By Kendra Holliday | October 7, 2017
In addition to offering surrogate sessions, I also entertain fetish exploration (and anything else I feel like!)
Often, a session only involves a condom and lube. Easy cleanup!
On more rare occasions, a session involves A LOT of cleanup. HA!
— Kendra Holliday (@TBK365) October 7, 2017
This week I had one of those… messy sessions. I affectionately refer to my extreme fetish clients as “pervs” or “sluts”. At first, they feel self-conscious about it, but over time, they realize my playground for perverts is safe, and they have fun with it.
Don’t get me wrong – I looove easy sessions that involve sensuality and TLC, but the freak sessions are pretty fun. I like creative sexuality and mixing it up! When I say, “Let your freak flag fly,” I mean it!!!
Here is a (dirty) laundry list of what we did in 90 minutes:
- Two days ago, I put him in a cock cage and sent him on his way to stew in his own juices.
- That means he had two days of foreplay. Wearing the cock cage puts him in a completely submissive state of mind. He’s like a whimpering, horned up puppy who wants to do anything for me.
- He arrived in his boring street clothes. I made him change into a turquoise bikini and hot pink dog collar. Cage remains on.
- I make him lick my pussy until I cum LOUD. He’s well trained to know what I like, right down to proper tongue strokes – we’ve been seeing each other for about two years!
- Satisfied, I pull down his bikini bottoms and slap his caged cock around. I affix a few clothes pins to his balls.
- I bend him over the bed, condom up a vibrating dildo and fuck him with it. He whimpers and wiggles like a little bitch.
- I take him down to the dungeon and make him my toilet. I have a brilliant contraption another client designed (he needs to market this!) It’s a commode with a cut out space for a head to fit in. It is my Throne. I place him on the concrete floor with his head in the opening. Then, I sit on the toilet seat, my powerful pussy positioned above his trapped head. I piss into his eager mouth, and he drinks my piss. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp… he will do anything for me.
- I make him shower and mouthwash.
- We go back to the bedroom and I FINALLY uncage him. Slowly.
- Liberated, he springs into action and begs to fuck me. I allow him to be a man. I put a condom on his free ranging dick and he fucks me. He loves my pussy. He is swimming in subspace and female energy.
- I stop him and insist he masturbate into the condom. I drizzle lube on him as he frantically jerks off. As I pinch his nipples and stroke his balls, I whisper filthy things in his ear that involve other men, gang bangs, dogs… he’s a cunt licker. He’s a piss drinker. He’s a cocksucker. He’s my whore. I put him on display for everyone to use however they want, like an interactive art display. I have him by the balls.
- He’s breathing like a steam engine and has an explosive orgasm in the condom. I inform him he is now a cum licker. I carefully peel off the sopping condom and squeeze the contents into his mouth. He greedily sucks it up and down and all around. I clamp a hand over his mouth and order him to swallow. Of course he does. He will do anything for me.
Before he left, he offered me a tip, which I graciously accepted. “It’s like a cleaning bill.”
By Kendra Holliday | September 26, 2017
We’re all inundated with spam like this:
“Want to be well hung, with a thick, muscular tool? Now you can”
“She gives me head EVERY night now that I have such a large pecker”
“The trophy can now be in your pants”
and my personal favorite:
“For anyone who has ever wished upon a star for a bigger dick, here is the answer.”
I love imagining some guy sitting there wishing on a star, but not for a pony like most people, but for the pony’s DICK.
I have to admit, I’ve only been with one micropenis in my life, and it was a shock. I think it would have gone over better had the guy said something to me ahead of time and not let me discover it on my own. Man was that awkward.
There’s a great documentary on the subject of penis size that was on BBC as part of a body image series. It’s called My Penis and Everyone Else’s.
The narrator of the film, Lawrence Barraclough, had to work hard at getting in to men’s pants and persuading them to let it all hang out. Granted some of his ideas are a little in-your-face, like when he walks around crowded streets wearing a sandwich board that proclaims loudly, “I WANT TO TALK ABOUT PENISES.”
