Sunday, November 15, 2009
Hmm
When I look over some of the things I write, here and in other places, and think about some of the ways I act and the things I feel, it occurs to me that I am probably much crazier than I ever wanted to admit.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wow
I haven't written anything here in forever, mostly because it's been too much of a struggle to muddle through all the thoughts swimming around in my head. I'm writing partly just to break radio silence and partly to throw some things out and see if anything will stick.
I've said it and said it and said it. I love my owners. (I hope I haven't said it so much that it's lost its meaning.) And serving them makes me happy in ways that nothing else can. Their desires give me purpose and structure and the feeling that I'm actually good for something.
Call it co-dependent, call it a slave mentality, call it the thoughts of a really fucked up masochistic whore. Whatever. I don't care.
The fact still remains that feeling useful to them makes me happy. Doing things to please them makes me light up all over in ways that nothing I can do for myself (and nothing others can do for me) can. I have wandered through my life trying to figure out what it was that was missing for much too long. Serving their needs and wants is my reason for being here on this earth. They give me purpose, structure, reason.
It's amazing, really.
In my deepest, darkest fantasies, I imagine serving them all the time, 24/7. While I'm always theirs now, I'm not always around to care for them, and that's the source of a lot of loneliness and melancholy for me. Yeah, yeah, brain the size of a planet, and my calling in life is house slave.
Whatever. I've kind of reached the "If you don't like it, fuck you" stage.
See, I'm fulfilled for two reasons. The first is all that stuff I mentioned up there. The second is not quite so esoteric.
I never thought, in all my life, that I could ever be loved by someone who owned me. I knew I could only serve if I loved them deeply, with all my heart. For me, that's part and parcel of being owned, mind, body, heart, and soul, etc., etc. But I never thought I'd be loved by one owner, much less two.
But they do love me.
And hearing those words from my Master and Mistress has made every struggle, every heartache, every time that I wasn't sure we were going to make it, worthwhile.
I serve them. I love them. They love me. I don't really need anything else.
I've said it and said it and said it. I love my owners. (I hope I haven't said it so much that it's lost its meaning.) And serving them makes me happy in ways that nothing else can. Their desires give me purpose and structure and the feeling that I'm actually good for something.
Call it co-dependent, call it a slave mentality, call it the thoughts of a really fucked up masochistic whore. Whatever. I don't care.
The fact still remains that feeling useful to them makes me happy. Doing things to please them makes me light up all over in ways that nothing I can do for myself (and nothing others can do for me) can. I have wandered through my life trying to figure out what it was that was missing for much too long. Serving their needs and wants is my reason for being here on this earth. They give me purpose, structure, reason.
It's amazing, really.
In my deepest, darkest fantasies, I imagine serving them all the time, 24/7. While I'm always theirs now, I'm not always around to care for them, and that's the source of a lot of loneliness and melancholy for me. Yeah, yeah, brain the size of a planet, and my calling in life is house slave.
Whatever. I've kind of reached the "If you don't like it, fuck you" stage.
See, I'm fulfilled for two reasons. The first is all that stuff I mentioned up there. The second is not quite so esoteric.
I never thought, in all my life, that I could ever be loved by someone who owned me. I knew I could only serve if I loved them deeply, with all my heart. For me, that's part and parcel of being owned, mind, body, heart, and soul, etc., etc. But I never thought I'd be loved by one owner, much less two.
But they do love me.
And hearing those words from my Master and Mistress has made every struggle, every heartache, every time that I wasn't sure we were going to make it, worthwhile.
I serve them. I love them. They love me. I don't really need anything else.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Deep Breath
So I'm probably going to post this and then go hide for two or three days because I'll be so nervous/embarrassed that I won't want to face B. and J. Forewarned is forearmed, etc., etc.
I don't know how to word this, so it may come off awkward and goofy-sounding. I apologize in advance.
I've been doing lots of thinking lately, and I've told the Owner-people that I really want to do the slave thing more often. That I think I would be happy being an all-the-time slave-girl instead of just an occasional one.
