There are two ways one can view writer's block: As a blankness that is frustrating... and as a blank mind, a blank slate, ready for the fruition of whatever ideas appear there. A blank mind, to me, is much like a fertile field. It is ready for plowing, ready for seed to be sown, ready for the tiny tendrils of ideas to begin to appear, grow, flourish and bloom. To me, a blank mind may also represent harvest, when ideas seem to have come to their utmost peak of fruition, then reaped and harvested. There should be a blankness after such a thing. It is a time of quiet, of the return to the natural state of things.
A blank mind... so many people get frustrated by this. It is so sad to see the people struggle to say something, feeling as if they must when perhaps it is merely a rest time for them. Or... maybe they need something to put into the fertile ground of their mind... seeds of thought, if you will.
It is like that for me lately, but today I came across a seed that planted itself immediately and started to grow. I shall show you...
http://alicedownarabbithole.blogspot.com/2008/12/longings.html
First of all, Master and I have been so very busy with our lives, too busy to really sit down and visit. When we are not busy, we are exhausted. The toil it takes to get our lives together in the same place has taken its toll upon us. It is hard work. However, it does not affect our love for one another and for this I am grateful beyond words. I have felt as if there was a distance encroaching on our space because of this exhaustion... a distance where there are no words. Perhaps there do not need to be words. Perhaps it is enough to simply desire.
Master, this is for you and you only. I have felt this distance. Just a few days ago you said I was far... and I was. I was over 20 years in the past, looking at schoolmates from long ago on facebook, wondering what they are doing, what do they look like now, do they have families? I don't know what prompted me to do such a thing. I admit without humility that I did gloat sometimes over the ones who were cruel to me, in that a good many of them look as if they've been run over by a herd of buffalo. Highschool was not a good time for me and I do not know, cannot possibly fathom, why I wasted time that day looking through all of those pictures and lives. I DID come to a new understanding, however. I realized just how many of them were religious. I realized just how many of them had always been religious. I realized the dichotomy of my life, that I had to do my time in school, just as any other child... but that I had never fit in because of the lack of religion in my life. I have no desire for religion, this you know. It is a paltry horrible thing, dividing people. So as I looked upon my tormentors of 10 or more years of my life, I realized that they were driven to do as they did because of their beliefs... and that it had nothing to do with me.
I realized something VERY important. My whole life I've been talked down to, looked down upon, by these religious zealots... and I have not taken that personally. Suddenly, I was able to look at those people who had tormented me in highschool... and suddenly the idea began to form... what they did? It wasn't personal. Slowly I began to understand and begin to move past it all.
You know, it will take time. But I will go through my life experiences (like I do) -- shuffling through them all in my head one at a time... and apply the logic of those religious zealots who don't bother me in the slightest. I am learning one of the greatest lessons of all time: How to not take things personally. I have yearned so very much for this! It is a great pivotal point of healing for me!
That said, I return to the previous programming. There is a distance between us, but it is a distance of necessity, not of love. It is a distance of quiet, that is resolved by soft snores and purrs of "I love you" shared back and forth together. There is no loss of love or feeling between us. It is merely time, stress, current situations that is affecting the amount of our communication. The quantity is less, but the quality is there. The love is definitely there.
Master, it wasn't that I doubted your love for me. It is the regular doubt that perhaps I have messed up yet again... followed by a long process of understanding. Perhaps someday I can stop bugging you every few days, needing the reassurance that you want and love me. Oh I will probably always be needy, never you worry about that. But I would like the peace of knowing without a doubt that I am loved and wanted and will not be replaced. But first, I have to master the art of not taking things personally.
You may ask... why did I put that link up there? Well, because as I started to read it, I realized that their situation is similar with distance. Our dynamic will require more touching when we are within the 24/7 person-to-person aspect, but for now, we are okay with what we have as we visit daily for nearly the whole day. Even with work! I always feel your presence within my life and yet I will require the physical presence to fully grow into the slave I am. I am an unfinished piece of art, waiting for your hands and mind to finish forming me. I have the desire for you, yes, and my god I would like to reduce your daily stress. I would like to serve you more personally, taking care of your needs so that they are not so time consuming for you, not so exhausting. Yes, I would like to serve you much more. Why did I put that link up there again? Because when she wrote all of those things and then told him and he told her his cock was in his hand, I remembered the first time I knelt before you dressed as your girl, in full slave mode... and the thick hard cock you showed me when you saw me show my submission and love to you.
