I've been gone a lot longer than I should've been, but a lot of things have happened. A LOT. So I apologize for my absence and apologize for what is likely to be a very anti-climactic post.
After a lot of thinking and talking with several friends of mine (one in particular helped a lot), I've come to the conclusion that I don't have it in me to be a slave. Yes, I know that being a slave is what this whole blog is about, and I'm sorry if I disappointed, but it is what it is.
I am submissive, the personality trait. Not always, but a large enough percentage of the time to say that, yes, I am fairly passive and flexible and willing to accommodate. On the other hand, I've had that submissive nature of mine kicked around, stomped on, hacked into pieces, set on fire, and the ashes pissed on so many times in the last 26 years that I'm simply not at a place in my life where I can peacefully accept "slave" as the way I want to live.
I've been exploited and fucked over more times than I can count, and it's because I don't have the ability to set boundaries. Do you think I WANT to be this way or that I somehow ENJOY people using me and then callously shoving me aside? Not hardly. I've just felt my whole life like I'm not good enough, and I've had that reinforced by my mother, my unfortunate choice of friends and relationship partners, and so on. I guess a large part of me feels that I HAVE to bend over backwards to accommodate everyone in order to be liked or valued or whatever.
But, newsflash: Nobody likes or values the spineless person, the doormat, the one with no self-respect. If she doesn't respect herself, why should anyone else respect her?
And so because of that, I've built up a whole lot of resentment. I mean, a WHOLE lot. And right now, I'm not able to give that of myself because it makes me feel worthless...inferior...used (and not in a good way)...disposable.
I will remain submissive in certain ways because that's just who I am. That's not going to change. But I'm not able to let myself be used at the detriment of my own sanity anymore. Maybe someday when I don't have huge, gaping emotional wounds, but right now, no. I need the freedom to get what I need out of this relationship more than I need to be told what to do.
Which brings me to my second point.
I feel really lost right now. I tried and tried and tried to force myself into that "slave" role, even though I knew I wasn't really capable of doing it, because I wanted to have a place, a special place, in B.'s life. Now that place is gone. I'm not the slave, the special slave, anymore and certainly not the wife or anything else for that matter. I'm just some fat girl he keeps around for reasons known only to him.
It sounds stupid, I know. But my brain is such that it won't rest until I can accurately label things. I'm very verbally-oriented, I suppose. If I don't have a name for things, I don't know how to relate to them.
And so now I'm just sort of floating, trying to figure it all out, and failing miserably. I don't know how to handle these things, and I would imagine I'm just going to screw up more than I fix. That's usually what I manage to do. *Rolls eyes*
Part of me thinks it'd just be a lot easier to go back to being told what to do. But I reckon I've already betrayed myself for long enough, haven't I?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Security And The Evolution Of A Relationship
I hesitate to post this, for fear it might do more harm than good at this point, but I certainly don't mean it in a bad way. I'm hoping to help, rather than hurt. *Crosses fingers and hopes that's what I manage to do*
This post actually concerns two things, but I sorta think they tie in together. At least they do in my own mind. Who knows if it'll make sense to anyone else?
Ok, the first part concerns something J. said the other day. She told me that she can't understand how two people can be as drawn to one another as B. and I are without wanting the type of relationship that he and she have. I understood implicitly why I didn't want that type of relationship, but I wasn't entirely sure how to make it make sense.
I was talking about this to my roommate, and she kinda pointed out something that made it click a little better in my head. She said, "For J., marriage equals security. For you, it doesn't."
Wow. Duh. I'm an idiot. Why didn't I think of that on my own? *Facepalm*
I can completely grasp why someone else might believe that marriage equals security. It just...doesn't in my mind. I've always felt that too many people I know jumped into getting married or whatever because they thought it was a good idea at the time. You know, you graduate college (or high school, depending) and get a job. What do you do next? Oh, yeah. Get married.
In my opinion, for most people, marriage is something that's done for stupid reasons. Men and women are equally guilty of this, by the way. I'm not blaming either sex for that.
Obviously, it's fairly easy to get divorced. But even if people stay married, it doesn't mean anything. My mother and father have been making one another miserable for the last 36? 37? 38? (I forget exactly) years. Staying together only means you have more endurance than most people.
Until I was in college, I never really saw examples of happy marriages. People in my family don't get divorced. They stay together and drive each other batshit. My uncle supposedly beats and rapes my aunt, but she stays with him because "it would be embarrassing" to leave and "have people know." (I say supposedly because my family loves drama, and who knows if it really happens or not? If it does, my cousin is a piece of shit for not shooting his father on behalf of his mother, but then who am I to comment? My roommates and I saw a bunch of "Stop Domestic Violence" posters around campus and decided we needed shirts that said, "Stop Domestic Violence: Hit A Bitch Back!" So maybe I'm not the best person to pass judgment here.)
Anyway, I digress again.
So, to recap, to me, marriage does not equal security, even if the couple remains together because it's entirely possible to live with someone for a zillion years and completely Hate. Their. Fucking. Guts.
And that's why I don't give three shits about ever getting married. Unless he's really rich and about to die and leave me everything. That's completely different.
Mind you, I don't think people who see it differently than I do are wrong. It's just a difference in opinion, and I'm pretty used to marching to the beat of my own drummer in most facets of life, anyhow.
But in spite of the fact that I've laughed in the face of every dude who ever told me he was going to marry me (how's that working out for you, buddy?), I do want security in this relationship. I think everyone wants that when they truly love someone; it just takes different forms for different people.
Which brings me to part two of this blog.
Lemme go ahead and throw out the obvious here. Slavery is illegal in this country and all other First World countries. Also, I don't really qualify as a slave (too bitchy and stubborn), so it's a moot point.
However, as I said in my previous blog, I do believe that there are people in this world who perform best as the property of someone else. And since it's not exactly like I can be snatched up by the first idiot who comes along and collared and branded a la the Gor books (thank God 'cause that's lame as shit), it requires a bit more creativity. In my case, I fully believe that my emotional inability to walk away from this man for any length of time does constitute a sort of intangible ownership of me.
Blech. It makes sense in my own head, but none whatsoever once I type it out.
I think all relationships have some expectation of evolution by the participants. Hence the reason bitches get all pissed when their relationships with drunken frat boys aren't "going anywhere."
Again, I think this goes back to my previous blog. I won't be happy with being able to be a house pet a couple of days once a month my whole life. Right now, that's what I'm stuck doing, but it's not what I want forever.
Ultimately, what I want is twofold. Number one, I want to be close enough that anytime I need to see them, I can just pop over there and do it. Number two, I want them to take more control over my life. In the ways that they want, of course. If you've got a slave/pet/little girl type thing, you might as well use it, right? Plus, I think it gives me a sense of security in that if they don't like something I'm doing, they can change it, rather than try to live with it and eventually pitch me out on my ass if it drives them nuts long enough.
Beyond that, I have no idea. I also don't know if this blog has helped or hurt, but I hope it's the former. I was sort of on a roll, and then I got distracted and lost my train of thought. So I'm going to stop now before I make a bigger mess of this post. I'll be glad to clarify if necessary, though.
This post actually concerns two things, but I sorta think they tie in together. At least they do in my own mind. Who knows if it'll make sense to anyone else?
Ok, the first part concerns something J. said the other day. She told me that she can't understand how two people can be as drawn to one another as B. and I are without wanting the type of relationship that he and she have. I understood implicitly why I didn't want that type of relationship, but I wasn't entirely sure how to make it make sense.
I was talking about this to my roommate, and she kinda pointed out something that made it click a little better in my head. She said, "For J., marriage equals security. For you, it doesn't."
Wow. Duh. I'm an idiot. Why didn't I think of that on my own? *Facepalm*
I can completely grasp why someone else might believe that marriage equals security. It just...doesn't in my mind. I've always felt that too many people I know jumped into getting married or whatever because they thought it was a good idea at the time. You know, you graduate college (or high school, depending) and get a job. What do you do next? Oh, yeah. Get married.
In my opinion, for most people, marriage is something that's done for stupid reasons. Men and women are equally guilty of this, by the way. I'm not blaming either sex for that.
Obviously, it's fairly easy to get divorced. But even if people stay married, it doesn't mean anything. My mother and father have been making one another miserable for the last 36? 37? 38? (I forget exactly) years. Staying together only means you have more endurance than most people.
Until I was in college, I never really saw examples of happy marriages. People in my family don't get divorced. They stay together and drive each other batshit. My uncle supposedly beats and rapes my aunt, but she stays with him because "it would be embarrassing" to leave and "have people know." (I say supposedly because my family loves drama, and who knows if it really happens or not? If it does, my cousin is a piece of shit for not shooting his father on behalf of his mother, but then who am I to comment? My roommates and I saw a bunch of "Stop Domestic Violence" posters around campus and decided we needed shirts that said, "Stop Domestic Violence: Hit A Bitch Back!" So maybe I'm not the best person to pass judgment here.)
Anyway, I digress again.
So, to recap, to me, marriage does not equal security, even if the couple remains together because it's entirely possible to live with someone for a zillion years and completely Hate. Their. Fucking. Guts.
And that's why I don't give three shits about ever getting married. Unless he's really rich and about to die and leave me everything. That's completely different.
Mind you, I don't think people who see it differently than I do are wrong. It's just a difference in opinion, and I'm pretty used to marching to the beat of my own drummer in most facets of life, anyhow.
But in spite of the fact that I've laughed in the face of every dude who ever told me he was going to marry me (how's that working out for you, buddy?), I do want security in this relationship. I think everyone wants that when they truly love someone; it just takes different forms for different people.
Which brings me to part two of this blog.
Lemme go ahead and throw out the obvious here. Slavery is illegal in this country and all other First World countries. Also, I don't really qualify as a slave (too bitchy and stubborn), so it's a moot point.
However, as I said in my previous blog, I do believe that there are people in this world who perform best as the property of someone else. And since it's not exactly like I can be snatched up by the first idiot who comes along and collared and branded a la the Gor books (thank God 'cause that's lame as shit), it requires a bit more creativity. In my case, I fully believe that my emotional inability to walk away from this man for any length of time does constitute a sort of intangible ownership of me.
Blech. It makes sense in my own head, but none whatsoever once I type it out.
I think all relationships have some expectation of evolution by the participants. Hence the reason bitches get all pissed when their relationships with drunken frat boys aren't "going anywhere."
Again, I think this goes back to my previous blog. I won't be happy with being able to be a house pet a couple of days once a month my whole life. Right now, that's what I'm stuck doing, but it's not what I want forever.
Ultimately, what I want is twofold. Number one, I want to be close enough that anytime I need to see them, I can just pop over there and do it. Number two, I want them to take more control over my life. In the ways that they want, of course. If you've got a slave/pet/little girl type thing, you might as well use it, right? Plus, I think it gives me a sense of security in that if they don't like something I'm doing, they can change it, rather than try to live with it and eventually pitch me out on my ass if it drives them nuts long enough.
Beyond that, I have no idea. I also don't know if this blog has helped or hurt, but I hope it's the former. I was sort of on a roll, and then I got distracted and lost my train of thought. So I'm going to stop now before I make a bigger mess of this post. I'll be glad to clarify if necessary, though.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Word Vomit
I've been thinking about this one for quite some time, but I wasn't entirely sure how to put it into words. Ok, so I'm *still* not exactly sure how to put it into words, but whatever. I'm going to try, anyway, and will come back and clarify later, if necessary.
I know this is a fairly controversial point of view, but since when has that really bothered me?
I believe that there are certain people--and, yes, they are most likely few and far between--whose place in the world is in the ownership of another. Yeah, I believe slavery has valid applications, and not just "ooh, fun sex slavery," either.
I don't think the need to be owned has anything to do with age, sex, race, religion, financial status (or lack thereof), or anything else. I just think that there are certain people in the world who function at their best only when they are under control of another, kinky sex or no.
