10-10-2020 Journal

I think it good practice to examine what kinds of sacrifices I'm unwilling to make in an ownership dynamic. This is a general n certainly not exhaustive list based on previous expectations in my past n others I've observed in this lifestyle. 

1. My identity. Whether slave or submissive, I've experienced varying degrees of infringement on my identity. From benign changing of my online screen name to someone wanting to register me as a number n forcibly branding my thigh. Obviously, there are things in this category I'm comfortable with, for example, a screen name only feels like part of my identity, it's a superficial emotional investment I can certainly let go of for the right partner. However, branding or reducing myself to a number or generic name in the interaction cuts too deep to be healthy for me. Fantasy aside. I will not give up my sense of self because I absolutely need it. It's impossible, I'd think, to grow at all without one. 

2. The ability to say "no" and to leave on my own terms. This may be a no-brainer but I've succumbed to the seduction of that fantasy n found it pretty toxic. I need to disagree sometimes, to feel my thoughts are valid. I don't expect this always works in the way I want in a moment but I need to have the option to choose. I don't want to feel helpless or trapped in a relationship, I want to want to be there. In fact, I need to want to be there. Submission should be hard, yes, but it shouldn't be forced or coerced. Overcoming a difficult sacrifice should feel good, not defeating. It's also impossible to have a sense of identity without the ability to have a differing opinion and etc.

3. Being made to block friends or isolate from family. This includes any commands that I can make a reasonable case where it would lead to isolation. I'm fully done with Dominants who are so insecure about what a friend or whoever may say about them or their methods and how I may be swayed to leave. This ties in pretty strongly with #2. If I want to be there, no one's going to sway me. I'm a stubborn little shit. Can people plant things that can bloom in your brain, though? Absolutely, we're all susceptible to that as human beings. my own brain's paranoia works the same and no manner of isolation is going to stop that. Being able to bring up my concerns without fear of reprisals (related to point 2, again) is crucial to ward off these incidents. If someone in particular is being toxic to my relationship, I will eventually see it myself. I will need to see it myself and choose my own course of action based on circumstance and the person involved. Being forced to cut someone out fo my life with very little input of mine being considered just makes me resentful and makes whatever words that person may have whispered in my ear all that more impactful. That's how these things work.

4. Name-calling. Okay, I know lots of people get off on humiliation and degradation. I really don't, but that's not the type of name-calling I'm referring to here. If I am under someone, a Dominant, I expect them to conduct a conversation in a meaningful way without resorting to calling me abusive, toxic, etc just to manipulate me (outside of scenes, yanno, obviously). If my behavior ever gets bad enough to warrant these labels, there's plenty of better ways to correct that and hold me accountable that are far more effective at modifying behavior. Everyone has moments of shitty behavior but calling someone toxic is calling them a toxic PERSON. I think a good start is calling the BEHAVIOR toxic, at minimal, right? And you should be accurate if you do so otherwise you're setting up a bad foundation for future issues. I absolutely can be a garbage person sometimes, especially when angry or embarrassed. I can't work on that behavior is I'm being degraded daily for it, if there are times where I wasn't even behaving that way lumped in with legit instances, if the Dominant is worse with being that way than even I am, or if forgiveness/ healing/ intimacy is literally yanked away and just dangled like a carrot over me while the goalposts keep moving. These are all situations I've found myself in, unfortunately. I have real issues and I want to work on them. I do a lot of that work all alone, on my own time, because it's my own personal goal to be a better person. I don't respond well to being pistol-whipped with something I did every day for YEARS after the fact, no one does. 

5.Diet. Here's the thing, most Dominants who've ventured into this area with me were, to be frank, morons when it came to even basic nutrition. They've all caused me to calorie restrict which, had they took the time to even ask a single health question, they'd have learned was absolutely not a good thing. It also doesn't work if you have certain thyroid conditions, you will actually start to gain weight. I thought that was basic knowledge and have since learned virtually no one is educated on that. That's fine, but if someone with the condition informs you (with sources, mind you), you need to look at it. I don't have an official degree but if they want to pay for it, I can earn one to back up my actual knowledge. Regardless, I have a mono diet (most days because broke and covid). I have multiple food allergies and intolerances, lucky me. I've found what works for my body, not only with losing weight but having less pain and more energy. I will allow no one to just waltz right in and dictate what I put in my body unless they're saying things I'm already trying to abide by, such as no fast food. I mean, if they wanna bitch about my lack of water, that's cool too. But I eat what I eat at the times I eat after careful research and lots of trial and error. My goals do not include weight loss. I'm fat and it's unhealthy, yes, but it's merely a biometric I measure to make sure I'm not accidentally ingesting something I am having a bad reaction to. One of many biometrics. It's fun to lose weight, no lie, but I will get sidetracked in a very unhealthy way if I focus too much on the scale. If my Dominant is that focused on my scale, it's just really off-putting. Cue the time where the Dominant was 2 times bigger than me, that was cute and no, I don't need all the fat hatred projection dude thanks. I don't hate myself for being fat. I know why it happened, that it wasn't my fault, and that I can do something about it now after years of battling. I'm good with where my weight is at as it slowly comes into health. And yeah, I still don't know wtf a bon-bon is dude but apparently, you do ;)~

6. No negotiation is realistically exhaustive at the start of a dynamic. If you add something new, previously not discussed, then don't pretend I have less or no power to negotiate. If I agreed to relinquish that right before a change, then I did so without properly being informed of the specific new thing, no? You don't get to have agreement A then introduce B with the same impunity. We are both responsible outside of our roles and labels in the lifestyle.

I think that's it so far. It's kinda hard to think when you've got three dogs whining at you for breakfast.

9/29/2020 Erotica

This is an actual scene completed on 9/28/2020 to start to deal with childhood trauma. 

“Go get me the paddle,” he says rather abruptly mid-conversation. My heart sinks immediately. I knew we were tackling a scene that day where I'd be facing a particular trigger, I had no clue he'd be throwing another trigger on top of it. I go and get a paddle regardless and feel my fingers tighten around it as I approach him. I loosen my death grip just in time as he takes the paddle from me. I had expected I might not actually let go of the damn thing. He leads me to the bathroom and I'm tensing up.

“I'm probably going to use 'Yellow' to pause, I don't want to end the scene,” I tell him as we walk into the bathroom, “I need to face this.”

He looks down at me then silently pulls my shirt over my head. He places the paddle on the cold tile floor. I keep my eyes on him and ignore the paddle completely. He can feel my apprehension as he slips behind me and slides his hands down my waist pulling off my pants. “I don't think you'll need the word yellow,” he says.

I suck in my breath. I'm starting to shake and when I try to talk, I can't. I'm screaming inside of my head that he has no idea. I want to tell him, but I just stay still and quiet. I'm half-praying to just face this and not call any colors at all be it yellow, red, fucking purple. I've got two traumas at play here, maybe it counts as more; a bundle? This is starting out exactly like my dream the night before but I decide not to tell him until afterward. I don't want to somehow negatively affect the scene. I briefly think about the notes for the dream on my phone and have a ridiculous thought that he somehow saw. I hate my paranoia and how my brain is another sadist working in complement with him.

My eyes drift down towards the paddle on the floor. Memories of my past start clicking on and off in my mind like some sort of seizure and I quickly look back to the tub drain. He pushes me down by my shoulders until I'm on my knees. He reaches over and turns on the faucet. I stare at the water, but it's not even the scary thing now. I'm trying to make friends with it like it'll save me from memories and drown them out. Jesus, I think, I make no fucking sense. Does he know I'm starting to lose my mind already in the anticipation?

He drops on a knee and turns off the water. Lifting me up, my belly is pressed against the ledge of the tub. “I'm going to start slow. I want you to plug your nose and willingly go under the water for me,” he says, “I will drop the paddle once. It's your cue to lift your head out of the water.”

I look at him in confusion but nod. So, he's just using the paddle for noise, as a signal? Relief washes over me realizing he's not going to beat my ass with it. I grab my nose still looking at him and shut my eyes. I was going crazy for nothing, this is just about the water. I lower my face about halfway to the bottom of the tub when I realize I may not hear the paddle hit the floor. It's okay, I know he'll yank me up if I don't hear it. The water surrounds my face and I'm just focusing on listening for the paddle to drop against the tile. Suddenly, the paddle lands against my bottom and I freeze.

