#not me looking to abuse the mutual account that is mostly my money and buy a wok and induction burner

[solemntitty]

me adding that fucking chili oil in to any soup: how did I grow up with unsalted chicken and boiled vegetables

[writefinch]

Family-Owned Small Business

(CN: incest, sex work, mentions of sexual assault & suicidal ideation)

The worst part of my job is administration. Last-minute rescheduling when a client flakes on us. Chasing up payments. Booking accommodation at short notice. Answering messages! Jesus, every time in the last year when I've slumped, sighed, and thought to myself "fuck working, I need a break from all this" it's been when I've opened my messages and seen thirty different texts that need a reply. Some people are fine with it I guess, but for me it's boring, time consuming, and stressful.

Big deal though, right, I mean nobody loves doing admin, why even bring it up? Well, if I tell someone that for work last night I ate a client's cum out of my mom's pussy, I'd expect that they'd get fixated on the sex work and the incest. I'd expect them to freak out and not pay attention to the specifics of what I'm saying. So, first, I'd like that person to know that the thing I hate about my job is probably the same thing that *they* hate about *their* job. I would rather lick my mom's asshole for five minutes than answer emails for five minutes, and I answer a lot of emails.

Do we have to worry about violence, danger, cops, and legal trouble? Yeah, we do. Am I scared of these things? Yeah, sometimes, but I had to worry about all of those things before I started doing sex work. At least now we've got the money to buy our way out of the worst of it.

I'm not saying that what I do with mom is an objectively healthy relationship, let alone a perfect one. If you took me back in time and told me I could pick a completely different life for me and my mom, I'm sure there's a bunch of choices I'd pick over this one. But I never had that choice. I got hurt a lot growing up. I feel like I've finally escaped the things that hurt me, but I know that I've barely started to recover from them.

That's why I'm writing this. We've saved enough money to afford some therapy and my first session is next week. I want help with the fear, the nightmares, the mood swings and insomnia, I want to stop the rush of rage and terror that flows through me every time I see the word 'dad,' I want help untangling the stuff that came out of being told I was a pansy when I was growing up, then figuring out I'm gay, then figuring out I'm a girl, then figuring out I'm all three of those things while I was living in a place that kept trying to kill me for it. What I don't want is for the psych to pin it all on the two least harmful and least fucked-up things about my life, and worse, I don't want them to make me believe it. This journal is a prophylactic, an assessment of my job, my relationships and my life that I can refer back to if and when someone sticks their fingers in my brain and swirls them around.

I'll start with a problem statement: my dad. The memories that hurt the most are the ones where he almost appeared human, the flickers of joy, curiosity and humor that stood out from the bland cruelty that made up the rest of his personality. I'll remember him buying me ice cream or talking about a book or a movie with me, I'll doubt myself and wonder if I just went crazy and cut him out of my life for no reason, and then my brain will hook onto a random act of sadism he inflicted on me.

The physical abuse was bad all on its own, real psycho shit like driving me out into the woods and making me pick through the brush for a switch he could hit me with and a whole lot more I won't go into, but the emotional abuse was worse. When I was eleven, I forgot to feed my cat one day. He gave her away to my uncle, but told me that she'd developed malnutrition and had to be put down. I didn't find out the truth for another two years, when he just let it slip at Easter. He bragged about it, even, like he'd invented a really smart child-rearing technique. I don't want to write too much down here because I don't need to, if anything I want therapy to *stop* everything he did from running through my head. He's a punishment-obsessed sadist, a Baptist, and he works as a judge. Did he ever sexually abuse me? No. Parent of the year, right? He kicked me out for being a fag the day I turned eighteen, so it's ironic that my biggest fear is that he comes looking for me. He doesn't even know I'm a girl.

On the other hand, my mom has had an interesting life. She's kind of a fuck up. When I was one year old, mom and dad split and dad got full custody--being a judge helped with that--while mom left the state. She spent a decade trying to kick a heroin habit and a year and a half in prison for related stuff, got banned from even entering the state I lived in on account of her parole--again, dad being a judge helped with that--illegally emigrated to Canada for a while, and went to Oregon by mistake, doing a mixture of bartending, delivery driving, MDMA dealing and whoring to stay afloat.

The only reason we met again is that I was in the same city staying with friends, also whoring. I don't remember the first time I saw her, but the first time we talked was in a mutual friend's tiny studio apartment with a few other hooker friends. We ended up comparing our Pest Lists, shared a few drinks, and swapped numbers. A week later we fucked, and a month after *that* we realized that we'd Oedipus'd ourselves. It seems funnier now than it did at the time.

That was an emotional time. We cried with joy that we'd found each other, we started tip-toeing around the ideas of rebuilding our lives together, and we agreed to pretend that the sex had never happened. Of course, we got drunk together a week later and fucked again. She's hot! I have a thing for older women, I have a thing for breaking taboos, and I have a thing for being mommied in bed. Blame dad for raising me like this, I dunno.

We started doing sex work as a team after she got a dental abscess. The bill for the hospital stay and the tooth removal was insane, and the dentist straight-up told her that she'd end up with another in a different tooth within a year if she didn't get two root canals. Even when she was recovering, we could only afford fish antibiotics off of Amazon. We crunched some numbers and made some inquiries, and figured out that we could pull in two week's worth of our combined income with one night of mother-daughter stuff.

