Archive for August, 2011

21
Aug
11

Moar Metamours.

I have lots of boundaries. About lots of different things. Some of them are fuzzy and negotiable; some of them are crisp, neat, and rigidly enforced.

Not all of them are capital-R-relationship related. There’s “I will not interact with people who disrespect my personal space,” “I will not knowingly allow criminal activity in my home,” or intrapersonal stuff like “I will limit myself to two cigarettes a day.” (I’m bad at that last one.)

Some of the boundaries are drawn behind me to prevent me from going back into my comfort zone — “I will tell the Captain when I feel like hurting myself” — even though it’s easier to hide and deny, I *will* cross the boundary of non-forthcomingness, and, having once passed it, will not go back.

Some of them are based on ethical lines. “I will not practice dishonesty.” Or legal lines. “I will not sensually engage with someone who is under the legal age of consent.”

The relationship ones are complicated, though. I have trust issues. “I am absolutely fucking paranoid about THE SAME SHIT happening AGAIN but I’m theoretically poly but people, by and large, suck; but the Geisha has been fine but you can never ever trust strangers and *everyone*’s a stranger no matter how well the Captain thinks he knows them” … shorthand for I don’t always trust the Captain’s judgement when it comes to other partners. And while he’s absolutely *fabulously* good at respecting our relationship and not letting others disrespect it either, the Paranoid Brain wants to prevent that situation from ever occurring in the first place. And boundaries that really shouldn’t be there are and aren’t really helpful and are basically just a buffer against insecurity start getting thrown up.

The Paranoid Brain is the one that jumps at any chance to quash potential friendships/relationships/metamors/sharers because what if we get screwed again? The Robot Brain says the Paranoid Brain is a fear-based system and that there are ways and ways to control a situation without needing to prevent it from happening. The part of my brain that really listens to Loki says “Shit is going to happen, it’s not all going to be under your control, get the hell over yourself. Ride the wave of chaos, don’t mind the sharks.” And Me? Me is on input overload from the brains and just screaming into the pillow at this point. Me is the one who goes out for a smoke break every chance he gets, just to turn off the brains, and talks to The-Pappa-In-My-Head about life and work and Manly Topics.

The Paranoid Brain says “You’ll never top again. You’re an abusive sadist who didn’t use safewords and didn’t know what you were doing and didn’t care how he felt and harmed him and broke him and loved every fucking minute of it. That uncertainty you feel when you had Xemnas’s gorgeous red hair in your fist? THAT MEANS YOU WANT TO BREAK HER TOO.” The Paranoid Brain is glad we missed that party, glad she’s married now, glad that her husband is stationed in Europe and glad that we’ll never get explicit approval from him because that means we’ll never ever be able to hurt her too. The Paranoid Brain worries incessantly about whether we serve and bottom because we feel like we deserve what we get, whether our deep dark desire to have control taken completely away is actually deep dark self-harming guilt.

The Paranoid Brain is skeeved out by other transpeople, because we’ve never met one we got along with long-term (they’ve all pinged some form of unhealthy instability) and we are not not NOT playing therapist for others right now. The Robot Brain says this is coincidence, and surely there are many transpeople out there whom we’ve never met and who are perfectly happy, well-adjusted, functional individuals; and let’s not be prejudiced about our own. The Loki Brain is disappointed in our inability to connect with other non-gender-conforming people, but understands that we can’t lower our standards just because someone happens to be trans*. (We have struggled with this in recent months, but no details just now. That particular wave is still rolling.) The rest of me wonders if I’m just too solitary and omituinen to *have* “friends.”

The Paranoid Brain FLIPS SHIT when someone is just too helpful — the last time we let someone like that near us, she broke up the Captain and Quietone, lied about having cancer, accused me of stealing from her, broke my French Press (on a school day!), spit in my face (YES. LITERALLY.) and went crying to the Captain when I snapped at her, STILL owes Crusader a few hundred dollars, ran screaming into the night “for no reason” after the Captain made peace with Quietone, and then went through five or six people in the local TNG group in the space of a few months before finding another poor sap to whose wallet she could engage herself. *PTHOOEY!*

The Paranoid Brain wants to run criminal background checks on potential partners and metamors. Because the last time we took someone’s word for it, she talked me out of pulling over to help at an accident where she would have been recognized by cops and arrested and wouldn’t have been at our apartment the night of the fire and I would have been safe in the Captain’s bed; come to find out she was skipping parole, *still* engaging in sex work, lying to partners about it, refusing to get tested, and claiming to be a legitimate massage therapist while deriding “massage therapists who give happy endings;” FUCK all the “help” she gave me afterwards because the first thing she did was try to get rid of Loki when this was my kick in the pants from him; because she wasn’t even PRESENT for her fire, WENT THROUGH disaster response training, and still FUCKING FROZE WHEN I RAN OUT OF MY ROOM WITH MY BEST LOVED BOOK AFLAME IN MY ARMS.

The Robot Brain says I did everything I could. The Loki Brain wants all this aired in public as loudly, vehemently, clearly, and often as possible. Because people don’t know and they should know and I shouldn’t have to hide a part of me that isn’t part of me anymore; because we do sometimes get better and we’re not permanently damaged and really we don’t want to harm you. Because people lie cheat steal and I DON’T FUCKING DEAL WELL WITH THAT.

But now any un-asked-for help puts us on Red Alert, and anyone could be running a con, and anyone could be crazy, and anyone could be so broken they can’t handle our family. I could be too broken to handle another person. So I build walls around not only myself but also the Captain, one brick of bad experiences at a time, mortared with uncertainty and sealed with a desperate and wasted bid for control over everything.

This is why I have trust issues.

(The Robot Brain says “We’re only here because of the fire. Except for Loki. You’re letting temporary issues interfere with your mental health. Stop that.” Sometimes I listen. Today is not one of those times, apparently.)

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