He reaches in and lifts my head out of the water because I couldn't even move. I sputter out the word yellow and some incoherent apology. Then when I catch my breath add, “I'm okay. I'm okay. I can do this, I promise, please continue, I'm sorry.” Swiftly, he dunks my head under the water without warning. I didn't have time to grab my nose so I'm trying to be careful of that. The water, though, is calming like a dream. Anything is better than the paddle right now and I'm praying he doesn't take a second swing. He lands a few harder swats.

I cry out and suck in a huge gulp of bathwater. I yank upwards coughing. Fuck, fuck, I'm thinking as I lower myself back under, holding my nose this time. I'm again calming down in the water, holding back the memories though they keep trying to roll through my mind. It feels like I've been under a bit too long and I'm almost unable to hold my breath any longer. I start to slowly resurface when he cracks my ass again. I yank up coughing up more water.

“Jesus, can you stop the paddle?” I blurt out then my face turns red. I start to lower my face in and then add, “I'm calling Yellow I need a moment or my little is gonna pop out.” He merely reaches over me and dips the paddle into the water and stares at me. I worry he hadn't heard me. “I still need a-” I begin but then he starts to rub my bottom while looking into my eyes. I lose my thoughts so entranced with him. I relax into the water once more, forgetting to hold my nose. I don't even care.

He cracks my bottom with the wet paddle at lightning speed three times then stops. I scream as I emerge from the water. Images of my mother breaking a cutting board across my ass when I was nine years old floods my head. “I'm sorry!!” I start crying and go to dunk myself under but he catches my shoulder.

“What are you sorry for, baby?” He asks. I don't look at him, I stare ahead to the water.

“I don't know, whatever I did,” I mumble and go under. I let my tears float into the tub. He lifts me back out of the water by my hair and holds me there.

“Poor baby,” he says while landing another three swats turning my bottom to the shade of red he likes. I murmur what was meant to be the word yellow but I'm not sure what exactly came out of my mouth. He looks at me. “Did you say something to me?”

“Yellow,” I say again more distinctly. He rubs my bottom again letting go of my hair. My memories are still rolling in my head but the longer he touches me, the more they are soothed away.

“Do you want to crawl into the tub for aftercare?” He asks, “If so, I might have to put a collar on you and attach a leash so you don't drown.” He grins down at me. My mind feels a charge coming off of his words and I shake it off.

“No more paddle? I made it through?” I ask.

“You made it,” he confirms and smiles at me.

“I'd like that, yes, very much,” I say bewildered that the scene is over. I actually survived a paddling.

“It's your first experience with this and I want to slowly climb to your threshold at some point,” He says helping me into the tub. He takes a fistful of my hair. “I'm going to hold you since I didn't bring a collar or a leash into the bathroom.”

“I adore you,” I murmur in a daze, "Yanno, I had a dream just like this last night only ... I didn't make it through."

9-27-2020 Erotica

 The Unholy Masochist

I paced the floor scrambling sentences and fumbling words in my head. I must have briefly contemplated learning a different language several hundred times just so words would sound more glorious. I glanced into the mirror as I passed it for the tenth time in five minutes. My eyes met their reflection. I looked crazy. I was crazy in that moment. I stopped pacing and stared hard, narrowing my eyes trying to ascertain that was indeed me in the mirror. I didn't recognize myself, but not because I looked different; I felt so different that I expected my appearance would have changed somehow. He walked into the room.

He took my dizzy head under his palm and held me gently as I swayed from side to side instantly drunk from his presence. Then, he pushed me under his words until I was on my knees before him. My eyes were closed because I was so woozy I feared I'd become sick with the intoxication. Words shattered inside my mind and I wasn't sure if I still swayed while kneeling. I felt as if I vibrated no matter what I did. His hand was still on top of my head, probably keeping me from falling over in a stupor.

“What do you long to say to me?” He asked quietly. His voice was so soft I wouldn't have heard him had there been any other noise. Maybe there was noise but I filtered it out and just heard him. I can't know. His fingertips dug into my scalp just a bit as if attempting to get my attention though he had it completely already.

“I don't know,” I whispered. Silence hung in the tiny space of air between us. I questioned if he had heard my answer, but then I heard him chuckle under his breath. I was in quite a state, I was aware. How hard I wished to find the right words in that moment I'd have expected them to pop out of my head in a bubble like in the comics. The thought made me chuckle and I opened my eyes. I began to lift my head up to see him but he forced my head to stay in position.

“You can look up when you've answered my question,” he said. Instant tears. I just knew I'd never figure out these words I was so desperate to say. I couldn't even speak to plead my case because my throat went numb with pain. I shifted my eyes down to look at my fingernails digging into the rounds of my knees. How hard was he baring down on my head? I then realized he was pushing me down further and I couldn't sustain my position much longer. “Down you go, girl,” he said.

I felt him step back as my upper body lowered to the floor. His hand disappeared and was replaced with his knee in my upper back. He applied enough weight to make breathing a chore but not to pass me out. I laid there on the cold floor as he gently turned my head away from him, facing the far wall. I felt him run his fingers through my hair petting me, trying to coax these words out from my mind.

“How long can you cut yourself off from me like this?” He asked.

“I'm not trying to,” I whispered, “I don't have the words I need. You said I'd find them in time.” I hoped that reminder would encourage him to allow me reprieve from his demand. I heard the most vulgar laugh in response.

“Time's up,” he said increasing the pressure on my back and grinding his knee a bit.

If I could have moved, he'd have felt me tremble underneath him. Perhaps he did as my muscles involuntarily cascaded in spasm; invisible to the eye but likely felt radiating up into his body from mine. I knew nothing could be hidden from him. I stammered out some gibberish in response that he didn't bother to acknowledge.

“You're either an unholy masochist here or you really don't know what you want to say,” he muttered after a few minutes, “How is it that I know what you want to say but you've no clue?” He lifted his knee up from my back and grabbed me by the hair to yank me off of the floor.

He let go of my bunched up hair and just stared at me. Disheveled, I merely fidgeted in front of him attempting to 'feel right' thinking if my clothing and hair were in their places, somehow things would click and I'd be able to speak again. I looked at him questioning what he said. If he knew what I wanted to say, why didn't he just tell me? Did he understand how not knowing what I felt so compelled to say was driving me insane?

“Help?” I asked meekly. Afraid to say any more lest my voice falter and crack, I fell silent before him. He sighed and reached out to brush a tuft of hair away from my right eye. His finger traced down against my cheek to my chin which he gripped between his finger and thumb. He physically shook my head from left to right. He grinned at me- that was his answer, telling me 'no' with my own movements. I scowled for a second as he walked away from me.

“Perhaps you need more time indeed,” he called back at me and laughed. He was going to let me sit in my craziness a bit longer. I wondered if he knew what he had done that he had further confused my mind and I'd struggle even more with finding these words now. I smiled just then. Oh, he knew. He knew.

9-27-2020 Journal

 I can understand a vanilla person thinking the rules of my Dynamic are oppressive, but fellow kinksters? What the hell? The pathetic thing is I really only have two so far. I need permission to play with others which is honestly rather standard for the lifestyle and I have a bedtime. Bedtime seems to be the one everyone takes issue with, but I can't for the life of me figure out why. It seems it's because I'm adult and they interpret having a bedtime as being treated like a child. So? What if I'm into that, yanno, being a little as well and all. It's kind of amusing.

What I can't tell them is I'd let my Sadist choose everything if he wanted. He doesn't, I don't think, because goodness that's time-consuming and exhausting. But the opportunity is there for him in just about any area he'd desire. What is wrong with that? They don't want me to be treated like a child but at the same time are treating me as if I have no agency to be consenting to these rules, whatever they may be. The ironic thing is my Sadist isn't power/control hungry as past Dominants have been in my life. Like, he's actually reasonable and he's probably aware he doesn't HAVE to be reasonable with me. 

I also can't tell them I'd follow this man off a fucking cliff because how insane does that sound, right? It's because I know if I leap I will find him there catching me. The cliff is an illusion, a metaphor, a symbol- my Sadist isn't crazy for fuck's sake ;) There are just so many things I wish I could share with my friends but I know they'd never understand how in his web, trapped, I finally feel free.

9-26-2020 Journal

 Home

She kept the place dark. All of her life she thought she did that to avoid being seen. Maybe she had, but now, she kept it dark because he came alive in the shadows. He ate her secrets alive without making a sound, but when he spoke- god, when he spoke- it was the sound of her walls falling down with tremendous thunder. There was harmony in the sound of this chaos that she learned to cling to; tightly wrapping her arms around each memory he created with her.

