On Happiness

Why can I never seem to find a relationship that actually makes me happy?

This is something I’ve been thinking about recently (for obvious reasons), but it’s also something I’ve thought about for years. This is another rambling, trying to sort my head out kind of post as I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to say. But after I read this post by @domsigns things sort of crystallised a bit.

When I was young, I never dreamt of being a princess and being rescued by a handsome prince. The Disney story wasn’t something I longed for. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew that wouldn’t make me happy. As I grew older and discovered boys, all I wanted was for someone to want me, but for whatever reason I wasn’t one of the popular girls. But still, I never planned my dream wedding or had names picked out for my future children, children never featured in my thoughts at all. I think I spent most of the time from about the age of 16, being desperately unhappy. Part of it was being trapped in a relationship I didn’t want and seeing no way out of it. As the years went on I had happy moments, but generally I was still unhappy. I grew very good at hiding it though, I was scared of having my kids taken away from me so I endured. I also cheated numerous times, maybe in the hope one of them would help me to escape. During the years I spent with my ex I think all I wanted was someone to come and rescue me from a life of scrimping and scraping every penny, to show me life, to take care of me. All through our relationship I was the one who took care of the kids, the house etc. And I was so damned tired of it. Then when I got the chance of some sort of release from it I still wasn’t really happy.

As I got into my mid-twenties I found I had a few more happy times, because I had actually made some good friends. And once I moved to Ireland and had more and more time with just me and the kids the happy times became more and more frequent.

By the time I’d reached my late thirties and finally ditched the arsehole I thought I was doing great. Lots of happy times, lots of fun, lots of drink, lots of friends, lots of sex that I wanted and enjoyed. Then I crashed – spectacularly.

I spent the next couple of years trying to get myself back together and at times when I thought I was doing better I’d try a bit of online dating, see if I could find a man. I knew what I wanted, someone just for me. I didn’t want a father for my kids, I just wanted someone fuck every once in a while. I saw one guy for a few months before I realised that I was starting to let him take over my ‘me-time’. And I was the one who was changing for him, he didn’t ask me to, it just happened. So I ended it. This time I was determined to concentrate on me and my kids. I had one who was going through a bad phase. He was getting in trouble, dossing school, drinking. He was only fourteen when the problems started and we had three years of it before things were finally sorted out.

Through that time I had thought of myself as a pretty happy and optimistic person, I was seriously stressed, but again, having friends I could talk to about it helped keep me going.

Occasionally I’d think about men, but I don’t live in the sort of place or have the sort of life where I get to meet many eligible men and going back online was just too much hassle, so I semi-resigned myself to having to wait a while.

And then after five years of being on my own I thought I was ready to give it one last good go. The kids were growing up, I’d started to plan for when they were gone, things were going well. I still had a few issues with my mental health but they’ve always been there and I was learning to deal with them properly. For the first time in my life I was starting to see a future. This time, I thought, all I wanted was to find someone who I could talk to, have long, rambling conversations with over dinner, a couple of drinks, and if there was sex, then so much the better. But to be honest it wasn’t about sex. It was about making that connection, some independent, adult company. And I definitely didn’t want a relationship. This blog tells part of that story.

Now I’m happier, still not really happy but better than I was.

I’ll confess that sometimes I do get upset when I see or read about couples and other sorts of relationships, what they’re up to, the places they go to, the sharing is beautiful. And it’s not the fact that they do have someone to share with. I’m surrounded by couples in the real world and I know that no relationship is a 24/7 happyfest. I think I’m more envious of the fact they have found others to share their life with, to support them, to care about them. I do have people who love me, care about me and support me, but I always feel as if I’m a bit of an afterthought in their lives. Apart from the kids I’ve never been the centre of anyone’s life, never been the most important thing, they’ve always had something or someone else who’s been their priority. But then how can I expect to be a priority in someone’s life if my kids are my priority? I think that I’m at a stage in my life where I realise that I can’t do proper long term relationships, they never seem to work out for me. I can’t make someone else the centre of my life. The thought of spending a lot of my time with someone feels constricting, living with someone would mean having to change so much of my routines and the way I do things. I’ve grown to be happy with my life, as small as it is. I don’t travel to exotic destinations, I can’t even drive. I don’t go to fancy restaurants, concerts, theatres or museums but I live in hope that in another few years I’ll get to do some of these. As for ever finding someone to share things with? Never say never.

 

Bare

So, today is the last day of ‘Arse Appreciation April’. Can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of it. I do feel slightly better about my butt 🙂 Not a huge amount,  but (haha) enough to have come to accept it for what it is. Which was the whole point of the exercise I suppose.