I'd never advocate for slavery as an institution, simply because slavery as an institution is too rife with corruption and exploitation to be valid. However, on the other hand, I think the lack of that sort of outlet to the people who most need it is less than healthy as well.
As you may have guessed from this little monologue, I am one of these people. If reincarnation is something that actually happens, I was almost surely a house slave in ancient Rome.
Sure, it's easy for people who don't get it (and that'd be most of the people on the face of the planet) to say there's something wrong with this particular mindset. You can say I'm a doormat. You can say that if I'd set boundaries, people wouldn't take advantage of me. You can say that it stems from a lack of self-esteem or whatever mental illness happens to be de rigeur at the moment. You can say that I need to learn a more adult way of dealing with the world, that I need to grow up and take responsibility, blah, blah, blah. You wouldn't be saying anything I've never said to myself.
You can argue that I'm this way because my mother hardly ever let me out of her sight until I was 17 or so. You would quite possibly be right.
However, what's really more humane? Forcing someone like me into years of therapy, hell-bent on changing his/her natural predilections, and making him/her believe that there's something inherently wrong with him/her, and ultimately failing and making everyone involved miserable, or allowing that person to embrace what he/she is in a non-exploitative manner?
I've trained horses for years. Not green-breaking them, but refining them. And I can tell you right now, it's a hell of a lot easier to work with what you've got than it is to try to make a Clydesdale into a racehorse. You end up with a lot happier horse in the end, too.
So if people can agree that it's kinder to let a horse be what it is, then why's that not true for humans?
I have a degree in psychology, and I can tell you unequivocally that psychology, as a profession, and pop psychology, as a pastime for armchair therapists, has failed humanity miserably. Miserably. Read Martin Seligman if you need criticism of the discipline from someone who's a lot smarter than I am.
But I digress.
Anyway, if you're not convinced, then go ahead and stop reading because nothing I'll say from this point on will change your mind.
...
Ok. You're still with me.
I think that there are hallmarks of someone like me, someone for whom being property is a viable option--and, yes, there have been psychological studies done which demonstrate that for most people, the loss of freedom is devastating, but for a few oddities, it's not. Let's look at me, for example, because I'm an unrelenting narcissist, and this blog is about me, after all.
Yes, I was extremely sheltered for most of my life. I'm also not a dumbass. I'm capable of taking care of myself, in a perfunctory sort of way. I can take care of the basics, but as for the rest, I don't really give a shit. I don't really lack ambition. I can do whatever needs doing, but I'm not very good at knowing what needs doing. I lack direction on my own.
I'm also incredibly self-destructive if there's not someone around to stop me. I won't go into this in any sort of depth, but imagine every self-destructive behavior known to man except drugs, and you pretty much have the portrait of me.
Then, there's the compelling evidence that I simply perform better when I'm told to do something than when I have to figure it out myself. On my own, I waffle and waver and never really get anywhere. Call it Hamlet Syndrome. I have no impulse control, and I basically just do whatever the fuck strikes my fancy at the time, whether it's a good idea or not.
So, yes. Inability to make decisions. Lack of direction. Lack of willpower. That's not even bringing up the inherent desire to please, the way I cave to whatever the strongest influence in my life is, etc.
I'm probably carrying about twice the weight I should be carrying. I've never been a small girl, but I'm disgustingly huge now. I hate to look at myself. But on my own, I'll never really do anything about it. I'll try. For about three days. That's pretty much how long it takes my willpower to run out.
But my Master told me to start exercising, not for myself, but for him. I've been steadily at it for nearly two weeks now. Yeahhhh....
He told me once that one of two things happens to people like me. Either we find ourselves in abusive relationships, one after the other, or we somehow manage to fall into a situation where our need to be a possession, of sorts, is used for good, rather than for evil. Now, honestly, I'm too damned mean and stubborn for the former. (My nutjob ex once threw a phone at me, and I calmly picked it up, turned around, and slung it back at him, then advanced on him with one of those crazy, sociopathic smiles that you normally see on the villains in horror movies, saying, "What now? What NOW?!?!?!" I think he was afraid I was about to slice him to bits or something.) Somehow I got lucky enough to get the latter. Kinky sex notwithstanding.
I know, without question, that if he told me to kill myself, I'd do it. In fact, some of my darkest emotionally masochistic fantasies involve him deciding he doesn't want me anymore, but as a reward for my faithful service, he tortures me to death, rather than letting me go and forcing me to face all that release would entail.
Yeah, I'm fucked up. Shut up.
The upshot of which is that I really believe I need more of this type of control in my life. I'm afraid I'll never do anything or be anything worthwhile otherwise. I obviously suck at doing things without it. Not to mention how good, how secure, how WHOLE it makes me feel.
So whatever. Call me crazy, call me whatever. The truth is, I need it. I need my whole life to be subject to the whims of my Owners. Not just parts of it. Not just, "Hey, do our laundry when you're here." All of it. Not that I think I'd be micromanaged. That's not our style. Plus, eventually, I'd go psycho. Just tell me what you need done and get the hell out of my way, please. I need something to work towards and someone who really wants to me accomplish it.
There's a line from the old Rob Thomas/Santana collaboration from back in the late 90s, early 00s ("Smooth") that goes, "I would change my life to better suit your moods."
Yeah. That's pretty much it.
Anyway, I've been awfully long-winded. The point is, I suck at school, at work, at life, period. And since none of us are independently wealthy, I guess being a real live house slave is pretty much out of the question right now. So I need direction. I need to be more under the thumbs of my Owners to get my life out of its current shithole, or else I'm pretty sure I'll be in this godawful state of ickiness forever.
God, it's gotta be hell to be an Owner. 'Cause when your pet looks at you and goes, "Here's my shit. Now fix it," that's gotta be a horrible feeling. But, yeah. Here's my shit. Help me fix it?
I know this is a fairly controversial point of view, but since when has that really bothered me?
I believe that there are certain people--and, yes, they are most likely few and far between--whose place in the world is in the ownership of another. Yeah, I believe slavery has valid applications, and not just "ooh, fun sex slavery," either.
I don't think the need to be owned has anything to do with age, sex, race, religion, financial status (or lack thereof), or anything else. I just think that there are certain people in the world who function at their best only when they are under control of another, kinky sex or no.
I'd never advocate for slavery as an institution, simply because slavery as an institution is too rife with corruption and exploitation to be valid. However, on the other hand, I think the lack of that sort of outlet to the people who most need it is less than healthy as well.
As you may have guessed from this little monologue, I am one of these people. If reincarnation is something that actually happens, I was almost surely a house slave in ancient Rome.
Sure, it's easy for people who don't get it (and that'd be most of the people on the face of the planet) to say there's something wrong with this particular mindset. You can say I'm a doormat. You can say that if I'd set boundaries, people wouldn't take advantage of me. You can say that it stems from a lack of self-esteem or whatever mental illness happens to be de rigeur at the moment. You can say that I need to learn a more adult way of dealing with the world, that I need to grow up and take responsibility, blah, blah, blah. You wouldn't be saying anything I've never said to myself.
You can argue that I'm this way because my mother hardly ever let me out of her sight until I was 17 or so. You would quite possibly be right.
However, what's really more humane? Forcing someone like me into years of therapy, hell-bent on changing his/her natural predilections, and making him/her believe that there's something inherently wrong with him/her, and ultimately failing and making everyone involved miserable, or allowing that person to embrace what he/she is in a non-exploitative manner?
I've trained horses for years. Not green-breaking them, but refining them. And I can tell you right now, it's a hell of a lot easier to work with what you've got than it is to try to make a Clydesdale into a racehorse. You end up with a lot happier horse in the end, too.
So if people can agree that it's kinder to let a horse be what it is, then why's that not true for humans?
I have a degree in psychology, and I can tell you unequivocally that psychology, as a profession, and pop psychology, as a pastime for armchair therapists, has failed humanity miserably. Miserably. Read Martin Seligman if you need criticism of the discipline from someone who's a lot smarter than I am.
But I digress.
Anyway, if you're not convinced, then go ahead and stop reading because nothing I'll say from this point on will change your mind.
...
Ok. You're still with me.
I think that there are hallmarks of someone like me, someone for whom being property is a viable option--and, yes, there have been psychological studies done which demonstrate that for most people, the loss of freedom is devastating, but for a few oddities, it's not. Let's look at me, for example, because I'm an unrelenting narcissist, and this blog is about me, after all.
Yes, I was extremely sheltered for most of my life. I'm also not a dumbass. I'm capable of taking care of myself, in a perfunctory sort of way. I can take care of the basics, but as for the rest, I don't really give a shit. I don't really lack ambition. I can do whatever needs doing, but I'm not very good at knowing what needs doing. I lack direction on my own.
I'm also incredibly self-destructive if there's not someone around to stop me. I won't go into this in any sort of depth, but imagine every self-destructive behavior known to man except drugs, and you pretty much have the portrait of me.
Then, there's the compelling evidence that I simply perform better when I'm told to do something than when I have to figure it out myself. On my own, I waffle and waver and never really get anywhere. Call it Hamlet Syndrome. I have no impulse control, and I basically just do whatever the fuck strikes my fancy at the time, whether it's a good idea or not.
So, yes. Inability to make decisions. Lack of direction. Lack of willpower. That's not even bringing up the inherent desire to please, the way I cave to whatever the strongest influence in my life is, etc.
I'm probably carrying about twice the weight I should be carrying. I've never been a small girl, but I'm disgustingly huge now. I hate to look at myself. But on my own, I'll never really do anything about it. I'll try. For about three days. That's pretty much how long it takes my willpower to run out.
But my Master told me to start exercising, not for myself, but for him. I've been steadily at it for nearly two weeks now. Yeahhhh....
He told me once that one of two things happens to people like me. Either we find ourselves in abusive relationships, one after the other, or we somehow manage to fall into a situation where our need to be a possession, of sorts, is used for good, rather than for evil. Now, honestly, I'm too damned mean and stubborn for the former. (My nutjob ex once threw a phone at me, and I calmly picked it up, turned around, and slung it back at him, then advanced on him with one of those crazy, sociopathic smiles that you normally see on the villains in horror movies, saying, "What now? What NOW?!?!?!" I think he was afraid I was about to slice him to bits or something.) Somehow I got lucky enough to get the latter. Kinky sex notwithstanding.
I know, without question, that if he told me to kill myself, I'd do it. In fact, some of my darkest emotionally masochistic fantasies involve him deciding he doesn't want me anymore, but as a reward for my faithful service, he tortures me to death, rather than letting me go and forcing me to face all that release would entail.
Yeah, I'm fucked up. Shut up.
The upshot of which is that I really believe I need more of this type of control in my life. I'm afraid I'll never do anything or be anything worthwhile otherwise. I obviously suck at doing things without it. Not to mention how good, how secure, how WHOLE it makes me feel.
So whatever. Call me crazy, call me whatever. The truth is, I need it. I need my whole life to be subject to the whims of my Owners. Not just parts of it. Not just, "Hey, do our laundry when you're here." All of it. Not that I think I'd be micromanaged. That's not our style. Plus, eventually, I'd go psycho. Just tell me what you need done and get the hell out of my way, please. I need something to work towards and someone who really wants to me accomplish it.
There's a line from the old Rob Thomas/Santana collaboration from back in the late 90s, early 00s ("Smooth") that goes, "I would change my life to better suit your moods."
Yeah. That's pretty much it.
Anyway, I've been awfully long-winded. The point is, I suck at school, at work, at life, period. And since none of us are independently wealthy, I guess being a real live house slave is pretty much out of the question right now. So I need direction. I need to be more under the thumbs of my Owners to get my life out of its current shithole, or else I'm pretty sure I'll be in this godawful state of ickiness forever.
