Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 6: The Fear of Being Me

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 6: 

The Fear of Being Me

The world is a strange place... some might even call it fucked up. I know I sure do.

I've been mostly quiet on social media as of late. I've been doing a lot of soul searching as it were. And by soul searching, I guess I really mean getting drunk and contemplating why I am getting drunk.

The answer is simple - I am afraid of who I am going to be when sobriety hits. I'm afraid that being sober will prove to me just how boring I am as a human being.

Drinking every night allows me to not care.

If I'm drinking I get to relax, unwind, and just not give a fuck about what I'm doing and who I am. It's like hitting snooze on reality. I'm able to hit that button and, internally, pretend I'm a youthful twenty-something drinking the night away in my old apartment while watching 'Lost' or 'Stargate SG-1' reruns at midnight...

My kids are young and they know what Bourbon is. They know what beer is. And they know that Daddy drinks one of them with dinner all the time and pretty much any time he's outside...

And that shit needs to stop.

I'm not sure if I can Cold-Turkey that shit... But I need to change. I know I do.

I'm living a life chronically under-hydrated. I wake every night around 2am when the alcohol wears off and my body remembers that the Check Engine light came on months ago. I am grossly out of shape for a man who used to run 5 miles at a 6-minute mile pace.

And there is my goal... to run 5 miles. In one go. Without stopping. Not at a 6-minute pace... but I'd be happy with 8 or 9.

To achieve this goal, I'm going to need to do a few other things before then...

First, I'll need to lose some weight. Right now I'm riding a less-than-healthy 20 extra lbs of swinging Dad-Bod than just over a year ago... and it's not very sexy or conducive to running. I think my knees would literally fucking explode should I try to run in my current shape. This will require a new way of eating. Not eating an entire bag of chips is a good start... as well as smaller portions, more water, less sugar, less chocolate, and more getting up off my ass throughout the day.

Second, I'll need to find time to work out/get up and moving. Right now I work all day, but there is time in there for me to move stuff around. I need 3-4 days a week where I can get out of the house and move. Just move. Walk, jog, hike, bike, and not be a stationary body.

Third, I'll need to curb my drinking. I'm willing to allow myself 1 night... 2 on special occasions to have a drink or unwind. As much as I'd like to go full-on sober... I'm not dumb enough to believe I can.

So - today is April 18, 2021... I will start this week with small, manageable steps. Chicken and rice for lunch... more salads and green, leafy things. Less fried food and pizza... and more water.

Who knows, maybe somewhere down below the layers of alcoholic fog and denial, I might find out that I'm a decent human being with some good, hidden talents. Jesus... I am capable to doing a lot with my current state and I feel like it's driving with the parking brake on. Maybe I'll level up... Maybe I'll blow up. Either way - it could be an interesting journey.

So - Maybe this blog will be less about how much I've been drinking and more about the changes I see in myself. Or maybe I'll just abandon this blog and this persona... leave it behind and forge ahead.

I still love sex, drinking, hentai, sex, more sex, and all the things therein... but Lady Bourbon and I have grown so much in the last 2 years that this persona is no longer needed as the emotional pressure release valve as it used to be...

Who knows.

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 5: The Other Side

  Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 5: 

The Other Side

Today is Sunday, March 7, 2021... And we are 351 days into the "new normal" forced upon the Bourbon household by the Coronavirus pandemic.

That's right... just under a year ago, I went into work only to find that the governor had closed everything... so I went home looked at Lady Bourbon and said "Well, fuck..." Then the serious drinking began. In a few weeks, we put down literally GALLONS of bourbon, wine, and vodka... And even though we tried to remain upbeat and positive - it's not always easy. As a person with Catastrophobia - as described in the blog entry "There are many anxieties... but this one is mine" - I immediately went to "Well, this will end up like 'The Road' or 'The Stand' before it's over!" - and then I began to plan. And then I continued to have massive anxiety... and depression... and fear... and I coped with it by downing more and more alcohol.

Day drinking? Check.

Night time drinking? Check.

Drinks with dinner? Check.

Drink drink drink drink drink... then suffer through nightmares of PTSD and fear over what would happen in the coming months. It was a really good time for the ole Dr. B.

Some time around June... 3 months into the lockdown/pandemic bullshit, I started going back to the VA hospital for treatment. They assigned me a new shrink - she's not very good, but she offers some outside perspective that I wouldn't normally have so that's good. (Example: My need to plan and prepare probably comes from my departure from Iraq. The unit replacing us decided to ignore our hand-off plans when we left. One week later, 8 of them were dead from an IED.) Then I got assigned an actual psychiatrist and not just a therapist... and this one, despite not knowing me from Adam, offered to put me on some antidepressants.

Look - I am normally 100% against being medicated. I've seen too many of my brothers-in-arms be turned into zombies because the VA just throws pills down their throats and sends them on their way. After holding out for 5 months, I called them up and decided to finally take them up on the offer. Drinking and pretending to be okay just wasn't cutting it.

Now, 3 months into these new meds... I feel like a fucking superstar. And not just the drug-induced false thoughts of "I don't care! La la la la!" - I actually recognize the difference in how things are being processed in my brain... I can actually feel myself regaining my sense of self that I once had way back in the "good old days" of the late 90s. Before 9/11. Before leaving home for Iraq... And I love the way it feels now. I love that I no longer feel that weight of doom and gloom bearing down on me over every little thing. I love the fact that these meds are, in fact, helping to rewrite my brain chemistry to be the way it was before the trauma. Before I lost my sense of happiness and light. The Bourbon of yester-year.

I've come out of the long, dark tunnel that I've been walking through for so long. And the other side is wonderfully lit. It is full of luscious green grass, and the sweet smell of flowers and life. The storm clouds are still there in the distance. I can see them. I can still hear the thunder... but I'm enjoying this patch of golden sunshine. It feels like home.

It feels like going home again.

Am I still drinking?

Oh, fuck yes. I'm an alcoholic. I can't just turn that shit off. I do, however, enjoy that I've been drinking less. 1 bottle now lasts the week instead of the weekend. I go to bed almost every night at 10:00 instead of midnight or 1am...

