Beating the Stigma: Whipsmart Thoughts on Kink and Mental Health

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It’s funny to me that many people think of kink as dark, dangerous, and edgy. It can be all of those things, of course. But for me, it’s not scary or mysterious. It’s a key part of how my brain works and how I relate to other people. It’s a sexual interest and also a non-sexual paradigm. And sometimes, it’s a boon for my mental health.

Earlier this year, I entered the last semester of my four-year journalism degree, and found myself unable to cope with the challenges it brought. Newsrooms are an anxiety-provoking place to begin with, and I was also experiencing one of the worst anxious and depressive episodes of my life – so, as much as I wanted to be up to the task, I just wasn’t. Two days in the newsroom were enough to convince me of that: the real work hadn’t even begun yet, and already my heart pounded, my mind shouted self-hating epithets at me, and I found myself thinking everything would just be easier if I walked out in front of a speeding truck.

I spoke to one of my instructors, and she – blessedly – was sympathetic to my cause. We discussed possible accommodations and arrived at the idea that I’d get my final credit by creating a journalistic audio series on a topic of my choice.

Over the preceding months, I’d found that my bad mental health days could sometimes be turned around by an intense spanking, a service-submission BJ, or various other acts of kink. Giving up control to a partner made me feel, ultimately, more in control of my life. So the intersection between kink and mental health was front-and-centre in my mind at that time, and I pitched that as a topic for my audio series. My prof loved it, and so I began.

I spent the next six weeks producing Beating the Stigma. Several local sweethearts volunteered for interviews, and generously lent me their time and energy to discuss this topic on tape. Our conversations ranged from intense to funny to mindblowing, and were often all three. I’m so so grateful to my interviewees for being candid and clever every step of the way.

You can listen to the whole series by clicking here, or you can skip to specific chapters below:

Chapter 1: Introductions

Chapter 2: Pain

Chapter 3: DD/lg

Chapter 4: Dominance

Chapter 5: Safe, Sane and Consensual

Chapter 6: Trauma and Recovery

Chapter 7: Sex 2.0

Chapter 8: Aftercare

I hope this series sparks some thoughts and feelings for you! The process of producing it certainly brought a lot to the surface for me.

I’m an Obsessive, Intense Weirdo and I Wouldn’t Trade It For Anything

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Today as I write this, my body is heavy with depression. My thoughts feel foggy and it’s been hard to move all day. It took enormous energy just to write to my best friend and tell them what was going on with me, and their gentle prodding from afar was the only thing capable of rousing me from bed. I slogged to a café, ordered something peppy to counteract my sluggishness, but even robust espresso can’t shake my sads off. I have bipolar II and this is how my depressive episodes are, sometimes: a deep and inexplicable sadness I feel in my mind and my body, and just have to ride out.

When I ask myself how my life would be different without mental illness, the temptation is to think: “I would be so much happier and more productive!” And while that might be true, I also wouldn’t wish my bipolar disorder away. Because the manic episodes are worth the depressive ones for me. My occasional mania is key to my personality, a perky prism through which I sometimes view the world. Most of my best ideas, my finest work, my biggest contributions to the world, originated in mania. It’s my superpower.

Back when I was in high school, and hadn’t yet been diagnosed, my emotions confused me. It always seemed that I felt things more deeply than the people around me. When I was sad, I wept for hours and journaled endlessly about my feelings. When I was happy, I giggled hysterically, distributed hugs freely and couldn’t keep a big dumb grin off my face. I noticed details more than other people seemed to, fixated on them for longer, and remembered them more clearly. When I liked someone, I really, really liked them.

This is still how I am now. Getting a diagnosis gave me some answers, but it didn’t really change anything. I still seem to experience emotions more strongly than most people I know, and that can be very isolating – especially romantically. I get addicted to and obsessed with people in a way that’s supposed to be special and rare, but is just par for the course for me. If I’ve ever been romantically or sexually interested in you, I guarantee there are pages upon pages about you in my journals, dozens of complimentary musings about you in my chat histories with friends, and elaborate fantasies about our future married life floating around in my brain.

Media narratives tell me that this kind of fixation occurs only when you’re deeply, truly in love with someone – but that’s not consistent with my experience. I obsess over potential beaux regardless of the longevity or validity of my feelings for them. It’s like I’m drowning in a sea of New Relationship Energy, except it happens with everyone I’m interested in, whether or not they’re new to me or we’re actually in a relationship.