At first Barraclough could only delve into the topic by speaking with experts and visiting sites online like measurection.com, a resource that focuses on penis insecurities. He also visits a sex toy factory that sells products such as “The Stallion Pump” and herbal enlargement pills. (Note: none of this stuff works.)
By Kendra Holliday | September 8, 2017
There’s a new non-monogamy book coming out October 6, and guess what? I wrote the Foreword!
It’s Called “Polyamory”: Coming Out About Your Nonmonogamous Relationships, by Tamara Pincus and Rebecca Hiles (Thorntree Press).
Below is my Foreword. You can pre-order the book now.
The year I came out was one of the most challenging in my life.
I was a divorced, white, bisexual cisgender woman who shared custody with my ex-husband. It was 2010 in St Louis, MO, the belt buckle of the bible belt. My daughter was 10. I owned my own home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I had just gotten a new job at a non-profit organization.
I thought I had the best of both worlds – by day I was a dutiful employee with good posture, proper grammar, and dressed from head to toe in layers of conservative clothes. By night, I was a live nude sex blogger, anonymously documenting my polyamorous life, never putting my face or name to the blog that’s motto was: “Be open and honest.”
I was already out to my partners and daughter, but not to my family and the community.
Through a technology glitch that connected my identity to my blog, my employer discovered my online musings, and it inflamed them. The top blog post at the time featured a threesome story with our girlfriend.
When they fired me, it was swift and severe. I hadn’t even had a chance to take off my coat when I walked into the office before the boss summoned me, her face a mask of fury.
Alarmed, I followed her to the room, where she closed the door and turned on me, icy eyes ablaze.
April 27, 2010 was the last time I was successfully slut shamed.
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” she hissed. “You’re acting like a 14 year old!”
I left the building, cheeks flushed, heart racing, completely stunned and cut loose. In an instant, I went from being a model employee to a monster.
By Kendra Holliday | September 2, 2017
The first page of the Hustler article.
I received this thoughtful letter in 2011, when my daughter was 11:
I just read your story that was in the latest Hustler.
We probably are in agreement 100% on most topics.
I personally feel that people are too uptight about sex and nudity in general and that if public nudity was allowed- everybody would worry a lot more about their health and appearance. Nudity would be the ‘norm’ instead of something ‘dirty’.
My personal opinion about sex– ‘So what?’ if you are not hurting anyone with your actions and everyone involved is consenting….have fun!
I don’t know how to ask this without it sounding mean and I don’t want it to come off that way.
My questions are these: I’m wondering what you think about your actions having such a negative affect on your daughter?
How are you handling this with her?
What do you tell her?
I’m just wondering, no offense intended.
Here is what I wrote back:
Thanks so much for thinking about my story and dropping me a line. I’m glad to hear we agree that sex and nudity are natural and nothing to be ashamed of. That is exactly what I am teaching my daughter.
She is learning about sexuality and nudity in a sex-positive, age appropriate manner. Therefore, she has a healthier attitude about sex at age 11 than the average American adult. She knows I am a sex-positive activist and supports my mission. She knows about my website, but she does not read it. She is not yet interested in sex.
It is my goal that by the time she is a legal adult, she can talk about her sexuality openly and honestly, without having to hide behind an alias like I did for many years. I’m proud to say I have taken many lumps, but it was worth it, because I can talk about sex and put my real name and face to it. It’s very liberating being able to be myself with my daughter, parents, family and partner. I want everyone to enjoy that level of freedom!
I think the U.S. is making great progress; I look forward to seeing how the sex-positive movement continues to unfold.
Then he wrote me back with:
“You’re such a smart lady! My wife and I support your efforts!”
which made me really happy.
2017 Update: My daughter is now 17. She is still not interested in sex, but is very sex-positive. We’ve been interviewed on a couple podcasts together – take a listen! I made the right choice to be open and honest with her, and myself. 🙂
By Kendra Holliday | August 30, 2017
|Like an ocean, love can be
expansive and fluid
Ed Note: This article was orginally published in July 2011 on BlogHer.