Our first joint session was with a real estate pervert I'll call Stan, a chubby balding powerlifter in his fifties who we'd both had as a client before. Mom took me over her knees and switched between spanking me and fingering me while he watched. I sucked him off while mom made out with him, made out with my mom with his cock between our lips, licked his balls as mom licked my ass, then let him fuck my ass while mom sat on my face. That was the first half hour. He came six more times before we passed out in the early hours of the morning, and I drifted off nursing his finally-limp cock in my mouth. He paid us the price of a used Volkswagen for our trouble, and I blew him one last time before we left as a thank-you.

Six months later, mom's teeth were fixed, I was on spiro, and we had just under a dozen clients for our "doubles sessions." Only a few of our appointments are ones with me and mom together, three or four a month, we mostly work alone. That's not out of a deliberate choice, it's just that we've got a strict criteria for who we'll double up on.

Trust is one thing: depending on the lawyers we can afford, what we're doing is either kinda illegal or extremely illegal. Since my dad is presumably still a judge, I don't want him to ever find out about this. He'd put us in a prison or a mental institution. We won't do a double session with a client unless we've both had individual sessions with them.

Money is the other thing. Getting your dick sucked by a hot mom while her daughter sucks your balls costs a week's wages for the average person. Hiring us for the night is more like a month's wages. Even in a city like this, there's only a few thousand people that can drop that kind of money on hookers. Then, they've got to *want* to fuck a trans girl and her mom together. Don't get me wrong, more people are into mother-daughter incest than you'd expect, but it's not a universal thing.

Clients are, on average, annoying. It's a fact of life. The thing that all clients have in common is a ton of disposable income and a fondness for fucking hookers. They're not necessarily bad people, but there’s a heavy ‘What can a banana cost, ten dollars?’ vibe to them. It’s not that they’re adrenochrome-drinkers who don’t see regular people as human, it’s more that they don’t have an intuitive awareness that other people don’t have savings accounts, health insurance, an investment property, and four figures of walking-around money at any given time. I guess I'd feel differently if I was like, a concierge or a PA, but there's a lot more pillow talk in my job.

I've had bad and dangerous clients before, there's been at least two occasions where I was pretty sure I was going to die--one where the hospital afterwards stay wiped out four months of income, not counting the month where I couldn’t work--but they were all before I met mom, when I couldn't be so careful about screening prospective clients and dropping them if they threw up red flags. I'm sure we'll get bad clients in the future, but we're in a better place to deal with them safely.

I also wanna write down what a "normal day" is like. Friday was a good example. I woke up early at 9am and cooked breakfast for mom. She was up already doing the laundry. We entertain some clients in our apartment, so we go through a lot of clothes and a lot of sheets. You can't fuck a guy on top of another guy's cum stains, that's rude. Some of the job is Housework But More. We don't really use the main bedroom or the sitting room because we treat them like bed and breakfast guest rooms. It's annoying but every time we have a session without getting an actual hotel or motel room we save like $50 minimum.

After breakfast I epilated, showered, and went for a run. Personal grooming isn't that big a deal in terms of time, I'm not saying I don't spend a lot of time on it, I do, but I'd be spending that time even if I worked in a bar or an office or something. Look: I'm hot. I might have been a weird-looking spotty nerd when I thought I was a boy, but as a girl I'm a fucking dime. I could get like, 25% uglier before it had any impact on my earnings. The only part of personal grooming that's necessary for sex work and I wouldn't do all the time anyway is power-washing my guts an hour before every session.

After lunch, mom went to see some friends and I played Magic for a few hours. At two pm, the actual work started. I picked up the work phone for the first time that day and began answering texts. An hour later I'd cancelled the 6pm appointment, blocked out all of Sunday evening, checked in with a few regulars, and provisionally moved three guys to the 'Time Wasters' list.

I spent a while sexting with a good prospect. He was a good prospect because he paid up-front for the sexting instead of treating it like a free samples platter at Costco. We scheduled a tentative appointment for next Tuesday, when his wife would be out of town on a business trip. Most of the guys I fuck have kinks, and I swear that 'cheating on your wife with a sex worker' is the most common one there is. Do I feel bad about it? At my hourly rate, absolutely not.

Mom got back at half four, so I took a break. We made tacos for lunch together and ate while watching Billions. She nudged me and told me that I need to do my injection, and, well, we have a little ritual for that. I'm scatterbrained and I'm not great with needles, but mom has been incredibly supportive with my HRT, and when I told her I was having problems taking them on time, she came up with a way to make me as comfortable as possible. As soon as the needle is ready, I laid down in her lap and she cradled my head in her arms, pressing her bare chest against my face. I took a nipple into my mouth and nursed it softly while she stroked my hair. She called me a good girl, telling me how proud she is of her daughter, how much she loves me, and asked if I was going to take my medicine like a big girl. On good days I inject myself while she pets me and coos over me, and on bad days she takes the needle and does it for me. As soon as I dropped the needle in the sharps container, mom pressed a Hitachi against my cock and took one of my nipples into her mouth, called me her big brave girl, and asked if I was gonna cum for mommy.

As usual, the answer was yes.