One of my deepest, darkest secrets, one that I never share with anyone, is that I've imagined being a slave since before I was even old enough to start school. There was sexual service, obviously, and that was a big part of the fantasy. But that was hardly all of it. It was actually pretty elaborate for a little girl's fantasy.
But, naturally, I buried that particular imagining as I got older. Even when I was little, I sensed that other people didn't think about stuff like that, and as I aged, I realized that people took enough advantage of me as it was, so I should probably try to change that part of me.
Insert a whole bunch of irrelevant drivel about my life and how I turned evil to keep people away from me, etc., etc.
Anyway, now that I think about it, I see that I've been unconsciously trying pretty much every tactic known to man to get J. and B. to send me away. Looking at this site, I see a sense of fear pervades pretty much all my blog posts. And it's not fear of whatever it was I was saying I was afraid of at the time. Well, it was, I guess, but that fear is simply a symptom of a much larger problem.
I have been afraid of who I am for nigh on 20+ years.
Even as a little girl, I knew I was very weird for what I wanted, and I guess I've been trying to hide it ever since.
I need certain things (and people) very deeply. I'll do things for others that I won't do for me. I'll just drift along mindlessly my whole life unless someone intervenes. Thing is, I'm stubborn, and I'll just ignore anyone whose opinions I don't care very deeply about, which I suppose is contradictory to the very nature I'm implying that I have here, but whatever.
I have a degree in psychology. I know I could probably diagnosed with a host of personality disorders from this post alone. But I really don't feel as if there's anything wrong with this "me," assuming we set aside the assumption that the nuttiest people never believe they're crazy.
So that was a pretty roundabout way of saying this, mostly because I don't know how to say it and am really stupidly nervous about writing the words on a screen, for some reason.
I want to be theirs. Totally and completely.
Yes, I know I've been theirs for quite some time now. Six months, to be more precise. But that's not really what I mean.
I've always, in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, wanted to belong to someone completely, but the fear of being abandoned has always stopped me. (See? Needy.) But, again, as I've spent the past six months doing my level best to shove them away and not being able to succeed, I'm pretty confident in the knowledge that they won't take what they can get from me and then dump me off somewhere.
It's a hell of a thing to ask someone, I know. Part of me is still hesitant for that reason. It's a lot of...responsibility?...to ask someone to take. That's not really the word I'm looking for, but it'll do for now.
But there is nothing more I want in my life than to turn it completely over to them. To devote said life solely to them. To follow them for all the days of that life (hopefully, they'll let me). And to spend the rest of my life serving them.
I've never been more certain of anything. I love them and trust that they'll take good care of me.
I dunno. If they are willing to take total control of me and my life, then I'll be the happiest and luckiest little girl in the world. I never wanted a "normal" life, to get married or have kids or anything like that, but I never knew why. Now I do. I'm meant to be a slave--their slave--, and I'm ok with that.
It's like I told J. before we ever met. I don't have a lot to offer, and on paper, I look kinda bad. But for whatever practicalities I lack, I make up for it in loyalty and devotion and the desire to just be a good girl and serve.
Take me. Keep me. Let me follow you. I do not want my life to be my own anymore. I want it to be yours. Please?
I love them both, stupidly, irrevocably. I hope they understand what it is I'm offering, as I'm not having much luck putting it into words. And, even more, I hope they want it, too.
~A very nervous and embarrassed slave-girl
I don't know how to word this, so it may come off awkward and goofy-sounding. I apologize in advance.
I've been doing lots of thinking lately, and I've told the Owner-people that I really want to do the slave thing more often. That I think I would be happy being an all-the-time slave-girl instead of just an occasional one.
One of my deepest, darkest secrets, one that I never share with anyone, is that I've imagined being a slave since before I was even old enough to start school. There was sexual service, obviously, and that was a big part of the fantasy. But that was hardly all of it. It was actually pretty elaborate for a little girl's fantasy.
But, naturally, I buried that particular imagining as I got older. Even when I was little, I sensed that other people didn't think about stuff like that, and as I aged, I realized that people took enough advantage of me as it was, so I should probably try to change that part of me.
Insert a whole bunch of irrelevant drivel about my life and how I turned evil to keep people away from me, etc., etc.