The tunnel I've been in for so long was dark. There were window and open spaces here and there, but every time, I'd head back into the dark. I've had friends along the way for part of the journey. I've had Lady Bourbon walking hand-in-hand through most of this journey... and she got me through the hard parts.

My hope is that this re-found sense of happiness and self-worth will allow me to help others. Maybe I can help Lady Bourbon with her anxieties. Maybe I can just be happy with being me and not give a shit about the rest of the world... Who knows.

I just know that I feel so much better today compared to one year ago.

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 4: Bibo Ergo Sum

 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 4: 

Bibo Ergo Sum

The problem with giving up a crutch - be it smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, porn... whatever - is that you HAVE to want to give it up. And therein lies the biggest problem in getting sober/clean.

A year ago (10 months ago) I quit smoking at the start of lockdown. Cold turkey. Just threw them out and haven't smoked a cigarette since then.

And I fucking LOVE to smoke. I mean, seriously - smoking was awesome. I loved lighting up, getting that smell of the tobacco igniting for the first time, and feeling it fill my lungs with the sweet awesomeness of nicotine. But I knew that it was a bad idea. Especially when you see the news about a raspatory illness that is literally killing people all over the world. That made the decision easier for me. As did the lockdown... I no longer spent 2 hours in the car every day. I no longer worked every day with 11 other smokers. I removed those things from my life and BOOM - I quit smoking. 

But as I contemplate sobriety I struggle with the desire to quit as I am a high-functioning alcoholic. 

Drinking is literally a part of my persona. It has become synonymous with who I am as a human being. I chose the name Dr. Bourbon because, well, I fucking love Bourbon. And scotch. And vodka... gin... tequila... The list goes on. I love the taste of them. I love the slow burn. I love the slow, gradual wearing down of the sharp edges as I drink. I love the way I stop concentrating on the problems and just enjoy the moment when I drink.

And I think that is a big part of my problem. I can't enjoy the moment when I have anxiety about fucking EVERYTHING. And when I drink, that anxiety slips away. I stop thinking about work. I stop worrying about my house's problems. I stop thinking about the fucking government and white supremacists... I just simply enjoy being.

This lifestyle... this persona has been a cultivated thing since September of 1996. As a freshman at college I was given a 32 ounce cup of Jack Daniels and Coke by my neighbor... and I took to it like a fish to fucking water.

I, being the grandchild of 4 alcoholics, seemed to have a predisposition for alcohol consumption. We all joked about the Freshman with the tolerance of a Senior. And thus, I stepped into that life willingly.

It hasn't changed since then. I still drink. I still love to drink. I still love the flavor of the various liquors... A good bourbon and a nice scotch are better than most things in life. But now I am cognizant of the health issues I face as one who drinks so much... 

I am constantly dehydrated. I am overweight. I'm probably pre-diabetic... my last visit to the VA said I was actually pretty healthy and my numbers were good, but that I should possibly consider changing my diet before I pass the point of no return.

And so here I am... every morning I wake up, angry at the fact that I drank so much and resigned to going to bed sober! But then, after dinner, I pour a glass and relax. Then another. Then another... Day in, day out.

Lather, rinse, repeat...

I'm now about a month into taking antidepressants. And they help. They do not, however, seem to get along well with the drinking. The medication adds to the dehydration issues which compounds my bruxism (jaw clenching and teeth grinding) and adds to generally feeling like crap because it also makes me constipated.... I know, TMI. But this is my blog so fuck off.

Last night, I went to bed sober. I drank no alcohol. And I am attempting to drink water all day... 

This is day one.

I don't know if there will be multiple day ones, but I'm going to do it.

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks

 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: 

I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks

The day has ended, you leave work... and you have 2 options:

1: Go home

2: Go to the bar

But we are living in a "work from home" environment and the bars are closed... Or at least limited in open seats. So... here you are, sitting at home all day, working on your laptop, answering Skype calls and having Zoom meetings for 8 hours - or 5 hours if you lie like some of my coworkers - and now the metaphorical whistle blows and you're done for the day!

Only you're not.

You've got 2 kids who just showed up from school and they're grumpy and angry and don't want to do their homework. You have a friend texting you because they hate their job. Your spouse is just as unhappy with their job as you are, and you can't scream into the void that you 'JUST WANT EVERYTHING TO BACK TO NORMAL!!!!!'

So... you go to the kitchen at 5PM and pour a drink. And another. And another. By 5:30, you've got a nice buzz and the bullshit from work seems less bullshit-ish. Your kids' whining about school seems less obnoxious. You're able to take a moment, relax, and say, "Well, at least I'm alive and I made money today."

THIS... is the new American dream.

And Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, and AOC aren't going to magically make this better. You can't legislate happiness folks. You can't legislate morality either... but that's a whole different blog post.

The American dream is now not losing your fucking mind after 8 hours in the "home office" and then changing venues by "going to the kitchen." Jesus, I feel bad for people doing this in an apartment. I would've burned that shit down by now.

So there it is... In glowing technicolor - the life and times of a guy who doesn't want to scream at his kids or spouse so he uses antidepressants and and alcohol to TURN THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN!

And I know I'm not alone in this. Fuck, if I was - the term "Happy Hour" wouldn't fucking exist. And Happy Hour has been around longer than I have... 

We all just want to get by... but the system is fucking broken. The new American Model is broken even more than the rest. Because we pray at the altar of Capitalism and the money gods need their sacrifices... So work hard, shut up, and ignore your family. Be so down-trodden that by the end of the day you just want to stare at your phone to escape and drink wine or bourbon or beer to just NOT FEEL... 

Then wake up, down 3 50mg tablets of Zoloft and go on about your day... 

The American. Fucking. Dream...

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 2: What Dreams May Come

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 2: 

What Dreams May Come

The world is burning, I've spent most of the week sober, and Trump leaves office this week. All in all - I think it's been a good week? 4 days in a row sober. 2 nights in a row not...

I saw the VA doc this week. They tell me I'll live another day. This, I suppose, is good news. I like living. They haven't tried pushing anymore meds on me - so that's good. I am still on my build-up of Sertaline... my last dosage increase will happen on Tuesday. And thank fuck for that. Every time I go up to the next dosage level, my body reacts with 3 days of diarrhea and that... just fucking sucks. On the bright side, however, I am feeling the effects of it.