Late afternoon and early evening is when the messages start flowing in, especially on Fridays, when the kinds of people with hooker money have either left work early and thinking about getting laid, or are still held up at work and are desperately thinking about getting laid. This kind of messaging gets trickier, because it comes down to what I'm providing. Like, setting up a session is the kind of normal administrative stuff that's baked into the price of a session. It's also partly a sales job, so I'm naturally flirty and solicitous, and because I do sex work I talk openly about sex.

However, *sexting* is not normal administrative stuff. If I'm sending you messages for jerking-off purposes, I can charge by the hour or by the text but I will insist on charging for it. Also, it's not just sex that me and mom provide. There's a reason that 'companionship' is an old euphemism for whoring, it's because whores are good company. I'm a good listener and I don't judge, which means I'm like the fun parts of a therapist but without all the homework and self-improvement. I'm (unsurprisingly) friendly with all of my clients, and I have more than a few clients and former clients who I'd consider good friends and vice versa. I talk to a bunch of them outside of a business context, especially the ones I met outside of my job, and that's a normal part of maintaining a pool of clients for any sales job, but on the other hand... it's a demand on my time and it's a part of my services. I can and have bluntly told guys that they're wasting my time when it comes to uncompensated sexting, but the platonic stuff requires a lighter touch.

One of my regulars, Fintech Pete, sent me a message. Two messages later, he sent me $100, and we're off. Describing in gratuitous detail exactly how I'm going to suck his cock, begging him to fuck me until my clit is drooling all over the sheets, sending him feet pics, things of that nature. Pete is great for sexting because he barely jerks off while he's doing it, he saves all the messages and pictures and jerks off to them later, because he's got some biohacking routine where he only cums once a week. He said once that part of the reason he hires sex workers is that he takes each nut a lot more seriously if he's paying three digits minimum for the privilege. He does this teleconferencing report with the board of directors at his company four times a year, and every time he hires me to kneel under the desk in his home office and suck him off while he makes his presentation.

Anyway, while we were going back and forth like that, he mentioned that I'd made a joke one time about doing a joint session with my mom. I told him it wasn't a joke, and to cut a long story short, half an hour later I was asking mom if she was up for an overnight session starting at 9pm. She agreed, Pete confirmed, so we both got ready--think getting dolled up for a night out but with a more thorough enema--and drove to his place. He lived outside of town in a two-bedroom suburban home, alone with his two dogs.

As soon as we were parked in his garage I did the safety call in front of him: I rang a friend of mine, told her we were visiting a friend, told her it was at the address I sent her earlier, and told her we'd call her again tomorrow morning. Was it really necessary to do that with someone like Fintech Pete? No, but practice makes permanent. If you let these things slip when there's no danger, eventually they'll slip when there is danger.

Now, I don't want to imply that I'm in a lot of danger! There's a reason that most of the faces you'll see on the Trans Day of Remembrance are of poor black and brown women, because real danger comes when you can't turn skeevy jobs, when you can't afford to take precautions, when you have to make the choice over and over between maybe starving and maybe getting murdered. I'm white, I've got a good support network, and I've been relatively lucky in that I can do all these things to minimize my risks. I've still got to do them, though! Things like safety calls are a good habit to get into and it helps all sex workers if there's an expectation that they've all got someone looking out for them.

...I get that there is some bravado creeping into this journal. I start off saying that admin is the worst part of the job and a page later I flippantly mention that the job has put me in the hospital. On a day to day basis yeah, the admin is the bit that sucks the most, but if you offered me a deal where the admin is twice as bad but I never took that session, I’d take it in a heartbeat. This job has left me with some scars. Any time something cold touches my wrist I get a vivid flash of the first time I had my hands zip-tied behind my back in a cop car. I've had nightmares all my life, and more than a few of my nightmares are about stuff that's happened since I got into sex work.

If it seems like I’m downplaying it, it’s because the harrowing stuff is where the job has gone wrong, it’s not baked into the everyday stuff, and most importantly it has nothing to do with my mom. The work I've done with her is some of the least stressful and dangerous I've had since I started this job, and whatever wounds I have, she's not the one who caused them.

On a more positive note, a cool thing about doing sessions with my mom is that we can dress pretty conservatively and still have it come off as insanely lewd. Mom wore a black cocktail dress with an imitation pearl necklace and her hair up in a bun, I was in a white blouse under a lambswool sweater, a pleated short skirt, cheap dark tights--Pete has a thing for tearing them--and patent leather shoes. When you're going to suck a guy's world entirely off alongside your mom, the more modestly you're dressed, the more perverted it looks. Out in the suburbs it also means you get to avoid the microskirts and fishnets look which screams to the neighbors 'I've just hired a pair of hookers' or the mid-range raincoat over microskirts and fishnets look which screams 'I've just hired a pair of pricey hookers."

Pete's living room looks like the back room of a Radio Shack, computer guts everywhere, every surface turned into a makeshift workbench. It's not a suitable place for lovemaking; I don't want to have to pull shards of a soundcard out of my perineum. His bedroom is a lot neater, with a king-sized bed to sit on, a ton of pillows to lounge up against, and a TV mounted on the wall. Mom poured out some wine, a mid-range red zinfandel that we'd picked up on the way, Pete brought out some imported dark chocolate that costs like $40/kg, and I swung my legs over his lap and turned on the Food Network. I took a bite of chocolate, mom took a sip of wine, and before either of us swallowed she pulled me into a deep kiss, mixing the wine and the chocolate. It's a good combination, and Pete enjoyed the show.

