[Comic] The angry walrus

An angry walrus

 

 

 

So, it’s been a while, ladies and gents. But we do finally have another comic ๐Ÿ™‚

Aaaaand this is why we don’t give Abi a pen and paper at 3am.

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Through the other side

You may have noticed it’s been quite some time since I last posted here in my little blog. In case you missed out on the news, I moved house between now and the last time I bothered you all. The new place is wonderful and has made life a lot easier in certain aspects of my life, including my health. I now have have a house with minimal stairs, LOTS of space for when I’m having my bad days, my own personal bathroom so I don’t have to make a trek across the mountains to use the bathroom of a night, and I also have access to a BATH.

It’s amazing how much these little things can make a difference. I’m finding that, now we’re settling in, I can self-manage my health issues better (when they’re manageable, but I’ll get to that), my stress levels have gone down in regards to petty household stuff, and I now actually have the space to move and breathe. I no longer feel like a sardine in a tiny little can.

This is what our bed feels like now. Not actually our bed, but god does it feel big.

Manthing is also doing much better now that we’re out of our old house. He especially likes the fact that I no longer have to climb over him to get out of bed when I need to use the bathroom of a night. We can have the double bed with access to both sides ๐Ÿ˜€ I also no longer have to bother him to put the phone on charge or to pass me things I need since I have my own bedside table. See what I mean when I was saying it’s all about the little things?

So, the new house is great. We live in a nice quiet area. I’m not kidding. We’re actually across the road from a cemetery here, but it’s amazingly peaceful and not at all creepy. Rather than the usual grave stones, we’re across from the family garden section, so our view is of well-tended gardens, sandstone boulders and manicured lawns. Mind you, they DO have the barbed wire on the fence facing IN, so in the event of a zombie uprising, we should at least have time to grab our pointed sticks.

Now, speaking of manageable health issues, the move didn’t go very smoothly. I learned the hard way what my body’s ‘hard’ limits are. In terms of BDSM, hard limits are anything you WILL NOT do under any circumstances. In this instance, my body’s hard limits are being pushed to a certain point, going without rest and being shunted along on energy drinks. I had minimal rest, a major pain flare the week before the move, Shark Week also decided to show up for it’s once-every-six-month visit that same week and I was so run down it wasn’t funny. However, half the people that said they’d offer us help for the move bailed on us and we were left with myself, Manthing, our other housemate and one other friend over the weekend of the move. To put it frankly, it was bullshit, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.

To cut to the chase, I ended up in hospital with heart palpitations, headspins and my body generally giving me a big “FUCK YOU!”. I got strapped to a 24-hour EKG (that was a very un-fun experience, as was trying to wash the contact goo off afterwards), I pushed myself into another massive flare up and basically slept for a week afterwards.

Quoth the body…

It took me almost two weeks to recover from that stupidity and I’ve learned my lesson in that area. However, my body is still punishing me. Because of that incident, I’ve had a big follow-on Fibro flare up and my Chronic Fatigue is presently kicking my arse. I’m heading into what we call the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ week where my CFS basically renders me bedridden and otherwise useless until I rest as much as my Evil Overlords demand. At the same time, I’ve had to get two ugly ingrown toenails dug out, so my left big toe looks like it lost a fight with a blender (and feels about the same) and my ladyparts are having some kind of spastic attack where I’m now lactating out of just one breast. Fucked if I know why. I’ve had the blood tests and the ultrasounds and they’ve all come back negative for chest-bursters and hormonal reasons, so it seems that my body is just exercising it’s right to hit that next level of crazy.

On top of all of these things, I’ve had some massive financial issues hit me lately. See, I finally got accepted for Disability Pension. Over here, it’s not an easy process at all. It involves more scrutiny than a full cavity search at the airport, and less humanity. I won’t go into details, but the point is that I finally got confirmation that I had been granted the payments. This in itself was a wonderful thing as I wouldn’t have to worry about where my next rent payment was coming from and I wouldn’t have to beg my mother to cover the cost of my medications. The amount I was granted was also enough for us to afford a better place – see: where we live presently. So things were looking up. We moved out, it was fantastic and I was finally getting somewhere. I was paying off people I owed, I was going to be able to afford access to the heated pools at the local gym in a few months and, god forbid, I’d be able to put a bit of money into my business.