I've never taken anti-depressants before. I took Welbutrin once to help quit smoking, but that did not end well for me. It caused me to have horrible nightmares, major anxiety, and paranoia. It was, in a word, misery. Which is why I quit smoking cold-turkey this time. Fuck that noise... 

I am pleasantly surprised with how I am reacting to this new one. My dreams have been, more or less, entertaining and less "We're all going to die." - which is huge. They are, however, really vivid dreams. Which is actually really cool. I've had dreams about all sorts of cool stuff over the last week - if this side-effect keeps it up, I'd be okay with it. I love vivid dreams.

When I was a kid, I used to dream all the time. I had the best, most vivid dreams of adventures in great caverns and subterranean worlds. For a long time, I had a reoccurring dream in which a large hole opened up in my town and I was chosen to go down and explore it... I had this dream often. No idea what it means... but I always enjoyed it. 

My dreams were like that for most of my youth... all the way up until around 2000... when started drinking for a living. Well, not a living - but I associate 2000 as the year when drinking became an integral part of my identity. A friend even made a custom action figure of me that came with a small bottle in hand... so... yeah.

The drinking, it seems, causes my dreams to sort of... go away. I just sleep. Or at least I think so. It could be that drinking just causes me to immediately forget my dreams. Which, I guess, could happen. I'm not a shrink or a dream therapist so I don't rightly know. I just know that around 2000 is about the time when I stopped having regular, awesome dreams... and when I started to have more stress, more anger, more... everything. I had a few failed relationships around that time that really took a toll on me psychologically as well.

Then 9/11 happened and then I got sent to Iraq... and when I came home my dreams were no longer awesome in a different way. They straight-up sucked. Death. Fire. Explosions... and, believe it or not, those weren't the worst ones. The worst ones are the dreams where I'm in uniform again and everyone in my unit is shipping out and I can't go. I try to go... but I can't. And I wake up feeling like a failure for the day. I wake up feeling worthless and lacking as a human being. Those are the ones that fuck with you the most.

So I drink. When I drink, as I said above, the dreams go away. Or at least become less memorable?

And now - here I am struggling with cutting down on the alcohol consumption and living with this new reality of once again having good dreams. This is still very early on in the whole process, but I view it as a good thing. I view it as a possible 'return to the life I once led' kind of moment. One where I didn't stay up until 3am because I knew what sleep held for me - but rather going to bed early in the hopes of a fanciful flight of dreaming good dreams... 

I hope.

I hope that's the case. I hope I have good dreams. I hope I can go another 4 nights in row of sobriety. I hope I can dream about colorful adventures in the dream-version of Paris that I hold in my head. There is a large, cobblestone bridge that runs 3 miles across shining waters. It leads to old buildings stacked with food and books. To me, in my mind, it looks like something you'd see in the movie "Inception" and it's a recurring setting in some of my better dreams. Along with a dream-version of where I went to school and met Lady Bourbon... Those are the dreams I hope for. 

More often than not, however, dreams are more adult in nature. And, no, I don't mean sex and drugs. I mean stress. I mean work. I mean anxiety over the fucking pandemic... Those dreams can fuck RIGHT off. They are the bane of my existence and the re-introduction of good dreams into my life has been an amazing thing for my mental wellbeing. 

So... there is my update for now. Hope you are all well. 

Cheers. 

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 1

I need to change things. But that's the same shit I've said before. It's the same shit most people above the age of 25 have said countless times as they inch closer to death and see their bodies and their lives move in a direction that, while inevitable, isn't what was wanted.

We all start out invincible in our early adult years. Nothing hurts us. We drink ourselves stupid, sleep 2 hours, and go to work the next morning with water, some Tylenol, and the promise to not drink like that again until next weekend.

As time goes by we start noticing small changes... an extra ache or pain in the knee or ankle. A shoulder that doesn't feel like it used to. We find ourselves asking, "what?" more often simply because we couldn't hear the other person... and then it hits us - we've reached the start of "Middle Aged." The thoughts of death creep in around the edges. You're no longer invincible. You sleep wrong and hurt for 4 days... And we all wake up and say "I need to change." "I need to diet." "I need to correct the path I'm on." "I need to X, Y, and Z." - And you wake up with heartburn or acid reflux wondering, "Is this a heart attack? Am I finally dying?"

And if you haven't hit this point yet - be thankful. If you have hit this point - you have my sympathy.

Now let us add to the mix that I drink. A lot.

Recently I began a personal crusade of sorts to attempt sobriety and make something better of myself. You may remember a similar failed attempt two years ago about wanting to get in shape... also failed. And why is that? Am I lazy? Probably. Am I afraid of failure? Most assuredly.

So - combine those traits, along with an unhealthy predisposition for alcohol abuse and TA DAA! Here we are. Sitting at the edge of my 43rd trip around the sun with an unhealthy amount of weight hanging off my body, a chronic level of dehydration, and probably a list of ailments waiting to happen... and I want to change... again or still. I want something better for myself or my family... but I'll be damned if I know how to do it.

In the last 2 months, I've had a 2-day streak of sobriety. More than once, but still. I can only seem to get about 2 days before the urge to drink creeps in and takes over. I say, "Oh, just one." Then I look down and realize I'm on my 4th and the bottle is almost empty. I am a high-functioning alcoholic with PTSD and depression - and sometimes I really hate that I am aware of this. It'd be better to be blissfully ignorant of this fact, but let's face it, it's pretty obvious. 

And I just want to change... 

Fuck, if I was a religious man, this would be where I break down and pray to Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and Vishnu to step in and make it all better.

If this was a Hallmark movie, I'd drink myself into a coma, wake up and have a heart-to-heart with the doctor/shrink/pastor and come home to a celebration of sobriety at the house with my friends and family... 

But I'm not religious and this isn't hallmark... and if I had friends, they'd be alcoholics too. Instead, I just get to whine on the internet and have long, introspective thoughts while I sit in the house waiting for the kids to go to bed so I can drink again before going to sleep and waking up for another day of the exact. same. fucking. thing.

I did the math... Lady Bourbon and I spent over $3,000 on alcohol in 2020. Granted it WAS 2020 and the drinking was a bit more liberal from March through July... but that still seems to be a lot.