He'd flick each switch on, illuminating and exposing her, then turn them off one by one to calm her mind afterward. A back and forth slow whiplash of emotion, pain, and peace all tied together with a string of his words. She couldn't comprehend her reactions. She couldn't comprehend belonging anywhere, even in her own home. Yet, he made a place for her to be because he saw her in the darkness, yearning for him.

And she'd follow him to the edge of the shadow only to realize she'd follow into the light as well.

9-25-2020 Erotica

Bloody Hands 

"Good morning," he says casually. I'm in shock that he's in my room and I'm half awake staring up at him bleary-eyed. The clock reads 5:00 am.

He grabs my jaw, curling his fingers behind my teeth, and tugs me out of bed. Reluctantly and still stunned, I have no choice but to follow as he pulls me through my room, downstairs, and into the bathroom. He says nothing until he opens the bathroom door and points at the toilet.

"Sit," he commands and I do so. He lets go of my jaw and teeth. I am still fully clothed in my fall pajamas, now, sitting on the toilet looking up at him in confusion. My tongue instinctively flicks over the back of my teeth where he had been. I taste copper. That's when I finally notice he has blood all over his hands.

Without a word, he begins washing the blood off in my sink as he hums. He doesn't look at me but I see him glance up into the mirror. He moves his head side to side, probably checking for any visible blood splatter as his eyes are keenly looking himself over. Then, he looks over his shoulder down at me.

"How did you sleep?" He asks casually. Too casually. My mind is reeling. How did he get into my house. How did he even know where I lived. Why the fuck did he have blood on his hands. So many questions circling my brain, and yet, I am stuck on the fact he asked me a question. I'm so thrown off by trying to answer when my mind is screaming its own questions at me.

"Um, okay I guess," I stammer out and he nods his head in response. Silence takes over for a moment. I'm trying to sort through all the questions to figure out what's vital to ask first and decide it's the bloody hands. "Why was there blood all over your hands?"

"Good question," he states flatly, "Do you ask because you're concerned I am injured or for other reasons?" He turns completely and smirks at me.

"I'm uh not even sure right now." I answer honestly then think to find a reason, "Both?"

He quietly shows me his one hand and I see a gash that has started to bleed again. He shows the other. It is also beginning to bleed. He takes my face in his hands and holds me tightly. Smearing his fresh blood on both of my cheeks, he pulls me up by my face off from the toilet.

"Look," he says and pushes me almost into the mirror. I step back a bit to focus on my reflection. His blood looks like a bad makeup job and I blush under the crimson all over my cheeks. I'm not even sure why I feel embarrassed. Actually, I'm starting to feel ashamed. Deeply ashamed, I hang my head. "What's wrong, girl?" He prods.

I can't answer because I don't know. I stare helplessly into the mirror, afraid to turn away or close my eyes yet not even seeing my reflection anymore. I'm looking right past my own face until it's invisible to me. He turns me around after a few minutes of silence. Now I shut my eyes. I can't look into his. I still don't even know why or what's going on right now. He reaches down and painfully physically opens my eyelids.

"Do my hands not mold you? Does my sacrifice not make you worthy?" He continues to prod. He points at the toilet and I sit down again. He softens his gaze but keeps staring at me waiting for an answer.

And I think. And think. I'm fully awake but my brain still can't wrap around his questions ... or my unasked questions. I realize I still haven't been taking care of myself quite the way I should. Was he telling me that I'm wasting his time with my lack of effort? Is that why I feel ashamed? He's telling me that my self-hatred is getting in the way of his work.

I look up at him and he can see it's dawned on me. He crouches down to look straight into my eyes. He takes a finger and moves a bit of his blood from my cheek to my bottom lip and kisses me; soft and quick. Then abruptly bites my lower lip hard.

"This is your only friendly reminder, girl," he whispers.

9-23-2020 Erotica

He pulled her close to his chest, not for an embrace as much as it was to siphon the fear radiating from her. Her heartbeat grew faster and faster the longer he held her, then abruptly he let go giving her a shove. Confused and hurt, she stared at him meeting his eyes for a solid three secrets before she cast her eyes down. She couldn't bear to look any longer.

"You don't know me enough to fear as intensely as you need to," he said quietly. The words stung her because she knew they were possibly true. She told herself 'possibly' but also understood that he never hurt her with lies only the truth. She didn't dare look up at him. She didn't nod. She didn't acknowledge that he had spoken in any way ... other than the tears that started to run down.

He cupped her chin and lifted her face towards him, forcing her to see him. Her eyes, wide, stared at him with only pain and confusion. Her neck tensed wanting to turn away from his gaze but her mind fought with her body. His eyes looked a bit kinder now, she noticed. He grinned at her but the gesture just made her more uneasy.

"You'll know enough in time," he whispered, "Just follow me." With that, he turned and walked into the shadows of the dimly lit room; into the darkness where she couldn't see him and didn't know what he had waiting for her. She hesitated. Then, she followed.

9-21-2020 Journal

I just realized I'm in love. In all its forms. It was right in front of my face all along but I didn't want to see it for reasons. But now I've run face first into this fact n can't unsee it. N I don't know what to do. 

I said it once because I thought it was true. Maybe indeed it was n I knew it. Or maybe I wasn't but was being psychic. Something inside of me knew where I belonged n the rest of me fought it like hell. Maybe it's different now because I don't have any fight in me left. Maybe I do, I am stubborn. I wish I could know for sure. I'm sure I'll continue to fight n put up walls, I always do, that's who I am. But I fear something is different and my usual reactions aren't going to rise to the occasion.

What if I can't fight? What if I can't build a wall quick enough? What if that ends up being a good thing? What if he disappears? What if I don't say anything, is that technically hiding if I just simply don't offer the information? Yeah. He'd see it like that. Fuck. I literally have no way out of this box. I belong here though why am I looking for an exit? Wtf am I this afraid of?

I should just go back to sleep. I can force myself to be tired this morning, wouldn't take much. 

Why does love feel like the best n worst pain right in my chest? He's gonna disappear. That's why. But I promised to stop hiding. Like an idiot. How the hell did he get me to say that? Was i drunk of his presence that much?? Yeah I am. Heh. I really fucked myself here.

Part Two

Know thyself, they say. I thought I did. I think I do. Who doesn't, right, aren't you the expert on you?

I realized this morning that I only have one strong burning need. Everything else is just a mere want. And unfortunately, this should have been obvious. I mean, maybe the suspicion was there but I couldn't fathom it fully enough to see clearly.

I think I know what I need to do n what I need to concentrate on now. As much as I fought it unknowingly. Yeah .. I fought hard n still will because stubborn. But  ... Okay I'm still very confused, bear with me here.  Maybe I fought because it wasn't ideal. I kept searching out there looking for what was in front of my face all along just like everyone else seems to do. That part is amusing in a way, how I can see so clearly when someone else does that all the while I'm guilty myself.

I know I still want to fight because so much just doesn't make sense to me about the situation. But I belong. It's home, calling to me. A siren song that I've been dancing to all this time while pretending I can't hear the music. Foolish. Oh, I hear it now. I hear nothing else.

9-20-2020 Journal, Addm

 Have you ever gotten high just from interacting with someone? What I mean is, not as part of any scene (at least nothing in the traditional context, perhaps lines are a bit blurred in certain interactions). And well maybe it wasn't simply interacting. Maybe it was watching them encroach. Not quite a predator versus prey takedown but not dissimilar either. An odd area of interaction and banter and beautiful struggle, only oddly enough, lacking the struggle?

Has giving consent to something made you dizzy as if in sub space? I'm not talking about consent warriors (not saying it's not important but some people go overboard beyond reason, and I'm referring to those people alone with that term. If you're not crazy with it, I'm not talking about you), the types who are specifically aroused by consent in ways that render the actual activity to background noise. But, yanno, average kinskters- has agreeing to something ever literally altered your brain chemistry like that? What the ever-loving fuck IS that?

It just felt right. And then I got high, then I got high - that fucking song, why is it still stuck in my head. Back to being serious now...

It seriously just feels right. I felt this wave of what I initially took as "relief" wash over me, like maybe relief I made the right choice giving this consent. I dunno. First time I've ever had this kind of reaction to something like this. I get high easily, granted; voice, submitting, etc but like normal things. This was kinda a negotiation..? I just can't figure out what's going on with me here. But I'm going to enjoy. And ... probably look up that stupid song on youtube now ... because I got high, because I got high, because I got hiiiigh.