Twice they screwed up my paperwork and I hunted them down to make sure they corrected it both times. The third time they screwed me around, they changed my payrate to less than half of what I was getting (and what I was promised!), AFTER we had already signed a 6-month lease for the new property and had moved out. I spent 6 hours on phone calls to various departments, different social workers and generally being degraded by the people on the other end of the phone. Long story short, they had screwed up initially, and had done so HARD. In point of fact they had actually lied to me about the rate I’d be getting. Yes, the one I confirmed twice with them and the one I based my decisions off.

So things are a little complicated now. I’m in a new and more expensive house, I have stuff I can no longer afford, I can’t get certain basic needs met and I’m struggling to make ends meet. On the upside, I still have my pension card so my mother no longer has to pay for my medication. They still cost me about $100 a month, even with the subsidies, but all of my money goes towards that now. The really shitty bit is that Manthing and I sat down and worked this out. My payments were cut because of his wages. If he lost his job and became my full-time carer here, my rate would go back up, he’d get the full amount and we’d actually be bringing in more than he’s earning at the moment. Mind you, he’s earning a dollar above minimum wage which is the stupid bit. I still don’t understand how a Government can allow it’s most vulnerable people to essentially rot when there’s no option for them to return to work. I’m trying to get the business up and running again as quickly as I can after the move, but with all the health issues you can imagine just how easy that is.

So I’m here trying to manage my day-to-day life with Queen HateYourFace throwing a wobbly (yes, I’m referring to my body), trying to balance household finances and not let it eat at me, and on top of it all, because of how run down I’ve been, I’ve also had massive depression issues :/ Depression is one of those stupid things that everyone seems to know about but nobody really seems to know what it involves. It’s like knowing that Mister Smith down the road has this issue where he farts a lot, but you don’t really know why, nor do you bother to question it.

To give you an insight into depression in my case – as I must impress upon you all that it is different for each and every person – imagine all the worst things about yourself, take a picture, and put that over every mirror in the house. You’ve also got this little gnome that follows you around the house and kicks you in your joints (because there is a physical side associated with depression) when you’re not looking. He also spits, swears, points out everything that’s wrong in the house and is the voice in your ear telling you everything you’ve failed at, everything you can’t do and all the things you should be miserable about.

You’re a sick, useless butt head. You smell, you’re ugly and nobody loves you. Yeah, even that guy you’ve lived with for 3 years. He’s sick of your shit. Everyone’s sick of your shit. You’ll never amount to anything because you’re always the sick one and nobody wants to deal with that. Best of all, guess what? You can’t do a damn thing about it!

– Grognar the shitfaced Gnome

So I’m here dealing with all these physical issues beating me up. On top of that, the chemical imbalance in my brain has decided to help tag team me as well. Fortunately I’m really lucky living where I do. I’m one of those privileged people that has access to a reasonable free healthcare system and, because of that, access to a therapist. She and I have done a lot of talking about the issues at hand and have been able to identify key points I beat myself up over. We’ve worked out a plan of attack, per se, and I’m slowly working on kicking Grognar’s hairy little arse out of my house. All the other issues will be dealt with later once I have a stable head back on my shoulders.

I know this has probably been a bit of a marathon read, but for someone that doesn’t normally blog I can assure you that it’s been just as much of an endurance event. As part of my commitment to kick depression’s arse and get my shit back on track, I’ve promise to keep this blog active and see every post as an achievement, whether it’s a written post, a meme or a comic I’ve drawn. I can’t promise a post every day or even every few days, but I will do what I can and I have nothing but the greatest admiration and gratitude for those of you that have followed my blog (all 40 of you. That’s utterly insane!) because it’s you people that have made me commit to getting my story out there. It’s because I know that someone somewhere will read this that I will continue writing, and I’m going to learn to love doing it for my own reasons as we go.

I do actually have a slightly more bright post lined up for you all in the next few days ๐Ÿ™‚ I’m also making a point of getting back into drawing my little single-page comics since they’ve been so well received here.

I honestly hope you’ve all been keeping well in my absence and I’d love to hear what you’ve all been up to, even if you’d prefer to message me privately. I’d really love to get to know you all!

Anyhoo, it’s late here and my bed is making sexy eyes at me. I think it’s time I go and get some shut-eye.

– Abigail

The fine line between pleasure and pain

A War of Nerves

A War of Nerves (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, as you many have gathered, I spent Saturday night at a kink event. It was a very tame event in the scheme of things with a few play areas and more of a emphasis on dress and atmosphere than actual action. Now, kink is still a fairly new thing for me. This was maybe the 8th event I’ve been to, give or take a few, and at each event I go to, I make a point of trying to push my boundaries. I started off as a VERY coy, very reserved religious girl and since then, I’ve been able to use kink and the fetish lifestyle as a way to empower myself. I’ve been able to grow from my experiences and do a lot of learning – about both the world around me and the inner workings of my own mind.