So, yeah. There ya go. My first blog post in a while... the first of any writing I've done since February... I'm calling this "Part 1" because I plan of there being a series of these as I navigate the waters of being in my 40s and trying to not die from drinking myself to death.

I quit smoking overnight. Just put them down and have never looked back... I still want one from time to time, but that's not the same thing. It's easier to quit being at home with no other smokers in or around me... I assume drinking would be the same. But we like to drink. The friendships I DO have locally revolve around gathering and drinking... So, not the best group to go to for sobriety help. My family - HA! They are of the mindset of "Well, just stop." - They do not grasp addiction and mental health as well as you might think. And Lady Bourbon's family thinks that mental health is a dirty word developed by Satan to turn people away from Catholicism... 

I'm not really sure what I'm saying anymore. I've written more than I planned to today and I'm no better off than I was 2 hours and 5 failed starts ago... My kids are currently running wild through the house and I need to go reign them in... they're supposed to be folding laundry.

Farewell for now, internet. See you when I see you.

-Dr. B

Your friend turns out to be a sexual predator the other day...

The Twitter LGBTQ and Erotica writing community was rocked last night when one of our own made a post proclaiming to the world that they were not in fact a lesbian, but a married, cis-man.




Stopping right there, you could say it was just about a Pen-Name that goes along with the subject matter to sell books is okay.

Sure. No big deal. And, like me, you may have even said "Good for you! Way to come out of your shell and let everyone know!"

But then...

Jesus, but fucking then... This is world we live in.

Look, most of us, if not all, know who I'm talking about. But I'm not going to drop their name here. I don't feel the need, nor the desire. Why? Because it didn't stop at a Pen-Name. Oh, no no no... it went WAY beyond that. And that is where it stopped being cool.

Let us back up.

I use my "Dr. BourbonSex" account as a release. It is a way to hide certain aspects of my life from my friends/family who I know do not feel the same way I do about things. I'm not ashamed of what I like... I just don't want to lose friends and family over it. My Hentai Fetish would literally give my parents a heart attack. My penchant for wearing lace underwear would probably cause both of my brothers and their uber-Christian wives from ever looking at me again... and I'm sure my political ravings, and sordid sexually explicit short-stories over on the ole blog might give the employer some sort of reason to fire me. That would be discriminatory, especially since I've never done it on company property, but still... I digress.

I do NOT use my "Dr. BourbonSex" account as a way to manipulate people, flirt with people who aren't Lady Bourbon, or do anything of the sort. Jesus, I told Lady Bourbon about this account when I made it. We have a very open relationship - Open as in: We tell each other a lot of shit... not Open as in: So, I was swinging at the bar the other day... - That's what makes a marriage a partnership and not a fucking train wreck. I do NOT use this account as a lie, trap, or falsehood. I have, to date, never lied about who I am on here. I will, on occasion, delay posting something for a day or two to prevent outing me IRL... but that's not the fucking point. This account exists with the awareness, and dare I say PERMISSION of Lady Bourbon who shares many of my proclivities and tastes.

And that's where this story starts... with Lady Bourbon.

A while back, in the early days of Dr. Bourbon, MOST, if not all, of my online friends were Erotica authors. It was fun. Ya'll write some sexy shit. My first 20 or so friends are still on a list called "My first friends" and I love them all in their own, individual way. With one exception, now two, I'm still friends with the original 20. Sorcha Rowan among them.

Sorcha was an unrelenting force of sexual innuendo and smutty prose. Nobody here can say that the person known as Sorcha was bad at erotica.... So we laughed, told jokes, etc. Once, Sorcha tried to DM with sexy gifs and talk, I said "knock it the fuck off" and it stopped. Just like that. Became professional almost. Sorcha was a beta reader for me at times. Good suggestions were always made, along with unwanted sexual connotations, but that doesn't bother me because it was never reciprocated on my end. Sorcha was even one of the first guest-posts on my blog with a post about Sapio-Sexuality... loving a person for their brain. I thought it was a good piece.

One night, whilst having dinner at home, Lady Bourbon says "Dude, I need to block Sorcha Rowan on twitter, I think." When I asked why, it turns out that Sorcha "accidentally" sent the wrong gif to Lady Bourbon. - Keep in mind, Sorcha did not KNOW this was Lady Bourbon. This was a non-Bourbon related incident - the gif Sorcha sent was a very explicit, very sexual gif... immediately followed by apologies and whatnot that seemed, at the time, very sincere. Lady Bourbon, under her real name, said "It's cool. No harm, no foul. Not my thing." And that was that...

I confronted Sorcha via my Dr. Bourbon account and said, "please stop hitting on Lady Bourbon, she doesn't go that way." And I meant this as a joke with someone I'd come to know as an internet friend... when the lightbulb finally went off and 2 and 2 were added up to 4 in Sorcha's head, my identity was revealed... To my absolute shock, Sorcha revealed to me that "she" was a "he" named "Bob" and he liked to write Lesbian Fiction and used the name Sorcha to sell and promote his work.

Taken at face value, everything checked out. We became better friends. We talked about bourbon and guns and whatever else. Despite this friendship, Sorcha's RTs were blocked from my feed because, well, let's face it, they were a little too much for everyone.

Lady Bourbon and I thought Sorcha/Bob was a really nice person and never did anything to bother us. In both instances of Sorcha Rowan's unwanted sexual advances, it stopped as soon as we said something and I never gave it much thought... So, you know, cool. Sorcha even wrote erotic fiction about me and Lady Bourbon.

But then I learned more and more about Bob. I learned about his wife and home life. I learned that he kept everything related to Sorcha a secret from his wife. I learned that his wife's lack of shared interests with him and how "Sorcha" was "who he was" on the inside.

( As a man who keeps his inner-most kinks and fetishes out of family talk, I could really say shit about it - even though I disagreed. )

As time passed, Sorcha wrote posts with other people and joint-works... It was my assumption that Sorcha told them that he was actually Bob and things were cool... But apparently I was wrong.

Because then we get the post from last night.

The dime-tour is this: "Hi, my name is Sorcha and I'm actually a married, cis-man. I have been pretending to be a lesbian to write fiction, make money, and engage with online sexual activity with women, under the guise of a being a woman. Even so far as to use the #ourvoices tag."