The night started off with chatting. None of us were in any rush, not with an overnight session, and since Pete has been a client for each of us for a while it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Pete's fingers danced over my thighs, absent-mindedly plucking ladders into the fabric as we talked baseball, business, sex work, the difference between the gentrified fag bar downtown and the really gentrified fag bar downtown, programming and other nerd shit, local politics, the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen, just normal stuff. Mom and Pete started talking about fancy cooking stuff so I started annoying them both by claiming that sardines are just fully-grown anchovies, that DOP labels are all fake, and that instant grits are better than the regular ones until mom jabbed me with a finger and told me that my mouth should be put to better use elsewhere.

You know how some people say "Cilantro tastes like soap, that's why it's good?" Same thing for how weird it feels to go down on my mom. The first time I ever jerked off, watching a 144p clip of Rocco Sifreddi fucking a girl in the ass while flushing her head down a toilet bowl, knowing that this meant I was going to go to Hell unless I begged God for forgiveness and never did it again, I came so hard I passed out. It feels good, it feels wrong that it feels so good, and it feels even better because it feels so wrong.

She was already wet when I got between her legs. I kissed her clit and started licking, her bush tickling my nose and her thighs squeezing my ears. Fabric rasped over my head as she hiked her dress up to run her hand through my hair. Everything was muffled but I could hear kissing and clinking, and I knew that mom was undoing Pete's belt and jeans to give him a Catholic-quality handjob.

I got mom worked up, bucking her hips and getting all breathy, until she asked me to get up here and give her some help. I crawled up to his groin and winked up at him. He blushed and grinned back. Pete's not a bad-looking guy. I mean, I don't care about looks in general, I guess I can look at someone and say that objectively they're ugly, and if someone is beautiful it adds something to the experience, but like... it doesn't really figure into it. Obviously most johns don't look like supermodels but they're not uniformly ugly, as I said before the thing that johns have in common is being horny guys with a lot of disposable income. Still, Pete is towards the better-looking side of that scale.

...Okay there is one thing about him that's weirdly common for my clients, I call it 'John Balding:' where a guy is losing his hair but in a slow, uneven, and kinda weird pattern, so that even when they cross into being more bald than not, they never bite the bullet and shave it all off. Pete is only like 30% of the way through that process so it doesn't look terrible yet, but he's on that track.

Anyway, back to the sex. A fun thing about double blowjobs is that you can take them a whole lot slower than solo blowjobs. Me and mom have had a lot of practice so we go at about 1/4th speed and it feels twice as good. She started off by wrapping her hand around the shaft, slowly stroking it while she softly kissed the tip, and I licked his balls, gently lapping at one, then the other, cleaning away the day's sweat and musk, carefully taking both of them into my mouth at once. Mom swallowed half his length, and I started kissing my way up his shaft as she pulled back up, my lips touching the head as hers reached the very tip. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me into a deep French kiss with his cock in the middle, precum mixing with spit, moaning as we felt him twitch and grunt, mom's hand on his balls and my hand on his shaft. We broke the kiss and repeated it in reverse, taking his cock in my throat as mom kissed her way down to his balls. He came after five minutes of gentle little schoolgirl kisses on each side of his cock from the pair of us. The first rope caught mom on her cheek, the second hit her hair, but I wrapped my lips tight around the head and sucked him dry before he could spill another drop.

You can't give a client a mother-daughter blowjob and not snowball the cum back and forth in front of him. We've done it enough times to get the timing down: wait until he sits up straight, because if you don't he'll be too dazed from nutting in your mouth to really appreciate it. Make sure he's looking at you, move your hair out of the way so it doesn't obstruct his view, open your lips so that a trickle of jizz almost sloshes out, move in close to your mom so that your noses are touching and it's clear that you're about to kiss, sink a palm into her tits as she grabs your ass, and then you gotta really go for it: wide-mouthed, feral, energetic, like you're trying to reach each other's sinuses. If a little bit of cum spills out because you're being so sloppy, that's a sign that you're doing it right. You're going to lick it up afterwards anyway.

We broke the kiss, I licked mom's face clean, and we took a break. We drank some more wine, he offered us cigarettes--the coolest clients are the ones that let you smoke indoors--and we cuddled and relaxed for a while with Guy's Grocery Games playing on the TV. Pete went to get some water, and returned with three bottles and a strip of Cialis. He downed two pills, we both stripped off--it was sweltering by that point--and got ready for the next round.

Mom played with his nipples and I got between his legs again, this time going lower than his balls to eat his ass out. Rimming is a trusted client privilege like the mom-daughter stuff is, except it's less about trusting them in the legal sense and more about trusting that it won't be grainy down there. I like it when a client is clean enough to rim, because I'm extremely good at it. Mom says she's better, she claims she once made a guy no-touch cum with a rimjob, but I don't fucking believe her.

