around my neck when I actually left the apartment.)

The ankh has been there the longest, and is for Athe, who is my catchall goddess of strength and science and such. She is one of my patrons --Mother Nature is the other one, and I searched for _ages_ to find a proper charm for her, before I came across this little seashell on Revere Beach. My two non-patron gods are Eris, as mentioned above, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster --that particular charm went from being silverish in colour, to copperish, to silverish as it went through tarnishing. --this particular charm was given to me today by JannyBlue, and seems more heavy duty than the previous one, which was not exactly up to being worn every day.

Please don't wear this necklace, if you find I've left it somewhere. It's very much a personal thing (as I tend to believe religion should be) and I like having something that I can keep all to myself.

~Sor
MOOP!

Of course by now you've all figured out that I don't have any interest in actually making my Half-Naked Thursday posts on an actual Thursday. This is because I can't get the hang of Thursdays, also, by Thursday I will be in California and possibly not at all willing to be in a mood to make slightly depressing posts. Anyways.

This month has sucked, kindof a lot, brainwise. I feel like all the progress I have inch-by-mental-inch been making has just slipped between my fingers, and I'm right back to being this scared little eleven year old girl who kinda wonders what it's like to not have to exist any longer, only with the added benefit of a decade more to worry about.

It's problematic, especially when it boils down to the fact that I can't really love myself right now, and that exacerbates everything else, meaning I'm having a lot of trouble finding even enough stability to keep going through the days. I don't know, maybe this is all just backlash from starting therapy again¹ and thereby being seriously introspective on a regular basis for the first time in a long time. But this month has been just awful. I feel small and lost and scared, and the world is demanding I be capable.

And so yesterday in math class (when I should have been paying better attention because I am really not good at modular arithmetic.) I made an art:



The bottom, which is the only part you should be able to read, says "These are some of the lies I think of as true." There's a little self-portrait of myself in the lower right. It's not quite my usual style of how I draw myself --indeed, I think it's a little more accurate, both in appearance and mood. And while I don't curl up *quite* that way when something deep inside my brain Hurts, I do curl, wrapping myself around that spot behind my sternum where I think of my Self as existing.

The text at the top says...a lot of things.

A _lot_ of things. I just counted, I think there are 92 things in there. That would be ninety-two things that I can identify as lies that I absolutely believe are true --oh sure, not all the time. Not always. But they are things that my mind says and society says and the world says, and it's often enough that I can't help but think maybe everyone else is right.

(This is, if you saw me at Diesel or squares and was asking, why my wrist says "Stop Lying" right now)

A few of them are silly, most of them are serious, and a couple of them are something close to dangerous. It's okay. Part of the point of making it was to have a specific listing of faulty beliefs, something I could look at and say "ah yes, that is wrong, how foolish of me".

I just wish it weren't so damn hard. I just wish I weren't so damn broken.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: I last talked to a therapist in early 2007 --she and I parted ways a little after kSatyr and I started dating, for unrelated reasons. My biggest failing is that I never trusted her, and while she helped with a couple little things (and the getting me diagnosed with ADHD, which was a _huge_ thing) there was not a lot she could do with me. I went into this round with the assumption that I could tell my therapist basically everything, and so I basically have --only exceptions are Hyde (because it is very different to admit to having voices in your head that help you out and to admit to having voices in your head that tell you to kill) and some of the more serious kink stuff (because I don't want to freak her out by being too TMI, and also because I don't know that I can accurately explain some of the power dynamics that I crave.)

Comment Policy: Comments that are just "*hugs*" or any variation will be purged. Sorry, but I'm fucking serious about this, they will not make me feel better, and I do not want to have to deal with them. At all, and if you can't understand that, at least try to respect it.

So this is technically fifteen minutes late. Sue me, it's not tomorrow until the sun rises or I sleep.

A week ago, I made a post being all "Half-Naked Thursday, whee!". It was meant to be a look at more metaphorical nakedness, stripping down the walls to show you what I've really got going on in my world.

At any rate, then I mentioned that I originally had two photos and was only showing one of them. This makes this weeks HNT really really easy for me to manage --next week, I will have to actually look around to find a bit of myself to reveal, if indeed, I continue on with this trend.

But yes. Have a picture of me being naked. Odd, in that it's also not a picture of me at all.

Happy Thursday.



This second is a little more new, a little more raw. It's the ceiling of my room, directly above my desk.

A week or two ago, I was having a rough night. In talking with Rackle, she brought up the term "Index card days", where you're just so socially frustrated and out of cope that you have to communicate through tiny 3" by 5" cards.

I have a pile in my desk drawer. Out they came that day, and it seemed the most logical thing in the world to write some song lyrics across them. Lyrics from strength-songs, where the lyrics don't necessarily matter in the slightest, but the message of being strong is crucial to my well being. "Go Away Godboy" is the song I use the most for this --I've never really had problems with people trying to convert me or mine, but howling along with the words can stabilize my mood like nothing else.

Because the words are meant to say "fuck you, I'm stronger than that", and on days when I am weak and helpless, I really need that.

And I forced myself out of the sobbing¹ to write more of them, because if I am actively writing, I am forcing distraction, and that little edge of distraction is all I need sometimes to stabilize. All of them have wound up there, tucked into the framework of the drop ceiling. I've got ten of them now, apparently. I'm sure that, as I enter this mood, and need the music and lyrics, I'll think of more.

So that's my current vulnerability. Come visit, I'll let you read them if you'd like.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Which itself was after that pervasive emptiness, and broken by my reaching out. I don't like playing shitty girl games, and I hate being cryptic, but that doesn't mean I manage to make all my words to people transparent. There are people who can read between the letters and the lines, through the /me and the carefully arranged punctuation and capitalization, and figure out what I'm actually trying to say over IM, that I just can't, because the words just won't come.

...and because there isn't an elegant way to put what I'd be doing in reality into words. It's that vulnerable look when I arrive on your doorstep, and ask for a hug, and pull myself into you, a double fistful of your shirt as I hide inside your arms, and pour myself out onto your shoulder. It's past want, straight into need, and I don't have a lot of people I've done it to, or *could* do it to (two? maybe three?) and I'm about to lose one of them, but I don't care, because sometimes there's safety there, and that's what I need more than anything else, that memory of safety. ((ETA: Holy run-on sentences, Batman! But this is kinda what my brain starts doing when I am in a vulnerable state))

It's an index card with eight words on it. It's an IM with eleven. It's being held, and being *held* and being held. It's the stairwells at Springstep, and just out the door at NEFFA. It's the long process of reducing the scarred and improving the weird. It's crying in June with the door shut, it's crying in July curled in the arms of someone I can't have, it's crying in August to a boy I barely know, it's crying-sobbing-breaking in January as I watch Next to Normal and try to separate their pain from mine, and try to find the strength I need to say the words I can't, I couldn't, I did.

It's the response I need, when I need it. It's breaking the emptiness with a *kiss*, and breaking the sobs with an *embrace*. It's *comfort*, from everyone who's ever given it.

And it's s00j and Dar and Vienna and Amanda and Alice.

If you can figure out a quicker way to tell people I need "that" than all the above, I'd love to hear it.