Holy Shit This is Personal

I’ve been posting again, as you’ve probably noticed. Trying to get my words back, trying to get back into the particular personal mindset that used to be so natural to me as a Professional Oversharer. It’s hard. It’s so much harder than I thought. To be fully and painfully honest – I’ve been utterly unreliable with writing. For a bit, flat out cannot do it. My mind says “Of course you can write that – it’s a blog post you could do in your sleep.” Which is mostly true, my experience with writing simple blog posts is so vast I should and could do basics in my sleep.

The problem is that when I start to get into sex blogging – reviewing, writing out basic tips and tricks, talking about my sexuality – PTSD kicks my ass. As I type, my brain goes “Are these words going to end up in court again? Is this the review that is entered into evidence of you being unfit? How will this be used against me?” 

By the time my brain hits that last line, I’m sobbing at my computer until I close it and then put my head on it to cry more. (I didn’t use to be a crier, but the last two years have changed me so much.) It’s hard to face that one of the things you love most, that a skill and tool that used to be so healing and freeing now fills me with pain, dread, fear and panic.

My loves at Vibrant – a new company that I am so in love with and so euphoric to support alongside the other folks who are Doing It Right – have been beyond kind and patient with me. I’ve been writing a very simple product highlight for almost two weeks. Taking so long because I have to stop and cry. Stop and calm the panic down. Stop and remind myself where I am in my timeline. That it is okay, I can do this again, that period is over.

You can be you again. You can be opinionated and openly sexual. You can write and share and be vulnerable again.

The next tab over is the Product Highlight that’s done, editing it now, crying. Writing this stream of conscious post about how scared and panicked I am is somehow far less scary. Putting up this picture of me crying, because I want to be vulnerable and soft online again – is far less scary. The last two years hurt me, but I am going to push through and get this back. Because I need this. I need to be able to do and write posts, reviews, sexuality rants. That is all part of my core now.

Just gotta cry it out first.

Crying Crista, being vulnerable again

Getting better is really hard. Really, Really Hard.

Microblogging: Ohmygosh #OrgasmQuest

#OrgasmQuest, the viral media blitz, ended two years ago, but randomly I will discover coverage of it from around the world that I missed during the madness that was experiencing worldwide media coverage.

“The struggling Internet orgasm of a depressed woman” (So google translate says, I fear I do not speak Hungarian)

The coverage read to be really positive of Quest, which makes my heart happy even two years later. Thank you Velve.hu and the person who clicked to the site this morning – my night just became brighter.

#Orgasmquest shirt on for the first time!

The first time I put on my @SheVibe #OrgasmQuest superhero shirt


Resolution Free New Years Day

I do it for the joy it brings, because I am a joyful girl

First selfie of 2016, the year of Joyful

As I don’t enjoy setting myself up for failure, I ditched making sweeping Resolutions, or any resolution, at the start of the year a long time ago. I do appreciate symbolism, so I dyed my hair before midnight and enjoyed the astonishment that followed. Joked on facebook that I needed to write a press release about my hair color, so I did.

The change happened because I needed a very tangible difference that 2015 was over. Monday I have a GP appointment to get the ball rolling on ending my uterus agony, which will require dealing with doctors who are not my MD. Quite a few of you are Doctors and I adore you, but I’ve experienced a marked difference between quality of care when my hair is bright and when it’s brown. Bright hair sends me swiftly into “drug seeking”.

My painful periods had been dismissed until I was able to say that I’d had a drug-free childbirth and my monthly cramps are no different from transitional labor. Now there is something *wrong* and I know it. I can’t afford to be held back by my bright hair here. Pink/rainbow haired sex writer or brown-haired mother have vastly different experiences.

Also, if I’m down for a while as medical stuff happens, brown hair has no upkeep.

This is only a brief detour off the road of black light responsive hair color. It’ll probably be back by V-day. For while this is an amusing change, it’s not me.

This turned into a vibrant discussion of seeking medical care while having a uterus and shared experiences of medical issues being dismissed as drug seeking behavior being more common with bright hair. To quote myself: “When it comes to drug seeking, I want to scream that I know exactly how to get my hands on drugs if I wanted them for fucks sake. If I wanted to be high, I’d be fucking high and it would be a lot less expensive. I’m in this stupid fucking paper gown because there is something wrong and I want your ass to figure out what that is.” I have friends across diverse spheres, but we are all coming together to bond on these topics, which gives me the warm fuzzies.