God, it's gotta be hell to be an Owner. 'Cause when your pet looks at you and goes, "Here's my shit. Now fix it," that's gotta be a horrible feeling. But, yeah. Here's my shit. Help me fix it?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Pouty Little Girl
I've touched on it before, but it's not something I talk about much. The truth is, I have way more problems than I'm wont to admit to. Again, I don't like to talk about it because I hate to burden people with my bullshit. But I think, given the way I feel at the moment, it may be better to explain than let the Owner people think it's their fault or whatever.
First and foremost, I'm nuts, and it's really nobody's fault except mine.
But there are times in my life when I feel a dark cloud settling overhead. It doesn't happen often, really. A couple of times a year, maybe. I can usually keep it away the rest of the time. I keep doing things to take my mind off of it, and I try never to dwell on it. Even that sometimes doesn't keep it away, though.
I feel the dark cloud settling overhead. And while I'm aware of its existence, I can no more stop it than I can stop the sun from coming up tomorrow.
I don't know what's wrong. I don't know what causes it. I just wish it didn't happen. Even though I force myself to keep doing whatever I have to do, I really don't feel like doing anything other than curling up in bed and never getting out again.
I'm drained physically and mentally. I'm tired of people needing me all the time. I swear to God, I'm surrounded by the biggest bunch of life force vampires on the face of the planet.
I just don't want my Master and Mistress to think it has anything to do with them. It doesn't. In fact, I have no idea what causes it. I don't want them to think that my bad mood and my general ickiness is their fault.
Mostly, I just want to hide somewhere and cry. It doesn't mean I don't still love them, though.
I'm just being a strange little girl again.
The only thing I hope is that if I get in a really black mood, they won't let me push them away. Sometimes, I do that because I think they'd be better off without me. I'll try not to do it, but I pray that even if I do, they won't allow me to get away with it.
I'm only seven, and I don't always know what's best for me. :( But I really do love my Master and Mistress lots. I hope they'll be half as glad to see me on Thursday as I will be to see them.
First and foremost, I'm nuts, and it's really nobody's fault except mine.
But there are times in my life when I feel a dark cloud settling overhead. It doesn't happen often, really. A couple of times a year, maybe. I can usually keep it away the rest of the time. I keep doing things to take my mind off of it, and I try never to dwell on it. Even that sometimes doesn't keep it away, though.
I feel the dark cloud settling overhead. And while I'm aware of its existence, I can no more stop it than I can stop the sun from coming up tomorrow.
I don't know what's wrong. I don't know what causes it. I just wish it didn't happen. Even though I force myself to keep doing whatever I have to do, I really don't feel like doing anything other than curling up in bed and never getting out again.
I'm drained physically and mentally. I'm tired of people needing me all the time. I swear to God, I'm surrounded by the biggest bunch of life force vampires on the face of the planet.
I just don't want my Master and Mistress to think it has anything to do with them. It doesn't. In fact, I have no idea what causes it. I don't want them to think that my bad mood and my general ickiness is their fault.
Mostly, I just want to hide somewhere and cry. It doesn't mean I don't still love them, though.
I'm just being a strange little girl again.
The only thing I hope is that if I get in a really black mood, they won't let me push them away. Sometimes, I do that because I think they'd be better off without me. I'll try not to do it, but I pray that even if I do, they won't allow me to get away with it.
I'm only seven, and I don't always know what's best for me. :( But I really do love my Master and Mistress lots. I hope they'll be half as glad to see me on Thursday as I will be to see them.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Non-Invoking Of Plan Z
So it's been a year now since I became my Owner people's little girl. (Actually, I think it's been a little more than a year because I can never keep up with stuff like that, and I'm too lazy to go back and try to figure it out, especially since it's not relevant here, anyway.)
A year (or so) ago, I expected this to be, hands down, the hardest thing I'd ever done. I promised myself that I would stick it out for a year, come hell or high water, and then I'd re-evaluate and decide what to do next. Ultimately, I figured that when everything went to shit, L. and I would invoke Plan Z, our nuclear option for when there's nothing else here for us which involves us getting rid of almost everything we own and taking what's left to one of the small white trash towns in the Florida panhandle that's far enough away from the beach that we could afford to live there.
Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I went into this expecting to fail. And fail miserably.
I doubt I was the only one, though.
But I knew I had to try, to give it my best shot. That way, when the inevitable running away on my part happened, I wouldn't have anything to regret.
Along the way, I've more than once found myself looking at rental places and jobs in Florida while I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Strangely, it hasn't, though.
Looking back, it feels as if it's been much longer than a single year. More like fifty. I don't mean that in a bad way, though. It's just that a whole lot has changed over a fairly short period of time.
Throughout most of this time, I've kept one foot outside the door. It's a failing of mine; I always make sure to have another option open. But some time ago--three-ish months or so ago--I realized that I wanted this to work. Not in the perfunctory "oh, I need to do what I can, so that when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, I can say I did what I could and then walk away" way. But in the "I can't live without my Owner people" way.
So I waited my year like I said I was going to do. And I re-evaluated. And I'm not invoking Plan Z.
I do still want to leave *this* town, though. But instead of leaving to go farther away from my Owner people, I want to go closer to them. There are a number of factors that are interfering with this at the moment, and I want to talk to them about the whole thing pretty soon. (After My Cousin's Big Fat Redneck Wedding fiasco is over, that is. Maybe next week/weekend when I go over to visit.) It's just a little too complicated to type out in a blog. Plus, I'm kind of tired right now and would like to go to bed in a few minutes.
Anyway, I guess what I wanted to say is this: Somehow, I changed. Somehow, the little girl who was so terrified of committing to anything that she didn't even like signing year-long leases for apartments has transformed. (Well, in a sense, anyway. I still get bored way too easily and will probably never be able to "settle down" in the commonly accepted manner, but I've mellowed a lot, at least for me.)
I'm not just here for the party and ready to bail when it's too much to deal with. For the first time in my life, I guess I've actually made a commitment to something. It's a weird feeling.
So, in the end, I guess I was *kinda* right. I've made it through my year, and I've re-evaluated, and I've decided to run. Only I'm planning on running toward them instead of away from them. ;)
Also, Florida's not entirely out of the question for eternity. I'd be ok with dragging them down there with me, should I ever manage to run into the money for a cottage on the beach. :)
Signed,
The Little Pet Girl Who Loves Her Owners More Than Any Other Little Pet Girl In The World
A year (or so) ago, I expected this to be, hands down, the hardest thing I'd ever done. I promised myself that I would stick it out for a year, come hell or high water, and then I'd re-evaluate and decide what to do next. Ultimately, I figured that when everything went to shit, L. and I would invoke Plan Z, our nuclear option for when there's nothing else here for us which involves us getting rid of almost everything we own and taking what's left to one of the small white trash towns in the Florida panhandle that's far enough away from the beach that we could afford to live there.
Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I went into this expecting to fail. And fail miserably.
I doubt I was the only one, though.
But I knew I had to try, to give it my best shot. That way, when the inevitable running away on my part happened, I wouldn't have anything to regret.
Along the way, I've more than once found myself looking at rental places and jobs in Florida while I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Strangely, it hasn't, though.
Looking back, it feels as if it's been much longer than a single year. More like fifty. I don't mean that in a bad way, though. It's just that a whole lot has changed over a fairly short period of time.
Throughout most of this time, I've kept one foot outside the door. It's a failing of mine; I always make sure to have another option open. But some time ago--three-ish months or so ago--I realized that I wanted this to work. Not in the perfunctory "oh, I need to do what I can, so that when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, I can say I did what I could and then walk away" way. But in the "I can't live without my Owner people" way.
So I waited my year like I said I was going to do. And I re-evaluated. And I'm not invoking Plan Z.
I do still want to leave *this* town, though. But instead of leaving to go farther away from my Owner people, I want to go closer to them. There are a number of factors that are interfering with this at the moment, and I want to talk to them about the whole thing pretty soon. (After My Cousin's Big Fat Redneck Wedding fiasco is over, that is. Maybe next week/weekend when I go over to visit.) It's just a little too complicated to type out in a blog. Plus, I'm kind of tired right now and would like to go to bed in a few minutes.
Anyway, I guess what I wanted to say is this: Somehow, I changed. Somehow, the little girl who was so terrified of committing to anything that she didn't even like signing year-long leases for apartments has transformed. (Well, in a sense, anyway. I still get bored way too easily and will probably never be able to "settle down" in the commonly accepted manner, but I've mellowed a lot, at least for me.)
I'm not just here for the party and ready to bail when it's too much to deal with. For the first time in my life, I guess I've actually made a commitment to something. It's a weird feeling.
So, in the end, I guess I was *kinda* right. I've made it through my year, and I've re-evaluated, and I've decided to run. Only I'm planning on running toward them instead of away from them. ;)
Also, Florida's not entirely out of the question for eternity. I'd be ok with dragging them down there with me, should I ever manage to run into the money for a cottage on the beach. :)
Signed,
The Little Pet Girl Who Loves Her Owners More Than Any Other Little Pet Girl In The World
Monday, February 15, 2010
More Thoughts
I can't say that I'll be terribly upset if I'm snowed in here again at B. and J.'s house tonight. ;)
I have random thoughts swimming around, and since I have nothing better to do today, I think I'll throw it all out and see if anything sticks. :)
I can tell that my Owner people are trying very hard to make me a happy little girl. And I appreciate it lots. And I'm furiously trying to shove down the voice in the back of my head that's telling me I don't deserve it, I suck at life, they're going to get sick of you and tell you to go away, etc.
For the little that comes out of my mouth most of the time, there's a lot that goes on inside me. And while I'm really, really lazy physically, I still have to keep moving constantly, even if it's just mentally moving. I don't do well with stasis. Stasis feels to me like Damocles's sword is hanging precariously over my head, just waiting to fall on me. It makes me uneasy. I don't know why.
When I was little, I liked to sit around and read a lot. Well, I still do that, but I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. I could (and still can) read all day, or, at least, until I ran out of something interesting to read. My mother would laugh at me because she'd look in on me at one point, and I'd be on the couch. Then, she'd look in on me a little while later, and I'd be on the chair. A little later, I'd be in the recliner. And after that, I'd be back on the couch again. Even something as quiet and unobtrusive as reading required motion, even if it was just a tiny bit. I'm still that way.
Some people can't take silence. They have to talk and talk and talk to fill the void because it scares them to death. Those people annoy the FUCK out of me and make me want to do violent, bloody things to them. But I'm not much better, I guess. They abhor silence; I abhor stillness.
Why am I babbling on about this? I'm not entirely sure, really.
B. and J. have probably noticed while I've been here, I've been in a bit of a frenzy. Nothing major. It's just that when things go well, I keep moving, keep moving, keep moving because I think my forward motion makes everything continue to go well. That if I stop, everything wonderful and beautiful stops, too. I do things like cooking and laundry and whatever because I want to make them happy. But I also want so badly to please them to make the happy place stay there.
And then when I'm sad, I stop. And the stopping makes things so much worse. I hate myself for stopping. I get convinced that it's all my fault, that if I'd tried a little harder, done a little more, everyone would be happy. It's hard to get me to go again once I stop. So I rebel against it with all my nature. Hence the reason I am not a nice person when I'm bored. There is a rage inside--not an angry rage, but an ever-present impetus to do, do, do--that is rarely ever silent. Again, it doesn't have to be physical "doing." The mental "doing" is most likely the reason that I have such a hard time falling asleep at night.
My crazy works in mysterious ways.
Funny, really, that someone who prizes motion and freedom so much wants to be owned so much, isn't it? Those two desires are often deeply in conflict with one another.