My partner and I have the perfect relationship. For us, anyway. We’ve been together for nine years. We’re not married, but are in a long-term relationship. We do not live together, preferring to keep our households, finances, and families separate. Autonomy suits us well.
To top it all off, we are polyamorous; meaning, our relationship is open, allowing us to experience intimate relationships with other people, such as dating, loving, and exploring sexually. Sometimes we do it together; other times, separately.
Sorry for bragging, but…
We don’t fight. We have amazing chemistry and enjoy an incredibly satisfying sex life. We have matching libidos and desire. We can’t get enough of each other. Our relationship is based on mutual worship and respect, and our number one rule when it comes to dating other people is they need to respect both of us.
Before I knew of polyamory, I thought I was defective and unfit to be in a relationship. After years of disappointing my partners, a series of men who enjoyed playing with the girlfriends I brought home, but freaked at the mere mention of another “sausage in the room,” I resigned myself to remaining single.
Then I met Matthew, who was recently divorced from his wife of ten years. What started out as a happy, traditional monogamous union with Matthew left his wife stifled and miserable. Determined not to repeat those same mistakes again, he took a leap and partnered with me, a renegade female who was in charge of her sexuality and knew what she wanted.
Honoring my atypical outlook on life, Matthew told me he would not hold me to a standard he was not willing to hold himself. So here we are four years later: a polyamorous couple in a sea of monogamy.
Our nation is one of serial monogamy. Polyamory applies the same concept of loving more than one person in a lifetime, the only difference being that these relationships overlap in the case of polyamory, because life is too short.
By Kendra Holliday | August 27, 2017
This happened in 2009…I learned some very valuable lessons – the hard way. 🙁I have to admit, I get a kick out of the fact that my partner Matthew is three years younger than me. Still, I have a thing for old men – as long as they have good hygiene and don’t wear old man cologne!
I told Matthew I was flirting with a 76 yr old fellow, and he commented wryly, “There you go, robbing the graveyard.”
Of course that prompted me to take it up a notch, so I found a cute 92 yr old man and sweetly charmed him. He asked me out on a date, and I accepted.
Leonard was born in 1916. Last year he lost his dear wife of 60 years. It’s not the first time I’ve dated a widower.
He’s legally blind, has a hearing aid, and uses a cane. Of course I drove.
I passed a couple people in motorized carts as I walked down the senior living center hallway. I knocked on his door wearing a pretty dress, and he answered wearing a summer suit and tie. I LOVE when a man dresses up for a date. It shows respect.
I asked, “Where’s your cane?”
He dismissed it gruffly with the wave of his hand. “I’m not taking it!”
It was a good excuse for us to hold hands. We were holding hands as we walked into the restaurant. I wonder if people thought I was his granddaughter.
He told me sweetly, “It is a real honor to be on a date with the likes of you. I feel real proud.”
I said coyly, “Is that a snap button shirt, Leonard?”
He said, “Why, yes it is. I find them easy to get on and off.”
I clapped my hands. “I LOVE snap button shirts! Can I unsnap it tonight?”
That cracked him UP. He blushed and said sure.
After dinner we went back to his place. I’ve never partied in a retirement community, so that was a new experience for me.
By Kendra Holliday | August 23, 2017
The other day I tweeted about how I loved a good mindfuck, and a few people asked me what I meant.
A mindfuck can mean many things. It can be finding out the 22 year old Swedish woman you’ve been having cybersex with is actually a 43 year old man from Alabama.
It can be finding out the knife blade your Dominant is running up and down your back as you’re strapped facedown is actually a wooden skewer.
But my favorite kind of mindfuck is one that really challenges me and pushes my limits. When I engage in BDSM activities, I’m more interested in the mental aspects than the physical. I’m not a masochist. I’m a sensualist. I use BDSM play to safely act out the things we’re not supposed to do in society.
We’re not supposed to hit people.
We’re not supposed to pee on people.
We’re not supposed to use people.
We’re not supposed to say hurtful things to people.