Anyway, now that I think about it, I see that I've been unconsciously trying pretty much every tactic known to man to get J. and B. to send me away. Looking at this site, I see a sense of fear pervades pretty much all my blog posts. And it's not fear of whatever it was I was saying I was afraid of at the time. Well, it was, I guess, but that fear is simply a symptom of a much larger problem.
I have been afraid of who I am for nigh on 20+ years.
Even as a little girl, I knew I was very weird for what I wanted, and I guess I've been trying to hide it ever since.
I need certain things (and people) very deeply. I'll do things for others that I won't do for me. I'll just drift along mindlessly my whole life unless someone intervenes. Thing is, I'm stubborn, and I'll just ignore anyone whose opinions I don't care very deeply about, which I suppose is contradictory to the very nature I'm implying that I have here, but whatever.
I have a degree in psychology. I know I could probably diagnosed with a host of personality disorders from this post alone. But I really don't feel as if there's anything wrong with this "me," assuming we set aside the assumption that the nuttiest people never believe they're crazy.
So that was a pretty roundabout way of saying this, mostly because I don't know how to say it and am really stupidly nervous about writing the words on a screen, for some reason.
I want to be theirs. Totally and completely.
Yes, I know I've been theirs for quite some time now. Six months, to be more precise. But that's not really what I mean.
I've always, in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, wanted to belong to someone completely, but the fear of being abandoned has always stopped me. (See? Needy.) But, again, as I've spent the past six months doing my level best to shove them away and not being able to succeed, I'm pretty confident in the knowledge that they won't take what they can get from me and then dump me off somewhere.
It's a hell of a thing to ask someone, I know. Part of me is still hesitant for that reason. It's a lot of...responsibility?...to ask someone to take. That's not really the word I'm looking for, but it'll do for now.
But there is nothing more I want in my life than to turn it completely over to them. To devote said life solely to them. To follow them for all the days of that life (hopefully, they'll let me). And to spend the rest of my life serving them.
I've never been more certain of anything. I love them and trust that they'll take good care of me.
I dunno. If they are willing to take total control of me and my life, then I'll be the happiest and luckiest little girl in the world. I never wanted a "normal" life, to get married or have kids or anything like that, but I never knew why. Now I do. I'm meant to be a slave--their slave--, and I'm ok with that.
It's like I told J. before we ever met. I don't have a lot to offer, and on paper, I look kinda bad. But for whatever practicalities I lack, I make up for it in loyalty and devotion and the desire to just be a good girl and serve.
Take me. Keep me. Let me follow you. I do not want my life to be my own anymore. I want it to be yours. Please?
I love them both, stupidly, irrevocably. I hope they understand what it is I'm offering, as I'm not having much luck putting it into words. And, even more, I hope they want it, too.
~A very nervous and embarrassed slave-girl
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
So
I was telling B. earlier that I'm in a weird mood. Not a BAD one. I'm still really stupidly happy from finally being able to spend some time with B. and J. this weekend. I just feel odd.
Do you ever get in one of those moods where you want something, but you don't know what "something" is? Yeah, that's how I'm feeling now.
I think I'm just in a really submissive, non-painslutty mood. I wanna do the service pet thing, I guess.
It sounds really stupid, but it makes me so happy to serve, to do things for them, to make them smile. I think about it all the time, and I feel kind of empty inside when I'm not able to do those things.
I may be much more submissive than I like to let on.
Do you ever get in one of those moods where you want something, but you don't know what "something" is? Yeah, that's how I'm feeling now.
I think I'm just in a really submissive, non-painslutty mood. I wanna do the service pet thing, I guess.
It sounds really stupid, but it makes me so happy to serve, to do things for them, to make them smile. I think about it all the time, and I feel kind of empty inside when I'm not able to do those things.
I may be much more submissive than I like to let on.
Monday, August 3, 2009
....
I've been reading Dr. William Glasser's books again. I read some of them while I was an undergrad for my long-forgotten Positive Psychology class. I loved that class, but I can only remember a thing or two about it now. The major emphasis is on taking control of one's life, and since I've felt like I've been drifting along aimlessly for quite some time now, I thought it might do me good to read them again.