That's a lot to take in and unpack so to speak.

At first, I was like, "Oh, good for you, Bob. Tell the world that you're a man and do this right."

Then it slowly started to sink in... like watching the defroster work on your window on those cold, wet mornings... one minute, it's all fogged up and then BAM... fucking clear as day.

I was floored.

Consent REQUIRES an informed decision, Bob. What you've just said, what you've just admitted to is disgusting.

The person I'd become quite familiar with over the last 2 years has been engaging in non-consensual online sexual activities. People had talked, flirted, and who knows what else with Sorcha Rowan for who knows how longs with the UNDERSTANDING that it was a lesbian woman... and not a fucking married man preying on them and their vulnerabilities.

The outrage was all over the place. And rightfully so... and I was still trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone with whom I'd had many great conversations about writing, marketing, and story ideas was a fucking asshole trying to pass it off some form of courageous act...

What could've been a learning moment, and moment of growth died a fiery death when he tried to make this about how strong and courageous he was?!  No. This isn't about your struggle, Bob... fuck you.

And in the middle of that thought is when Bob contacted me telling me Sorcha was dead. I wasn't even sure if I should answer him, but I did. I told him that this would our last conversation. I told him I'd be deleting him from social media. I told him to go see to his family and BE BOB, never Sorcha... Then I blocked him on all of my social media accounts.

I'm really pissed off to be honest.

I value the online friends I make SO much because I am, 90% of time, much closer and honest with the online friends than the ones at home... I assume that, to an extent, these people are the same with me.... that when I find out that one of them is like this... one of them has been fucking over his wife and kids to go do this shit online with other people and hurt them AS WELL... is just too fucking much. It occurs to me, and Lady Bourbon, that he sent her that gif on purpose. He was testing the waters... luckily, we're a happily married dream team and don't fuck around on each other...

And now I sit and write this missive... this Farewell to my so-called friend. I don't have many friends, IRL. They all exist online and Bob's bullshit has put the rest of my online friendships into question. If he's capable of this - who else is? Who else is a closet racist or homophobe? Who else is a raging asshole waiting to shit on my 20 minutes of online freedom and happiness?

Jesus, but fucking then...

My fear is that Bob will harm himself or even commit suicide and that would be awful... He has been a good friend for 2 years of my life. He knows more about me that people I see on a day to day basis...

And, that being said, I never want to speak to him again.

Goodbye, Sorcha Rowan. And Good riddance.

Reviewing Books and Pushy Authors...

Today, I'd like to talk to you fine people about the dreaded book review.

Book reviews can make or break an author. They can showcase the work of someone by telling others how much they liked or disliked a book and for what reasons. But everyone (at least in some writing communities... looking at you, Twitter) seems to think that anything below a 5-Star review is some blight. Some people think a 3-star review will sound the death knell for any aspiring indie-author. And that's just ridiculous.

Writing a shitty book and publishing it is the death knell for indie-authors... Your 1st draft should NOT be your finished product.

One of my all-time favorite books ever written has 248 1-Star reviews, 277 2-Star reviews, and 271 3-Star reviews on Amazon... Shocking, right? This book also has 1,608 5-Star reviews and a movie based on it that has a similar distribution of reviews.

Because of the new "EVERYONE IS PUBLISHING!" world of writing, we all thrive to have that solid 5-Star rating. We ask our family and friends to, discretely, leave reviews that tell the world how great our books and stories are. We build up "Street Teams" or whatever they're called these days... and we try to send legions of rabid fans to Amazon to flood our work with 5-Star ratings to get us all the way to #1 in our given genres... They're all "GO, MY MINIONS! LEAVE ME GREAT REVIEWS!!!" - And, this is just me being honest here, I think that cheapens things a bit. I get it. You're trying to make money. You're trying to be a brand or get a name for yourself. We all are. But, Jesus, do it by writing quality content and letting the readers decide.

If I leave a 4-Star review, I don't hate the book, or the author, nor do I have something against the author as a human being. I will most likely re-read that book and recommend it to other people.

If I leave a 3-Star review, I don't think the author should be upset by it... I still enjoyed the work. Just not as much as some other things I've read.

I, personally, won't leave a 1 or 2 Star review on a book.

Why is this an issue? WHY am I writing about this?  Well, I recently left a 4-Star review for a book. And the author asked me, "Why not 5?" -- and he asked this not in a "I would like to understand and improve my craft" way, but in a "What the fuck, dude?" way. And that rubbed me the wrong way.

I owe you, the author, NO sort of explanation.

I am a consumer and you have released a product to the world. It is up to me to decide where this product sits in my "pantheon of reviewed items." Your book sits on my 4-Star shelf. It was good. I liked it a lot. I will re-read it at some point and I've even recommended it to people ALREADY! - but since you're being a passive aggressive shit about the number of stars in my reviews - I'll probably be recommending it a lot less now.

And this - is how I would breakdown book reviews and the "star rating" system...

1-Star should be used for books that are poorly written with typos and bad grammar. It should NOT be used because "Well, I don't like the F-Word." - THAT is personal taste. Not a review. We've all seen these reviews and these people are trolls. They can get fucked. (I will NOT leave a 1-Star review)

2-Stars should be reserved for books that were okay, but not stellar. Books that won't be re-read in the future. (I will NOT leave a 2-Star review)

3-Stars should be for books you like. And may re-read at some point. Books that you enjoyed reading and were well-written. You should say WHY you liked the book and WHAT you thought could be improved upon in your opinion.

4-Stars should be for books that you would most likely buy in two different formats. Something that you will absolutely read again and recommend to other people. You should go out of your way to explain to people WHY you liked this book so much.

5-Stars should be for the books that evoke emotions within you and make you want to be IN the book. 5-Stars should be "I want this book signed and on my bookshelf forever!" You should do your best to explain to the reader WHY they need this in their life.

So - there you have it. Dr. Bourbon's guide to reviewing books.

So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...

I got this question posed to my by the lovely A.J. Bass (@AnjikoZ) on Twitter the other day and, well, by golly, let's give it the proper love and respect this subject matter deserves, shall we?