As you might imagine, this brain problem makes it hard for me to engage in casual sex, or to approach romantic encounters with any degree of “chill.” When I had casual sex for the first time last summer, I journaled lengthy missives about the dude’s perfect dick and top-notch sense of humor, complained to friends about how he would never be my boyfriend, and then wrote a song which contains the lines, “I don’t have the strength/ to keep you at arm’s length/ I fall for all callers to my bed.” And, truth be told, I didn’t even like the dude that much. After he’d left my life and the dust had cleared, I saw that we’d never been that compatible. (He openly hates puns and musicals, and loves sports. I mean, really!) I’d seen him through rose-colored glasses, because my brain is addicted to romantic and sexual stimuli. Dick, any dick, lights up my neurons and makes me feel desperately out of control of my emotions.

Writing this is embarrassing. I am sitting in a coffee shop and cringing as I type these words, because I know someone will read them who I wish wouldn’t. At least one person reading this right now, inevitably, is someone on whom I have turned my laser-focused headlights of infatuation at some point. Maybe they are recoiling in surprise and fear, shocked to learn how deep my feelings went – but it’s more likely they’re just nodding in recognition. I am not good at hiding my feelings. Faced with a crush, I dissolve into a blushy, giggly, dorky mess. It is not subtle and it is not “cool.” Sometimes folks are okay with it, and sometimes they’re not and I scare them away. Either way, I am always profoundly embarrassed by how strongly I feel my feelings. There are times when I wish I could shut down my heart, so I could, at last, become chill and detached like everyone else.

But, deep down, I know I would never do that, even if I could. My strong feelings are what make me me. When I write corny love songs or impassioned blog posts, that art stems from my bottomless well of emotion. If I’ve ever written anything about desire or heartbreak that you found relatable, it’s only because I’ve been flooded with those feelings so completely for so long that I know them inside and out. My heart is in a constant cycle of passion, joy, desperation and despair, and though I’ve been down this road a thousand times, it hasn’t gotten any easier. But that intensity makes my life exciting, my art compelling and my world vivid as hell.

Maybe one day I’ll get tired of it. But for now, after 24 years of living inside this crazy roller-coaster brain, I’m still pretty at peace with it. At least, as much as you can be “at peace” with anything while riding a roller coaster.

23 Things I Learned About Sex & Relationships At Age 23

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Today’s my 24th birthday! It’s a good day to reflect on the past year, because I think 23 was my most transformative and educational year yet. I banged and dated a bunch of different people, and it was essentially a crash course in emotional maturity and sexual confidence. Here are 23 of the most valuable lessons I learned about sex and relationships over the past year!