B. asked me once, a long time ago, why I was so drawn to him. Not to being a kinky perv with him just as the vehicle to my fantasies, but why I was drawn to HIM in particular. I told him that he was the only person in the world I'd ever met who I felt like I could be both silent AND still with. The only person with whom I felt I could just float without thinking, without moving, without doing, even if only for a little while.
I can't do it all the time with him, mind you. I can't even do it most of the time. It just comes in short little bursts that are often over just as quickly as they start. I can go for months without ever having it happen. But those moments do exist.
Anyway, I tell you all that to tell you this.
Every now and then, I need to be knocked down, to be stilled, to be compelled to accept the lack of motion, to float somewhere blissfully motionless in my own mind.
It doesn't work just by tying me up tight or mindlessly applying force, by the way. I don't really know how it works. But I know that sometimes it does. Like Friday night, I fought it all the way. But something happened on Saturday, and they got through to me. It didn't last that long, but I remember losing some time. I was still and peaceful.
And while I can't remain in that state of stasis long, the sense of peacefulness remains. I did laundry and cooked today, not in hopes that they would like me more or that they would pet me and tell me what a good girl I am for doing it (not that I'd turn that down, though), but because my submissiveness runs along an arc. And the quieter the "go, go, go" rage inside me is, the more submissive I am. And when I'm submissive, I want to serve, etc., etc.
I'm babbling, I know, but I hope there are some gems of truth to be taken away from here. The more difficult I am to deal with, the more I need the forward motion. When I fight or pout or sulk, I often just need a change of pace. And when that happens, every now and then, it's possible to get through to me enough to kill that instinct if only for a little while.
I feel very little, very small, very submissive. I want nothing more than to be the center of their universe for just a little while like they are mine right now. I'd put my hair in pigtails for the remainder of my visit if my hair was long enough. (L. and I have decided to stay through tomorrow, whatever happens with the weather. I don't really trust my four *ahem* not quite bald, but close e-damn-nough tires on the truck when the weather is iffy.) I MIGHT be hoping for a "play with the little girl" night tomorrow. *Whistles innocently*
By the way--and this is probably completely unrelated to the rest of this post, but I thought I'd point it out, anyway--, I finally figured out how to describe my relationship to my Owner people. Doesn't sound like a big deal, I know, but I am one of those people who needs to put words and images and metaphors with my feelings to make it all make sense for me.
You know how some bitches are like, "My Master is like my Daddy, and he disciplines me and recognizes my best interests better than I do" and some are like, "He has total control over my life, and I don't question anything," and other kind of nonsensical bullshit? Here's mine.
I worship B. and J., like any pet does with its owners, like any little girl does with her big people. Love and worship. But I don't see them like the infallible, impersonal, cosmic God or any of those other incarnations of God where He/She/It/We/They are always wonderful and perfect and glorious, and we should never question any of His/Her/Its/Our/Their decisions or motives or whatever.
I see them more like the Greek or Roman gods: imperfect, fallible, given to roughly equal measures of capriciousness and charm. Somehow greater than human, though not without their own weaknesses and failings, yet still, STILL somehow worthy of my complete devotion.
And, yes, I am the capricious follower as well. Sometimes in lock step with their every whim, and sometimes no. Sometimes self-absorbed and petty, sometimes reverent and self-sacrificing.
They are my loves. I *do* worship them, at least in a sense. And while they can be volatile and whimsical at times, they have yet to turn me into a spider for being obnoxious. And even if I go off the deep end periodically, I'm still devoted to them, to this way of life. For some reason, this metaphor sits much better with me than pretty much any other one I've heard or can think of on my own.
Meh, don't mind me. I get caught up in my own brain and my love of classical allusions sometimes. You should read my poetry if you think this is bad. *Rolls eyes*
Ok, time for a sandwich and bed. I have a long day of being a little girl ahead of me tomorrow. :p
I have random thoughts swimming around, and since I have nothing better to do today, I think I'll throw it all out and see if anything sticks. :)
I can tell that my Owner people are trying very hard to make me a happy little girl. And I appreciate it lots. And I'm furiously trying to shove down the voice in the back of my head that's telling me I don't deserve it, I suck at life, they're going to get sick of you and tell you to go away, etc.
For the little that comes out of my mouth most of the time, there's a lot that goes on inside me. And while I'm really, really lazy physically, I still have to keep moving constantly, even if it's just mentally moving. I don't do well with stasis. Stasis feels to me like Damocles's sword is hanging precariously over my head, just waiting to fall on me. It makes me uneasy. I don't know why.
When I was little, I liked to sit around and read a lot. Well, I still do that, but I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. I could (and still can) read all day, or, at least, until I ran out of something interesting to read. My mother would laugh at me because she'd look in on me at one point, and I'd be on the couch. Then, she'd look in on me a little while later, and I'd be on the chair. A little later, I'd be in the recliner. And after that, I'd be back on the couch again. Even something as quiet and unobtrusive as reading required motion, even if it was just a tiny bit. I'm still that way.
Some people can't take silence. They have to talk and talk and talk to fill the void because it scares them to death. Those people annoy the FUCK out of me and make me want to do violent, bloody things to them. But I'm not much better, I guess. They abhor silence; I abhor stillness.
Why am I babbling on about this? I'm not entirely sure, really.
B. and J. have probably noticed while I've been here, I've been in a bit of a frenzy. Nothing major. It's just that when things go well, I keep moving, keep moving, keep moving because I think my forward motion makes everything continue to go well. That if I stop, everything wonderful and beautiful stops, too. I do things like cooking and laundry and whatever because I want to make them happy. But I also want so badly to please them to make the happy place stay there.
And then when I'm sad, I stop. And the stopping makes things so much worse. I hate myself for stopping. I get convinced that it's all my fault, that if I'd tried a little harder, done a little more, everyone would be happy. It's hard to get me to go again once I stop. So I rebel against it with all my nature. Hence the reason I am not a nice person when I'm bored. There is a rage inside--not an angry rage, but an ever-present impetus to do, do, do--that is rarely ever silent. Again, it doesn't have to be physical "doing." The mental "doing" is most likely the reason that I have such a hard time falling asleep at night.
My crazy works in mysterious ways.
Funny, really, that someone who prizes motion and freedom so much wants to be owned so much, isn't it? Those two desires are often deeply in conflict with one another.
B. asked me once, a long time ago, why I was so drawn to him. Not to being a kinky perv with him just as the vehicle to my fantasies, but why I was drawn to HIM in particular. I told him that he was the only person in the world I'd ever met who I felt like I could be both silent AND still with. The only person with whom I felt I could just float without thinking, without moving, without doing, even if only for a little while.
I can't do it all the time with him, mind you. I can't even do it most of the time. It just comes in short little bursts that are often over just as quickly as they start. I can go for months without ever having it happen. But those moments do exist.
Anyway, I tell you all that to tell you this.
Every now and then, I need to be knocked down, to be stilled, to be compelled to accept the lack of motion, to float somewhere blissfully motionless in my own mind.
It doesn't work just by tying me up tight or mindlessly applying force, by the way. I don't really know how it works. But I know that sometimes it does. Like Friday night, I fought it all the way. But something happened on Saturday, and they got through to me. It didn't last that long, but I remember losing some time. I was still and peaceful.
And while I can't remain in that state of stasis long, the sense of peacefulness remains. I did laundry and cooked today, not in hopes that they would like me more or that they would pet me and tell me what a good girl I am for doing it (not that I'd turn that down, though), but because my submissiveness runs along an arc. And the quieter the "go, go, go" rage inside me is, the more submissive I am. And when I'm submissive, I want to serve, etc., etc.
I'm babbling, I know, but I hope there are some gems of truth to be taken away from here. The more difficult I am to deal with, the more I need the forward motion. When I fight or pout or sulk, I often just need a change of pace. And when that happens, every now and then, it's possible to get through to me enough to kill that instinct if only for a little while.
I feel very little, very small, very submissive. I want nothing more than to be the center of their universe for just a little while like they are mine right now. I'd put my hair in pigtails for the remainder of my visit if my hair was long enough. (L. and I have decided to stay through tomorrow, whatever happens with the weather. I don't really trust my four *ahem* not quite bald, but close e-damn-nough tires on the truck when the weather is iffy.) I MIGHT be hoping for a "play with the little girl" night tomorrow. *Whistles innocently*
By the way--and this is probably completely unrelated to the rest of this post, but I thought I'd point it out, anyway--, I finally figured out how to describe my relationship to my Owner people. Doesn't sound like a big deal, I know, but I am one of those people who needs to put words and images and metaphors with my feelings to make it all make sense for me.
You know how some bitches are like, "My Master is like my Daddy, and he disciplines me and recognizes my best interests better than I do" and some are like, "He has total control over my life, and I don't question anything," and other kind of nonsensical bullshit? Here's mine.
I worship B. and J., like any pet does with its owners, like any little girl does with her big people. Love and worship. But I don't see them like the infallible, impersonal, cosmic God or any of those other incarnations of God where He/She/It/We/They are always wonderful and perfect and glorious, and we should never question any of His/Her/Its/Our/Their decisions or motives or whatever.
I see them more like the Greek or Roman gods: imperfect, fallible, given to roughly equal measures of capriciousness and charm. Somehow greater than human, though not without their own weaknesses and failings, yet still, STILL somehow worthy of my complete devotion.
And, yes, I am the capricious follower as well. Sometimes in lock step with their every whim, and sometimes no. Sometimes self-absorbed and petty, sometimes reverent and self-sacrificing.
They are my loves. I *do* worship them, at least in a sense. And while they can be volatile and whimsical at times, they have yet to turn me into a spider for being obnoxious. And even if I go off the deep end periodically, I'm still devoted to them, to this way of life. For some reason, this metaphor sits much better with me than pretty much any other one I've heard or can think of on my own.
Meh, don't mind me. I get caught up in my own brain and my love of classical allusions sometimes. You should read my poetry if you think this is bad. *Rolls eyes*
Ok, time for a sandwich and bed. I have a long day of being a little girl ahead of me tomorrow. :p
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
New Year, New Blog
So I don't normally make New Year's resolutions because half the time I can never remember the things to keep them and the rest of the time--like the "lose weight" resolutions--I just kinda say screw it and don't care anymore. But there are things about myself I'd like to work on, so I reckon now is as good a time as ever. And since I don't really keep personal blogs anymore, except this one, I may as well write about that here.
The first thing I want to do is get serious about this stupid job of mine, since it looks like I'm going to be stuck doing it for quite some time. I want to make twice the amount of money I made last year. Now that I have two jobs and an affiliate line that pays very well, this is probably a reasonable goal.
This will allow me to do several things, like get out of debt, not be broke and worrying about money all the time, not feel stressed and guilty when I want to take a day or two to myself without working, etc.
I believe three consistent 10-hour shifts per week, plus another three days of working whatever hours I can, and one day where I don't work at all will accomplish this. The three 10-hour shifts will give me 30 hours and then the other three days should give me enough hours to make anywhere from 40-50 hours a week, reasonably. Then, there'll be one complete day off where I can do whatever I want and not even think about work, which will help me avoid burnout, where I go, "Fuck this, I'm not doing it," for, like, a week at a time.
Last year, I averaged about 33 hours per week and less than $300 per week with one job (not counting dispatch hours). So it stands to reason that at 45ish hours per week with two jobs, a high-paying affiliate, various other places to try and make money, and counting dispatch pay, $500-$600 per week (amongst all this) would be a reasonable goal, yes?
At $600 per week, I can pay all the bills I owe in basically a week and a half. Another week would cover gas, food, and the occasional movie ticket, drink at the bar, or shirt or pair of shoes. The remaining week and a half could be saved for emergencies, paying off credit card debt, paying for school, paying on student loans if I don't end up in library school, thus getting yet another deferment, health insurance, or whatever else.