The original Tweet reads:

• My so called best friend decided to be a judgmental bitch today. She actually told me that daddy and I should not be having sex in our home (even though kids are fast asleep when we do). All because the way we have sex is like a porn. Now that I'm writing this it's kinda funny.

Leaving aside my issues with calling your sex partner "Daddy" - let's take a look at this.

In our house sex is sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes loud and adventurous, and sometimes quick and dirty. We use sex toys, we occasionally watch porn, we come up with some strange positions so we can both see the tv and get off at the same time.

Shit - last night we did all of the above. 

Let me rewind a bit... I got a text from Lady Bourbon asking "Wanna get naked and watch hentai tonight?" - to which my response was, "like you have to ask!" 

So - once the kids were tucked in and asleep, we got our fuck on.

The television was set to a rather scandalous hentai in which a demon lady feeds on the virginal energy of people in hopes of... something something I don't watch it for the plot. All I know is that this demon lady forces some dude to fuck his friends while other robed figures watch and occasionally participate. 

But I digress... The point is - the kids were asleep and we got busy. At one point, Lady B's legs were up on the coffee table while she masturbated and I stood over her and would put my junk in her mouth repeatedly. Then she reverse-cowgirled me to climax while we both watched the big scene on this show. 

She was spent, I was spent, we were both in need of hydration, and the couch cover needed to be removed and washed... It was awesome.

But some people seem to think this approach to sex is "icky" or "too much" and you should just stick to the missionary position, lights off, and pray to Jesus when you're done. 

FUCK THAT NOISE.

Sex can and SHOULD be a contact sport. And, if you and your partner so choose, it should be adventurous... and in every room of the house. Why limit yourself to the same location, same position, same EVERYTHING every time?!? If you're married, chances are good you're going to be having a lot of sex with the same person for a very long time... it can probably get boring if you do the same thing day in and day out... 

When we first got married and moved in together - we had sex in every room of our townhouse. In our second house, we again did it in every room of the house.... shit, we've done it on a boat, under a boat in the water, on the back patio, on Lady B's sister's patio furniture... We've had gentle, "hold me" sex, we've had "wow, that was different" sex, and we've had "hurry the fuck up and end this" sex... And it's always good. 

If your kids see you having sex, in any position, why does it fucking matter? Humans have sex. It's what we do to procreate. It's what we do to release stress. It's fucking NORMAL AND HEALTHY and people need to understand this. I walked in on my parents a few times as a kid. I turned out normal. My parents had/have sex toys. I think knowing this is what has given me a great respect and healthy understanding of sex. As we all should try to have. 

So have sex. Have fun sex, dirty sex, porn-star sex... and don't be ashamed about it. We have a serious LACK of sexual education in this country and that leads to problems. Raise your kids to be good, decent people with a healthy respect for sex and their sexual partners and everything will be golden. 

So - there you go, AJ. I hope I've answered your question in a round-about way. Make your house look like a Jackson Pollack painting under blacklight and explain to the kids that "well, sometimes mommy and daddy like to get their freak-on."

The duality of being me...

It's been a while since I've written anything longer than a Tweet. It's been a while since I've opened up my brain and let the words pour out...

I feel like doing it today.

Something about this time of year, almost every year, really fucks with my brain. Like, in a big way. I will bounce wildly from perfectly happy to uncontrollably fucked up. And it sucks. It's also when I'm at my... uh... most Bourbonness? I should explain that.

I am very much two distinct people residing within the same body.

I am me... and I am Bourbon.

The normal, everyday me is reserved, cautious, anxiety-filled, and seemingly normal person. I try to watch what I say around others, I keep my thoughts to myself, I interact with people at work whom I despise because it's easier than finding a new job... shit like that. I am guarded on what I say... I try to calculate the best thing to say on tweets, facebook posts, etc... I'm very unassuming.

This is the face I wear in public...

But I am also Bourbon.

This may seem silly to you all, but hang on and I'll try to explain...

One night I was talking to Lady Bourbon and I mentioned a post on Twitter and she replied with, "You or Bourbon?" - and that hit me. Because Bourbon IS me. I am Bourbon. But I tend to only let Bourbon out of the bottle here on my blog or Twitter where I am unknown. So I can see why she said this thing.

The Bourbon-Me generally doesn't give a fuck. I'll say what I want. I'll write smut. I'll talk about all the things I'm not "allowed" to talk about in polite society. I take sexy photos of Lady Bourbon and we have kinky good times in the bedroom... and the living room... occasionally the kitchen... maybe a bathroom at some point... most assuredly the playroom. But I digress... The point is - I wish I could be Bourbon full time. I wish I could not give a fuck. I wish I had the confidence and "no fucks given" attitude that I have here, in the safety of internet anonymity.


But life doesn't work that way.


I have a job. I have a family. I have an obnoxious mother-in-law. I have PTA bullshit... or will have I guess when the kids are a little older. And I can't relearn 40+ years of learned behavior. I mean, I guess I COULD, but am terrified of doing it. I'm terrified of just "letting go" and "being me" out of fear of losing my job or my kids (all worst-case scenario shit - which is my anxiety dual-wield specialty).

I'm so trained in this way that I don't really talk about my anxiety, PTSD, etc on my "normal" accounts all that much. I have no problem sharing on Bourbon because, well, nobody's going to call me out at work for it or other strange shit.

Lady Bourbon and hentai.

I try to talk about Lady Bourbon about this - but she's a fucking rockstar and I don't think she can comprehend this at some levels. She is who she is and that's fucking it. I, on the other hand, was the youngest of 14 in my family (including cousins) and I was always present for the jackassery, but not allowed to participate in it... stuff like swearing, sex-jokes, etc. So I internalized it all. I still do at times. Not her, though, she blazed her own trail and still does. She says what she wants to say and does what she wants to do. I envy her for that. I tend to be overly cautious and second-guess myself all the time. Bourbon does not. Bourbon says "Hey, fuckers, this is me!" - but only because none of you know who I am.

There are two very real, very distinct personalities in me and I want to somehow merge the best of both... but I don't think that's possible. But around this time of year... the Bourbon side seems to come out a little more. I get more sexually aware. I start craving things that aren't the norm. I start having vivid sex dreams and I want Lady Bourbon to do some really sexy things to me/for me... It'll last for a month or two, then slack off... then build back up... then slack off and then it goes away for a while - You'll note that I've not written smut since fucking MARCH... Maybe it's the Winter me? Who the fuck knows. Sometimes it makes me feel like Elsa from Frozen... Trying to wear gloves and conceal that shit, yo...