2016 begins finally being married to my chosen partner, with medical care so I can fix as much of myself as possible, and so we can begin to live our life. Letting go of outside influences that controlled 2015 via fear and manipulation. We laid in bed with heating pads and star trek on the screen, the kids sleeping under the roof. The larger family will not be together as often as anyone would like in the coming year, but we have each other, which makes us Mighty.

This year being better than the last is virtually a guarantee. I want to set healthier routines for myself, give myself mental space for writing again, take more ownership of my life. Let go of reactionary life and grasp what I can control. No resolution, a declaration of a year of joyful.

Last night I dreamed about my Dad. Walking through his house during the last visit I had with him and looking at the serenity prayer he had framed. My father hated god so I did not understand why he would have a prayer framed. A decade later I understand.


Stop Using The Mentally Ill as Your Scapegoat ~ #WhatMentallyIllLooksLike

The Stigma is deadly.

The last time I visited my parents my mom and I talked about something I had completely forgotten: When I was 20 a doctor tried to diagnose me with depression (this was 5 years before I started being treated) and we all freaked out and left his office pissed off. Why? Because we were outraged that he would suggest there was something mentally wrong with me– I wasn’t crazy. See, the stigma got me too. People avoid the treatment they need because of what the world tells them the diagnosis means and every time you casually refer to a murderer as “crazy” or say “mental illness” like it explains horrific violence you are reinforcing that impulse.

What Mentally Ill Looks Like by JoEllen Notte…

What is your most vivid childhood memory?

This is one of the few questions about my childhood that I can quickly answer. My most vivid childhood memory is sitting in a Doctor’s office, sobbing hysterically on my Mother in gut wrenching terror. I’m Nine and have just been told that it was in my best interests to go on an antidepressant. When my Mom can calm me down enough to speak, I tell her that I don’t want to go on meds because I don’t want to kill people. My nine-year-old self had already deeply internalized that mentally ill people, especially mentally ill people who are on medication, are dangerous killers. I don’t want to kill anyone. I know that how I feel isn’t how the kids around me feel, I want to be better, but I’m positive that if I take prozac I’ll become a murderer.

I know that I started taking prozac shortly after, but have no memory of how I was talked into taking the meds. Memory gets foggy again, though I remember often faking my caretakers out – putting the pill in a pocket or flushing it. Again, because I was positive that being on medication would make me kill people. Of course, skipping medication like that is dangerous, but the stigma was so deeply ingrained that I didn’t care. Missing doses made my suicidal ideation worse, but my brain said that was better than taking them as prescribed and turning into one of those “crazy” people on the news.

That nagging fear stayed in my brain well into adulthood when I finally saw studies that showed how mentally ill people were more likely to be victims of violence than commit these acts themselves. Even then, even now, that fear will pop up – even though I know that is wrong.

As soon as I saw the news about the Umpqua Community College mass shooting, I got the fuck offline. The weeks after the custody trial were some of the hardest, darkest days I’ve known as an adult, only in the last week and a half have I felt like life was real and that we would be okay again eventually. Darkness compounded by the knowledge that my mental illness, specifically words I have written here, were used against us as “proof” I am a lesser parent. I felt too fragile to deal with the bombardment of voices placing the blame for this tragedy on the mentally ill.

On me.

No matter how hard I try, those headlines, those memes, those clueless social media updates demanding we keep guns out of those “crazy” people’s hands hit me like personal attacks. They bring back that terrified child. They rip me open. I intellectually know how wrong they are, but the pain of seeing people I trust repeat those lies uncritically…It rips me open.

Again, from JoEllen’s piece:

Then it happened, the thing that always happens when folks want to ignore the gun conversation, the racism conversation, the misogyny conversation, hell, whateverconversations we really need to be having and when the shooter is sufficiently light-skinned (because, let’s not bullshit here) – the conversation turned to mental illness.

Suddenly there’s an explanation! Guns are safe you see, it’s just those unsafe mentally ill people that are the problem. Suddenly the term “mentally ill” is being flung around as a slur. Why? Because it’s the bad guy. Mental illness is the scapegoat. Then even the anti-gun people start doing it. Arguments like “Well gun control would keep guns out of the hands of crazy people!” happen. People talk about making registries where we track everyone with a mental illness, like mental illness = dangerous criminal. Pictures of wild-eyed shooters get trotted out (I’m not posting any of them, because fuck those guys) and everyone feels safer because this was an isolated crazy person.”

Everyone feels safer except us “crazies”. You know, some of the most vulnerable of our population.

My name is Crista Anne, and I have mental illness. I came out of the womb with mental illness, I will always have mental illness. In my 33 years, I’ve not been a danger to anyone but myself. I have been the victim of violent crime, repeatedly.