  1. I have a DD/lg kink. I first noticed these feelings back in late 2014 when a hot lawyer inspired some surprising fantasies in my bad little brain. In November I started seeing a dude who was muuuch kinkier and more kink-experienced than me, and when I disclosed to him that I had burgeoning DD/lg fantasies, he knew exactly what to do with that information. I still vividly remember the time I sassily asked him why I should follow his instruction to jerk off for him and he said, “Because you’re a good little girl.” It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me before, and my vagina did cartwheels.
  2. Terrible mental health days are terrible kink days. At least, for me. If I’m already feeling extremely shaky, anxious, or depressed, kink tends to just worsen my mood. I learned my lesson from the time in January when an intense spanking on an already-anxious day made me burst into tears and sob deeply for several minutes while my confused partner tried to comfort me.
  3. but, kink can help with mental health. Paradoxical, yes – but for me, there’s a fine and important line between “too distraught to submit” and “just distraught enough that submitting will actually help.” Pain, punishment and praise can help shake me out of a poor mental health day, used judiciously with a trusted partner.
  4. I can have casual sex… with people I don’t really like. Sex tends to open up my emotional floodgates, intensifying any burgeoning crush-y feels that already exist there. I was able to have some casual, feels-free fuckbuddies this year, but only because we didn’t click romantically. This is useful info for me to know going forward, though it does mean I’m incapable of being “chill” with anyone I even remotely like.
  5. I like pain (in some places). I’ve dabbled in spanking over the years, but it wasn’t until age 23 that I really grasped how much pleasure I can get from pain. Getting my tits and/or ass slapped has become one of my favorite foreplay activities. I even like getting my hair pulled, a proclivity that used to mystify me.
  6. I love giving blowjobs. HOO BOY, this was a big theme of my year. My previous blowjob experience encompassed only one partner, and while he was lovely, his dick and my mouth just didn’t have chemistry. In broadening my BJ horizons, I’ve discovered how much I can crave having a cock in my mouth when the right one comes along. (I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it, too.)
  7. I’m more of a size queen than I thought. Remember when I first started this blog and dildos over 1.5″ in diameter were a stretch for me? That is certainly not the case anymore… Just ask my Eleven, Double Trouble, and Seaside Steamroller!
  8. I need to trust my intuition more. My anxiety is excellent at talking me out of what I know, deep down, to be true. When I let myself listen to my hunches, I can usually tell when someone is flirting with me, likes me, or wants to get in my pants – and it happens more often than my anxiety wants me to realize.
  9. Aftercare is important. Coming from a pretty vanilla history, I never thought much about the importance of aftercare until I really needed it. Fortunately, all my kinky partners this past year (and even the vanilla ones) gave me the post-sex cuddles and reassurances I needed.
  10. Most men like thigh-high socks. They just do.
  11. Sex is grown-up playtime. My favorite sex is the goofy, unstructured kind. I love trying stuff, experimenting, playing around. I’m happiest in sexual partnerships with people who are similarly fun-oriented, rather than goal-oriented.
  12. I like being pinned down. Have you ever had a moment where, suddenly and all at once, you noticed a kink of yours that you never knew you had? That was me last summer when a partner put a firm hand on my upper chest and held me down while finger-fucking me. I went from “huh, that feels pretty good” to “holy shit, I am coming right now!” in about three seconds flat. I’ve been pinned down during sex a bunch of times since then, with similar outcomes. Now that I know I like this, I want to get better at asking for it!
  13. Threesomes are fun, but not really my jam. I’ve gained a reputation among my friends for constantly having threesomes. I’ve only had two, but I guess that’s still more than the average person? In any case, while I enjoyed myself both times, I still prefer the intense, focused connection of a standard one-on-one encounter. (Talk to me in a month, though… I have a rather epic threesome coming up on my calendar that might get me more on board with group sex.)
  14. When you’re sad, sometimes you just gotta feel your feelings. A couple of painful rejections left me in emotional shambles at times this year. I spent a lot of time crying on friends’ shoulders and saying things like, “I’m just so sad! I don’t know what to do!” My friends are fantastic and a lot of the advice they gave me boiled down to this: it’s okay to be sad when sad shit happens. Don’t try to run away from those feelings or distract yourself from them; just live in them for a while. It’s so much easier to move on when you’ve processed your feelings properly.
  15. You can like someone very, very much and they can still be wrong for you. You are not obligated to try to “make things work” with someone who’s a deeply bad match for you. Even if they’re a good person. Even if you adore them in many ways. Even if they don’t understand your reasoning.
  16. Platonic kink is a thing. I learned so much about kink this year, including that it can exist independently of sex. I have friends who fuel me by calling me a “good girl” when I finish my work; I have friends who phone me and speak to me in commanding, daddy-dom tones to calm me down when I’m anxious; I have friends whose kinks I know intimately and (consensually) use to guide them into healthier and happier behaviors. Kink is more than a sexual interest; it can be a psychological tool, a powerful motivator, a framework in which to understand yourself and your place in the world.
  17. Twitter is a great place to meet sexual partners. Half of the new people I banged at age 23 are folks I met on Twitter. Obviously it’s a problematic space and women receive a lot of harassment and abuse through tweets and DMs, but I’ve also built an audience there of clever, compassionate sex nerds, some of whom are pretty great sex partners.
  18. When you like someone, it’s okay to act like you like them. My anxiety makes this tricky, because even the smallest braveries feel like ballsy overtures to me. But I’m working on it. More people should know that they’re cute, and I should tell ’em.
  19. Don’t stake your mood on other people’s behavior. Most of my miserable-est days this year were the result of me believing, “If [person] would just [action], I could be happy right now.” I learned that I need to either change my expectations, or try to make things happen myself; waiting for someone else to read your mind and do what you want them to do is a fool’s errand.
  20. Anxiety-friends are invaluable flirting sherpas. This is no joke: I owe most of my romantic and sexual success this past year to Bex. Any time I didn’t know how to interpret a romantic interest’s flirty behavior, or couldn’t parse a cryptic text, or needed a push in a flirty direction, I went to them for advice. I have other “anxiety-friends,” too, who are willing and able to answer texts like, “[Person] said [thing], are they into me?!” and “What do I wear to a date-that-might-not-be-a-date?!”
  21. I like anal sexI wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it, because my past adventures with butt plugs and anal beads had been inconsistently pleasurable. But, holy fuck, I was into it and I want to do it more.
  22. I don’t need (or want) monogamy, but I do need to feel special. I don’t mind having partners who have other partners. (Yay, #PolyLyfe and compersion!) But I do need my partners to make me feel valued, seen, and focused on when we spend time together. I received a few propositions this year from folks who date/bang a lot of people, and I learned that that only ever feels okay to me if they clearly like me for me – not because they like dating/banging whoever. I’m definitely not anti-promiscuity and there’s nothing wrong with being slutty! I just need a side order of emotional connection with my sluttiness.
  23. Life is too short for bad sex. I believe there are two main ways to be bad at sex: you can be bad at technical skills (“He kisses like a snake!” “Her fingering rhythm is inconsistent!”), and you can have a bad attitude about sex (“He refused to use toys on me!” “She got all sulky when she couldn’t get me off!”). I’d rather be with an enthusiastic newbie than a mopey pro any day. If you’re fun to bone, I’ll probably gladly teach you how I like to be fucked so you’ll know for next time – but if you’re a sad and draining lay, there probably won’t be a “next time.” I’ve raised my standards enough to say no to bad sex – because, frankly, I’d rather just masturbate.