9-20-2020 Journal

I'm sure everyone has been told at least once that someone finds them "interesting". It's a common compliment (or insult depending on the inflection). What I find interesting (ha) about the word is how often it's flung around by people who typically lose interest fairly quickly. The average is about two weeks, in my personal experience. This is without my "gray rocking" or doing anything deliberate to sabotage the interaction. Two weeks but they found me OH so interesting.

As with anything that I've become desensitized to, there's one person who emerges that will say it. I feel guilty for my reluctance to accept what they say. I feel as if my hesitance is basically punishing them for the behavior of others. It takes a lot of mindfulness to sidestep my usual thought process and undo the general lack of emotion I feel; practice to allow myself to react with my true self, unhindered with the debris of broken interactions. I don't always have this mindfulness.

In this case, I have to acknowledge that this person has been in my life for years, not weeks. It's easy to not even look at that fact when responding and I'm not sure why I'm so quick to overlook the evidence. Perhaps, I feel safer in being forgotten, ghosted, unseen, and unheard. I think there's less responsibility in a series of ultimately meaningless interactions than when I find someone who means something. Someone of value who thinks I have value. Now, I'm suddenly accountable. I don't feel obligated, no, that's different. I feel that not upping my standards is a disservice to this person be it standards of how I behave towards others or how I treat myself (especially how I treat myself).

And that's a rather scary place to be, no?

This person I care about cares about me, so now I have to care about me. I've been getting better with that over time, yeah, but it's finally dawning on me how far behind the progress bar I really am. And that's not where he'd hope for me to be. It's not even about pleasing or making him proud. It's about honoring the care and effort he invests with an equal amount of mine. I'm not sure if I'm phrasing this the best, but I'm trying. And, the extra layer of scary is that I'm uncomfortable with putting care or effort into me. Partly because I was raised that healthy self-care is somehow selfish and therefore I can't even distinguish between healthy self-care and true selfishness. I have no line. Partly because there's still a lot more self-hatred than I care to recognize. I'm sure I have other reasons but those ones came to the surface the quickest.

I'm not going to get into what it feels for me to be cared about, that would be a very long writing that, in the end, would make absolutely no sense to anyone. I'm not even sure if this writing will make sense to anyone. A lot of us go through life yearning to be cared for and a lot of those same people don't want the things that go alongside of being cared for, the accountability. I'm no different, I guess, but I'm aware of the other side of the coin and I know I can't choose one without its counterpart. I don't get to invent terms as I go along as much as I'd like to think I do. Some things in life are the way they are and no spinning truly changes it, it only fogs up your perception.

All of this from a word. Interesting. Signs and other words echoing in my head now all pool into place on the bigger picture due to one word. Hrm. I wasn't blind to things, I was neglectful. I refused to see because it felt like pressure upon me. And it is. And it's a pressure I need to also place on myself. And it's scary. And I don't enjoy it.

But I somehow know it's worth facing.

9/19/2020 Journal

 I've had non-sadists ask me "How do you punish a masochist?" Bewildering question. My answer has always been that because I hate to disappoint, punishment doesn't feel the same as a scene. And that's absolutely true. When I got into emotional masochism, part of me did wonder, would punishment still feel different or be effective? Well, in the respect of feeling miserable for disappointing, yes, it still hurts in a way that's far from erotic, and it probably still pretty effective in its own right. However, I was punished last night in a way beyond preemptive comprehension.

And thinking about it, being miserable for disappointing- that actually comes from me, it's my own punishment I am dealing out to myself. Again, has it's own appropriate purposes, but how does a Sadist make the punishment his own if relying on that flavor? He can't, he needs to actually not rely on it at all. He doles out his own flavor, regardless of what I'm doing to myself. They can complement each other or be two very separate things, I'm not sure if it matters, but having a Sadist who is cognizant of who is the creator of the feelings I'm experiencing is just amazing on so many levels I can't even articulate.

I believe it makes me grow in ways I can't really orchestrate by kicking my own ass. It certainly exhausted me. I felt like he broke me, for a while. I've never experienced this- a punch to the heart that went through any possible shield I could ever have. This pain went kinda beyond pain if that makes sense. It cut bone, into the marrow of my identity and I bled out. I got angry (normal reaction). I wanted to lash out despite the fact I was the one who had done wrong (normal again). But then, I had to look at the truth. I had no wiggle room to delude myself and justify my anger, I had to peel the anger off and look at the fear underneath and I certainly feared that what he said was true. It was an identity crisis.

I learned that I cherry-pick the criteria for something I was so proud of that I staked my identity to it most of my life. It's not a semantics issue, I actually cherry-pick and reject any definitions that I feel I cannot meet easily. I then fell down a rabbit hole of pain as if the initial blow wasn't painful enough. It made me physically ill which when combined from the adrenaline the whole ordeal already sprung a leak of, I couldn't stomach it. That was new for me as well, to be physically overwhelmed and sickened by ... emotion. And to learn a few things on top of that. 

It feels odd to be impressed when I was being punished, but I can't dismiss the idea that damn, this was an impressive feat. Not because I'm some bad ass (far from), but it's just been so rare to find someone who thinks like my Sadist. He demands to be the reason I am feeling pain in any scene, punishment or not, the pain is on his terms and he won't rest on his laurels letting me do some half-ass job at making myself miserable. It's ... he takes responsibility of it. He makes sure I learn the lesson correctly, too. It's ... fuck if I had a stronger command of language, it'd be nice to describe this fully.

The kicker is, I'm not surprised necessarily. I didn't expect anything basic to start with, but I guess I couldn't even fathom quite what actually went down. And to be clear, I didn't enjoy any element of this, I'm only appreciating the craftsmanship and it took me a bit to even be able to look at that. I don't think I've ever respected someone else this much and I feel bad saying that because there's a lot of people in my life I *should* respect more than I do. Respect, unfortunately, is a struggle for me, but it's coming so naturally for this man that I can't just gloss over that. I'm suddenly glad certain people don't know this blog exists. :/

I dunno, I'm still trying to describe something that happened and I feel I can't do it justice. At all. And it's been easy for me to look at or experience an erotic scene and see its beauty, but to find beauty and intimacy and vulnerability in punishment is rare for me. Actually, to be honest I've never felt vulnerable in a true sense in punishment before. I've been through a lot, but true vulnerability? Not a frequent flyer. Damn, I feel more connected to my real self (that thing I keep searching for) now. I think he's led me to finding an authentic piece of myself and that, of course, brings me closer under his arm. Things are still clicking as I jot this, sorry if so disjointed. Damn.

How the hell does being punished cause the most joy you've felt in weeks to just erupt like this? Am I losing my mind?? Why are my eyes leaking? Maybe it's too soon to post for public consumption, but eh, I needed to get my thoughts out while processing. This may end up having multiple parts or I may just stick with what I already have. I have a suspicion that this will be the most I can articulate because some magic just can't be illustrated by mere words.

9-18-2020 Journal

 I can post freely here. I really fucked up and didn't know I was making a huge mistake but he's pissed at me. It's the worst feeling in the world and I just need my thoughts out even though I'm crying it's hard to see what I'm typing.  I can't handle this. I seriously can't handle this. The punishment part, sure it'll be nasty but I can survive. I don't think he realizes how much it hurts to have him mad at me like this. I just wanna go to bed and wake up in a whole nother time period.

I can't really say much else cause I don't understand my thoughts.

9-6-2020 Journal

 Wanting

I feel you in my veins, your words whispering in between every pulse, driving me insane. If I could beg for you with words, I'd speak. The heat of lust is prickling down my entire body and I can't calm my breathing. The rest of my thoughts are just flashes of images I can't even comprehend.

You push me to my knees with only a look. Submission becomes effortless. I can't think of anything outside of this moment with you, please remind me to breathe.

Maybe it's not air I need, maybe don't tell me to breathe; I feel as if I can't catch my breath when I think of you anyway. I would suffocate just to feel your presence, I would suffocate without. I'm trapped in a web watching you stare me down like I'm prey. The pulsing of your words creep down from my beating heart and crawl between my legs and I squirm begging both for you to stop and to never stop. Never stop your words, your stares, my suffering in this dance we share.