This is also what a mentally ill person looks like.

This is also #WhatMentallyIllLooksLike. I have Major Depressive Disorder & PTSD. I am Mighty.

I have no illusions that this scapegoating of the mentally ill will end anytime soon. At the same time, I can safely navigate myself to the wonderful #MedicatedandMighty hashtag on twitter now and see the thousands of astonishingly brave people sharing bits of their stories. Since #MedicatedandMighty overall does not have the sexual aspect to it that #OrgasmQuest does, this hashtag has been covered in many places Quest was not. The expansive positive coverage of life with mental illness thrills and touches me. It helps.

I choose to focus on the bravery displayed by those posting, the lives lost in the latest mass shooting to garner worldwide attention, and do what I can to push back on the intellectually dishonest bullshit that is ignoring our deeper societal problems and laying blame at the feet of those who are already fighting every single minute to survive.

This post has been incredibly hard to write. While I want to say more, much more, I am going to practice self-care and step away until I feel less raw. I’ll leave you with this segment from Last Week Tonight with John Oliver on the topic. ::Warning, you may want to have tissues within reach::

Crista Anne is Mighty

Frustrated by lack of Posts? Trust me, I’m more frustrated.

MIghty as fuck

Ain’t got me yet

Trust me, I’m frustrated as well. There is either no time for me to write, there is time but I don’t even know where to begin, and the feeling of being constantly monitored that gets to a person. Sure, I’ve plenty of people who hateread me, or are here for trolling/threats. I’ve been outspoken online since internet culture began. Other douchecanoes being douchecanoes is something I am desensitized from.

The eyes on me are different, partially I’m being judged by the state if I deserve to be a parent while being…Me. I wouldn’t wish this nightmare on anyone, even the person who started this mess. Knowing these eyes are there makes me doubt myself. “Taken out of context I must seem so strange” I’ve already experienced having the moments of raw honestly I choose to share out of a desire for connection via shared life experience used to paint me in a horrible light.

I miss you. I miss this space. Miss my friends, readers, colleagues, co-conspirators and other revolutionaries. Oh, oh how I miss engaging with you all.

Reclaiming My Universe Creating Orgasm – #BOAW15 #OrgasmQuest

The long reclamation of my inner Sex Goddess

As my regular readers know – and now a good deal of the world – I’ve been on an #OrgasmQuest since December. Let me give a “quick” overview for any new readers: My identity has been in constant flux, ever-changing, but two things have been constants. I have Major Depressive Disorder and Empowered Sexuality. I came out of the womb depressed, but I also came out of the womb with a hand on my clitoris. Never shamed for exploring my body, I was taught early on that it was my “feeling good stuff”, it was a private experience and when I needed Feeling Good Stuff Time, I should do so in the privacy of my bedroom. This started my life long love of masturbation.

When I am in dark places due to my mental illness, I can orgasm as a way to remind myself that there are pleasurable feeling to be had. Not a cure for my depression, not a fix, but a tool that I’ve used as long as I can remember to keep myself going. My ability to find pleasure in the darkness saved me more times than I can count.

The added bonus from a lifetime of masturbation is that I have always been highly orgasmic. As an adult, I experienced orgasms that felt like touching the divine. While the label of my sexuality has often been in flux, that I am a highly sexual creäture has been a constant.

Five years ago I became a mother, which changed endless aspects of my life. It’s nearly impossible to feel sexy when your almost dying of sleep deprivation, covered in goodness knows what, your will overridden by that tiny person I created. Again, masturbatory orgasms helped me. I was able to remind myself that while everything else seemed to have dramatically changed, for a few moments I could be blissful.

After my second child, creating a life with my Partner-In-Everything, XVO, and adding his children into the mix – my depression became more than I could handle on my own. I found an amazing doctor and we decided to try an older antidepressant to help me. Oh, does it help me. On Amitriptyline for the first time in my life I truly enjoy being alive. My mental health is finally at a place where I can stay that I’m good.

The drawback is that one of the side effects is Anorgasmia – the inability to orgasm even with proper stimulation. This side effect affects countless people and there is a deep stigma about speaking aloud about how disruptive losing orgasm or libido can be on the entirety of someone’s life. So, I’m fighting back. This medication works on every other level, so I am uninterested in changing medications. I opted to go on a public #OrgasmQuest, and have invited anyone who is interested to read along with my journey.