But all those primal id desires lurk under the surface. You can repress them, feel guilty about them, or you can use healthy outlets to exercise them. Some people work out, play video games, or leave rude comments anonymously on websites.
I prefer to “work the kinks out” in the bedroom.
Every once in a while, I like being treated like a worthless piece of shit, but it has to be on my own terms, and with someone I trust.
My loving partner is capable of flipping a switch and assuming the role of a hateful motherfucker. This man, who deeply respects me, can unleash some intense wrath on me that leaves me quaking in my boots. I love the moment when his eyes go cold and I feel genuine fear. It’s like riding a roller coaster – terribly exhilarating.
He’ll piss on me, drag me by my hair, use my holes, and tower over me and utter the most unspeakable things – things about my body, things about my past, things about my father and mother – all the things I feel most vulnerable about.
Why do I enjoy this? Because it’s a way of facing my fears. It makes me stronger. It challenges the truth. It penetrates me deeply. It’s incredibly personal and intimate – you can’t do that with just anyone.
I can use my safeword if it gets too intense, and after the scene he administers aftercare, babying me for hours. I love how he can be so fierce one moment and tender the next. I’m in awe of his emotional scope. The resolution is so satisfying – you don’t get that kind of closure in real life. The roleplaying heals old wounds – much better than putting a band-aid on them.
I suppose you need high self-esteem in order to successfully pull off this sort of edgeplay. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it in my 20’s, no way, I was too insecure and soft.
I wasn’t ready to face my fears. I wanted to avoid them. Not anymore.
I’m proud of my personal growth and empowerment.
What about you – what’s your idea of a mindfuck? Do you address your deepest fears?
By Kendra Holliday | August 18, 2017
I see symbolism in EVERYTHING.
I go through life trying my best to PAY ATTENTION. Adding layers to daily life makes things so much more beautiful, meaningful, and intriguing.
Example 1: Noticing tree branches swaying in the breeze like whispers. What are they saying?
Example 2: Coming home to find a murder of crows in my front yard after buying the ingredients for a dessert I’m making for a Halloween party that’s being held in July.
Example 3: Finding a slug on my foot after walking barefoot in the grass at midnight.
So it’s exciting for me to see an entire country FREAK THE FUCK OUT about the total solar eclipse happening right in my neighborhood.
That means they get it, right??
They’re not AFRAID of it – they are in AWE of it.
The image of the moon cloaking the sun
reminds me of so many other images, including this one of my eyeball taken during LASIK surgery
By Kendra Holliday | August 17, 2017
A few years ago, I learned about Mature Metal, a company that makes high quality stainless steel male chastity devices. This is the blog post I wrote a while back regarding cock cages. And now, THIS is a long awaited follow up post!
One of my long term clients helped make my Mature Metal dream come true. He and I have enjoyed an extremely intimate relationship for more than a year. He’s such a creative motherfucker! We’ve done pegging, cock n ball torture, sissification, flogging, roleplay…
He wanted to try male chastity, so I insisted we do it right. Together, we logged on to the Mature Metal site and did research. They have a FAQ page, a fitting guide, and more.
Still, we had questions, so we called their customer service number. Right away, a real live person answered the phone, and was so helpful and friendly!
Matter-of-factly, he asked what we were using to measure with. When we told him string and a tape measure, he informed us that was not a reliable way to go. He recommended we order the sizing ring kit in order to ensure better accuracy.
I’m glad we did! This was a big investment. The rings arrived quickly, and we scheduled another measuring meeting. We had to meet about three times before we placed the cage order in order to make sure the size was right. You have to measure the flaccid cock, as well as the circumference of the cock and balls, and just the cock.
By Kendra Holliday | August 13, 2017
My friend Steffy tipped me off to a Women’s Clinic that worked for her. They really care about their clients, and they don’t jack up the prices like some of the clinics do.
Still, I had to pay out of pocket because they were out-of-network with my lackluster health insurance. Each visit cost about $150.
They suggested I do a spit test for hormone levels, as that is more accurate than blood. So I did that, and they provided me with a very detailed report. I was impressed with how thorough and efficient they were.
