Life may not be that simple, but I’ve been getting a lot of love for my fear lately.

Since being discovered by a classmate and making that post about Shame, I have received some really lovely messages from some really wonderful followers about my feelings, their feelings, and how they intersect. Moreover, I’ve gotten so much love and support that my heart is literally bursting. The kindness of strangers is unfathomable. But, then again, I suppose we’re not strangers.

I’ve been talking to my anonymous classmate and he’s actually a pretty chill person. I felt bad, he felt awful after I made that Shame post. It wasn’t directed at him, but I suppose he was concerned about the whole can of worms that got opened up.

This blog will not be shut down. Identity crises come and go, but the fact is this is the only journal I’ve ever been able to commit to, I’ve come into contact with so many beautiful and fascinating people through it, and I do not want to cut this outlet from my life. Because good ol’ Donnie Darko is right. Life isn’t that simple. I can’t let the fear overwhelm me and I can’t let the love make me cocky. I have to live within the entire spectrum of human experience.

So, thank you, followers, for your love, support and empathy as I process the shame and all the yucky stuff. You are the best readers a gal could ask for.

Shame

I didn’t like Shame when I saw it. To be honest, I didn’t really give it a fighting chance. I got together with friends and watched it with a ton of booze and we drank every time someone did something creepy and sexual. We couldn’t get the volume up high enough, we got wasted pretty fast and we just started making fun of all of it.

But, damn, the title was perfect for a movie of that nature. I don’t think I’m a sex addict, but I certainly have a lot of sexual secrets I carry around. And the dominant emotion surrounding them since I started becoming sexual is shame.

I felt shame when I was discovered by another student from Ivy University the other day. While he was totally friendly and promised to keep my secret safe, I still feel a little sick when I think about it. Part of me wishes he hadn’t contacted me, but part of me is sort of glad he did because it brought the issue of discovery to my attention. Because it could have been a lot worse.

I told my therapist about my blog tonight. Her face kind of dropped and when I pointed it out, she smiled and replied, “no, I’m not judging you. I’m just concerned. You know this is very dangerous.” The issues, she says, that I need to deal with here are whether or not I’m comfortable with being identified with the blog and why I actually have it in the first place.

Why is a matter of catharsis and exhibitionism. That’s easy. The first question is the harder one. And a lot of it is rooted in shame. The fact is that I’m ashamed of myself and the things I’m into. I’m ashamed of some of the things I’ve mentioned on here. While writing here has made me feel less ashamed behind the veil of anonymity, being associated with this writing would only make me even more ashamed.

There’s a part in Shame where Sassy Fassy is at his computer and his obviously named sister Sissy comes over and opens it. Maybe the sequence of events here is wrong, she may have opened it herself, but either way she sees just this stream of unavoidable porn and Michael Fassbender literally freaks out. He’s not angry about her finding the porn, I don’t think, so much as he is humiliated that he’s there, that is secret life has been accessed. It’s the reason why the movie is called Shame, in my now-sober opinion. While he’s completely unashamed at telling some guy that he’s ready to fuck the guy’s girlfriend, he’s ashamed of his sexual secrets only when those close to him find them.

When I told my therapist how many people followed this blog, her eyes widened. I realize I’m totally unashamed to tell hundreds of random strangers about my sex life and proclivities. I don’t even think twice about it because I guess I’m just anonymous, like Michael Fassbender’s character in the bar when he told someone he was going to fuck their girlfriend. He was, to that guy, a nobody. Here, on tumblr, I like to pretend I’m pretty much no one. I get messages from people, even couples, saying that they read my blog, that they relate to me, that this and that. And it’s strange to me because I feel like a stranger, so I feel unashamed.

To have someone pull part of my real self into this tumblr brought out a ton of my shame. Because I’m not just no one anymore. And I don’t want to have to be associated with this tumblr because, yeah, unfortunately, I am still ashamed of my sexuality. I don’t know how it would honestly get in the way of my life goals, but I don’t want my family finding out or acquaintances or anybody else. On the ride home from therapy, I considered what it would mean to be the person who was unashamed of all of my kinks. I’ve never been into munches or fetish clubs or public displays of kinkiness, but I tried to consider myself as one of those public sexperts or whatever.

And, honestly, I couldn’t. I’m not ready to be that person. So, as this blog nears a thousand followers, I’m debating what that really means. I used statcounter and was alarmed by the amount of hits this place gets a day. While it’s a great stroke to the ego, it’s also pretty terrifying. I don’t want to be outed, I don’t want to be discovered, I don’t want to be Think Ivy Kink aside from on this blog.

I’ve just got a lot of thinking to do. I know I don’t want to take this blog down, but, gosh, tumblr’s too small of a world. Discovery is terrifying. Shame is crippling.

So, I really want to go see this movie.

So does my mother.

This could either be the recipe for a really interesting afternoon together or one of the worst ideas ever.

I’ve been asked why I like Sasha Grey so much. And, to be honest, it’s not because of her porn. Sure, she’s a gorgeous woman with tremendous sex appeal, but a lot of her stuff is way too commercialized and cheesy. For all the really awesome stuff she does, there is some material that she attaches herself to that is just sort of “…come on”.

It’s more about her bravado and her attitude toward who she is and what she does. When she caught some heat for having an unshaven pussy on Entourage, she retorted that viewers could now see “what a real woman looked like”. When Tyra Banks gave her crap about her career, she defended herself maturely and eloquently. She’s amazingly unapologetic.

It’s hard for me sometimes not to feel ashamed of some of the things I like. So, yes, I admire the shit out of this woman. Also, just…come on…look at her.