 

Here’s to another sexy, educational year!

How to Date When You Have Anxiety

“You should write a blog post about how to date when you’re an anxious person!” my friend said excitedly, as we gossiped about boys (and mental health struggles) over lattes and cupcakes.

“HAAHAHAHAHAhahahaha,” I replied. “I have no idea how to deal with my anxiety while dating. I barely even manage it myself. How can I tell other people how to do it?”

The more that I thought about this exchange, though, the more I wondered if I could actually be more helpful than I’d realized. I don’t think you have to be an expert in order to help someone. The experiences you’ve had, and the lessons you’ve learned, can be of use to others even if you’re still in the midst of your own journey.

So, with that in mind, here are some things I’ve learned about navigating the dating world when your brain’s fear-meter is a little out of whack. I hope this helps you, at least a little.

1. Enlist socially competent friends.

It feels a little “high school” to constantly text friends whenever anything happens with your crush, I know. But if you’re lucky enough, as I am, to have friends who appreciate (or at least tolerate) this behavior instead of blocking your number, I think you should let those friends support you and help you.

Here are some examples of ways my more socially skilled friends have saved my ass when anxiety was clouding my brain:

• I texted my pal E., “[Boy] said he might want to see a movie with me today, but now I feel like it would be too forward for me to text him and ask him about it!” E. reminded me, “[Boy] said he wanted to see a movie with you, so it’s not forward,” and then suggested a possible wording for the text I could send. What an angel.

• I spoke to a number of friends about the situation with a boy I liked, and several of them said, “Go for it!” I wasn’t really sure what this meant, precisely. I asked my friend E. what he meant when he said “Go for it” and he said, “Tell him you like him, or ask him out.” Ahhh, okay, I thought. The specificity helped.

• While chatting with my friend A., I listed a bunch of things that [Boy] had said and done the last time we hung out, all of which I thought were ambiguous and could have been flirty or just friendly; I really didn’t know. When I finished, A. laughed for a good minute and said, very sarcastically, “Yeah, he’s totally just into you as a friend.” Her third-party viewpoint helped me see what my anxiety had been hiding from me.

• Soon before my last break-up, I realized I didn’t actually know how to break up with someone. People kept telling me, “Just get it over with!” and “Be respectful but firm!” but I was missing basic information like where to do it and what to actually say. My pal A. helped me rehearse a little script and weighed the pros and cons of various break-up locations with me. We even discussed what to wear to a break-up, because that’s the kind of thing I worry about.

See? Friends can be sooooo helpful when your brain is being your worst enemy.

2. Journal about it.

Where would I be without journaling? Maybe dead. Definitely sad and confused.

I find journaling absolutely essential as an anxious person because it helps me process all my zillions of thoughts. I can go on a 5-page-long ramble about all the worries and insecurities I have around a particular situation, and by the end of it, a) those thoughts no longer occupy my brain quite so firmly, and b) I can see very clearly just how ridiculous those thoughts are. Journaling gives me some distance, some objectivity.

I can also tell you from firsthand experience that it is hilarious to re-read your old journal entries from the nervous beginnings of relationships. “You silly twit,” you’ll shout at your past self, “of COURSE he meant he liked you when he said ‘I like you’!!”

3. It’s okay to be honest.

Sometimes when I start dating someone, or even when dating seems possibly imminent, I’ll bust out a little speech. It goes something like this:

“Hey, so, just so you know, I have anxiety. That means that sometimes I’ll get really nervous around you and act weird. It doesn’t mean I feel uncomfortable or unsafe with you; it’s just how my brain works. I also might need a little extra reassurance and validation from you sometimes, because my anxiety is always telling me that people don’t like me and that I’m worthless. So if you could try to assure me once in a while that you actually do like me, that would be really helpful. I’ll try not to be too weird.”