It turns out that not only was a little high on testosterone, but I was also high on stress hormones (duh) and very low on progesterone and estrogen. So they prescribed a plant based hormone cream specifically designed for me, to be applied at bedtime. I replaced the Paxil with this hormone elixir. It cost about $115 (not covered by insurance of course).
I felt immediate relief!
And I got my orgasms back after three days or so off Paxil. It was weak and like watery waves, but I wept with joy all the same!
SO GLAD TO HAVE MY ORGASMS BACK.
And more energy! I felt motivated and positive. I was getting shit done! Woo hoo!
The hormones help A LOT, but they don’t erase the symptoms altogether. They certainly make them more manageable.
In addition to the whoremones, here is what else I keep in my menopause survival kit (keep in mind this is what works for ME – every person is different. It’s important to experiment and find what works for you.)
- a spray bottle of water in fridge to spritz on myself for immediate relief
- ice packs
- all those heat pads I used to put on my tummy for menstrual cramps – now I was freezing them and putting them on my neck!
- glass dildo in fridge for quick core cool down 😉
- FIJI water – mmm, electrolytes
- Whenever possible, I get 10,000 steps in each day. I take a dawn walk, a day walk, and a dusk walk. Helps me keep in touch with nature/trees/sun/flowers…
- T-Balance Plus thyroid supplements – helps with night sweats
- Cheryl’s Herbs
I’m so glad I figured this all out through lots of research and trial and error. Before I had this kit, I was non-functional – sobbing, lying on the couch, useless. Four psychotic episodes. There are entire weeks during the months of June and July I can’t remember – pics on my phone I don’t recall taking. That’s some scary shit!
I’m so glad I’m feeling better.
I’m pretending this stage of my life is about being reborn as a witch. It feels magical and other worldly – a painful and beautiful process. I’m sure there will be ups and downs, but I’m fortunate to have a strong support system in place. My family and friends have been so compassionate and understanding.
And it’s providing me with much wisdom and perspective so that I can continue helping others who are struggling with life’s curve balls.
And you know what else? It’s kind of awesome living in a man’s world with a man’s thermostat. It’s nice not having to bundle up every time I go to the grocery store or a movie theater!
By Kendra Holliday | August 13, 2017
Throughout this whole six month ordeal, my sex drive remained strong. In fact, it was even stronger! Instead of drying up, I was firing up.
I had more male energy. I felt juicy and sizzling like a steak on a grill. My friend Joan Price maintains that if you have a healthy libido before menopause, you will likely retain it after you go through the life change.
Needless to say, my sexuality is vitally important to me. So it sucked to start taking Paxil. I knew what was coming, and it wasn’t going to be me!
Many medications, especially anti-depressants, affect desire and orgasm.
The first day I started taking it, I vibed it out and came just fine.
The second day, I could cum.
The third day, it was an effort, and the orgasm was not the best.
The fourth day, my orgasms ghosted.
They were gone.
Still, I kept up with pleasuring myself daily. I tried to enjoy the sensations without the satisfying climax.
I was able to get off with partners, but it was different. It was coming from a different place – like my breath, instead of my clit.
I tried different methods of self-pleasure, but nothing worked that well. (Check out fellow sex blogger Crista Anne’s #OrgasmQuest chronicles!)
Oddly, my fantasy Rolodex no longer worked for me! Usually, I flip through the rich and perverse fantasy catalog in my brain until something grabs me by the clit and does the trick for me. Now, all of my favorite scenarios were as dull as dirt. Uncle seducing niece at a family pool party? Yawn. A sexy couple teaching a curious girl about sex? Ho hum.
I promised myself I would take Paxil for at least a month to give it time, but I broke that promise. After three weeks of taking it, I tapered off and replaced it with something that was a MUCH better fit for me…
By Kendra Holliday | August 13, 2017
At my yearly physical last June, I talked to my doctor about my drinking problem.
He didn’t offer me much help. He’s a good man, but the system has his hands tied.
This year, I came to him with an even BIGGER problem – my menopause madness. I was at death’s door, but still raging.