There are lots of...things...I need, but I either don't know what they are or don't know how to put them into words.
My mother says I lack ambition. I don't think that's the case, but, hell, maybe I did lose it somewhere along the way. It's not that I don't want things. It's more that I don't know how to get them. I used to think that I knew, but I don't really believe that anymore.
There are definitely things I want out of being J. and B.'s pet. I mean, things besides being petted and adored. (Not that those are bad things, by the way.) I just need things that seem stupid when you put them into words, which is why I'm not writing about them here.
Dr. Glasser says that whatever issues we happen to be having in our heads are because we aren't getting our needs met. And so we behave in fucked up ways because for some reason, it makes sense to us.
That particular theory makes sense to me.
I say that I'm unhappy, but I don't think that's really the case. I think I just need things I can't have, and it frustrates me.
I don't like being stuck in this shitty town with this moronic job. I don't really even want to take the three classes necessary to finish my degree, even though I realize it'd be stupid not to. I think somewhere along the line, my priorities changed, and my life plan hasn't changed to go along with it, so I'm just kind of coasting until I figure it out.
What do I want/need/like?
I know when I'm stuck here in this shitty town with this moronic job, what I think about--and, yes, I am prone to daydreaming--is being a slave girl, almost all the time.
I try to talk to people about it, but it's like they minimize my feelings. I don't like not being taken seriously. Maybe I just don't know how to talk about things to make people understand how important they are to me.
I really don't want to wander around alone forever. What I need is to love, to be loved in return, to serve, to be allowed to be who I am without fear of derision, to be understood, at least a little, and, as a slave girl, to be such an integral part of their lives that they couldn't imagine their lives without me.
Maybe it's too much to ask.
There are lots of...things...I need, but I either don't know what they are or don't know how to put them into words.
My mother says I lack ambition. I don't think that's the case, but, hell, maybe I did lose it somewhere along the way. It's not that I don't want things. It's more that I don't know how to get them. I used to think that I knew, but I don't really believe that anymore.
There are definitely things I want out of being J. and B.'s pet. I mean, things besides being petted and adored. (Not that those are bad things, by the way.) I just need things that seem stupid when you put them into words, which is why I'm not writing about them here.
Dr. Glasser says that whatever issues we happen to be having in our heads are because we aren't getting our needs met. And so we behave in fucked up ways because for some reason, it makes sense to us.
That particular theory makes sense to me.
I say that I'm unhappy, but I don't think that's really the case. I think I just need things I can't have, and it frustrates me.
I don't like being stuck in this shitty town with this moronic job. I don't really even want to take the three classes necessary to finish my degree, even though I realize it'd be stupid not to. I think somewhere along the line, my priorities changed, and my life plan hasn't changed to go along with it, so I'm just kind of coasting until I figure it out.
What do I want/need/like?
I know when I'm stuck here in this shitty town with this moronic job, what I think about--and, yes, I am prone to daydreaming--is being a slave girl, almost all the time.
I try to talk to people about it, but it's like they minimize my feelings. I don't like not being taken seriously. Maybe I just don't know how to talk about things to make people understand how important they are to me.
I really don't want to wander around alone forever. What I need is to love, to be loved in return, to serve, to be allowed to be who I am without fear of derision, to be understood, at least a little, and, as a slave girl, to be such an integral part of their lives that they couldn't imagine their lives without me.
Maybe it's too much to ask.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The Giant Merry-Go-Round
I'm unhappy.
No, scratch that. I'm VERY unhappy. I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know how to communicate it. All I know is that I'm sick of this all-pervading unhappiness.
I'm on a fucking merry-go-round that I can't get off of. 'Round and 'round in circles, and I never get anywhere, and it's making me nauseated.
No, scratch that. I'm VERY unhappy. I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know how to communicate it. All I know is that I'm sick of this all-pervading unhappiness.
I'm on a fucking merry-go-round that I can't get off of. 'Round and 'round in circles, and I never get anywhere, and it's making me nauseated.
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