The fewer money worries I have, the more time I'll have to spend time on things that actually, you know, matter to me. Like spending time with my loves, getting the hell out of this town in a few months, having my car fixed, going to the beach more than once a year, etc.
Ok, so, yeah, that was probably way more detailed than necessary, but I have a tendency to do that at times. So...money is the first thing.
The other thing is that I'm going to try to be a little more cognizant of my own moods and how they tend to affect the people around me. (This is probably more easily said than done.)
Thing is, I have this kind of addictive personality that craves constant stimulation. And if I get bored (or hurt, which is usually caused by inactivity, more by something that someone *didn't* do than something someone did do), I try to create what I need, often with disastrous results.
So I know I need to be more observant, realize when I'm feeling restless, and point it out before I do something stupid, rather than much, much after.
Like, I realize I really suck at being a slave. Really, really suck. I don't have the constancy and the stability to place myself at that level all the time. Sometimes, I can, and sometimes, I can't, but I can't be relied upon in that kind of way, unfortunately.
Despite the name of this blog (*ahem* I had such high hopes), I'm about equal parts pet and little girl with more than incidental slavish tendencies with enough sadistic bitch and crazy and good-girlfriendish-type-if-you-don't-mind-the-inability-to-stay-in-one-place-for-any-length-of-time-and-the-near-insatiable-sex-drive-and-the-occasional-desire-to-break-things thrown in for good measure.
(So sue me. I'm crazy. I have no stable, inner, unchanging core and can spend 2 hours describing myself, and you won't know me any better than you did before I started.)
In spite of my occasional tendencies to throw it all out there and see what sticks, there's still a lot people don't know about me. *Shrug*
Anyway, I'm about to derail my own train of thought, so let me try to drag myself back to the pet and little girl thing.
I believe in a lot of ways, I have been a.) talking to too many people who take themselves WAY too damned seriously (which is something I never have been able to do and never will be able to do for any length of time because, really, let's face it: my life and I are just too damned funny), and b.) embattled in a ridiculous battle of semantics in my own head (English major) that has culminated in idiotic expectations of myself which the Owner-people never had of me in the first place, but because I'm more than mildly batshit, I have managed to secretly resent them for, anyway.
Ok, I have to take a small break and point to the paragraph above. That paragraph = one freakin' sentence. Who do I think I am? Faulkner? Actually, I hope not because he's boring as all get-out. If we're choosing Southern writers we'd like to be compared to today, I pick Flannery O'Connor. She may have been a.) dying and b.) nuts, but at least, by God, she was interesting.
Yay, Southern Gothic!
Err...anyway. I find the pet/little girl thing interesting because they're two different manifestations (depending on what kind of mood I'm in) of basically the same desire: to be loved unconditionally and accepted as who/what I am. The pet girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The little girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The overarching aspects are the same; it's the details that are different, I guess.
B. says sometimes that I'm a natural-born submissive. I guess he's right. If it's true, then it's damn sure gotten me in a lot of trouble in my life, hence the reason for defense mechanism after defense mechanism to keep people the fuck away from me. I hate it, resent it, utterly despise it in a lot of ways. I think my life would've been much better up until this point had that not been my nature.
Thus, why I serve and want to please people I love who have shown me that they won't take advantage of my nature. That, I think, is what makes me a slave to those people more than anything. Service is completely wrapped up in love for me, and I can't extricate the two.
And, like an actual pet or an actual little girl, my love is unconditional. This is another one of those things I've been cursed with. It doesn't just extend to lovers, but to friends and such as well. I tend to try to please people I love. They know this and take advantage of it. I hate myself for letting them get away with it, but I can't stop it because I can't stop loving them, thus I can't stop trying to please them.
So I think in order to be the good little pet/little girl/slave-type thing I want to be, I have to stop loathing that part of me, and I have to know that my Owner-people don't secretly hate/resent/despise it, too. I "know" it intellectually now, but there's an awfully big difference in "knowing" it intellectually and truly feeling it down deep inside. It's like the difference in telling yourself that you love someone and actually loving him/her.
Randomly, I keep going back to the mental image of the dog on the really, really long retractable leash.
My Owner-people hold the end of this huge retractable leash. Most of the time, I'm pretty content to walk along within arm's length or so of them. It makes me feel safe, secure, happy, stable, loved, what have you. I'm mostly well-trained and will follow along happily at whatever distance they decide is best. But every now and then, I feel the need to chase a squirrel, and there's not much that can stop me, really. Even so, they've still got the other end, and it's still going to be there, however far I chase the squirrel.
I just need to know they will be there after the squirrel-chasing episode is over, and I come trotting back. Little girls/pets don't do so well when the leash is dropped. :(
Then, on my end, I need to get better at recognizing the approaching squirrel. Or at least not nearly violently ripping their arms off when I tear out unexpectedly.
This is going to seem random and not connected with anything, but I think it is, if only in my ADD brain. You know what I'm so afraid of in dealing with people or situations that are unfamiliar to me? It's not knowing how to act. It's the fear of being abandoned by the people I do know who are there with me. It's being left alone to deal with a situation I have no control over. I'm not agoraphobic. I rarely flip out before going into Wal-Mart or whatever. That is a very limited sort of contact with people, one that largely has a script for what to do and how to act, and rarely do people deviate far from it. There's not much I have to say other than, "Hey, how are you?" and "Thank you" when I'm finished.
I'm afraid of the unknown. Afraid that in my complete ignorance of whatever social mores that people hold about this encounter with me, I will violate them all because I'm a social retard, and they will hate me.
It's hard to screw up,"Hey, how are you?" It's a lot easier to screw up something more complex.
I guess that, too, is the root of my fears in my relationship. There are certain things I don't know how to deal with, and I'm afraid I'll always choose the wrong way, and they'll hate me for it.
Like a pet, like a little girl, I respond best to consistency, to knowing the boundaries beforehand. Literally, the "No matter what, we will always love you, but if you act in such-and-such way, we may not like you very much. We much prefer that you do 'x' instead" spiel. That way, I don't have to worry that if I do 'x,' they'll hate me. I'll already know what is expected.
Yeah. Make lists. "What We Want From Our Little Girl." No, I wouldn't think it condescending in the slightest. The creator of the "Mittens" name wasn't too far off, really.
I dunno. I feel like there's still a bunch of stuff churning around in my head, but I think I should probably stop because I need to go to bed, and because I've already written a novella. I just kinda wanted B. and J. to know that I have been thinking about some of the things that they've said and that I am willing to work on things about me that suck at life.
I'm a bad slave. But I think I can be a real good pet. Or something.
The first thing I want to do is get serious about this stupid job of mine, since it looks like I'm going to be stuck doing it for quite some time. I want to make twice the amount of money I made last year. Now that I have two jobs and an affiliate line that pays very well, this is probably a reasonable goal.
This will allow me to do several things, like get out of debt, not be broke and worrying about money all the time, not feel stressed and guilty when I want to take a day or two to myself without working, etc.
I believe three consistent 10-hour shifts per week, plus another three days of working whatever hours I can, and one day where I don't work at all will accomplish this. The three 10-hour shifts will give me 30 hours and then the other three days should give me enough hours to make anywhere from 40-50 hours a week, reasonably. Then, there'll be one complete day off where I can do whatever I want and not even think about work, which will help me avoid burnout, where I go, "Fuck this, I'm not doing it," for, like, a week at a time.
Last year, I averaged about 33 hours per week and less than $300 per week with one job (not counting dispatch hours). So it stands to reason that at 45ish hours per week with two jobs, a high-paying affiliate, various other places to try and make money, and counting dispatch pay, $500-$600 per week (amongst all this) would be a reasonable goal, yes?
At $600 per week, I can pay all the bills I owe in basically a week and a half. Another week would cover gas, food, and the occasional movie ticket, drink at the bar, or shirt or pair of shoes. The remaining week and a half could be saved for emergencies, paying off credit card debt, paying for school, paying on student loans if I don't end up in library school, thus getting yet another deferment, health insurance, or whatever else.
The fewer money worries I have, the more time I'll have to spend time on things that actually, you know, matter to me. Like spending time with my loves, getting the hell out of this town in a few months, having my car fixed, going to the beach more than once a year, etc.
Ok, so, yeah, that was probably way more detailed than necessary, but I have a tendency to do that at times. So...money is the first thing.
The other thing is that I'm going to try to be a little more cognizant of my own moods and how they tend to affect the people around me. (This is probably more easily said than done.)
Thing is, I have this kind of addictive personality that craves constant stimulation. And if I get bored (or hurt, which is usually caused by inactivity, more by something that someone *didn't* do than something someone did do), I try to create what I need, often with disastrous results.
So I know I need to be more observant, realize when I'm feeling restless, and point it out before I do something stupid, rather than much, much after.
Like, I realize I really suck at being a slave. Really, really suck. I don't have the constancy and the stability to place myself at that level all the time. Sometimes, I can, and sometimes, I can't, but I can't be relied upon in that kind of way, unfortunately.
Despite the name of this blog (*ahem* I had such high hopes), I'm about equal parts pet and little girl with more than incidental slavish tendencies with enough sadistic bitch and crazy and good-girlfriendish-type-if-you-don't-mind-the-inability-to-stay-in-one-place-for-any-length-of-time-and-the-near-insatiable-sex-drive-and-the-occasional-desire-to-break-things thrown in for good measure.
(So sue me. I'm crazy. I have no stable, inner, unchanging core and can spend 2 hours describing myself, and you won't know me any better than you did before I started.)
In spite of my occasional tendencies to throw it all out there and see what sticks, there's still a lot people don't know about me. *Shrug*
Anyway, I'm about to derail my own train of thought, so let me try to drag myself back to the pet and little girl thing.
I believe in a lot of ways, I have been a.) talking to too many people who take themselves WAY too damned seriously (which is something I never have been able to do and never will be able to do for any length of time because, really, let's face it: my life and I are just too damned funny), and b.) embattled in a ridiculous battle of semantics in my own head (English major) that has culminated in idiotic expectations of myself which the Owner-people never had of me in the first place, but because I'm more than mildly batshit, I have managed to secretly resent them for, anyway.
Ok, I have to take a small break and point to the paragraph above. That paragraph = one freakin' sentence. Who do I think I am? Faulkner? Actually, I hope not because he's boring as all get-out. If we're choosing Southern writers we'd like to be compared to today, I pick Flannery O'Connor. She may have been a.) dying and b.) nuts, but at least, by God, she was interesting.
Yay, Southern Gothic!
Err...anyway. I find the pet/little girl thing interesting because they're two different manifestations (depending on what kind of mood I'm in) of basically the same desire: to be loved unconditionally and accepted as who/what I am. The pet girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The little girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The overarching aspects are the same; it's the details that are different, I guess.
B. says sometimes that I'm a natural-born submissive. I guess he's right. If it's true, then it's damn sure gotten me in a lot of trouble in my life, hence the reason for defense mechanism after defense mechanism to keep people the fuck away from me. I hate it, resent it, utterly despise it in a lot of ways. I think my life would've been much better up until this point had that not been my nature.
Thus, why I serve and want to please people I love who have shown me that they won't take advantage of my nature. That, I think, is what makes me a slave to those people more than anything. Service is completely wrapped up in love for me, and I can't extricate the two.
And, like an actual pet or an actual little girl, my love is unconditional. This is another one of those things I've been cursed with. It doesn't just extend to lovers, but to friends and such as well. I tend to try to please people I love. They know this and take advantage of it. I hate myself for letting them get away with it, but I can't stop it because I can't stop loving them, thus I can't stop trying to please them.
So I think in order to be the good little pet/little girl/slave-type thing I want to be, I have to stop loathing that part of me, and I have to know that my Owner-people don't secretly hate/resent/despise it, too. I "know" it intellectually now, but there's an awfully big difference in "knowing" it intellectually and truly feeling it down deep inside. It's like the difference in telling yourself that you love someone and actually loving him/her.