He got hard after a minute of digging my tongue into his ass, but his cock was still super-sensitive so we figured we'd tease him for a while longer. We swapped places, mom ate his ass while he made out with me, squeezing my tits and playing with my cock. I like it when guys touch my tits, my cock is... fine, I guess? I don't viscerally dislike people touching it but it doesn't do much for me. After a minute of that he reaches around and works a finger into my asshole, which is much more my speed.

By the time he was two knuckles deep I looked down and saw his cock twitching, leaking precum onto his stomach. He seemed pretty worked up. I kissed his neck, nipped at his ear, and whispered, "Do you wanna breed me, Mister?"

He sure did.

I use condoms unless I've got an extremely compelling reason not to, and mom has a cool trick for getting them on. She grasped Pete's cock around the base, placed her lips around the tip, deepthroated the entire thing in a single stroke, and as she slowly lifted her head back up, his cock was neatly fitted with a condom.

As soon as I lubed up he put me on my back, pushed my ankles up to my ears,  pressed his cock against my hole and sunk into me inch by inch. He muffled my moans with a kiss and rutted me into the bed. I gotta give it to him, all that biohacking and cardio is doing something right because he railed me at a fast, steady pace until my dick was leaking all over my tummy and I couldn't form sentences in my head any more. Mom made out with him as he finished, and at that point I was just babbling nonsense. He was gentle and cautious as he pulled out of me, stroking my hair as I reached down to take off his condom. I poured the contents out over my tits, slumping back against the headboard as mom licked them clean.

It wasn't yet midnight by then, and we went on like that through the night. Licking his feet, mom-daughter 69, him sucking my cock while mom rode his dick like a Sorority cowgirl champion, more wine, more double-blowjobs, tacking an extra $200 onto the fee for the privilege of pissing in my mouth instead of having to get up to go to the bathroom, a whole buffet of fun whore stuff.

We woke up at around ten in the morning, stayed for breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Me and mom thanked him for his custom, and he thanked us for a good time. By midday we were at home, we both showered, checked our calendars, messaged our evening clients to confirm that they were still on, and then... well, the rest of the day kinda evaporated. I played Demons' Souls until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, passed out in bed, and woke up when my alarm went off in the evening.

That's one of the things I don't like about overnight sessions: you're technically only spending like, ten to twelve hours with a client, and for some of that time you're either not fucking or actively asleep, but it kinda feels like it destroys two days. By the time it's scheduled, everything in the rest of the day is either preparing for it or doing it, and when you get back it takes the rest of the day just to recover. I don't like that part of my job, and if I sit down I can probably go through a whole bunch of things I don't like about my job. I still know that my job isn't a *bad* job, because the last time I had a bad job it was at a chicken processing plant. Know how I know that the chicken job was bad? Because I excused myself for a bathroom break four hours into the shift, walked off site, and never came back.

You know what, there's another reason I know that this isn't a bad job and that mom isn't a bad mom, and I guess it's part of the reason I've written all this down in the first place. I was seven years old when I first wanted to die. By the time I got to high school, suicidal thoughts were just the radio static in my brain. I can't remember any point after like, grade school where I didn't daydream about suicide every single day.

Now? I sometimes go for weeks without thinking about killing myself. It hasn't gone away completely, it still pops up when I'm upset or stressed out or tired or really hungry, but what I do is I talk to mom about it, and she talks me out of it. I feel guilty sometimes about putting that pressure on her, and taking that pressure off is part of the reason I'm going to therapy I guess.

I hope it works out.

I really think it will.

[somedaypast-thesunset]

