I outlined this blog post and honestly debated just leaving it as a messy outline the way I did in a previous post. But I want to craft it a little. I’ve been crafty lately. DIY has always been a big part of my life, whether due to punk ethics, queer community, or disability survival. When the pandemic hit, narratives exploded around these identities and more, and I knew I had to create a post. It was just a matter of time and space. Now and here we go.
I write most of my posts when everything in life explicitly overlaps to the point where it feels like universes are collapsing into one another and everywhere I look is a sign to put my fingers on the keyboard. Right now I am writing as the sun sets on my porch, reclined on my Liberator Chaise to ease my back still aching from the six epidurals I received three weeks ago. I rushed these epidurals, paying out of pocket because my sciatic flare was so bad I could barely walk. I knew COVID-19 was about to shut the world down, and I invested an entire paycheck knowing that most elective procedures were not going to be available soon. What I put out of my head until my orthopedist firmly reminded me, is that the five extra shots given due to resistant scar tissue were five extra doses of immunosuppressing cortisone. This is something I still continue to shove from my consciousness, as my concerns for loved ones have put my sense of self on the backburner. My mother and father tested positive for COVID-19 over three weeks ago, and my mother has suffered greatly. It was not until four days ago that her fever finally broke and she was able to breathe without coughing. I’m not much for prayer, but I pretty much told everyone and anyone close to me with the hopes that we could all send a little bit of energy her way, and I think that might have done the trick.
I’m also working every day at PROUD now, answering the phones, helping patients figure out how to navigate telemedicine and listening to their worries and fears during this difficult time. I’ve had horrible impostor syndrome as media latches on to the notion of “Frontline Heroes,” as I am not technically on a front line, nor do I feel like a hero. I am here because I need to be. I am here to support my community and I am here because I need the fucking money. My coworker, a veteran, blew my mind when she said “How do you think vets feel when they get thanked for their service? What if they’ve never been deployed? What if they’ve never been in combat?” Imposter syndrome, like comparison, is addictive. I’ve been doing a lot of comparing lately, and in addition to the overlaps with compassion fatigue, it gets dark and suffocating a lot of the time.
Everything is overlapping whether I like it or not. The times when I was able to celebrate how interconnected my life is are now becoming very confusing, and I’m having difficulty pulling positivity from it. I’m lying on the chaise, typing with bookcases in the background filled with literature on sexuality, disability, mental health, and theory. The sun beats on my face and I smile with gratitude for the Vitamin D and Wellbutrin coursing through my veins, the bowl of medical marijuana awaiting ignition upon completion of this post. Medical marijuana prescribed to me for back pain and PTSD. As though those things were mutually exclusive. As though any of this could ever be separated.
But something clicked last night during the full moon. I cleansed the pendulum given to me by my aunt and began a ritual of gratitude, hope, and awareness. A ritual of existing in the present, moving and breathing with intentionality but also sensing that there is so much beyond my control. I journaled, writing down thoughts and stopping at moments to realize that the thoughts were aligning with lyrics from Air’s Moon Safari. I didn’t even register that the word “Moon” is in the album title. I chose it for how it felt and what it has done for my life in terms of holding ritual, of making space. I drank my tea in gulps of three, closing my circle with a tea reading that settled into an array of valerian resembling a jaw. Stubbornness, tension, inability to let go, buckling down onto disintegration to the point of self-injury. Caz suggested it could relate to my TMJ, which is equally true. My SLAP tear has been unbearable lately as I chew my cheek with fluctuations of anxiety. It figures my jaw connects the right shoulder I would normally use to masturbate.
Which I do, sporadically, for reasons I choose not to name, reasons I choose not to align with this current discourse of masturbation as healing and therapeutic. I know chemically this can be true, but I wonder where the dissonance is when people speak about trauma and isolation in challenging households, how disability needs more recognition now that we are all quarantined, and yet nobody is talking about how masturbation can trigger a whole world of trauma around those very things. How baking bread and doing push-up challenges is not only an inaccessible coping mechanism but also potentially downright harmful.
I push back against bloggers who contribute to the hype of “universally” liked toys or lubes. I push back against a lot. So I guess I’m consistent when I say that jerking off has been really problematic with regards to my dysphoria, dysmorphia, and living with my ex.
Spring is happening. A friend mentioned a reimagining of seasonal depression as the flowers bloom and plants grow and yet we are adjusting to a closing in. The circles of life and death are wobbly in flow; another friend keeps reminding people in his Instagram feed that this is all “temporary,” which stung during the days where I feared my mother was about to die. My best friend from childhood left this earth voluntarily in 2012, leaving behind an association with magnolias. I see these trees from my porch and do not wince; I remember Katie as a presence who has never left. I know they were beginning to bloom into their own understandings of gender before they left. I wince more at using their birth name, as I know they were considering using a different name but never got the chance. I can’t fall into imagining what the world would be like for Katie right now. I couldn’t let myself drown in the “what-if’s” during my mom’s illness. I can’t speculate when the next time I’ll get to eat sushi is or if Mike will ever want to make love to me again.
What I can do is put my belly into the sun (thank you Shayne), squeeze a giant prismatic unicorn (thank you Simon), and sift through these photos of the items I am about to review (thank you Kathleen).