Randomly, I keep going back to the mental image of the dog on the really, really long retractable leash.
My Owner-people hold the end of this huge retractable leash. Most of the time, I'm pretty content to walk along within arm's length or so of them. It makes me feel safe, secure, happy, stable, loved, what have you. I'm mostly well-trained and will follow along happily at whatever distance they decide is best. But every now and then, I feel the need to chase a squirrel, and there's not much that can stop me, really. Even so, they've still got the other end, and it's still going to be there, however far I chase the squirrel.
I just need to know they will be there after the squirrel-chasing episode is over, and I come trotting back. Little girls/pets don't do so well when the leash is dropped. :(
Then, on my end, I need to get better at recognizing the approaching squirrel. Or at least not nearly violently ripping their arms off when I tear out unexpectedly.
This is going to seem random and not connected with anything, but I think it is, if only in my ADD brain. You know what I'm so afraid of in dealing with people or situations that are unfamiliar to me? It's not knowing how to act. It's the fear of being abandoned by the people I do know who are there with me. It's being left alone to deal with a situation I have no control over. I'm not agoraphobic. I rarely flip out before going into Wal-Mart or whatever. That is a very limited sort of contact with people, one that largely has a script for what to do and how to act, and rarely do people deviate far from it. There's not much I have to say other than, "Hey, how are you?" and "Thank you" when I'm finished.
I'm afraid of the unknown. Afraid that in my complete ignorance of whatever social mores that people hold about this encounter with me, I will violate them all because I'm a social retard, and they will hate me.
It's hard to screw up,"Hey, how are you?" It's a lot easier to screw up something more complex.
I guess that, too, is the root of my fears in my relationship. There are certain things I don't know how to deal with, and I'm afraid I'll always choose the wrong way, and they'll hate me for it.
Like a pet, like a little girl, I respond best to consistency, to knowing the boundaries beforehand. Literally, the "No matter what, we will always love you, but if you act in such-and-such way, we may not like you very much. We much prefer that you do 'x' instead" spiel. That way, I don't have to worry that if I do 'x,' they'll hate me. I'll already know what is expected.
Yeah. Make lists. "What We Want From Our Little Girl." No, I wouldn't think it condescending in the slightest. The creator of the "Mittens" name wasn't too far off, really.
I dunno. I feel like there's still a bunch of stuff churning around in my head, but I think I should probably stop because I need to go to bed, and because I've already written a novella. I just kinda wanted B. and J. to know that I have been thinking about some of the things that they've said and that I am willing to work on things about me that suck at life.
I'm a bad slave. But I think I can be a real good pet. Or something.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Collar
B. asked me to make this post last week, but I haven't been feeling very eloquent. Actually, I still don't feel very eloquent, but I'll see what I can come up with, anyway.
I got a new everyday collar for my birthday. Yay! That makes me happy because I couldn't wear my old one much, since the rivets on it aggravated my nickel allergy and made my neck itch like whoa. So now I have a new collar that won't make me itch. :) Fabulous!
And that was supposed to be a neat little segueway into what being collared means to me, but my English major brain is failing me tonight....
So now I'm going to talk about what being collared means to me. (Heh.)
It means they want to keep me. It means in spite of the fact that I'm whiny, annoying, self-centered, self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissistic, cynical, bitter, spiteful, pseudo-intellectual, moody, prone to fits of brooding, unnecessarily cruel at times, lazy, unmotivated, unambitious, completely batshit fucking crazy and probably two steps from the nut house at any given moment (I could keep going all night with these), they still want to keep me.
God knows what form of insanity they've been afflicted with, but I hope they never find a cure.
It means I'm theirs to do what they want with. They're smart enough to know that owning me isn't exactly like owning a really stupid animal that you have to lord over all the time. I always use horse comparisons, so I figure why not here, too? From a plain old trail horse that does nothing but mindlessly ride people around on a dude ranch all day, I'd expect total and immediate obedience, no questions asked. I'm willing to tolerate a few quirks out of a good show horse, though, because to take those away from him/her may mean taking away his/her fire and will to perform brilliantly every time, and it's just not worth crushing World Grand Champion material just because the horse doesn't like to stand still in the three seconds it takes me to get on. (See, there's the massive ego again.) The fantastic ones are worth the minor bullshit you have to put up with to keep them functioning at their very best, and I hope that's how they feel about the whiny, annoying, self-centered, etc. me.
However, in the end, they're still the ones holding the leash, regardless of how loose or tight it may be at any given time. The collar itself is a comfort to me, in that I know no matter where I am or what I'm doing, they're the ones who have complete control over me. I'll do whatever they want, and it's a tangible reminder for me. When I'm able to wear an everyday collar, well, EVERY DAY, I miss the sense of comfort and security I get when I have to take it off to go out in public or around people who wouldn't get it.
It means I'm theirs. It means they aren't going to let me go just because I open my mouth and say something stupid or do something stupid. It means they plan to keep me forever and ever, despite the best efforts of some dumbasses.
It means I'm their property, that I'm only allowed to make the decisions they let me make. If I were to lose my mind one day and try to leave, it means they'd come after me. It means that they'll handle things I'm too stupid/incompetent/incapable of doing myself.
It means I have a permanent place in their lives. It sounds stupid, but for someone who's always had almost all human interactions be on extremely tenuous ground her whole life, the knowledge that I always have somewhere to go, someone(s) waiting for me, a stable and safe and secure spot JUST FOR ME at their feet is very comforting. I dunno how to explain it. It just is.
I'm sure there's a lot more I could say on the subject, but I feel like I'm just babbling instead of making sense, so I'm going to stop. I think it's about bedtime for me, anyhow.
I got a new everyday collar for my birthday. Yay! That makes me happy because I couldn't wear my old one much, since the rivets on it aggravated my nickel allergy and made my neck itch like whoa. So now I have a new collar that won't make me itch. :) Fabulous!
And that was supposed to be a neat little segueway into what being collared means to me, but my English major brain is failing me tonight....
So now I'm going to talk about what being collared means to me. (Heh.)
It means they want to keep me. It means in spite of the fact that I'm whiny, annoying, self-centered, self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissistic, cynical, bitter, spiteful, pseudo-intellectual, moody, prone to fits of brooding, unnecessarily cruel at times, lazy, unmotivated, unambitious, completely batshit fucking crazy and probably two steps from the nut house at any given moment (I could keep going all night with these), they still want to keep me.
God knows what form of insanity they've been afflicted with, but I hope they never find a cure.
It means I'm theirs to do what they want with. They're smart enough to know that owning me isn't exactly like owning a really stupid animal that you have to lord over all the time. I always use horse comparisons, so I figure why not here, too? From a plain old trail horse that does nothing but mindlessly ride people around on a dude ranch all day, I'd expect total and immediate obedience, no questions asked. I'm willing to tolerate a few quirks out of a good show horse, though, because to take those away from him/her may mean taking away his/her fire and will to perform brilliantly every time, and it's just not worth crushing World Grand Champion material just because the horse doesn't like to stand still in the three seconds it takes me to get on. (See, there's the massive ego again.) The fantastic ones are worth the minor bullshit you have to put up with to keep them functioning at their very best, and I hope that's how they feel about the whiny, annoying, self-centered, etc. me.
However, in the end, they're still the ones holding the leash, regardless of how loose or tight it may be at any given time. The collar itself is a comfort to me, in that I know no matter where I am or what I'm doing, they're the ones who have complete control over me. I'll do whatever they want, and it's a tangible reminder for me. When I'm able to wear an everyday collar, well, EVERY DAY, I miss the sense of comfort and security I get when I have to take it off to go out in public or around people who wouldn't get it.
It means I'm theirs. It means they aren't going to let me go just because I open my mouth and say something stupid or do something stupid. It means they plan to keep me forever and ever, despite the best efforts of some dumbasses.
It means I'm their property, that I'm only allowed to make the decisions they let me make. If I were to lose my mind one day and try to leave, it means they'd come after me. It means that they'll handle things I'm too stupid/incompetent/incapable of doing myself.
It means I have a permanent place in their lives. It sounds stupid, but for someone who's always had almost all human interactions be on extremely tenuous ground her whole life, the knowledge that I always have somewhere to go, someone(s) waiting for me, a stable and safe and secure spot JUST FOR ME at their feet is very comforting. I dunno how to explain it. It just is.
I'm sure there's a lot more I could say on the subject, but I feel like I'm just babbling instead of making sense, so I'm going to stop. I think it's about bedtime for me, anyhow.
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.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Same Song, Different Verse
I neglect this blog way more than I should. It's partly because I do so much blogging for work, for sure. The other part is not for lack of thoughts. It's more of a lack of ability to put said thoughts into words. Well, that and the redundancy of those thoughts. I have the same struggles as I always do; I'm just tired of writing about them.
I'm weird. They dominate my thoughts all the time. Even when I'm thinking about something else, they're still there at the back of my mind. And when I have a quiet moment and am actively fantasizing about being with them, I'm not even being my typical perverted self and thinking about kinky sex. (Well, not usually. *Grins*) I think about sitting in the floor at J.'s feet while she feeds me macaroni and cheese. I think about rubbing my face against B.'s feet and purring happily. And, favorite of favorites, I think of being between them and snuggling close to them both.
I get so overwhelmed by my own emotions, and I don't really have the foggiest idea of how to proceed here. I'm not used to being in this situation of not really knowing what the hell to do. I don't go around lording it over people, of course, but I'm used to being one of the smartest people in the room. Being at a complete loss is unusual to me. So I just sort of flounder around and struggle with things normal people don't have any trouble with, and it's damned frustrating.
I don't really form any lasting attachments with people. I've got all these deep and, well, overwhelming emotions inside me, and I don't know what to do with them. It's really scary, as stupid as that might sound.
Everyone says they've never met anyone they've ever felt this way about about their current partner(s). It's the cutesy, romantic, cheesy-ass kind of line you're "supposed" to use. That's why it sounds so factitious, so artificial, so completely insincere and/or ingenuous when I say that I'm blown away by how I feel about them.
The upside is, anyone who's known me more than about three seconds knows I don't do anything just because I'm "supposed" to, so I'm hoping they realize I'm being for real here.
I think part of the reason I've always resisted any sort of encroachment on my freedom, particularly in the context of personal relationships, is--aside from the fact that I've decided that all I've ever known is dysfunction--something born of fear of who I am and what I'm capable of. My life is mine, and I've never had any particular desire to share it with anyone. I always kind of identified with Elizabeth I in that regard.
But you know what? I've bumbled through my whole life, and now I've stumbled into something much stronger than me. To comfort myself late at night when I'm lonely, I imagine myself on a huge, invisible retractable leash. It goes with me wherever I go, and I can go as far as I like. But, ultimately, they're the ones holding the thing, and I'll always come back to where they are.
I think that's what love and devotion are. Maybe I finally am learning something.
See why I've neglected the blog so long? This is just the hundredth verse of the same old thing. Maybe one day I'll learn how to swim on my own instead of trying to drag everyone down with me when I start to panic and drown. *Rolls eyes*
I'm weird. They dominate my thoughts all the time. Even when I'm thinking about something else, they're still there at the back of my mind. And when I have a quiet moment and am actively fantasizing about being with them, I'm not even being my typical perverted self and thinking about kinky sex. (Well, not usually. *Grins*) I think about sitting in the floor at J.'s feet while she feeds me macaroni and cheese. I think about rubbing my face against B.'s feet and purring happily. And, favorite of favorites, I think of being between them and snuggling close to them both.
I get so overwhelmed by my own emotions, and I don't really have the foggiest idea of how to proceed here. I'm not used to being in this situation of not really knowing what the hell to do. I don't go around lording it over people, of course, but I'm used to being one of the smartest people in the room. Being at a complete loss is unusual to me. So I just sort of flounder around and struggle with things normal people don't have any trouble with, and it's damned frustrating.