 im really tired of this drama for the sake of drama scenarios that keep coming up. like theyre completely avoidable but people choose really selfish and self centered ways of doing things and then dont even take into account the amount of people it affects. our friend was late for fishing so he left without him but didnt bother to say anything about it and just left while our friend was in transit. i mean, theyre both pretty rude. hes rude for being late, hes rude for leaving without notice. but no one cares that at 5am, our friend showed up at my house and then slept in my bed for the next 5 hours before deciding to head over to his friends house for a bbq. no one cares how that inconvinienced my day. no one cares that i didnt want to do that, or have our friend over at 5am but i'm not that selfish. i'm not soo self centered that i would turn away our friend at 5am when he's upset. it's not the right thing to do, so of course i invited him in. but he had no desire to listen to any of my problems. i couldnt talk to him about any of my plans or desires. the next day i asked  our friend to come over so i could grab and he did but he had hit his car in a parking lot and wanted zip ties to secure something. i tried to help but he was downstairs and didnt want to get up and find zip ties for our friend. so our friend took it upon himself to go downstairs himself where he was promptly yelled at for bothering him. today our friend called me five times from 8am and when i finally answered he just wanted to chat about how he wasnt mad anymore and wanted to be a limo driver and other such nonsense. i thought about how many times the calls interrupted my day, created anxiety for me, made me think i was being a shitty friend for not answering. even once i did answer he called back later when i was trying to sleep! i sent a simple text to him saying our friend was no longer mad and wanted to be a limo driver now. this was more just commentary on something that happened in my day. at the end of the day i recieve a long message telling me how he doesnt need to be reminded of this annoyance and is trying to distance himself from other ppls bullshit and if im not getting in the middle of it then why am i saying anything. i felt caught off guard - mostly because i didnt do anything. all i did was comment on something in my own day and now he was triggered to the point of attempting to take it out on me. i told him it was a joke and meant to be a joke and i had no idea he was still annoyed and that he should speak up so i dont invite people to his house because i dont care whether or not hes friends with anyone, quite frankly. but dont trap me into scenarios which cause drama and upheaval because i made a single comment about someone and you failed to mention that you dont even like this person. then he replies that its "his fault" and he just doesnt want to deal with it because it "already ruined fishing, it ruined his afternoon and now its ruining his dinner". i simply replied, "cool, same here". because he never takes into account how much something may be "ruined" by his behavior and attitude. what about me? what about the fact that i asked to stop "dealing with our friend's bullshit" in february when he made inappropriate remarks to me? or the fact he was willing to give drugs to him - on several occasions - despite knowing that im really not down with it at all? but we've continued, for four more months, until the breaking point became him being late for fishing. please. this has continually ruined my general life experience for the past year. the two main people in my life are two of the shittiest people to be considered "main" people in my life. a schizoid drug dealer whom i met through a girl i can no longer even consider a friend because she is equally as crazy and a guy who is best known for being the catalyst of his best friend committing suicide because he fucked his best friends girlfriend. this is a terrible landscape of my life right now and literally all i can do is continually displace myself from THEIR bullshit because the amount of inconvinience they place on to my life far outweighs whatever inconvinience they feel from each other or from me. the thing is though - i dont "trust" my gut fully. i'm actualy more inclined not to trust my gut but my gut is continually right about a logical outlook on someone or their behavior and what that could define in their morality and ways of thinking and acting towards people. my gut told me my first boyfriend was kind of an asshole and that we didnt truly have much in common and that i was filling a role he wanted me to. i knew this, but i continued for many years. my gut told me my abusive ex was an absolute piece of shit but i stayed with him out of pure desperation because i honestly thought it would be better than this and honestly it is not. my gut tells me my current relationship is a real relationship but neither of us are capable of having a real relationship based on our own personal issues and demons and lack of emotional maturity. it's like equal contributions to why it doesnt work at a level we both want it to. we both want to have a mature adult relationship. we both understand to a degree how mature adult relationships work. we are not in any capacity mature adults. we are overgrown teenagers struggling with basic life skills, possibly on a level that is even more of a struggle than our average peer, trying to pretend that we are in fact adults and capable of managing a relationship. we are not though. ive been in long term relationships and understand that bringing up things like "its my fault" or "your right/wrong" doesnt actually add anything to the relationship. admitting it's "your fault" doesn't do much; putting into action - "i'm sorry i misinterpretated what you were saying but im definitely not into hanging out with him any time soon" is far better. but its not up to me to "police" how he should speak. it's up to him to decide that this method of communication is a lot more fair for both parties. it allows him the freedom to express what he wants and thinks while respecting that i'm someone with my own brain and individuality. but thats not where we're at. you cant force maturity. you accept this persons level of maturity or you find someone who has passed that level or possibly wait it out? but waiting it out is a fucking gamble and that's the gamble i've decided to take. you know, i'm not entirely prepared for an adult relationship where i literally contribute equally to the relationship as a whole.  i'm not ready for that in myself as a person. as an individual, my life would not benefit from a relationship with a partner giving to me equal to what i give - we would both starve and live on the streets and drive each other bat shit crazy and smoke endless amounts of weed. that's a really terrible life. but at the same time an equal partner to him would be someone unstable, someone who plays with monogamy, someone unwilling to pay into the relationship and carrying burdens of past lovers. someone who has a short temper and bad attitude, who is outspoken on their hatred of the world and people around them and brutally honest regarding split second thoughts and emotions they have towards those people. he wouldnt put up with it. honestly. so neither of us are ready to ask for much in a partner because we are not giving much in return. either of us. and thats a hard thing to accept and like.. i think even my doctor might have an askewed opinion on this because he wants to see me as a victim; maybe ive portrayed myself as such but we are not looking at the other side of things. who is this person and why are they in my life? why do they remain to be a significant person in my life by their own volition? they choose this. something in them wants to see me succeed