Now, as mentioned, I have nerve issues. I have hypersensitive nerves to be precise. Do you ever get the horrible sensitive patches of skin when you get sick? What about sunburn? When you have a burn, touching the skin is a very, very delicate procedure. For me, I have good days and bad days. Some days I’m more or less like everyone else. On my bad days, however, the simple sensation of clothing is enough to hurt. If manthing were to lovingly stroke my arm more than three times in the same spot, it causes physical pain. A gentle bump, a change of temperature or even ongoing pressure like leaning on one’s hand can be enough to cause trouble.

This raises a big question: How does one manage these nerve issues when you’re kinky as hell?

One of the things that got me thinking last night was that my nerve issues mean that Iโ€™m pretty different to most people and itโ€™s a lot more pronounced in the kink scene, especially when a lot of โ€˜playโ€™ involves setting nerves off with various sensations.

While last night was a wonderful experience, at one point I ended up getting the business end of manthing’s riding crop across my back side. Now, this in itself was a novel experience as it’s the first time I’ve bared my bottom to a room full of strangers. It was by no means a “show and tell” event – everyone was going about their own business – but there were a handful of people in the room. Some would unabashedly stare at the unfolding scene and others would look over from their conversation with varying degrees of amusement and curiosity before going back to their discussion. I’m rather self conscious, so having strangers analyse my bare cheeks (as I’m convinced that is what they were doing!) is a bit of a terrifying prospect. However, the sharp impact of a riding crop makes for a fantastic distraction from this line of thought.

Now, being my horrible cheeky self, I wriggled my bum. I do that when I’m pleased. Kind of like a little bit of a tail wag and a grin. Unfortunately this time it was poorly timed on my part and meant that manthing’s swing of the crop landed outside of his target zone. As a matter of fact, I was the unwilling recipient of leather right to the… well, the butt hole.ย For a brief moment, it felt like Satan himself had violated me. I squealed like a stuck pig and clutched my bum. Once manthing worked out what had happened, he (and the people around us) laughed. I was laughing albeit in a “oh god, did that just happen?” way.

There was a woman sitting next to the chair I was leaning over, highly entertained by all of this. When I leaned back over the chair to submit myself to another round of buttock-beating, this time without the assault of my chocolate starfish, I had a playful bitch about manthing being more gentle this time. Now, he knew well that I was merely poking fun at the situation and smiled. However, the woman next to me responded with “Just bend over and take it already! Stop complaining!”

In hindsight, I’m sure she was only trying to do the same – make light of the events that had unfolded. To put it bluntly, shit happens and it’s a real test of character as to how you deal with an accident like this one. I wasn’t badly hurt or bleeding, I wasn’t in tears. I was just very self conscious and had my pride rather battered. When I heard her comment, a thought occurred to me: These people don’t know about my nerve issues. They probably think I’m a complete bitch and can’t handle even light pain.

From that moment, the fun stopped. I immediately felt like shit. Manthing and I stopped playing and, though I was still smiling and laughing, internally I felt awful. Like I was some kind of fake for having put on that little impromptu display. I sat back down in my chair and reserved myself to quietly watching the faces and actions of other people in the room like I could somehow gauge their thoughts of me from what I could see. The woman that had made the comment got up and walked off without a second thought. It was an offhand remark that was of no more consequence than that friendly nod she made to a familiar face as she walked off down the stairs.

I fretted.

So many thoughts flooded my head. What’s the point of even playing with manthing if my nerves cause me so much trouble? Surely he can’t be having any fun. How can I engage in any impact play if this is the result? How on earth can I then handle needle play? It doesn’t make sense. Has this issue been affecting my relationship with manthing this whole time? I feel like shit because of all of this. Surely I have to deserve the feeling, right? How will I ever be able to play with someone outside manthing? Would anyone even be willing to understand my issues?

I’d be too much work.

So, I sat in the corner and went through what was bothering me. For one, manthing wouldn’t play with me in the first place if he didn’t get enjoyment out of it. Yes, he has to be careful and yes, I do have some limitations that vary from day to day. But this has never made him go “No, I don’t want to do this with you.” I trust him enough that if something like that came up, he’d talk to me about it.