This brings you up to speed on #OrgasmQuest, but Quest isn’t all that I am doing to reclaim my Sexual Goddess status. Motherhood, parenting, these are also huge stumbling blocks on the path to empowered sexuality. I am a queer woman in an open partnership, so I cultivate passionate friendships as I can. Make time for myself to be something other than Mama, stepping away from my motherhood role and passing the torch to the other parents in our world.

What does that look like for me? I revel in my beauty, my sexuality, through selfies. My career is that of a sexuality writer and educator – specializing in sex toys, so I write here in non explicit but frank terms about my masturbation and sex toy use. I put on elaborate makeup for myself, when I want to feel beautiful and empowered even though all I may do that day is write and clean the house. I make space for intimacy with my love. Flirt with trusted friends. As I work from home, I play with wild hair colors and vibrant clothing.

My universe creating orgasms have yet to fully return. Had one blissful evening when hormones overrode the side effects and I touched the divine again and again, but over all I’m not where I want to be. Most of my orgasms are physical now, vaginal contractions, wobbly legs, but my brain doesn’t experience the pleasure spike. This is progress though, and I have no plans on ending my Quest any time soon.

This may sound to woo” for some of my readers, I understand, it’s a little to woo for me too. However, I do feel a connection to Inanna, my personal spiritual path is close to that of paganism, and she is my Goddess. I am connected to the sacred whore and see myself as one. I refuse to lose this vital piece of my identity in exchange for finally having relief from most of my mental illness.

If you value pleasure, and I do make room for people who do not because that is a valid way to feel, I believe it is your birthright. I know that pleasure is mine, I revel in the pleasures that I can find now, and continue to fight to regain the fullness of my inner Sex Goddess.

These have to be amusing to y’all as well…

(Another day, another “Crista is too tired to write a real post” update.)

These are the search terms folks have used to find this site since #OrgasmQuest went viral. They have to be amusing to y’all as well.

  • crista anne nude
  • crista anne naked
  • crista anne porn
  • crista anne nude pics
  • crista anne pussy
  • crista anne ass
  • nsfw selfie
  • crista anne video
  • crista anne masturbating
  • www crista more hot sex.in.com
  • cristaanne naak
  • wwwcrista more hot sex.com
  • crista anne orgasm videos
  • polyamory (Aw, yeah. Who has SEO skills? This woman.)
  • my sex lufe by glitter magic
  • selfie sexie christa
  • www.crista sexy.com
  • summoning the glitter gods
  • mustache ride nsfw
  • crista annabdr drew
  • glitter dildo sex toy
  • christa anne dildo

*drumroll* AND NOW MY FAVORITE!!!

  • joellen notte’s sexuality

For the record, JoEllen is obviously a Crista-sexual.

Now, I washed my hair, this happened & I’ve decided to let my hair just live its life however it chooses.

I don't question my hair's life choices.

I don’t question my hair’s life choices.

Look! Awesomeness that isn’t the #Grammy’s! Vulva Coloring Book & Selfies. #NSFW

The Vaginatastic Coloring Book of Vulvas

Download A Vaginaful Coloring Book of Vulvas!
Book by , via Bluestockings Magazine

You’re welcome.

Now for #selfie randomness from the weekend. There is a lot going on, I’m too tired to write a real post, so – bam. Enjoy!

Microblogging: My Unicorn Hoodie

For everyone who has asked about my unicorn hoodie, here it is!

You can get one here: Leg Avenue Women’s Cozy Unicorn*

I’m a size 6-8 and ordered a medium. My Unicorn hoodie a teeny bit snug, but 90% of the time I wear it as a long hoodie so the snug isn’t a problem.

*Yes, that is an affiliate link. I don’t take advertising on this site, so that’s how I make teeny, tiny amounts of money.


Yes, Uniqueern

Microblogging: Today’s look is brought to you by FuckItAll & @UrbanDecay

Crista Anne is Mighty

I am Mighty

Microblogging: Today’s look is brought to you by fuckitall & Urban Decay’s Smoked palette. (It’s on sale for $20 right now, I make no money if you buy one, but it’s totally worth it if you want fierce eyes.)

Not gonna lie, I’m a little stressed and really gorramn annoyed about a few things. So I’ve put on my “I am mighty” fierce eye-shadow. Makeup is art on my face, and sometimes a protective barrier. Today, it’s a bit of both.

Also my bra is pretty damn cute.

PS. Urban Decay should totally sponsor me between my endless rambling about them and the thread derailment on the Jezebel article. Just sayin.

Edited to add: I’ve decided to spend part of my afternoon with my Original Magic Wand working on #OrgasmQuest. Dressed as a unicorn (Uniqueern?)

As you do.

Yes, Uniqueern