The point is - I am me... but sometimes I feel MORE like me. And I wish I knew of a good way to mesh the two and become someone else...

So this has been my rambling, what-the-fuck moment for today.





Happy Thursday, fuckers!

Smile for anime butt!

Dude looks like a lady...

So... let's do some honesty therapy, shall we?

One night in, probably 2005(?) I got to dress in drag for a party. Complete with makeup... and that shit was hot. I think it is safe to say that since that moment, I've held a small, but growing desire to wear that type of outfit again.

Women are lucky... if they're feeling down or sad - they can spruce up with makeup. A little eyeliner, some blush, a little lipstick... bam. All the tiredness is gone. Men - we have to look good with soap, poorly managed beards, and... that's about it.

This weekend Lady Bourbon and I tried something new... She went to the store and picked me out a nice top and some very nice satin panties to match the skirt she gave me. We went out to dinner in normal, gender approved clothing... with the exception of the purple, satin panties I wore under my jeans... They felt amazing.

Lady Bourbon

I call her "Lady Bourbon" because she is the other half of what makes me whole. I do not like to call her "My wife" because it sounds possessive. A mutual friend only refers to his spouse as "My wife" in conversation and that drives me fucking insane. She's not property, man... she's your partner.  Lady Bourbon is a force of nature and she chooses to be with me, and I with her. We are partners in life. Have been ALMOST since we met... She's been a model, muse, lover, wife, and, most important, a  friend... and I would never want it any other way...

In February of 2004 I returned from my final tour in Iraq... In June of 2004 I moved back to my apartment on campus and returned to school for the summer session in hopes of getting "reacclimatized" to civilian life before the rush of Freshmen in the fall... I thought it would be good for me to be there with LESS people.

I was right... and wrong.

Being there with less people was nice, but it also meant I spent a lot of time at the bar drinking to forget my final tour in Iraq... or spending a lot of time on my couch with a bottle of something doing the same thing for less and with greater quantities. And drank I did.

When I was at a low point during the following winter I started to keep an online journal. I tried to reach out into the void of the internet and see if anyone was there who felt the same way about life. That's when I stumbled upon the future Lady Bourbon.

Being a Douchebag on the internet...

Today in Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon our question comes from Douchebag Dave on Twitter.

Dave asks:

Dr. BourbonSex,
"What are you doing on my timeline, leftist fucktard?"

Love and kisses,
Douchebag Dave

Dear Dave... Or is it Douchebag Dave? Can I just call you Douchebag?  I think I am just going to call you Douchebag...  Dear Douchebag,

Dr. Bourbon and The Antivaxx Trail...

Today in Bad Advice with Dr. Bourbon our question comes from B.J. Black

B.J. asks:

Dr. Bourbon Sex... and Coffee:

How should I react when anti-vaxxers ask for advice to keep their kids safe when there is a measles (or other illness that vaccines can prevent) outbreak?

Dear B.J.,

What a good question. Let me tell you - I have no shortage of Anti-Vax people on my Facebook feed, so I've actually had this argument before. And every time it ends with the same thing - me, slamming my head against my desk at the outright stupidity of people who, up until 5 minutes ago, I thought were sane, mildly intelligent people. Okay no... that's not true.

That's me in the corner...

I'm in a bit of a funk these days. And not the normal, anxiety-induced, worrisome funk... but more of an "I'm feeling old, worthless, and in a shitty time loop" kinda funk. Being February, I feel it's very much Groundhogs day. Every day. I am Bill Murray, but without the option of dropping the toaster into my bathtub.

We've all seen Groundhogs Day, right? The guy wakes up and every day it's the same day over and over and over and over again... Same premise-ish as Happy Death Day and Russian Doll on Netflix. The difference is, these people have the same day over and over, but with no consequences of the actions they choose every day. Want to end a bad day by driving off a bridge with an angry groundhog? NO PROBLEM! Want to drop a toaster in your bathtub due to the extreme amount of stress and seeming worthlessness of life? See you in the morning!

I feel this movie has left me wanting.

Every day for me is like this. But without an out. The closest I have to a re-set is alcohol. I can at least drink myself into a deep sleep that, somewhat, gives me a fresh start the next day by wiping the mental slate clean.

It sucks. I'm sorry. There's no better way to put it. It. Sucks.

A day in the life of a 24/7 D/s couple - A Guest Post by Nikki

Today's guest post is something I know literally NOTHING about - so I am very excited for it.

Our guest poster is Nikki (@loveisafetish on Twitter)

Nikki is a sub, a parent and an artist. She loves her family, music, sex and the color pink.

A day in the life of a 24/7 D/s couple

A Guest Post by Nikki 

It is five o'clock in the morning and I wake up gagged and restrained to the bed, ready to drag my heavy chains to the kitchen to start breakfast for my Dom, like any good sub does.

Here Kitty Kitty - A Guest Post by Anna O'Keefe

Today's guest post is Anna O'Keefe

You can follow her on Twitter here: @ReneeHawk1956

"The Trouble With Mountain Faeries" is a collection of her words in short story format that has been published in an anthology called "Intersections" by the Frederick Writers Salon and can be purchased through Amazon.

She also writes blog posts for the online publication, Luna Station. A female centric sifi, fantasy, alternative worlds magazine.

Her current WIP is a novel about a town where no one dies they just disappear.

From the author:
"I am a girl who loves words. I love reading them and I love writing them. I truly get excited when I string a bunch of words together that make sense enough to tell a story."

Here Kitty Kitty

One woman's life long love of the classic 1972 XK-E Jaguar

A Guest Post by Anna O'Keefe

I paused to look through the floor to ceiling glass wall, at the entrance to the dealership. Daring a glance back at the turntable that slowly revolved with the most incredible thing I had ever seen. So red and shiny it nearly took my breath away. With that deep black convertible top made this car perfect and I shivered to be so close. Sleek, sophisticated, and way beyond me in every aspect. The 1972 XK-E Jaguar had captured my heart. I would have said my Kitty was sexy if I had known what sexy was at the time. I had talked about nothing else for months.