In terms of alignment and overlap, I am in the process of revamping a previous sex toy presentation for my LGBTQ+ Issues Social Work course due in a few weeks. I aim to talk about sex toys and sexual orientation, gender identity, gender expression, and how they are richly indicative of the evolution of the field as a whole. I am also crafting a presentation for PROUD about gender affirming products and the companies who provide them. Which reminds me, I’ve just recently affiliated with NYTC, which was a collaboration long overdue.
Every year I write a blog post about Pride in June, usually picking a toy as a vehicle for my thoughts. I don’t even know what Pride is going to look like this year. Everything is online now, condensed to any media consumable from the fingerprints of our phones, to mice, to remotes. Pride has already exploded into media over the last years with rainbow capitalism, and now that it’s likely to be entirely digital, I cannot fathom the oversaturation we are about to experience as a community. How Pride coverage informs accessibility will be fascinating and mercurial. I figured this post might as well talk about Pride before that point of inundation.
People are right when they say communities have been taking advantage of online formats long before the pandemic. I think about lying on the beach in Asbury Park this summer as I tuned in to Lizxnn Cobalt Chrome’s Collaboration with Colleagues presentation for Ducky Doolittle’s Sex Ed Skillshare Series. The webinars were free, they were formed by our unique specialties and intersections with the field of sexuality, they were transcribed and recorded, and they were absolutely fucking brilliant. They were also sponsored by amazing companies like Blush, SheVibe, Kink Academy, and Peepshow Toys. This meant that each webinar featured a giveaway to those attending. And since I attended damn near every session, I won a couple of awesome items from Blush. One was a body-safe dilator kit with soft, rounded silicone for comfort, perfect for all types of bodies, even ones like mine which have experienced “vaginal atrophy” (blech I hate that term) after going on testosterone. The straight and narrow flexibility of each dilator, plus the rounded tip means nothing pokey, nothing unnecessarily scraping against a G-spot, just a range of fit in four different sizes.
My favorite win, however, was the Blush Wellness G-Curve. Strong vibrations with plus and minus buttons to cycle through strength and modes, plus vibration modes that don’t make my junk feel like it’s being jolted by an alarm or forced to keep up with a cha-cha. It’s made with silky smooth silicone, a light lavender color as per the branding of the Wellness line, and holds a charge really, really well. The curve of vibrator isn’t so drastic that it scrapes my insides, but the head is nicely rounded with a broad distribution of vibes to make it really wonderful externally. The vibes are strong but quieter than any other vibrator I’ve ever had. It’s a no-nonsense vibrator and it just feels right to have it in my life.
Blush has done a lot for the LGBTQ+ world, not just because their Avant Pride line is all different colors of gender and sexuality flags, but by how they have touched deeper parts of these communities. Their fundraiser for local LGBTQ+ youth organizations last year provided a generous donation to both the Masakhane Center and the Ali Forney Center. I know at Masakhane this has meant so much for us as many of the toys we use during our toy trainings and condom demonstrations come from Blush. The fact Blush makes their products so affordable and body safe, plus the multifunctionality of each item, combined with their missions in social justice leaves me again in adoration and gratitude.
I previously reviewed the Avant Beyond, a plug made with the colors of the genderqueer flag. Being genderqueer and queer in general has been the closest identity I have ever understood, and although purple and green are my favorite color combination, it has been a challenge to find genderqueer flag representation in a lot of Pride products.
I recently bought the True Blue from Blush’s Avant Pride line, a dildo using the colors of the transgender flag with unique curvature and a slim profile. It was a crucial addition to my collection of Pride-themed toys, but it wasn’t until I first used it when I appreciated how interconnected it was in terms of aesthetic and function. Frankly, I can’t take thick dildos anymore. I either end up sore and achy for days or nursing brutal urinary tract infections from the friction, no matter how much lube. The True Blue is thin enough to fit perfectly inside of me, long enough to help me feel like I’m actually being penetrated, and the placement of the curves offers just enough G-Spot stimulation without too much pressure. It has the added squish and bend to conform to my innards, but somehow still has a suction base with enough heft to grab onto when thrusting. It’s a perfect blend of shore, length, width, and usability. A perfect overlap.
Time has been exploded for a lot of folx lately. People I talk to are experiencing Circadian disruption for what may be the first time in their lives. Some days fly by where others are brutally slow, mushing together until we forget what a “case of the Mondays” may ever have meant. We’re all traveling through this differently, figuring out what works and what doesn’t at our own pace, making memories while forgetting others, grasping for comfort and pleasure through familiarity, newness, and everything in between. I may not masturbate the way I used to. I do and don’t know what’s in the future. I know I have this toy presentation due, I know I am taking a shower in fifteen minutes, I know Masakhane just got our presentation approved for Sex Down South in September, and yet I don’t know the struggles of tomorrow or what people are feeling on levels beyond checkout lines and social media. I don’t know if anyone will read this post, but as I am slowly coming to re-realize again and again, some things I just need to do for me. Whether that is rediscovering the erotic joy of writing this the sunlight as the good Lorde intended or listening to my mind/body when it tells me it is time to end this post.
I wish you wellness, pleasure, safety, and peace. These may not be realities, but I can hold them in my heart as wishes. Take care of yourselves and survive in the best way you know how, if you can, if you want. I love you.