I begged for blood work, and told him I was in a desperate situation. Of course the office air conditioning wasn’t working. I was SO hot and bothered.
He automatically prescribed Paxil, which has been studied with menopause symptoms.
I knew it would fuck with my sex drive/orgasms, but I just almost died, so I figured it was worth a shot. Better to find a stopgap while I searched for relief.
After the doctor appointment, I loaded up on ice and cold drinks, and went to Tower Grove Park. I communed with my tree friends. Being under a tree is like church for me.
I like how trees have roots that run deep, and they also have branches that reach to the sky. Which brings me to birds. I have an affinity to birds, as well. And butterflies.
If you visit my house, you can see this for yourself – my house is full of plants, birds, and butterfly imagery. It is definitely a fairy cottage.
This is why I hate hospitals so much – I dropped out of nursing school because I realized that even though I wanted to help people heal, I couldn’t work under fluorescent lights and with no windows to the outside world.
ANYWAY, I got my blood work back, and everything was normal enough. No diabetes, thyroid is fine, etc. My testosterone was a little higher than normal, but no big deal.
I continued to ice myself down, and made an appointment with a Women’s Clinic that specializes in hormone therapy. You have to be careful when it comes to choosing a clinic – some are really expensive and don’t care about you, but I heard good things about this one.
Meanwhile, I reluctantly started taking the Paxil. And then, of course this happened…
By Kendra Holliday | August 12, 2017
I’d like to blame Trump for my alcoholism, but in all fairness, I’ve been dealing with it for the past couple years.
Menopause and the current social climate has made it much worse, so I’ve been trying to get it under control.
But goddamn it’s a STRUGGLE.
Like this woman.
I started going to therapy in February after my first breakdown, and to help me deal with my teen daughter and my aging parents. I take care of so many people – not just family, but clients. I love it so much, but it can get overwhelming.
It became clear that I was self-medicating with alcohol.
And menopause symptoms are very similar to alcoholic symptoms, or withdrawal symptoms, or other mental illness.
I’ve found myself addicted to alcohol, as well as social media/the internet. It makes me feel weak! I want to be STRONG!
At first I was deeply ashamed of being a lush, but I’ve had time to process and research it, and I’m fine talking about it.
I’m currently an active, high functioning alcoholic. The book Drinking: A Love Story by Caroline Knapp seems to capture my experience very well. (I was bummed to learn the author died at age 42 of lung cancer!) I love my work, I have great relationships and community, a fabulous daughter, a lovely little home. I’ve worked hard to overcome past trauma. My core beliefs include being open and honest – I have nothing to hide. I’m one of the freest people I know. I live a rich and beautiful life. My mantra is Replace the Fear with Love.
So what the fuck?? Why am I struggling like this? I read Chasing the Scream – I know the causes of addiction and why people self-medicate in order to deal with pain, neglect, and isolation.
I’ve been to three AA meetings, and they are great. I’ve been reading the Big Book.
I’ve also attended one Moderation Management meeting, which was great, too. They have a book on Responsible Drinking.
I’ve noticed the AA crowd seems to be more of the “rock bottom” type who use alcohol to avoid responsibility, whereas the MM folks are more perfectionists cracking under the pressure of doing ALL the things.
Of course, this is a gross generalization based on four experiences. I want to attend more of each.
I’m also keenly interested in the Sinclair Method, which utilizes therapy and a drug called Naltrexone. I’ve been begging health professionals for a prescription to this medication for the past two years, but no one will prescribe it to me. I have no idea if this would affect my sex life, but would like to find out.
I looked into out-patient treatment, but was quoted $10,000 WITH insurance.
I have a list of a few other resources I still need to dig into – Empower Psych Centers, Beat Addiction St Louis, Smart Recovery, Refuge Recovery, Harris House, White House Retreat, …. the list goes on, and is overwhelming. I have a hard time knowing where to start, so then I put it off until the next day.
I’m constantly justifying my drinking. I drink to celebrate, I love the ritual, I drink to cope and slow down. I drink almost every day, and it’s not good for my body.