and be healthy and do well and feel loved and cared for. that does not mean they are _responsible_ for my success, healthy or wellbeing. they are semi-responsible for giving love and care because of the definitions of the relationship they created but theyre not responsible for MAKING me FEEL loved and cared for. i have to accept the knowledge that they love me. so yes - why is he not "helping me"? thats what it comes down to. why am i not receiving some kind of "help" from him? but why is he responsible in giving this help? why are the parameters of an assumed healthy relationship by other people who may or may not even be in healthy relationships being put on something private and considerably always one sided as no one accept our mutual friend has seen our relationship grow? it's almost antiquated, but not naive or dumb, to think because hes a man, because he makes money, because he fucks me and loves me, that he should support me. that he should give me a place to live. give me money. offer it to me. why? where the fuck does it say that anywhere? that's not the stipulation upon fucking someone and that's actually a hard thing for people to swallow i think. maybe its a really ultra feminist idea -- just because a man fucks you doesnt mean he owes you anything other than like.. respect of consent. he doesnt even really owe you a ride home. honestly. he doesnt even owe you a drink or dinner. you made an adult decision to give yourself up to this man and he doesnt owe you shit in return. of course, it goes both ways. he buys her a drink - she doesnt owe him anything either. no one owes anyone anything. it's all a matter of your own free will and choice in how you will behave. what kind of person is fucking anyone because they bought them a drink anyways? but thats simplifying - over exaggerating, even. its the guy that asks a girl on a date and spends 150$ on dinner and buys an expensive bottle of wine and takes her to a concert he bought the tickets for; but he doesnt get laid. its now frowned upon - like he struck out on it. like she owed him her body because he decided to spend all this money. but just because youre in a "relationship" -- which is self defined to begin with. like the basic of it is two people who are close and know a lot about each other and spend time with each other and are possibly intimate. thats it. thats all the fuck there is. they owe you nothing in the past present or future. its just two fuckig people spending time together. thats it. how they choose to spend that time is totally up to them and whatever makes them as a couple and as individuals happy. and when you cant find that balance you no longer spend time together and thus no longer have a relationship. i also though, have to break out of this old mind set i've had for years that is a really ignorant mind set brought on by upper middle class people degrading me and my upbringing. but it happened for so long and so often that it's hard not to now believe it and default to this line of thinking. i feel like i've been reprogramming my brain. and i have to or else i remain in limbo - i have anxiety about life and then i feel bad about not working and then i have anxiety about not working and cant work because it's all just a cycle and i've just been made to feel like such a piece of shit, such a subhuman because this is the path ive "chosen". but in a multiple choice scenario where your choices are given to you and you have to select one, your level of free will has been diminished. and thats the scenario you live in when you are in poverty. but i'm too sick to get out of poverty. i feel stupid in some ways for believing this doctor will help me get on disability and receive more money. but i just want to live. i just want to live and be able to survive without this constant anxiety and worry about how to eat let alone how to deal with issues i've been struggling with since my teenage years. so i'm really hopeful, on the inside, because it would be jynxing it to be hopeful on the outside. but i'm tryng to go with it. i'm trying ot believe that he's right and right now i am making myself sick, i am perpetuating the cycle by not trying all these avenues of help. instead of worrying about not working or having money, i'm just trying to be. i'm just trying to know that i am sick and it's not "my fault" and i'm not "a burden". it's "okay" that i'm not working right now. i wouldnt be capable of it if i tried. and those failures because i am sick and unable to succeed just add to the issue. so i am tryng to focus on what works for me. because i am doing "the right thing". i'm doing the few things i can do, what i'm supposed to do - it's atleast given me some results. i have a few projects on the go and one remains to be the most successful thing ive done in the past year of my life and the success i've gotten from it has been something i have consistently worked hard for and has given me a reason to perservere in some very dark moments. i dont think people realize that though. they just see it as this thing i like to do but i see it as one of the very few reasons to wake up and do something. i feel responsible to people i have build a decent relationship with even though i have discovered that everyone is a human being and all have flaws which make them difficult to work with at times. maybe a majority of the time, even, but this is how i created something that has a purpose to me. something that goes beyond financial gain and politics and drugs and death -- something that is just good. it's just nice and good. it's not poisoned - though it has been threatened to be. and it has taught me so many good lessons in life and business. its one of the best things i have done. i want to continue my belief in that and myself. i lost that in the past six months. i lost the confidence that i knew what i was doing but i was allowing other people to do shitty things, to take control, to take advantage when they didn't care. and it was okay they didnt care. but i cared. and now that ive shown that i cared i am receiving more positive feedback and gaining more respect including from people who did not really enjoy me before as a person. i believe the best steps i can take right now is to focus first and foremost on my health and mental well being; which is accepting that my mental health directly affects my physical health and thus i am not a bad person for being tired and feeling sick even if i'm physically active and eating healthy. secondly is to secure a foundation in which i can build a stable independent life on regardless of how that is secured - even if it is not viewed as positive in popular opinion, like disability. it doesnt matter because independent means seperate from other people so other peoples opinions dont actually matter in this scenario. even if that means losing close relationships - such as the one with him. if i have true belief that this is what is best for me and i am literally putting it into the action when i want nothing more but to die on a regular basis then it is worth losing a relationship for if it means i'm going to live until next year. if it means i have a personal reason to live until next year. third is to allow myself to follow my ideas through and promote a healthy work ethic in myself that will build towards better socializing and potential revenue streams. it does not matter right now that its not making money. i am not bill gates over here. i'm not trying to reinvent the wheel. i'm just trying to do me. it's not about how this "directly affects my life" because i "dont have money". i am not capable of earning money through normal ways and cleaning apartments is not sustainable or worthy of investing my time in when it doesnt benefit me in any way but a brief 50$ spent on weed to nurture myself from the experience. quick-cash