I feel your fingertips caressing my mind, pulling strings this way and that. You yank on one and my back arches and I yelp in pain singing for you. You force me to feel, you allow me to feel you inside of me. You orchestrate pain in ways I can't counter and nullify and I wouldn't dare try, I want to feel.. for you. With you. I want to submit when it's uncomfortable, I want to fall into you, I want you to drain me of everything. You make hurting safe. You make crying safe. You make the darkness inside alive and erotic. I feel possessed by you, coming alive in ways I haven't known before meeting you. I will beg for you if there were words good enough. Please please please never stop hurting me.

9-5-2020 Journal

Cruel

The word probably brings up images of snarling sadists, in a kink community at least. There are many I've met in life and online that certainly fit the criteria and sometimes, I can get down with that. However, I've found in my personal experience that there's not much balance or even diversity with the real cruel ones. Then, I came to know of emotional sadomasochism which opened up a whole new world where, again, there was a lot of cruelty to sample as I wished. Again, it was very one flavor on the tongue in my experience until I stumbled upon my sadist. And … I can't say 'cruel' works, my desire for precision of language makes the word choice incorrect in my mind. (Oh, I totally fail to be precise with my words, by the way, don't want to give a false impression, it's just a goal I often never reach).

However, people who have witnessed our scenes or ones he's done with others would use the word 'cruel' to describe either the scene or the sadist himself. I've learned that you can't convince someone that any given person isn't cruel if they've already decided that the person is indeed. I describe it by getting them to imagine they've no comprehension of a doctor. There's no understanding of a doctor's skill or intent if you don't grasp what a doctor even is, right? Now, imagine you watch a doctor rebreaking a bone so it can heal properly. I'm sure it'd look barbaric. Cruel. Once you gain an understanding of what a doctor is, that ordeal you witnessed makes sense from an entirely new angle.

Are emotional sadists like doctors? Not all obviously, but mine has certainly healed parts of me I wasn't even aware were damaged. And it hurt like rebreaking a bone, on an emotional level. And the process looked barbaric to outsiders who don't understand this type of play, but also, to people who aren't privy to his purpose and intent. We often preach on here not to judge a book by its cover but we're all guilty of doing just that, myself included (ESPECIALLY). Whether it's a kink we don't get or someone doing our kink the wrong way, we're quite often as intolerable as the intolerable we point a finger at. Again, I'm no exception. I think it's human, to be honest, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't acknowledge our human nature while doing our best to reign it in and act better.

I feel I should add a disclosure of sorts. I myself am a sadist, too, not just a masochist. My style or flavor is laced thoroughly with cruelty. If someone called me cruel, I'd probably nod in agreement and go about my day. I don't necessarily like the fact that cruel is my niche is the world of sadism but I'm damn good at ruthless torture. It just bothers me when the word is flung around at people who really don't fit the definition. Things aren't always as they appear. For example, I'm sure I come across as harmless. Grins.

9-4-2020 Journal

Paper

As I'm staring up at the moon tonight, I think about what we're exploring. I'm trying to imagine the pain that is coming as well as how he's going to take my past experience and origami it into something beautiful and intimate. He has this way about him. The origami thought leads me to think of an adage that was a lyric in a song that holds meaning for me.

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

Yet ... he has a way of smoothing that paper out then caressing the ridges left behind until you actually feel proud of your scars. Not in a toxic victimhood type of way, but it's more in the way of "this is me and it's okay to not be perfect as long as I don't just give up". There's something about the hope it instills that is indescribable.

Then, my thoughts drift to other things- things spoken as if the whispers in my mind had been transmitting outward unbeknownst to me. I just blink rapidly in the darkness of my thoughts and the darkness outside tonight. Finding common threads stitching us up and being surprised when I ought not to be, I'm aware there are certain things I just knew without any confirmation. Maybe I'm shocked at actually being correct. I long since convinced myself certain inklings were a delusion- there's no way we'd have that in common because ... yanno, I never had a legitimate 'because'. It is a pattern to assume I'm wrong about a thought. He caresses another ridge in the paper and I fold

Then, the voyeur in me had risen up. He didn't seem to mind, actively encouraged it, it seemed to me. It felt he took much pride in his cherished property and I enjoyed participating in my own appreciation of what belongs to him. But that wasn't all I admired, it was their connection that made things more beautiful than superficiality could wave a wand at, and it was that beauty which made me writhe in lust. I use 'lust' but the word implies 'want' which would imply 'envy', but 'lust' is the best term I have; I'm not envious- quite the opposite which I also don't have the term to use. It's beyond a mere "happy for you" because what I feel isn't so flat. I feel something glorious, a joy of sorts. I dunno, I feel almost as I celebrate it..?

When I finally got back home, I sat on the porch. The streetlights are dim and the only light is from a few signs by the highway and a cell phone. I'm just here thinking, tapping away these words in a Note app. It's a clear mesh of poetic and bumpkin, this writing of mine. Kinda like me. It's authentic and raw just like my emotions; they're spilling all over the place right now yet I'm not worried about the mess at this moment. I don't always have to have my emotions under tight control, I can just feel them even if they're scattered and don't make much sense. I don't have to make sense. The places we're poking at, there's going to be a lot that doesn't make sense, I should get acquainted with that concept now. And I've got people in my life that don't make sense to me, perhaps I need to learn the difference between trying to understand someone and trying to make sense of them. He caresses another ridge, one I didn't expect

There's no real appropriate ending for this writing, at least, not one I'm satisfied with and I'm sure I'll struggle with the title the same.

My favorite line ever read

The sadist took what he wanted from you.

The intensity of this single sentence. Happy sigh.

9-3-2020 Fiction

“Does this hurt?” He asked as she laid before him on the table.

“No,” she said softly. His brows furrowed and he moved his hands to a new spot and simply looked towards her. He couldn't gauge her response from her expression so he repeated the question. Again, she told him that it didn't hurt, and again, he moved his hands and questioned her. Then, he put a hand up her gown and in between her bare legs and she jolted up from the table a little bit and caught her breath. He watched her breasts heave up and down for a moment under her thin hospital gown.

“Not what I hoped to see,” he said, mostly to himself rather than towards her. He hummed a tune to himself for a moment while drifting his fingertips up her thigh to her knee and patting it. He put his hands in a new spot and asked her the same tired question. Her answer remained the same though her tone still startled. He walked his fingers menacingly up to her left breast and placed his palm over her heart.

“Does this hurt?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said with a slight wince then coyly smiled up at him.

“Wonderful!” He exclaimed, “You'll be a good little patient and suffer nicely.” He put his other hand up her gown again then showed her his glistening fingers tips. “Now this is what I hoped to see.”

A physical medical torture scene with a hint of emotional sadomasochism. This was a dream I had the other day during a short nap that I never got to finish. Knowing me, the hint of emotional sadomasochism was a harbinger of what would become the focal point of the scene. I think the medical setup was going to end up more mental for me than physically intimidating. I imagine anxiety attacks, restraints, drugs, and padded walls were a guaranteed outcome. I hate that I'll never know now

8-26-2020 Journal

The thing that sucks about pulling the mask off of your emotions is you often discover things you really don't want to discover. Sometimes, it's enlightening and you can get all positive vibes shit off that. Other times, it's like staring at your reflection for hours without blinking until you literally memorize every fucking flaw on your ugly face. Then, there are times where it's a unique combo of the latter and just straight up utter confusion. Maybe that's a sweet spot for an emotional sadist. Hell, maybe it's a sweet spot for me and I just don't know it yet. I'm open to possibilities, but right now, it just kinda sucks.

And that ends my coherent thoughts on the vague matter. The remaining is only gibberish that isn't really coming from the brain at all.

8-20-2020 Fiction

This fictional story does not fall within the guidelines of a healthy Emotional sadomasochism dynamic.

Erasure

She was defiant, brazenly so. He watched her making dinner in a sleeveless shirt knowing she wore that shirt just to show off the tattoo she'd gotten that he told her she couldn't. He hadn't made a comment when she came home with the tattoo yesterday. He hadn't made a comment today either, but he knew she could feel his cold stare boring straight into her arm. They ate dinner in silence. After she tidied up the plates and got ready to do the dishes, he slipped in behind her. He reached around her and turned the water spigot off.

“I have something for you,” he breathed in her ear, “the dishes can wait. Follow me.” She glanced back at him slightly and he could almost taste the tension radiating from her muscles into the air. He walked upstairs to their bedroom with her in tow.