I don't really form any lasting attachments with people. I've got all these deep and, well, overwhelming emotions inside me, and I don't know what to do with them. It's really scary, as stupid as that might sound.
Everyone says they've never met anyone they've ever felt this way about about their current partner(s). It's the cutesy, romantic, cheesy-ass kind of line you're "supposed" to use. That's why it sounds so factitious, so artificial, so completely insincere and/or ingenuous when I say that I'm blown away by how I feel about them.
The upside is, anyone who's known me more than about three seconds knows I don't do anything just because I'm "supposed" to, so I'm hoping they realize I'm being for real here.
I think part of the reason I've always resisted any sort of encroachment on my freedom, particularly in the context of personal relationships, is--aside from the fact that I've decided that all I've ever known is dysfunction--something born of fear of who I am and what I'm capable of. My life is mine, and I've never had any particular desire to share it with anyone. I always kind of identified with Elizabeth I in that regard.
But you know what? I've bumbled through my whole life, and now I've stumbled into something much stronger than me. To comfort myself late at night when I'm lonely, I imagine myself on a huge, invisible retractable leash. It goes with me wherever I go, and I can go as far as I like. But, ultimately, they're the ones holding the thing, and I'll always come back to where they are.
I think that's what love and devotion are. Maybe I finally am learning something.
See why I've neglected the blog so long? This is just the hundredth verse of the same old thing. Maybe one day I'll learn how to swim on my own instead of trying to drag everyone down with me when I start to panic and drown. *Rolls eyes*
Monday, June 29, 2009
:D
B. and J. came over this weekend. I was really, like, stupidly happy. It was partly because I hadn't seen them in way too long (damn this whole being broke thing) and partly because, well, it just seemed right for them to be snoring on my couches after dinner. ;)
We must do this again soon.
In other news, I'm still struggling. No, I swear, I'm not one of those bitches who always has to have some kind of drama, or she'll never be happy.
No, really. Shut up.
I'm still in the stages of figuring out how to word this and actually identifying the problem. But I'm going to give it a try, anyway.
Saturday, J., L., and I went over to L.'s place to see mine and L.'s cats. While we were there, we were talking because that's what happens when you get a bunch of females together, right? J. and I both briefly talked about how we have a complete inability to do things halfway. We have different approaches, naturally, but it's a trait we've got in common, for sure. It's one reason I have a huge amount of respect for her.
But upon further reflection, I realize that, in relation to myself, that's not exactly the truth.
I'm doing better than I was in this relationship, but I'm still holding back. I'm afraid, of course, because I'm full of insecurities and always afraid of something, but I'm also stubborn and refusing to accept things I know are true about myself.
I think a lot of my refusal to identify with the "slave" label is not because I don't see slavish tendencies and qualities about me, but because I still can't quite give all of myself that there is to give, for a multitude of reasons.
But I'm also seeing that in the past month or so, my ability to hold my loves at arm's length has waned considerably. I've let the two of them in much closer that I ever intended to. On one hand, it cues the old "chew through the straps and run like hell" reaction, but on the other hand, it makes me quite happy.
Upon closer examination, though, I'm kind of disappointed in myself. They deserve more than this.
After they left Saturday night, I was lying in my bed, unable to move because I was so sore. ;) And I realized I've pretty much reached this crossroads now. I can either continue on in this strange sort of holding pattern, where I'm deluding myself that I still retain some sort of control (thereby remaining vaguely dissatisfied for all my days), or I can say, "Fuck it," and make the leap.
'Cause leaving's not an option anymore. (Well, aside from the fun "Oh, you must come kidnap me because I won't go willingly" games. But that's totally different.)
Part of the fear is the knowledge that if I were to become one iota more dependent on them than I already am, I don't think I could ever function as a whole person again should they decide they don't want me anymore. And since I've always been very independent because I learned a long time ago that you can't count on other people, and you've only got yourself to make things happen, this whole dependency issue is a problem for me.
But something tells me I'm not ever going to be completely happy--just vaguely annoyed and disgusted at myself--if I don't do this all the way, like I do everything else in my life.
(The proverbial bull in the china shop and all that.)
The other fear is, maybe they don't want this. Maybe they don't *really* want me as complete and total slave. Maybe it's asking too much of them. Maybe it would be wrong to ask them to shoulder the responsibility and hassle. Who could possibly want someone who's THAT dependent on them at all times?
And, for the purposes of this discussion, "dependent" doesn't mean financially so or so needing to be told when I can go to the bathroom or whatever. It's not a matter of worthless or stupid, just...dependent. And redundant. Yay, redundancy.
A very large part of me wants to beg to be brought down extremely low. To have my illusion of control that they've let me keep up until now completely shattered. To be completely at their mercy and in their control, not just for the duration of our fun playtime, but for always. To be brought to the place that I can be the slave that I know I can be. To be shown how *unworthy* of love I am and then loved, anyway.
But only if that's what they want. I love them far too much to ever want them to do something they didn't want just because I'm whiny and angsty again, even if I do crave the peace and acceptance that finally being what I apparently was born to be would bring. :)
We must do this again soon.
In other news, I'm still struggling. No, I swear, I'm not one of those bitches who always has to have some kind of drama, or she'll never be happy.
No, really. Shut up.
I'm still in the stages of figuring out how to word this and actually identifying the problem. But I'm going to give it a try, anyway.
Saturday, J., L., and I went over to L.'s place to see mine and L.'s cats. While we were there, we were talking because that's what happens when you get a bunch of females together, right? J. and I both briefly talked about how we have a complete inability to do things halfway. We have different approaches, naturally, but it's a trait we've got in common, for sure. It's one reason I have a huge amount of respect for her.
But upon further reflection, I realize that, in relation to myself, that's not exactly the truth.
I'm doing better than I was in this relationship, but I'm still holding back. I'm afraid, of course, because I'm full of insecurities and always afraid of something, but I'm also stubborn and refusing to accept things I know are true about myself.
I think a lot of my refusal to identify with the "slave" label is not because I don't see slavish tendencies and qualities about me, but because I still can't quite give all of myself that there is to give, for a multitude of reasons.
But I'm also seeing that in the past month or so, my ability to hold my loves at arm's length has waned considerably. I've let the two of them in much closer that I ever intended to. On one hand, it cues the old "chew through the straps and run like hell" reaction, but on the other hand, it makes me quite happy.
Upon closer examination, though, I'm kind of disappointed in myself. They deserve more than this.
After they left Saturday night, I was lying in my bed, unable to move because I was so sore. ;) And I realized I've pretty much reached this crossroads now. I can either continue on in this strange sort of holding pattern, where I'm deluding myself that I still retain some sort of control (thereby remaining vaguely dissatisfied for all my days), or I can say, "Fuck it," and make the leap.
'Cause leaving's not an option anymore. (Well, aside from the fun "Oh, you must come kidnap me because I won't go willingly" games. But that's totally different.)
Part of the fear is the knowledge that if I were to become one iota more dependent on them than I already am, I don't think I could ever function as a whole person again should they decide they don't want me anymore. And since I've always been very independent because I learned a long time ago that you can't count on other people, and you've only got yourself to make things happen, this whole dependency issue is a problem for me.
But something tells me I'm not ever going to be completely happy--just vaguely annoyed and disgusted at myself--if I don't do this all the way, like I do everything else in my life.
(The proverbial bull in the china shop and all that.)
The other fear is, maybe they don't want this. Maybe they don't *really* want me as complete and total slave. Maybe it's asking too much of them. Maybe it would be wrong to ask them to shoulder the responsibility and hassle. Who could possibly want someone who's THAT dependent on them at all times?
And, for the purposes of this discussion, "dependent" doesn't mean financially so or so needing to be told when I can go to the bathroom or whatever. It's not a matter of worthless or stupid, just...dependent. And redundant. Yay, redundancy.
A very large part of me wants to beg to be brought down extremely low. To have my illusion of control that they've let me keep up until now completely shattered. To be completely at their mercy and in their control, not just for the duration of our fun playtime, but for always. To be brought to the place that I can be the slave that I know I can be. To be shown how *unworthy* of love I am and then loved, anyway.
But only if that's what they want. I love them far too much to ever want them to do something they didn't want just because I'm whiny and angsty again, even if I do crave the peace and acceptance that finally being what I apparently was born to be would bring. :)
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Insert Interesting Blog Title Here
Mistress wants another blog, and what Mistress wants, she gets. ;)
Even I admit I've been neglecting this thing way more than I should. I just feel extremely uninspired most of the time. The proverbial well ran dry awhile back, I'm afraid. Not that there was ever a whole bunch there to begin with. :p
Well, to update...my loves are coming to visit me this weekend. Yay! L. and I have been frantically cleaning and buying groceries. Mostly 'cause I don't want them to think I'm total failure as a female.
But, no, seriously, I'm really looking forward to it (and hoping they don't mind my other friend L. and possibly her husband showing up). And hoping they can tolerate my cooking. And planning to have L. (the one who lives across the parking lot from me, not with the married one) and J. help me tie B. up and do evil things to him. *Grins*
Seven-year-olds can be very cruel, you know. *Giggles*
Anyway, I'm currently having yet another internal struggle that revolves around me knowing I have so much more to give my owner-type people, but being afraid to let myself go that far. Yes, yes, I know, bad slave-girl, not conducive to good relationship, etc. I think I just have this rather self-destructive habit of rebelling against my true nature.
And then I'm PMS-ing. I swear, I get downright ornery when that happens.
I dunno. I wanna be a better slave-girl. I know I can be. But apparently, I'm only capable of falling so far before I stop myself and go, "Nope, can't do it."
I really wish I were more comfortable in my own skin.
Ok, to end this on a good note, I'm still really, really excited about this weekend! And about spending time with J. next week while B. is away. :)
Even I admit I've been neglecting this thing way more than I should. I just feel extremely uninspired most of the time. The proverbial well ran dry awhile back, I'm afraid. Not that there was ever a whole bunch there to begin with. :p
Well, to update...my loves are coming to visit me this weekend. Yay! L. and I have been frantically cleaning and buying groceries. Mostly 'cause I don't want them to think I'm total failure as a female.
But, no, seriously, I'm really looking forward to it (and hoping they don't mind my other friend L. and possibly her husband showing up). And hoping they can tolerate my cooking. And planning to have L. (the one who lives across the parking lot from me, not with the married one) and J. help me tie B. up and do evil things to him. *Grins*
Seven-year-olds can be very cruel, you know. *Giggles*
Anyway, I'm currently having yet another internal struggle that revolves around me knowing I have so much more to give my owner-type people, but being afraid to let myself go that far. Yes, yes, I know, bad slave-girl, not conducive to good relationship, etc. I think I just have this rather self-destructive habit of rebelling against my true nature.
And then I'm PMS-ing. I swear, I get downright ornery when that happens.
I dunno. I wanna be a better slave-girl. I know I can be. But apparently, I'm only capable of falling so far before I stop myself and go, "Nope, can't do it."
I really wish I were more comfortable in my own skin.
Ok, to end this on a good note, I'm still really, really excited about this weekend! And about spending time with J. next week while B. is away. :)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I'm So Tired
Shit...I'm tired.
It's been a hell of a weekend. I got almost all my work caught up. I have worked 70 hours since Thursday. I have done 560 minutes worth of phone sex in that time. Unfortunately, our pay period ends on Friday night/Saturday morning at midnight, so that time is split between 2 checks. Just on this pay period, in the last 48 hours, I've worked 44 of them and done 335 minutes of phone boning.
I'm not saying this to brag about my amazing phone prowess. *Rolls eyes* I'm just illustrating how exhausted I am.