So yeah, that’s another thing I’m dealing with right now.
By Kendra Holliday | August 12, 2017
In February, I got blindsided by a mental breakdown.
In June, I almost killed myself.
What happened between Feb and June?
The meltdown in February made me think I was going insane. My mom has a long history of severe mental illness, and my daughter struggles with it, too, so I figured it was finally my time to succumb to it.
But why was it happening? What changed in my brain to set off this explosion of uncontrollable behavior?
I started keeping track of my severe symptoms.
I noticed it happened about once a month. Feb was acute. March was intense. April was mild. May was madness. June was the worst.
About once a month, I would freak the fuck out. I would explode like a volcano. I raged. I paced. I begged. I screamed. I spoke in tongues. It felt like going into labor.
I remember when my water broke with my daughter 17 years ago, I felt the same feeling of fight or flight. The birthing process was water rage – this was fire rage.
I saw stars. My psyche cracked open. I sobbed. The pain and beauty was too much.
All my life, I’ve been cold. I hated ice water, air conditioning. I’d bring sweaters or blankets to grocery stores, movie theaters, offices.
Now, I was SO FUCKING HOT. I was guzzling ice water. I was a wild animal.
The heat would boil up in my chest and erupt out of my crown.
My entire body felt electrified, throbbing, pulsing, crackling.
I had four psychotic episodes leading up to my planned suicide. I needed to get away from this. I needed it to end.
through the fog and confusion, I realized I was dealing with hormones.
Like most people, I had an intense puberty experience as a teenager. Pregnancy was a big fucking deal. And now I was entering menopause, which is like puberty all over again, but turned inside out.
HORMONES ARE REAL.
Now to be clear, my experience is unusual. Some people have no issues, some have a few hot flashes and irritability.
Due to my hysterectomy, sensitivity, and genetic makeup, I was experiencing severe symptoms.
Similar to this woman.
Mood swings, suicidal thoughts, irritability, insomnia, depression, anxiety, fatigue, bloating, weight gain, hot flashes that last for days, night sweats, chest pains and palpitations, brain fog… GRIEF.
The day after my near death experience, I went right to my doctor and DEMANDED bloodwork.
I wanted to know my hormone levels. I wanted to try medicine before death.
I couldn’t drive, so I had a friend take me. He also took me to the park, so I could lie under the trees.
In my mad state, all trees were beings to me, not objects. I felt connected to them. They pulsed and whispered to me.
Now I understand why women back in the day were treated for hysteria, or condemned as witches.
I could barely function.
That night, I hosted a whore hangout, and I had to lie on the floor for it. I begged a friend to bring a chilled bottle of champagne to pour over my naked body in the bathtub, which she did, much to my bright delight.
Which brings me to the next tricky piece of this puzzle…
By Kendra Holliday | August 12, 2017
This SCARY thing started happening to me back in February, and I didn’t know what it was.
I WAS LOSING MY MIND.
My first episode occurred the same day I impulse bought a grandfather clock – how timely!
Have you ever impulse bought anything? This year, here are two things I impulse bought:
a grandfather clock, and a funny shaped sweet potato.
I like blaming my daughter for the goddamn limited edition Howard Miller heirloom clock. We stopped by a furniture store that was going out of business. I was looking for candles or something. I saw a wall of grandfather clocks and mentioned casually to my daughter, “My great uncle used to build grandfather clocks. I’ve always wanted one.”
That’s why I have one in my dollhouse, as well as a roll top desk. My grandfather had a roll top desk. I never imagined I would have either of those things in real life, any more than I can imagine myself owning an orange muscle car or 5 bedroom house for hosting orgies. They are too fancy and expensive.
My daughter marched right up to the salesperson and said, “Would you please help my mother? She wants to buy a clock.”
I sputtered in protest, but decided to find out the price. It was 50% off, so I went ahead and YOLO’ed and got it.
After I bought it, I felt the same anxiety I get after I book a ticket to Europe. WHAT HAVE I DONE? IT’S SUCH A COMMITMENT!