“Sit,” he instructed gesturing half-heartedly at the bed. She complied and fixed her stare at the floor. That was okay, he knew she'd face him soon enough. He walked to their master bathroom and returned with a syringe. “So, you remember my friend, Dave, right?” He asked.

“Dave the fat mechanic or Dave the biotech science nerd guy?” She asked. She shuffled on the bed a bit as if she already anticipated the answer and knew where this was going. She couldn't, though, he knew; no one would expect what was going to happen. He smiled down at her.

“The latter,” he said still smiling, “This is a suspension liquid full of the latest nanobots.” He tilted the syringe towards her for a second then prepped the needle. He squirted a thin thread of liquid into the nearby trash can on her side of the bed. “I told you I didn't want this tattoo and now, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to correct the situation.”

He watched her stiffen for a moment then grabbed her arm firmly and sunk the needle into the middle of her tattoo. He looked into her eyes as the needle emptied into her flesh. Her eyes watered and she clearly wanted to yank her arm away. She looked as if the words she wanted to scream at him confused and choked her. He smiled again, pulled the needle out, and patted her arm with his other hand while still holding onto her with his other. “Good girl,” he cooed.

“Another unfortunate thing, a side effect,” he said then paused dramatically, “The itching is intense as the nanobots undo the ink from the inside.” He patted her arm again, this time a bit harder so that it stung and he gripped her tighter with his other hand.

She looked up at him, a combination of an angry glare and absolute horror. He still had a firm hold on her arm. Then, abruptly, he let go of her and tossed the used syringe into the garbage. The sound of it hitting the bottom of the can seem to wake her up out of her compliant stupor. She began mumbling incoherently but definitely angrily and he spun around causing her to clam up immediately. He looked at her for a while, just staring through her.

“Oh, yeah, I also forgot the other side effect,” he said, “Dave warned me there's an ever so slight chance of the nanobots traveling into the blood. They can cross into the brain and start causing some minor damage. It's nothing to really worry about, the risk is just under 10%, and really the only damage might actually make you listen to instruction better. So, well, I see it more as a positive if anything at all.” He caressed her cheek and she recoiled. He left the room without another word.

She was up in the room by herself for a while. He had done the dishes and wiped off the table in her absence, including scouring the gravy pan. As he scrubbed that fucker clean, he imagined erasing her tattoo. He originally thought of taking a literal eraser to it. He knew it wasn't an effective approach, but damn, did the thought of how much it would hurt turn him on. He nodded to himself in thought, no, this choice had certainly been the best choice. He chuckled ever so softly then he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

She had sat still long enough for him to leave the room. She then tore the shirt from her body and ripped the thin material into a long strip. She formed a tourniquet around her arm just above the tattoo and a few inches above the injection site. Digging through her nightstand, she found a small pair of scissors but fumbled with them while she contemplated. She dropped them back into the drawer just as the intense itching started to take effect. Grabbing the scissors back up, she carefully scratched her arm longways with the blade, repeatedly. It didn't alleviate the itching and she could feel her heart pumping blood faster and faster. She pulled at the tourniquet to make sure it was as tight as it could possibly be.

Would she have to amputate her damn arm to stop the bots from digging into her brain? She got up and frantically looked around the room for other ideas. Then, she saw the lighter she kept near her favorite candle over on her vanity. Her face broadened with a huge smile. She grabbed it and began burning all over her tattoo and even outside the edges for good measure. It hurt like fuck but it was the option that offered the least amount of damage after all. She hissed in pain, quietly as to not alert him, as her flesh hissed. The disgusting smell of her arm hair burning almost stopped her as she felt she was going to vomit. However, she was determined to fry these little fuckers before they could erase more than just a dumb tattoo.

After she felt she had to have accomplished the mission, she set the lighter aside and looked at her arm in the mirror. Horrified, she looked away instantly. Her bicep looked like a bumpy asteroid. Big fat tears began to roll down her face as she released the tourniquet from her bicep, letting it fall to the ground without much thought. The itching had stopped. The bots were fried and harmless debris her body would eventually find a way to remove in time. She sighed and felt exhausted. She left the bedroom and stood at the head of the stairs listening to him washing dishes. When the water shut off, she composed herself and started downstairs. She was in pain but rather proud of herself. She beat him at his own game. She won. She smiled briefly but recomposed herself before entering the kitchen.

He looked over at her. His eyes instantly went to her arm rather than her shirtless body. There was a thick red indent above what used to be her tattoo- that tattoo was now just a bloody blotchy stinking mess complete with loose flaps of flesh threatening to fall off and disintegrate.

“What did you do?” He asked incredulously.

“I burned the bots to death,” she whispered, still proud of herself but also scared of his reaction at the same time.

“It was a fucking B12 shot!” He said angrily and toss the bawled up kitchen rag he had in his hand into the sink. “For fuck's sake!”

Her face fell. She maimed herself for nothing. That realization played across her face like a marquee stuck on repeat. She stood there with her mouth hanging open. She had no color left, the only color to her was her dark brown hair and the big ugly red patch of burn rot on her arm. He smirked at her suddenly.

“Well, that shot did end up getting rid of the tattoo regardless, huh?” He said in a stern tone. She blinked hard trying to keep the tears from coming back. She reeled on the inside, trying to comprehend, to process what the fuck just happened tonight. Did he know? Did he know this would happen or was the B12 shot just meant to terrify her for a short time in which then he'd fess up about its true nature? She tried to blurt out this question, but nothing really came out besides noise.

“I'm going to have to clean and bandage that, looks second degree,” he said tenderly taking her by the wrist to bring her in closer as he inspected the damage, “Good thing you didn't go much longer, that'd require surgery, you know.” He clucked his tongue every so many seconds as he examined her, but occasionally she'd catch him grinning ever so slightly.

“Did you-” were the only words she could finally manage to say and when she left the sentence hanging, he just smirked at her for a split second then he went back to looking at her arm. He glanced up from her arm with his eyes only and stared into hers in silence for what seemed a very long time. She hadn't won. She hadn't beat him at his game. One corner of her mouth began to twitch as if it wanted to smirk back at him. Her eyes hardened as she looked into his and he let go of her wrist. He smirked once more, just barely a second, and turned to go to the medicine cabinet. Was she imagining the smirks? Did he plan this? Was she losing her mind? She's unlikely to get these answers, she realized and sat down at the table; defeated.

He came towards her with his arms forming a bundle of first aid items. She reluctantly propped her arm up on the table. Then, she laid her head down on her left cheek, away from him and the injury. She exhaled loudly. She heard him rip open a box of some sort.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he began his work.

Disclaimer: This is fictional ffs. No masochists or other s-types were harmed in real life.

7-10-2020 Journal

I've noticed a lot of improvement in the last several months that I directly attribute to playing with my sadist on the emotional level. I can't say with certainty which scenes caused what growth because often I think a lot of things work on the subconscious level and also all the scenes seem to tie together somehow (but in the long run, I can never seem to piece them together during or even shortly afterward). Regardless, it feels quite awesome to grow. It's growth I never expected to have and I probably wouldn't have known I even wanted.

Today I noticed I'm not as triggered by insecurity. I'm usually way more insecure than I let on (what you do see is just the tip of the iceberg). While I still have a lot more to work through, it really feels ... "nice"? to not be enslaved to negative emotions all the time. It's peaceful and I have zero problems with letting go of my immaturity- it's not something that's ever been beneficial. And tonight I'm reflecting on my past and what I will now refer to as an experiment to help me gain "emotional control".

This experiment wasn't conducted by me. I had achieved a level of it that I felt was good enough and was content with, but there was disagreement on that. So I was essentially trained. And I saw some small improvements but I also got more harm out of the experience than I can say it was worth. I didn't realize it as vividly as I do right here and now. I think I minimized how damaging the methods were and I recall my therapist saying that a few months back. The methods now feel a lot more like emotional repression, akin to what I experienced in childhood but framed differently. This isn't as much an eye-opener itself but to have true growth in the area really does change my perspective on the past.

I realize repression isn't controlling your reaction or even your emotions, it's ignoring them. Ignoring things isn't my nature at all and I think that probably was a huge factor in my depression and backsliding of my borderline personality disorder. (I had to seek out therapy again because I went from being considered "managed" to off the rails in about a five year period). In fact, the last time I had that much struggle with it, I was in gradeschool. Therapy hasn't really helped at all, unfortunately, but my sadist has done wonders for me. Funny how that works being recently someone made a crappy comment about how BDSM isn't therapy. Well, not everyone approaches the type of connections BDSM can offer with a mind open to learning and that's okay, but I most certainly DO want to learn.