I caught up all my blogs AND converted the dummy blogs over to Blogger. Of course, the import tool didn't work, so I had to copy and paste and appropriately date EVERY SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING POST. I put some affiliate links up on them. I fucked with my website. I did a whole bunch of other shit. I am thoroughly sick of sitting in front of the computer.
In addition to that, I also wrote TWO resumes for myself. One's a "regular" one, and the other is a skills-based one to use when applying for writing jobs. Unfortunately, I'm too tired to search for jobs at the moment, so they're kind of useless at the moment.
I also cooked two freaking meals a day all weekend because I'm apparently the only person of the people who were here all weekend that know how to do ANYTHING. I suddenly remember why I could never be a housewife. I'm of the mindset that if you're hungry, fucking fix you something. And if you can't do that, then fucking STARVE for all I fucking care. Just leave me alone, goddammit.
Sorry. I am feeling more than slightly underappreciated at the moment.
It's like...I work myself to death, and nobody cares. The only thing that matters is that I give and give and give, even if it's to my own detriment. I don't know why I accept it. Maybe I'm getting way more like my mother than I care to admit and think taking on the martyr role makes me look good. Or maybe, and more likely, I'm just too nice to say "no."
I don't like feeling undervalued and underappreciated. I guess that's why I like being with B. and J. They don't really make me feel like that.
And, as always, when I get stressed, my sexual fantasies turn dark. But, then, inexplicably, on the other hand, I want gentleness and tenderness.
I'm just a confused little girl, I think.
It's been a hell of a weekend. I got almost all my work caught up. I have worked 70 hours since Thursday. I have done 560 minutes worth of phone sex in that time. Unfortunately, our pay period ends on Friday night/Saturday morning at midnight, so that time is split between 2 checks. Just on this pay period, in the last 48 hours, I've worked 44 of them and done 335 minutes of phone boning.
I'm not saying this to brag about my amazing phone prowess. *Rolls eyes* I'm just illustrating how exhausted I am.
I caught up all my blogs AND converted the dummy blogs over to Blogger. Of course, the import tool didn't work, so I had to copy and paste and appropriately date EVERY SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING POST. I put some affiliate links up on them. I fucked with my website. I did a whole bunch of other shit. I am thoroughly sick of sitting in front of the computer.
In addition to that, I also wrote TWO resumes for myself. One's a "regular" one, and the other is a skills-based one to use when applying for writing jobs. Unfortunately, I'm too tired to search for jobs at the moment, so they're kind of useless at the moment.
I also cooked two freaking meals a day all weekend because I'm apparently the only person of the people who were here all weekend that know how to do ANYTHING. I suddenly remember why I could never be a housewife. I'm of the mindset that if you're hungry, fucking fix you something. And if you can't do that, then fucking STARVE for all I fucking care. Just leave me alone, goddammit.
Sorry. I am feeling more than slightly underappreciated at the moment.
It's like...I work myself to death, and nobody cares. The only thing that matters is that I give and give and give, even if it's to my own detriment. I don't know why I accept it. Maybe I'm getting way more like my mother than I care to admit and think taking on the martyr role makes me look good. Or maybe, and more likely, I'm just too nice to say "no."
I don't like feeling undervalued and underappreciated. I guess that's why I like being with B. and J. They don't really make me feel like that.
And, as always, when I get stressed, my sexual fantasies turn dark. But, then, inexplicably, on the other hand, I want gentleness and tenderness.
I'm just a confused little girl, I think.
Monday, June 8, 2009
A Slave-Girl's Primer, Or Why Princess Bunny Will Never Be A "Real" Dominatrix
(Ya see what I did there? I might've ripped the title of this blog off from Marlyn Schwartz's A Southern Belle Primer, Or Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be A Kappa Kappa Gamma.)
This blog is a conglomerate of a whole bunch of thoughts that have finally managed to come together in my head in a way that's somewhat coherent to ME. Whether it will be coherent to others is anyone's guess. (And, no, Mattress, it's not bad, so you can stop holding your breath now. :p)
I know it sounds silly to say that I struggle with being who I am, but it's the truth. Any casual observer reading this blog will realize it. I'm sure it's a good bit of the reason for a lot of the angst in my head, which bleeds over into my relationship, too.
I've bounced around a whole lot in my self-labeling process. That also sounds stupid to anybody else, I'm sure. But words are my forte, so it's a big deal to me.
I've mostly stuck with "switch," since it's a catch-all for things that don't fit neatly in boxes, but I'm seeing more and more here lately that it doesn't fit.
At heart, I am a quiet, unobtrusive, complicated soul, though I can appear to be whatever I need to be to fit most any situation. Sarcastic, flashy, and bitchy tends to serve me well, as a general rule. Admittedly, I have more defense mechanisms than, as my Granny would've said, Carter has liver pills, but there you go.
Anyway, I'm pretty good at pretending to be something I'm not. So good, in fact, that I sort of tend to get the actual me confused with the me I happen to be pretending to be at the moment. Which sounds vaguely MPD, but whatever.
I'm beating around the bush, I know.
As I've mentioned before, I'm really, really, really good at getting people to do exactly what I want them to do. It's no great feat or strong personal character trait. I'm just stubborn as fuck. (Only child.) You'd think that'd translate to dominance, but no. It doesn't.
I like hurting people. Well, under certain circumstances. But put me even slightly in charge of having to decide what happens next, and I'm at a complete loss.
For a long time, I couldn't figure out why subs got on my nerves. I thought they were just annoying. But I think it's probably me. No, actually, I know it's me. I'll tell you why
Today, B. came to visit. I tried to tie him up and give him what he needed and failed miserably. He didn't seem terribly upset about it, but I felt like I'd disappointed him in some profound way, and I hated myself for it.
What I'm getting at is that I've pretty much been tying people up as long as I've been being tied up. I've gotten mostly comfortable with the latter, but increasingly uncomfortable with the former. You'd think experience would ease the discomfort, but it doesn't. I think it gets worse each time.
When I play, I'm ok as long as someone else is telling me what to do. If I have to do the deciding, I'm lost and feel really uncomfortable and vaguely sick.
Unfortunately, I've realized this is basically a metaphor for my entire life. I've kinda clung to the "switch" thing because it's beyond hard for me to admit that not only do I need someone to keep me from doing something stupid when I play, but I apparently need a keeper for daily life as well.
It's kind of embarrassing. It makes me feel stupid and worthless and lacking the wherewithal to do things by myself and for myself. I don't like depending on other people, and God knows, there aren't too many people in the world I CAN depend on.
The whole problem is not with the label, of course, but in the way I see myself. I don't like needing other people, so I try to shove them away. Then, I manage to get myself into idiotic situations to prove to myself I can get out of them, I guess. I dunno.
My friend B. (not the Masterly one) kinda banged me over the head with it earlier, though. I'm submissive. The sooner I stop trying to be something I'm not, the sooner I can deal with it and get on with my life.
It's scary needing my loves so much. I'm so used to being generally dissatisfied with things that I'm always looking for something else. But I've finally found what I need for the rest of my life, and maybe one day I can actually be cool with being "slave" instead of something else. Or at least "sadomasochistic service pet." That's kinda long, though.
I love them with all my heart, and I'm just trying, trying, trying to get past the self-loathing that seems to keep creating stumbling blocks. I started small. I'm currently changing my profiles on random kinky websites to indicate this new epiphany of mine. Stupid, yes, but baby steps.
A large part of me still hates myself for not being what I thought I should be--strong, independent, and self-sufficient. I feel weak and useless and stupid in a lot of ways. But you know something? When I'm with J. and B., I feel none of those things. What I feel there is a quiet sense of contentment. I think I should probably listen more to that feeling than the ones I have when I angst alone.
I'm getting there. I'm used to doing things the hard way, so as long as they don't give up on me, I should make it eventually.
This blog is a conglomerate of a whole bunch of thoughts that have finally managed to come together in my head in a way that's somewhat coherent to ME. Whether it will be coherent to others is anyone's guess. (And, no, Mattress, it's not bad, so you can stop holding your breath now. :p)
I know it sounds silly to say that I struggle with being who I am, but it's the truth. Any casual observer reading this blog will realize it. I'm sure it's a good bit of the reason for a lot of the angst in my head, which bleeds over into my relationship, too.
I've bounced around a whole lot in my self-labeling process. That also sounds stupid to anybody else, I'm sure. But words are my forte, so it's a big deal to me.
I've mostly stuck with "switch," since it's a catch-all for things that don't fit neatly in boxes, but I'm seeing more and more here lately that it doesn't fit.
At heart, I am a quiet, unobtrusive, complicated soul, though I can appear to be whatever I need to be to fit most any situation. Sarcastic, flashy, and bitchy tends to serve me well, as a general rule. Admittedly, I have more defense mechanisms than, as my Granny would've said, Carter has liver pills, but there you go.
Anyway, I'm pretty good at pretending to be something I'm not. So good, in fact, that I sort of tend to get the actual me confused with the me I happen to be pretending to be at the moment. Which sounds vaguely MPD, but whatever.
I'm beating around the bush, I know.
As I've mentioned before, I'm really, really, really good at getting people to do exactly what I want them to do. It's no great feat or strong personal character trait. I'm just stubborn as fuck. (Only child.) You'd think that'd translate to dominance, but no. It doesn't.
I like hurting people. Well, under certain circumstances. But put me even slightly in charge of having to decide what happens next, and I'm at a complete loss.
For a long time, I couldn't figure out why subs got on my nerves. I thought they were just annoying. But I think it's probably me. No, actually, I know it's me. I'll tell you why
Today, B. came to visit. I tried to tie him up and give him what he needed and failed miserably. He didn't seem terribly upset about it, but I felt like I'd disappointed him in some profound way, and I hated myself for it.
What I'm getting at is that I've pretty much been tying people up as long as I've been being tied up. I've gotten mostly comfortable with the latter, but increasingly uncomfortable with the former. You'd think experience would ease the discomfort, but it doesn't. I think it gets worse each time.
When I play, I'm ok as long as someone else is telling me what to do. If I have to do the deciding, I'm lost and feel really uncomfortable and vaguely sick.
Unfortunately, I've realized this is basically a metaphor for my entire life. I've kinda clung to the "switch" thing because it's beyond hard for me to admit that not only do I need someone to keep me from doing something stupid when I play, but I apparently need a keeper for daily life as well.
It's kind of embarrassing. It makes me feel stupid and worthless and lacking the wherewithal to do things by myself and for myself. I don't like depending on other people, and God knows, there aren't too many people in the world I CAN depend on.
The whole problem is not with the label, of course, but in the way I see myself. I don't like needing other people, so I try to shove them away. Then, I manage to get myself into idiotic situations to prove to myself I can get out of them, I guess. I dunno.
My friend B. (not the Masterly one) kinda banged me over the head with it earlier, though. I'm submissive. The sooner I stop trying to be something I'm not, the sooner I can deal with it and get on with my life.
It's scary needing my loves so much. I'm so used to being generally dissatisfied with things that I'm always looking for something else. But I've finally found what I need for the rest of my life, and maybe one day I can actually be cool with being "slave" instead of something else. Or at least "sadomasochistic service pet." That's kinda long, though.
I love them with all my heart, and I'm just trying, trying, trying to get past the self-loathing that seems to keep creating stumbling blocks. I started small. I'm currently changing my profiles on random kinky websites to indicate this new epiphany of mine. Stupid, yes, but baby steps.
A large part of me still hates myself for not being what I thought I should be--strong, independent, and self-sufficient. I feel weak and useless and stupid in a lot of ways. But you know something? When I'm with J. and B., I feel none of those things. What I feel there is a quiet sense of contentment. I think I should probably listen more to that feeling than the ones I have when I angst alone.
I'm getting there. I'm used to doing things the hard way, so as long as they don't give up on me, I should make it eventually.
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