My friends had long since stopped trying to  understand this obsession. Sure, being obsessed about boys, clothes, and how much we weighed but being over the edge about a car was just crazy. I disregarded their protests. Even having no money and not knowing how to drive were just small matters and easily brushed aside. More than getting my ears pierced, more than a push up bra,
more than red nail polish, even more being allowed out past 10 pm. I simply longed for the
XK-E, my Kitty.

I sighed. Here I was barely 16 and extremely naive even in a world without cell phones and internet and head over heels in love. I was just moments away from realizing my deepest
desire. I opened the double doors and strolled in, book bag hiked on my shoulder, full of all the
courage I didn't think I possessed.

Stopping at the first occupied desk and in my practiced adult voice, I pointed, “I want to speak to someone about that XK-E.”

The man at the desk looked up from his racing form and peered over the top rim of his eye glasses. An expression wavering between irritation and boredom.

“What?”

The One Upper...

We all know one... Hell, some of you reading this might BE one.

The person who, no matter what you've said or done, has done it better, stronger, harder, faster, with more struggle than you can possibly imagine!!!  And they'll tell you about it.

I work with one of these people... two actually. And to see them interact with one another is a thing of beauty. It's a veritable plethora of passive aggressive one-upsmanship on a scale that would make most people wet themselves. To hear the two of them talk, you'd assume that they have the greatest, most blessed lives ever and simultaneously have dealt with more struggles, woes, and personal demons than you could ever have.

I'd really like to punch them both.

They do not talk with anyone in an effort to talk to learn something about that person - they talk so they can talk about themselves and their lives.

I'm 40 years old. I spent 10 years in the army Infantry. I've done OCR (Obstacle Course Races). I have kids. I've done literally YEARS of damage to my knees and legs. And some days, like today, they feel like I've been jumped by Tonya Harding in my sleep... It literally hurts me to stand today. And sit... And, to top it all off, I've had several fucked up dreams this week from my PTSD...  So, to have my pain and my tired, bags under the eyes, look get blown off with "You should try living in my shoes"... I lost it.

I looked at this person and remained silent. I just nodded while they went on and on about how bad they had it and how they were tired from getting up early for a meeting with the Bank Manager or some equally bullshit thing...

What I WANTED to say was this. "Yes, asshole, I would gladly trade you places. Then, when you wake up at 5am with your knees aching and your mind plagued with the visions of burning children, you might, for one instance in your padded, bullshit life, know what true pain is. Then maybe you'll shut the fuck up instead of running your cock-holster non stop and annoying the ever loving shit out of me and everyone else. Nobody here is on easy street, except maybe you. So, when you're reeling over how bad it is that this year you ONLY got to go on a 3 week Alaskan cruise and Europe twice, you might realize that the rest of us are truly fucked. Maybe, just MAYBE you'd gain some fucking perspective on what a piece of shit you really are."

I fucking hate people who just HAVE to be better than you - or worse. The people who feel compelled to one-up every good or bad thing that's ever happened.

Seriously - get fucked.

Don't be this person. If someone is telling you something - try to avoid responding with any story of your own that has the effect of "your story is cute, but mine is better." We're all guilty of it. Even me - and I hate myself when I do it.... but right now, I am in pain. And the last thing I need is someone who biggest problem in life is their lack of European vacations telling me how bad they've got it.

An Essay About Cerebral Palsy - A Guest Post by Renee Uitto

Renee Uitto has been a writer since college. She wrote for both of her college newspapers. She received a B.A. in Journalism.


Currently, she is writing essays about matters that affect her life. She is also publishing articles for two newsletters, Stepping Stones and Let’s Talk from the agency Oakland Community Health Network in Troy, Michigan. She also belongs to several committees at OCHN that pertain to such issues as guardianship, self-determination, state and federal issues that pertain to persons with developmental disabilities and persons with mental illness.


Renee lives in Troy, Michigan and enjoys reading, shopping, and music.
You Can follow her on Twitter here: @ReneeUitto

An Essay About Cerebral Palsy

A Guest Post by Renee Uitto

Hello, my name is Renee Uitto and I have cerebral palsy. That might be a lame introduction, but I like to introduce myself that way so people won’t be surprised. I think of myself as any other 47-year-old woman. I have my own apartment, even though I have caregivers with me most of the day to help me with my personal care and things around the house. Sometimes it is hard to find good caregivers. Some people want to do things their way, and not bother to ask me what I want, which pisses me off. I have a voice. I have my own opinions about stuff. One caregiver left me in bed until two in the afternoon. A lot of people were very pissed off. This young girl who took care of me didn’t realize that I had my own opinion and made my own choices. I felt like she made choices for me, and I am glad she is gone now.

Confessions of a Mistress - A Guest Post by Cailey Lyra

Today's Guest Author is my first anonymous post. Cailey (a 28 year old living out west) contacted me via DM on Twitter and asked if she could write an anonymous post - Cailey is a pen name - and I said "We take all kinds here!" So... here we are with Cailey's tale of becoming a mistress and her life thereafter in an open, long distance relationship. She and her partner are living 1,000 miles apart, roughly, working to keep their relationship going.

I don't know Cailey - but I thank her for sharing her story here and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Confessions of a Mistress

A Guest Post by Cailey Lyra

About two years ago, I met my current beau on a casual basis that, in the course of a few months, turned into a beautiful, romantic relationship.

And then I found out he was married...

And only a little while later, I found out he had a child. But by the time all this pieced together, we were in love with each other, and trying to undo that proved difficult. Not only because we were compatible and enjoyed each other’s company beyond simple flesh, though of course we enjoy that too, but because the relationship he was in with his then wife, was already unhappy.

Here’s the full story: 

I did not meet my man in a steamy bar at twilight, wearing a skin-tight cocktail dress or however they do it in the romance dramas. We met on Tumblr, both searching for literary roleplay partners with matching desires. When I say roleplay, I do not mean sexual roleplay. I mean something more akin to Dungeons & Dragons for even more introverted nerds. Our first interactions were strictly platonic, even as we got to know each other better. We decided on an original story topic, we sent each other replies, and we would talk over chatting apps.