I know I will always have some issues and immaturity. I know I will be in a constant state of growing. I'm okay with this and do realize that these facts don't make me a failure or less of a person. I don't have to be perfect to be worthy of my life. Heck, I don't even have to be a good person to be worthy, I just rather aim for it. I think, though, the important thing is not chasing perfection in order to validate my existence. See, validation is something I always thought I didn't need, but I was wrong; I merely sought it in a way different from what I've seen others do. I don't need to be understood by the masses. I don't need to be liked, loved, adored, whatever. I dislike attention in general and would just die being the center of it (you should've seen inside my brain at my wedding, seriously). I don't care about popularity, especially on social media. I dislike being called pretty, beautiful, attractive, what have you. I don't want or need these things at all. However, I did need to be perfect, not in all ways, but in a lot of ways so that I could somehow figuratively point at something that validated whatever effort it took to interact with me. I'm no different than anyone else in the basic need, just in the particulars.

I'm slowly letting go of the whole perfectionist bullshit. I don't understand how and it's probably still in smaller ways, but it's definitely happening. I'm happier for it and it seems so are the people around me. I feel less bitter about my childhood even. I think losing some of the perfectionist is making me realize my parents and siblings are only human as well and has made forgiveness a lot deeper. Perhaps I forgave them logically but never quite emotionally? I dunno. And it's caused me to interact with them differently somehow. Maybe I'm not holding back as much, maybe I smile more, laugh easier? Maybe I'm not such a bore or pain to be around? Who knows, but this change couldn't have come at a better time. My parents are older and have some serious health issues; quality time with them is the utmost important right now. This has been one of the shiniest gifts.

Sorry, this is gonna be long (cue brain vomit theme song). There's just so much to unpack here plus I got the stuff going on in the world in the back of my head. I'm not going to write about any of it, not because it's necessarily depressing but because I think we all see events and I don't think my putting my personal stamp on global things is warranted. I feel like a computer with 29 tabs open lol. I dunno maybe I should end this thing here because no one wants to read a book here. Anyway, just my mind map at the moment for anyone interested.

7-2-2020 Journal

Sometimes an emotional sadomasochism scene takes a while to marinate in your mind. It's rare for me (so far) to have a case where I'm so utterly confused by a scene that I can't even journal about it for weeks. Normally, the lessons gleaned from it is pretty clear for me, occasionally I'll get a few extra epiphanies that straggle, but yeah mostly I'm on point with things.

Now, first, I have got to say this the best that I can. I really have to stop and objectively look at the crafting of such an unusual scene and admire the fuck out of the craftsmanship before I can even get into the results. To have someone who cannot literally read minds be that in tune with me to not only get past my comprehension (yanno the conscious part of you that not only tries to understand but more often than not tries to FIGHT information? Yeah, that dick) but to hit an area I've never shared with anyone and was purposely hiding from myself. Like. Should this be about the craftsmanship or rather be marksmanship at this point? Jebus.

Bewildered, I really came away from this scene thinking well, I'm not sure I learned anything. I wasn't sure if I had been too dumb to get it or what. And my first instinct is to question my ability to see, learn, notice, etc. So for a few weeks, I kept playing with this puzzle in my head and just really couldn't. This, of course, made me play around with it even more. And even more. Yeah, I'm an obsessive personality type. Then- and idk how- it clicked. Just like a finger snap outta nowhere.

Since this area of my mind affected my marriage, the first thing I did was have a long conversation with my husband in which I also explained I had done wrong on a few things and apologized. Neither of us was exactly sure where to go from that point, but we had a weekend getaway (our state is semi- open I guess due to low covid risk) for our anniversary. And we just focused on reconnecting. Oh, and hot sex (I keep forgetting this is still supposed to be a safe place to talk about sex. Tongue firmly in cheek, btw).

So yeah, a scene with a brilliant sadist actually helped me fix a HUGE issue in my life/ marriage. An issue I didn't even realize was that huge because I was an expert at ignoring it and deflecting. It was an odd area of growth I never expected. And this area I'm being all vague about will probably affect more things in my life I imagine. I'm looking forward to that because I do honestly think it will all be positive. I believe a lot of the self-hate I had in my life and just general bitterness is due largely to this issue. And I feel silly because if I had just faced it instead of burying it down, maybe I'd have been a much happier person sooner. Ah well, this is how life is sometimes.

Special thank you to my sadist who is incredibly pivotal in my transformation. I say transformation rather than just growth because I literally feel like it's more than growth. I wish I had the words. I kinda feel like I'm becoming the person I truly am and was always meant to be before bad things happened in life. It's kinda hard to explain. But goodness, I wish everyone had someone like you in their life that cared enough to pull them out of themselves like this.

6-10-2020 Journal

I fear a big secret is about to be exposed. Maybe it's only secret in my head but obvious to people who know me reasonably well. In thinking about this, and discussing it briefly with my husband, I've arrived at the opinion that perhaps this can be a good thing. Maybe I will find resolution for a piece of myself, whether purposely or as an added bonus. That thought leads me to wonder, well, does this issue/problem cause havoc in my life that I don't see, ignore, or misinterpret?

And yanno, I think it absolutely does because any piece of you that doesn't assimilate with the rest of you tends to fuck up the party so to speak. I'd be foolish to think I'm getting away with having any issue without real repercussions.

This should be interesting.

6-8-2020 Journal

Today was interesting. I've been in sadist mode all day, maybe even the last few days. And sometimes, for unknown reasons, the switch back to my baseline self just doesn't happen as smoothly as I'd like. But I learned tonight that my heart knows how to submit regardless what mode I may be stuck in, all I have to do is stop and listen. And that is where my connection to him is and I will be listening to that like it's my favorite song now.

Now that I'm where I need to be to start, I look forward to tomorrow in a completely different way. And I'm anxious in the same way as before lol.

6-2-2020 Journal

Pressure

This probably shouldn't be so confusing to me, but I don't understand the feeling. Physically, yeah, I know pressure, but emotionally? Now, I've experienced peer pressure in highschool until my friends realized I wasn't really responsive to it. I can see it in that way, acknowledge it, but I don't feel anything emotionally at all. I get I'm supposed to feel an urge to fit in I guess, as far as peer pressure goes, but I don't. Something in me is missing or broken. It's the same for a lot of other social pressures, but what does it feel like from a partner?

I've had partners in the past use peer pressure. I've had them use guilt trips. I've been abused. There's many different ways to get someone to do something against their will. I feel it kinda superficially, like I realize what they're trying to do and how they expect me to respond. But ... I don't feel naturally inclined to respond as expected nor do I respond the exact opposite just to surprise them. I just respond with doing what I actually feel is best.

Is feeling pressure the same as getting flustered? Is it more a sickening feeling like shakes and nausea? Is it submitting to pressure if you analyze the request and feel it's a wise choice? Is pressure the only reason people do what is right sometimes? Am I thinking too hard? Probably. Welcome to my personal hell.

What is pressure really boils down to mere discomfort? That, I understand and that I can not only acknowledge but can feel. I'm uncomfortable 24/7, so am I under constant pressure? Is that maybe why I'm not as responsive to pressure others try to exert on me? Maybe this is a blessing..?

If pressure is emotional discomfort, then aren't we all under constant pressure? Most people I know are stuck in discomfort either emotionally, physically, or both. The Earth should be a diamond by now. Is this why there's so much nastiness and violence and drug use? We're all trying to relieve this discomfort, vent some of the pressure?

Why then does it seem people are highly responsive to manipulative tactics like peer pressure when I'm in the same discomfort yet I'm over here doing my own thing whether it's the expected or not? Am I really broken or is it a good thing? I mean, it kept me from drugs and ruining my life on multiple occasions after all. But does it make me inhuman to be this way? Do I even care if I'm human? Yes and no. I care for me, I don't care how others perceive me. I want to know, for my own soul, that being different doesn't make me less human.

If this weren't the only difference, I'd probably not be as concerned, but dear God I'm a fucking alien at times. I don't need to belong, I need to know my difference doesn't mean I'm a bad person. And unfortunately, no one can actually answer that, not even me. Welcome to my personal hell.

