Down The Rabbit-Hole

It's roughly 7:15 am on Saturday morning. My sleep/work schedule is all out of whack at the moment, hence the reason I'm up at this hour. STILL up at this hour, that is. I haven't been to bed yet.

There's something about the wee hours of the morning. Seven am hardly counts as the "wee" hours, of course, but I actually mean the few hours before this, between 3:00 am or so and daybreak.

Nobody's here but me and L. The other two roomies are out of town for the weekend. L. fell asleep a little while ago. Even the cats are napping or, at the very least, not tearing around the house like bats out of hell. So it's only me up in this quiet, still part of the day. Even the phone isn't ringing, and I honestly hope it continues to stay silent, at least until I finish this blog.

The quiet gives me time to think, which isn't always the greatest thing ever, but whatever. I've had things running around in my brain for awhile, but I've just not had a chance to put them into words yet. Big things, yes, but not bad things. At least, I don't think so.

Two things here....

#1.) I need to go back to the doctor to get something for the daily preventive treatment of asthma because after using my inhaler 20 times a day for a week, I can already tell it's losing its effectiveness. I plan on doing that after Thanksgiving.

Now, that was kind of a random thing that didn't necessarily need to be posted, I realize. But it's a segueway into what's ACTUALLY on my mind here.

At age 5, I was diagnosed with scleroderma. It goes in and out of remission. I am *very* lucky that, while it's one of the ickier forms of localized scleroderma to be stuck with (Morphea Profunda, or deep morphea, for those of you keeping score at home), it HAS remained localized. It sucks. It's ugly. One of my legs is shorter than the other. It still may yet destroy my right hip joint. BUT it's not turned into the systemic form of scleroderma, and as long as it doesn't, the chances of it spreading to any vital organs are pretty low. So, yeah, in this form, it probably won't kill me.

At age 15, I acquired some really bad allergies. Again, I'm lucky that while I have some crazy reactive symptoms (when I had the test done where they inject you with various things to see what you're allergic to, the nurse doing the test told me she'd never seen anyone react as violently as I did), I don't do the anaphylactic shock thing. I'll just be cursed with hay fever the rest of my life. Yay.

And now, at age 25, I've acquired asthma. Well, I've probably had it for years and just didn't know it, given my allergy to doctors. (I do NOT like going to doctors because I spent so freaking much time in doctors' offices' when I was little.)

Anyway, it's not looking so good for me. Autoimmune diseases are semi-common in my family. My grandmother has one. My mother has at least one. I apparently have three, or at least one with two other conditions that have roots in autoimmunity. (My mother should never have been able to reproduce, but I digress.) I seem to pick up a new one every 10 years or so. Go, me.

But I've been thinking about it because it's kind of a scary thought. It's not so much "Oh, God, I'm gonna die" because we're all gonna die. It's just that I think about things a lot and like to have a plan for all contingencies. So, naturally, I thought about this, too.

If something happens to me--not dying because it won't matter then, but something fairly catastrophic--, do you know who will make all the decisions for me? Yes. My mother. She's my closest relative, unfortunately, as I don't even have any siblings to pawn the responsibility off on.

My mother. As if I'm still 5 years old and need to be dragged to doctors, kicking and screaming.

Obviously, this doesn't apply as long as I'm semi-capable of making my own decisions, but what if I'm not? What the hell happens then? I could be lying in the hospital dying and not allowed to see the people I love the most: J., B., and L. And, really, I do NOT want to spend my last moments on Earth dealing with my mother. Really. I don't. Or most of my other relatives, for that matter.

Yes, it's kind of morbid thinking about it. And, normally, I would say something like that is too far in the future for me to worry about. But you never really know, do you?

It's terrible of me to say, but I do not, DO NOT, want my fate in the hands of my mother, for numerous reasons, none of which I'll go into here because this blog is going to be long enough as it is. After the first of the year, when everything (hopefully) slows down a bit, I need to look into this, into having it changed somehow.

I don't mind the idea of someone else ultimately holding the responsibility of my life (duh, slave), but I DO mind the idea of that someone being my mother. Surely, there's some legal way around this. I just can't fathom that an unmarried female has to remain at the mercy of her parents as if this is 1845 or something.

Now, in the realm of the less morbid....

#2.) I believe that I long ago reached the point of being unable to function without my owners. Now, that doesn't mean I need them to wipe my ass for me. It's just, without their presence and support in my life, I think I'd be pretty damned useless. Not that I'm going to test the theory to find out, mind you. I just know myself well enough to know this.

I mean, honestly, the plan is, right now, to finish school (hopefully this summer) and move closer to them. Well, if they want me to, anyway. I already tend to lapse into these deep spells of darkness that nobody can pull me out of from time to time because I need them and can't be with them at that moment. It sucks, and I'd prefer to not have to deal with it any longer than necessary.

I may end up back in school again. Actually, it's a pretty distinct possibility the more I think about it. I may not even have a real job once I finish this degree. In this economy, that's a pretty likely scenario, too. I'd be lying if I said that part of the reason for going back to school yet again is to defer the $40,000 I owe in student loans until the job market stops blowing so badly.

That's not the ONLY reason; don't get your panties in a wad.

Anyway, that really has nothing to do with where I'm going with this, so I'm going to try to steer this train of thought back on track here.

I want more than anything in the world to serve them and be close to them forever and ever. Like I said, I don't really think I'm capable of functioning without them anymore. But sometimes I wonder, will I ever get enough? Will the desire to go deeper and deeper into servitude stop after awhile? Will I be content with a boringly normal life that, on the outside, looks like every other person's? Or will I just keep falling farther and farther down the rabbit hole?

Knowing me as I do, my money is on the latter, hence the title of this blog.

I hope that once I'm closer--if they want me closer--, I can fall deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. I hope my whole life gets turned upside down for them and that they can change whatever they want of it to suit them. Or nothing, if that's what they want.

You know, most people would bridle at the thought of their freedom being curbed by another. But I'm weird, I guess. Once I got used to the collar, I started craving the leash to be shorter and shorter. I used to wonder why, but I don't do as much of that now. I used to be afraid, but I'm not nearly as scared now. Yes, I still do question, and, sometimes, I still have fears. But they aren't as big as they used to be.

It's funny. Up until this point, my MO was to run away from anything even remotely resembling commitment to anything other than my own ever-changing whims and desires. And mostly what I was running from were the expectations being placed on me by the other person(s). Already, what I have with my owners, having belonged to them for, what, nine months, has lasted longer than all but one of my previous relationships. (And I only stayed with him a tiny bit longer than that because he kept threatening to kill himself if I left because he was a crazy, manipulative fuck.)

I'm glad I did all that leaving, though, or I'd have never found the most wonderful owners in the world.

I just want to keep falling, farther and farther, deeper and deeper, until they own and control every bit of me. Not that they're that far from it now.

I think I know why I've been running my whole life. I haven't just been running away from those who were too weak, inconsistent, incapable (and too stupid) to keep me, to own me, to be responsible for me, and to control me. I've been running *to* B. and J. I just haven't always known it.