Needle play? Impact play? Any kind of kink activity that involves stimulating nerves needs to be approached differently with me. I can look at this issue one of two ways. On one hand I can adopt the “Life and everything sucks” attitude where I look at how my condition impacts me negatively – like only being able to take so many floggings, or having areas that make me cry and others I can barely feel. OR, I can be a champion and look at things this way:

I’m different. I am fun. If you learn about my nerves, you can have me utterly melting with a single nail to a nerve line. If you take the time to appreciate and learn how different I am, we can both have SO much fun! I have a nerve between my legs that, when hit, makes my entire right leg twitch. It’s hilarious and enough to drive me nuts in a good way.

I’m the one being hard on myself here. Frankly, the opinions of the people in the room don’t count for shit. I’m not in a relationship with them. They have NO impact on my life at the moment and since they didn’t even take the time to say hi or ask my name, they can go and rotate. The woman that made the remark doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know how amazing I am. She will likely never know how fantastic and incredible my body is because I’m so different. Balls to her. All the balls. Big, sweaty, hairy ones on her forehead.

The same thing goes for potential play partners. I won’t have time for anyone that won’t spend a while learning about me and the way I function. If they don’t want to learn, then that’s it. I have no obligation whatsoever to play with anyone I don’t feel safe or comfortable with and, in this situation safety involves knowing ME. It’s about more than just being able to swing a crop. It’s about developing a connection with your play partner and making sure ALL parties involved are having fun.

Now, thanks to a weather change here, I feel awful. I’ve been hit by a truck at some point today and due to the lack of sleep, my painkillers are making me feel pretty close to drunk so I’m not really certain how articulate I am right now, or whether anything I’ve said makes sense. Point is, I feel good about myself and I managed to put down an entire blog post today.

Yay me ๐Ÿ˜€

The Party Crasher

This weekend was undeniably a big one.

I had actually intended on starting my weekly video blog update this past Friday, but commission work kept me busy during the day and then a pain flare up kept me busy at night.

Image

I started the weekend very early by my standards. I was up at eight with a brush in hand for some awesome costume make-up for a friend that was cosplaying at an event (I do face painting and body art as a bit of a hobby), then moved onto our monthly Rogue Trader game. I play a sadistic, egotistical princeling (think Russian mafia) with a sharp temper. In our first session, I shot one of our player characters for being an unsanctioned psyker. This session, I threatened to shoot my pilot for scratching the hull of my grand ship. My new ruling is that for every one million thrones of damage they do, my character takes a pound of flesh from them. It’s fair ๐Ÿ˜›

I always look forward to our gaming sessions. It’s a little slice of escapism for me. For one day a month, I get to become someone completely different in a universe entirely unlike our own, where my fate is decided by wit, charm and the roll of a dice. It’s also pretty much the only social event I attend regularly these days – mostly because it’s in my own house. I get to see half a dozen friends of mine and we all spend several hours together while cracking really god-awful jokes, taking jibes at each other’s parents and playing a volatile game of ‘Guess Who’ when it comes to strange and offensive smells in the room.

That night, manthing and myself went to a nifty party along with another couple. Naturally, it was along the fetish side of things, but was very tame and generally very fun. I love an excuse to get dressed up and this particular event allowed me to rock a floor-length velvet dress, a filigree metal masquerade mask and a very pretty leather collar I made myself. I always find myself dressed very formally (along with manthing who looks utterly delicious in a frock coat with his hair out – think the vampire Lestat, but less waifish)ย  whereas most of the other attendees are clad in PVC, leather or not much at all. I am a very big fan of the amount of corsets I saw on the night, along with theย  Jack the Ripper burlesque act. I hit the stage of lethargy around 11pm and cracked a can of my vice – purple Mother energy drink – which propped me up for another few hours. We ended up getting home about 3am, thoroughly pleased and exhausted and eventually tumbled into bed and slept.

The rest of the weekend was spent looking at a new car which I will hear about later this week. I tried to go over and help out at a working bee, but I just entirely ran out of spoons and crashed out the moment I walked through the door.

ImageOne of the things that got me thinking last night was that my nerve issues mean that I’m pretty different to most people and it’s a lot more pronounced in the kink scene, especially when a lot of ‘play’ involves setting nerves off with various sensations. I have severely hypersensitive nerves and will explain further in my next blog post. Right now, I’m completely exhausted so I’ll put down my thoughts tomorrow when I’m running on more than three brain cells.

Hope you all had fantastic weekends!