scenarios are feeding the cycle, even if it seems beneficial short term. some of my ideas are artistic, some are more administrative with real potential to make money without relying on 20$ jewelry sales. i really want to elevate what i'm doing in all areas of my life because that level of attention to detail is what makes me feel good about myself. looking at what ive created and seeing it as aesthetically pleasing and professionally sound to my eye and recieving positive feedback for it makes me feel good about myself. and i deserve to feel good about myself and i'm not self absorbed; the things i do are very charitable and serve my community and peers as well as allow me to explore my thoughts and ideas creatively. it is very easy to feed into the very quick dim witted insults that i get about this though. "sure, i wish IIII could just sit at home and play on the computer getting diability but i have to work" -- at first response, we've both forgotten why i'm even sitting at home to begin with; why it's hard for me, why i would be getting disability. all that's seen is someone "sitting at home". they do not see the sickness. they do not experience the life i've lived. i've been contnually slashed at by almost everyone i've ever known and just gotten up like "okay, it's cool, i got this" and acted like everything was fine but i'm bleeding out and have been bleeding out for a long time. you just cannot fix this overnight. and it's only now even as i write this that i realize i havent even focused on myself like this in years. literally years. i've actually felt very surreal lately because this shift in focus like i dont know anything of whats happening becuse i dont know myself and this is new to me. i feel disconnected. but ive spent a long time analyzing other people. and their actions towards me. and how ive felt about their actions towards me. and how their actions affected my life afterwards. very rarely have i ever analyzed just myself. my own actions, my own desires, my own beliefs which have little to no influence from outside sources. my combining life experiences to form the opinions which make up who i am; not who i'm told i am by my parents or my boyfriend. just me. and for a very long time i would say or think that whatever i thought about things, whatever my opinions or beliefs were, they werent that important. they werent as important as what everyone else thought because i wanted to be seen as a good person because good people experience a positive life. i want to have a positive life. i didnt want to be around drugs or drunks or stupid people. i wanted to join groups and do good things and be altruistic. i wanted and maybe still want to in some ways, serve people. because everyone else is more important than i am. its taken me a very long time - like a stubbornly long time that is actually exactly how long it would take me because thats exactly who the fuck i am - to admit that not all people are good. like even if 50% were good, even if 70% were good, there are billions of people on this planet so 30% would still be a fucking shit load of people that more than likely are walking past you on the street. they gotta live somewhere. you cant pretend like absolutely none of the bad people that clearly exist in the world dont exist around you. and unfortunately, and i'm still really stubborn on this, i think the number is higher in terms of bad people. i see a lot of bad people on a regular basis. not even associated with me. just out in the world, people doing shitty things to other people. so i think i could almost safely say atleast half of the worlds population are probably assholes. so to live in the belief that you are not important perpetuates a serious amount of trauma and abuse by the sheer number of assholes who exist on this planet. you actually need to be much better prepared in order to really sift through who is an asshole and who is not an asshole. if you think you're a piece of shit then no one is an asshole because whatever anyone does, they're better than you anyways so how could it be "bad". how can you "complain". it's not downgrading the trauma thats experienced - for example, my abusive ex, but knowing i wasnt important allowed me to stay in the relationship. i perpetuated the abuse by staying and accepting i wasnt important. when i left, it stopped. and even if i think i'm not important, at 27 years in, i really also don't like trauma and abuse. i do not like those feelings even if feeling important is not "important". but in order to stop trauma and abuse, the number one thing that must change is not feeling or believing me or my thoughts or emotions are important. what i regularly would deem as selfish is self-sufficient. it's survival. my stubbornness in believing the world is good is causing me serious harm. people are not all good, they do not all have good hearts but it's okay because some are good. all of them are human beings with flaws, but some are good human beings with flaws. so the fourth most important thing right now is breaking and creating connections with the "right" people. i am tired of drug users. i have been tired of drug users since i was sixteen and i am still tired of them now. i have never known a good drug user. i have never wanted to remain friends with one. i have never become a regular drug user. i am constantly embarassed and ashamed of the times i spent on drugs. it's okay to be alone if it means not spending time with people you're not going to do anything with anyways and you don't feel a good connection with. i want to be heard. right now, i'm not being heard. i believe thats a serious flaw in my closest relationship but i believe the voices in his head are screaming so loud, even when he's trying to listen, he can't hear anything past his own bullshit. it's not for lack of trying. i would love for him to be finished being friends with our mutual friend. ive not wanted to be friends for sometime but he didnt particularly care. even though i respect the time ive had with our mutual friend and the help hes given me and the time hes spent with me when ive been feeling down - he has never been helpful. he has also only ever fed me weed and even harder drugs when i have been particularly down. he has hindered my recovery many times and triggered issues. the only reason he is in my life is so i can buy weed easily. and that in itself might be causing an issue in my life. the other week he handed me this book, "i'm okay - you're okay". he told me it was basically what i try to say to him; not the contents, just the title. and i guess that sums it up -- what i'm doing is "okay" and what he is doing is "okay". it hurts, yeah. because i'm a human being with flaws and emotions and my own issues and other people - many other people, not just him - will trigger these issues. a lady at the hospital coldly said, "to me, it might be nothing, to you, it might be everything". but it's true -- this might be nothing to someone else. ive occassionally thought successful marriages have docile women who have accepted that men can be ignorant and aggressive people by nature. everyone seems to have a story of an overzealous over the top angry man - even if they were just angry and no one was harmed. but to me, it's everything. to me, it triggers immediate fear and a response of crying and wanting to run away beause something bad is going to happen. it's not just being yelled at - something bad will happen. when he screamed at me on the weekend, things shifted. i could feel a level of embarassment; it wasn't like he was really trying to prove something. he knew it was a disgusting display, immature and extremely unhelpful for my particular situation. he wanted to quickly sweep it aside - just as he did again today when he realized i wasnt actually trying to start "something".