5-30-2020 Journal

I'm aware that I'm insecure (I think most people can tell it too), but it's been a long time since I've really felt the powerlessness of it. I find it interesting that I feel more helpless sitting in that than fear and panic combined. Also interesting, I don't feed off this helplessness in my typical masochistic way. Fear and panic, yes please, I eat those up and ask for more. Anger and insecurity, huh uh, I wanna pass. I get that no one tends to like feeling intimidated or embarrassed in general (thinking with a vanilla mind here), but I'm so used to my masochism being stoked even in the vanilla world that it spun my head to find that I still don't like these things in a kink world. I'm really analytical right now and looking at my emotions like they're on a slide under a microscope and I'm as detached as a scientist. I just realized I'm disassociating from the entire experience.

To be honest here, it wasn't that bad, my response is just really riled up..? I'm not sure what's been triggered emotionally at the point, but something definitely has.

And I swear I can hear words echoing in my head about shaking loose what becomes entangled in a person. I'm aware something was yank upon a bit, not completely (probably due to mercy lol), but something is going to be pulled from me. I'm not sure what this has to do with pressure. I don't really associate pulling with exerting pressure, they tend to feel entirely different to me emotionally. My head is spinning.

The only things about this I can say for certain is that this is going to test my pain limits in specific areas that aren't the highest and that the pain will be worth it somehow. Everything else, I haven't a clue.

ADDENDUM

If being in pieces can be beautiful, what if I'm already fragmented? Juggling mental states all the time has had more downs than ups. If, when the pieces are picked up, they are arranged differently, would that allow me to see some of this that I don't understand?

5-7-2020 Fiction

Music

"Tonight we're going to unbox your feelings for me," he said matter factly with a chill to his voice. If only she could respond so calm. She struggled internally to be stoic, to hide her desperation and her concerns. She had no idea what to expect but knew he'd dig into the core of her being; he'd find secrets. She lowered her head to avert her eyes almost immediately and just as quickly, his hand was under her chin lifting it back up. He forced her to look at him. The more he stared into her eyes, the more she began to unravel.

Come clean she willed herself. Desperation took hold when she realized she couldn't risk it. Her face went from the composure of a poker player to crumpling almost in on itself in agony. The sharp abrupt change in her demeanor caused him to blink rapidly at her a moment but he didn't say a word. He only continued to stare. Listening.

"Please don't hurt me," She begged suddenly. The sincerity cracked her voice. The absurdity of asking a sadist not to hurt was momentarily lost on her.

"Oh my, such innocence," he murmured caressing her cheek and trailing down the side of her neck, "such naivety. Don't you understand little girl that growing up hurts? That I teach you through the pain?" His eyes penetrated her unwaveringly.

"I am too weak," she confessed in tears. He reached out and whisked a few drops away in such a manner as to suggest how useless these tears were to him.

"Which means you need me more than ever."

She almost fell apart right then but steadied herself just enough; barely holding on and yet congratulating herself on what she managed. In the end, he did nothing, at least in that moment. All it took tonight was his eyes glowering down into hers. The fear was unbearable. Secretly she marveled at the way he took down another wall without a single strike on her flesh. His words not even sharp as razors; they didn't have to be and he knew it. One layer shedding was tolerable. She sighed a little easier as he turned to walk, giving her the impression that this was all.

"I won't abandon you in the pain," he said pausing his footsteps, "I won't do what you had done to me."

Her eyes closed trying to contain all the deeper tears, the ones that weren't as easily controlled or stopped once they began. She refused to let them fall, refusing to be sliced open by his parting remark. Her resolve now robust; she could keep it all in. She could continue to hide within herself forever if she damn well chose, and that, he also knew. But before his fingertips touched the doorknob, she fell to her knees. Her eyes opened, flitting back and forth at the floor, seeming incredulous at what had happened. Then a look of acceptance took her face and she let out a pitiful wail. A trumpet call of sorts announcing some seal had been broken, some new level of excavation achieved.

"Music," he said with a smile and turned the knob.

5-4-2020 Journal

I've been having a lot of rapid change and epiphanies lately. I naturally question that. When you've been starved of sustenance, when you get a taste you're so thirsty you suck it up like a sponge. So I guess that's what is happening.

When you're a victim of something or someone, I think we all briefly forget we have a choice because the more obvious thing is the lack of it against the force bearing down on us. Our choice is how we respond and I'm not referring to the immediate reactions. I'm looking at the series of subtle, almost undetectable choices we make that erode us over passing time. We may have told ourselves we're not going to let x,y, or z change us but we often change without even noticing.

I didn't realize I'd made the choice to cut off my emotions. The life I've had certainly never gave me the impression I held any power at all. From feeling so insignificant, I stopped looking or even understanding some of my words and actions. I couldn't understand why it would hurt someone for me to say I didn't want them to care about me- couldn't fathom why that would matter to them let alone wrap my head around why they'd care in the first place. I can't even imagine the unintentional damage I've caused to other people that I couldn't see with my own eyes.

However, one thing I do know is guilt is a selfish emotion. I'm not going to drown my soul in it, that won't help anyone. In fact, that would just propagate the cycle of feeling worthless and lead me right back to causing harm. No, I will choose sorrow. I will experience it but not wallow and turn it into guilt. And then I will apologize, forgive myself, and move forward because that's the healthy thing to do for everyone involved. That is the power I have.

I'm not helpless or hopeless. Having these new thoughts in my head brings me the peace I need to accomplish this plan. Kinda weird how it's all neatly intertwined. I won't get into my thoughts on that, though. I just wanted to share my thoughts in case any of my rambling helps someone else.

4-30-2020 Journal

I feel like I'm drowning but not in the way I'm used to. I can breathe, actually better as if the air is just pure relaxing energy. But I'm flooded with it. There's this tingling in my limbs, but not from anxiety ... More like excitement maybe? I've always had a masochist's relationship with pain but I don't think I've ever looked so forward to it, not necessarily eager for pain; what I'm drawn to seems to have shifted a bit.

If I were normal, I'd panic thinking I'm being erased because all the reactions and emotions I'm familiar with are just kinda changing on me. But I'm not normal. I don't have much real me to erase so it almost seems like I'm gaining a me, if that makes a lick of sense. For so long as I can remember, I've just been a collection of what people told me I was. I barely had a congruent self though I guess my morals and values were mostly consistent, but those were the bare bones that made me a person. And any part of me that I deemed real, I hid. I felt I had to or I'd lose that part forever. It's been a strange life, being just a little too fluid to be real.

So I feel I'm finally gaining the building blocks I somehow never got growing up. It feels as weird as it feels exhilarating. It's scary too being I don't understand entirely what or how it's happening. My emotions are just all over the place, but mostly positive. That's another thing I'm not used to, card-carrying pessimist that I am. Anyway I hope I can look back on this writing in the future where I may have gained some understanding; just wanted a snapshot of my thoughts.

4-28-2020 Journal

When I'm hurting or anxious (which to me is a form of pain anyway), I aim to express myself. Repeatedly. Often, I lose the very loose hold I have on my social skills and there's not much give and take in my conversations. I'm fully aware, but haven't yet found a method for fixing it.

Due to this glitch of mine, as I call it, I don't hear other people as well assuming they can even get a word in edgewise. I don't feel my pain is greater or more important at all, I don't view anyone's pain as minor and I don't compete. I have that quality going for me, however, this glitch makes it appear that I absolutely think my pain reigns supreme. Or at least, I'd think that of another who freight trained me in a conversation. I hope others have more patience with me lol but I cannot expect it.

Since my anxiety has been through the roof, I've had several incidents where after a conversation, I feel horrible sitting in the knowledge that that person didn't feel heard. I'm working on it diligently, but in the meantime, it sucks that I have many friends in need of an ear and I'm just being an asshole.

I'm also watching a lot of fights and whatnot going on because both parties are struggling to be heard at the very same time. And I don't think they can stop themselves, if aware, any more than I've been able to. Bad things happen and to add the changes going on in the world in the background (or for some, the foreground), I just see terrible spirals coming soon. And it breaks my heart. And I don't think any one person is to blame in these incidents.

I just hope something clicks somewhere and someone is able to stand in line once in a while to stop the destruction that's on the horizon. Unfortunately, I know it's not likely to be me, I'm not going to be the superhero. There's people more capable of active listening and patience. And I hope they step up all over the world.

In the meantime, I'll be working on the issue myself in my own interactions the best I can.