Moving When Your a Blind Sex Bloggger

Here’s the thing when you’re blind. People can poke into your business when you’re not necessarily aware of what they’re doing. I pride myself on being a super aware blind person. I know where you are in my house. I know what cabinet, drawer, and canister you looked into, and I’ll call you on that shit. Why are you looking into someone’s cabinet without asking? Not cool!

When I’m moving, that all goes out the window. As soon as I start to pack things up, as soon as furniture moves, I’m disoriented.

When I’m moving to a new place (dorm, apartment, house, hole in the wall… it doesn’t matter), I depend on other people to help me move. And everyone puts boxes where they think they should go. Which, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate. I love that people want to help me get into a better living situation. But let me tell you, my sex toys do not belong in my downstairs bathroom.

I moved recently, and yeah, the bag of sex toys somehow ended up in my downstairs bathroom. Luckily, I figured it out before my sweet old landlord saw the bag and went exploring, but that’s besides the point.

If you’re disabled and moving, most people assume that you have nothing to hide. Pfft, everything’s fair game; why would a disabled person have any sensitive stuff to move? Medical equipment? Meh, throw it in the bathroom box. sticky tactile markers for appliances? Meh,  wherever! (If someone knows where my sticky dots are, please let me know. I’d like to label my oven sometime this century.)

But just like everyone else, disabled people have stuff that they don’t necessarily want random-people-with-muscles-who-are-schlepping–stuff-across-town to see. I have a suitcase full of sex toys and kink stuff, and I don’t need anyone besides my partners poking through that.

My biggest tip? Disguise! I don’t have a huge collection right now, so it was easily disguised in a few Vera Bradley bags. I told people helping me move that they were bags of bags. People like the phrase “bags of bags”, so they chuckled and went on with loading stuff into their cars.

And if you can, be open with the people closest to you. My mother has a part-time job near me,  and my sister sometimes visits me when she’s home from college. They both know I’m a sex blogger. I’m pretty sure neither of them would be shocked to see a vibrator on the nightstand. (although my sister was a bit shocked when she saw my under-the-bed restraint system. Ah well, you can’t please everyone.)

I’ve been in my new place for almost a month now. Almost everything is unpacked, and I’m finally starting to feel settled. THe move has caused my depression and anxiety to spike, but that seems to be getting better, too. I’m writing again. I’m feeling vaguely sexy again. I haven’t felt this way in over a month.

One thing’s for certain: I’m not moving again for a long, long time.

(Oh, and I did finally locate my tactile markers. Dinner at my place?)

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