Tomorrow is the start of ‘Mixed Bag May’ (thanks to liverpoolmunky76 for the suggestion). When I’ll be posting photos of a mixture of things 😀

As I didn’t post a butt photo yesterday today I’m posting two 🙂

Bare 2

Bare 3

More Bits

Food for Thought Friday #21 – Bosom Buddies

Over the last couple of weeks we have asked how important penis size is and your thoughts on female genitalia. To round off our series on “naughty bits”, this week we are turning our attention on breasts…

(As with the last couple of posts, once again it’s a multi-layered question this week, so answer it all or pick what appeals to you, your call!)

For guys and girls who like girls – what is it that you like about boobs? Is there an ideal shape or size?

For girls – how do you feel about how you feel about your “girls”? Are you happy with them? Have you always been?

For everyone – do you think the female “chest” has been over sexualised?

Oh god, I’ve had an ongoing love/hate relationship with my boobs ever since I got them. As a teenager I hated them, I thought they were too big, I could never find a bra that fitted properly and I would always wear a baggy top. I even used to think about having them made smaller. I didn’t like them being touched and more than a few times I’ve had sex with a top on.

It took a hell of a long time for me to learn to like how they looked (late 30’s) and to wear tops that showed off my cleavage. I still wasn’t keen on them being played with, my nipples are so damned sensitive I can’t touch them and I couldn’t take more than a couple of minutes before I’d be pushing hands or mouths away.

Now I’m back to not liking them so much. Not surprising right now with the way I feel about myself at the moment. But a decent bra and I’ll still wear a low cut top and the size doesn’t worry me any more. But age and gravity are doing their work and there’s not much I can do about it short of surgery and I’m not doing that. And after finding out they prefer a bit of rough treatment, I’m back to not wanting them touched.

I like to look at real boobs, there are far too many fake ones out there, which leads me to my biggest problem about boobs. I don’t know that they’ve been over sexualised. I grew up with the Sun and Star newspapers – boobs everywhere. Sex is used to sell everything, you see photos everywhere of scantily clad models and celebrities advertising all sorts of products, in media stories the latest buzzword seems to be ‘racy’. And yet they, particularly FB, vilify women breastfeeding, showing scars or sharing breast cancer stories. There seems to be a distinct double standard for some when it comes to women’s bodies.

More Food for Thought Friday here.

Editing Photos

I thought today I’d show you some of the editing process.

I take a photo like this

First step

Crop it to how I want

Cropped

Sometimes I’ll change to B+W or maybe sepia. Sometimes I’ll adjust the brightness and contrast, but this one was OK

B+W

And sometimes I’ll soften it or add some graininess, it depends on the photograph and the look I want.

Last

So there you have it. I generally keep the editing to a minimum. No airbrushing or anything too much.

Unless I want something like this.

Extreme

Limits

Wicked Wednesday #29

Yesterday was shit.

Today is a better day, helped by the fact that I had a nice half-hour chat with one of my favourite people who I met in the shop this morning. He was the first person I knew who I could talk to properly, he got me, he doesn’t judge and is one of the smartest people I know. I’ve known him for a few years, he knows my family, knows what we’ve been through and has helped us so much. I could never thank him enough for everything he’s done.

I was debating about posting this as I’m fed up of only posting stuff about how shitty I feel right now. I wrote it yesterday which was a pretty bad day, not the worst I’ve had lately but not the best either. I probably won’t be writing very much for now, unless I can write something dirty or cheerful.

Prompt – Off limits… what is off limits to you? Why?

offlimits

Not so long ago I hadn’t found any limits. I was still exploring.

But right now everything is off limits.

I still try and work on my blogs, this one as well as the photography one but I’m finding it hard to find much enthusiasm for anything lately. Most days I wake up feeling good, feeling positive, but I find as the day goes on everything starts to irritate or upset me. It starts out small, maybe a tweet or photo I see online, then it gradually gets worse. Some days start out bad, like today. The thought of writing anything sexy makes me feel physically sick as does the thought of having anyone ever touch me again, why would anyone want to? If I don’t like me, why should anyone else? All the usual crap.

Negative 2

On those days, the really bad ones I find myself thinking ‘what good is a sex blogger who can’t even think about sex?’ I hate myself, I hate my body, I hate the fact that I can’t get out of feeling like that. I’m so tired of it.

Negative

Changing my meds isn’t having much effect yet, but it’s only been a couple of weeks, just need to give it time. At least I haven’t had any side-effects (so far). To be honest, right now I’m feeling worse than before. At least I know why I’m feeling crap and what’s causing it, which strangely does help.

I will still be taking photos and hopefully the occasional burst of inspiration will strike and I’ll be able to write something. It has happened a couple of times lately.

As ever I’ll keep fighting it and hope that things improve soon.

More Wicked Wednesday here.

WickedWednesday