People tend to respond favorably to this kind of honesty, actually. Some people even find it adorable. (That’s a whole other can of worms – my mental health issue is not cute, okay?! – but it’s certainly better than them shaming me for my anxiety or dumping me because of it.)

4. Find your self-care practices and use them.

Here are some things I like to do when I’m getting ready to go on a date or to spend time with someone I like:

• Spend ages choosing the ideal outfit, doing my makeup and hair, and making sure I look adorable. (Some would call this obsessive, maybe, but it helps me calm down.)

• Make sure I know, with 100% certainty, where we are going, how much it’s going to cost, what time I have to leave my house in order to get there on time, and any other relevant information. (I eliminate all possible stressors. This is an act of self-love and self-protection.)

• Play Scrabble on my phone while traveling to the destination. (It calms my brain somewhat, by giving me something to focus on besides my stomach-curdling fear. Podcasts and music also help.)

• Breathe deeply and slowly. (“Fear is just excitement without breath,” after all.)

Whatever your own self-care and self-calming practices are, make sure you actually remember to do them when you need to. It might be helpful to write them on a card and keep them in your wallet, or set them as your phone background, or whatever. Keep ’em close and do ’em often.

5. Assess the situation objectively.

As objectively as you can, anyway. I know it’s difficult.

If you find yourself thinking an anxious thought – for example, “He doesn’t like me anymore!” – look for evidence of that thought. Odds are, there won’t be as much as you thought (or any).

Then look for evidence of the opposite thought (e.g. “He likes me a lot!”). There will probably be some.

Breathe. It’s okay. Your fear is inside your own head and nowhere else. You don’t have to listen to it. It doesn’t reflect reality.

Anxious folks: how do YOU navigate the dating world without vomiting on your suitors’ shoes?

Hormonal Birth Control Made Me Crazy

I went off birth control when my relationship ended two months ago, after being on it for over three years. In the weeks that followed, school started up again, I did some freelance work, socialized with friends and family, and basically just went about my life as usual – with one key difference: for the first time in three years, I felt 100% happy, well-adjusted, and sane.

When I started flooding my system with artificial hormones in April 2011, I was about to go through some major life changes: starting school, getting into my first sexual relationship with a cis dude, enduring the deaths and mourning of a few people I loved, and falling out of touch with some of my high school friends. So when I started to feel sad, antsy, isolated and irrational, I thought it was just the circumstances of my life transforming me into a different person. I thought, I guess this is my personality now. I wasn’t thrilled about it but I didn’t think it was fixable.

I’d have bad anxiety days, when I’d show up at school and have the unsinkable sensation that everyone around me was staring at me and whispering about me. I’d have bouts of depression so bad that I had to call my city’s distress centre and sob at them over the phone, or lie in bed all day staring at the wall. I’d get irrationally upset at things my boyfriend said or did. I’d look at my body in the mirror and absolutely hate what I saw. My creative output all but stopped and I knew I needed to write and make music but it just didn’t happen, no matter how much I tried.

In short, I had turned into a nutcase. I could see that it had happened, but, again, I thought it was just the new state of my life and that I couldn’t do anything to change it.

Since going off birth control, I’ve felt sunny, excitable, flirty, creative, juiced up, carefree, and ambitious. I’m taking six very challenging courses with heavy workloads at school but I’m breezing through them with excellent grades and not giving a fuck what my classmates think of me. I wake up every day excited to put on a cute outfit, skip to the streetcar stop and go on a new day’s adventure. And my creative output is up up up.

As happy as I feel… I also feel kind of angry. Angry that I had no idea how much birth control was messing me up. Angry that the side effects of birth control are so often misrepresented or downplayed when they can actually literally transform your life. Angry that my doctor told me I should continue with hormones when I asked her to give me a copper IUD instead. Angry that I lost three years of my life to lunacy and turmoil.

Sure, there are some downsides of going off BC – my skin is a tad spottier, my periods will be unpredictable when they start back up, my sex drive is once again high to the point of almost being unmanageable, and my weight loss has slowed right down – but I think mental health is way more important than any of those things. I’ll happily be a zitty, chubby, horndog version of myself if it means I get to be outgoing, cheerful, productive and creative. That trade-off is a no-brainer.

I’ve spoken to a few friends who have corroborated my experiences, and now I’m wondering: did this happen to you? Do you know people who’ve gone through this too? Do you consider your mental health when you make contraceptive decisions? Are you as pissed off as I am that you didn’t know about this sooner?