Ohhhh how I miss you, Sir. Soon now... very soon!
With all my love, my heart, my body, my mind, my soul... i serve You.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Time Flies...
The other day, Master commented that I hadn't written in this blog since July 16th. (When I say, "the other day," I mean within the past few days. 5 days. Something like that.) My response to him? I said, "Yeah?" -- I didn't think about it beyond that because I didn't realize until today that it was September already. It felt like only 3 weeks ago was July 16th. Time flies...
September. How did it come to be September already!? It was just May and my son just finished school for the summer! I swear it!
I notice as I get older that time moves far more quickly than it did when I was younger. We all know this "time moving faster" bit to be complete and utter bullshit, but it feels that way. Time goes at the same speed it always does. So what's making it seem different? More importantly, how do we make things slow down again?
I think four things we learn and get better (or worse) at tend to work on our sense of time as we age:
Focus: Adults focus on tasks and life (problem solving on a life scale, like how to fix the air conditioner before the house is 100 degrees inside) better and better as they age. We can focus on what needs doing and not focus on the time it takes. We may groan at the idea of handwashing dishes, but we don't stare at the clock before, during, and after the fact. That's what a teen does. That's what a young adult does. (Once they make themselves DO the dishes, that is... they do the dishes generally after having run completely out of clean ones.) ----------- The positives of focus? Adults can focus on something until it is finished, taking the time, calm and patience to do the job right without having to lose time as they lose focus and have to refocus. The negatives of focus? We tend to lose track of time and lose ourselves in the day-to-day grind of things, not living in the moment and focusing on each moment.
Time management: Adults manage time fairly well. We have the abstract thinking ability to plan ahead much better. As a matter of fact, clinically it has been shown that young adults cannot do this until around age 25. So when your mother said to think about the consequences, she surely didn't understand that you just weren't capable of doing that completely and fully to the best of human capability yet. In other words, as we drive the 20 minutes to work, we are thinking way ahead, "Oh yes, there is road construction at 400 North. Better take the belt route." Suddenly we're at work and we mark that moment in time very briefly, just long enough to get what we need out of the car and go in, then we melt into the workplace needs. ---------- The positives of Time Management? You can virtually plan out your day and not forget your keys to the house or your phone. The negatives of Time Management? Suddenly it's Tuesday and you don't know where the hell the weekend went.
Acceptance: Do you remember being in school? I don't mean college. I mean elementary through highschool. Remember glancing at the clock every 10 to 30 seconds and feeling as if 5 minutes had passed in 10 seconds? That's because you were bored out of your mind. The droning voice of that Math teacher could put you to sleep, which you so desperately need because you were up until 2 a.m. talking to your best friend, Nancy, or gaming the night away with your XBox buddies. You know something great though, don't you. You know for a fact that you only have to get through graduation and then you can do whateeeeeeeeeeeever you waaaaaaaaaaant. The sad truth? There is no way to explain the working life to a teen. Why would we want to? The explanation would take away your hope! Adults start working... and realize they're in for the long haul... about 40 years of it. We don't have the luxury of knowing that after this 3 month trimester we don't ever have to see that stinking Home Economics teacher ever again! She only teaches the 9th grade! Nope. Adults know that they have a lifetime of servitude to any number of things. The boss. Payments on this, that, or the other. Food. Mate. Children. And if they don't stay in line, their parents bother the crap out of them. What's that? You thought that at age 18 your parents will miraculously stop bothering you about crap? Wrong again bucko! I think enough has been said to explain the positives and negatives. LOL!
Memory: As in, forming memories. As a child, you are busy learning everything. You make so many first memories that every moment is etched in your mind. You remember your bike crash, the feel of the wind in your hair as you ride the bike successfully the first time, how to tape a flashlight to the front of a box being pulled in the dark by a bike and how to strap that box to a skateboard. You remember the sound of your friend's delighted and terrified screams as you pull them behind your bike in the dark. As an adult, you might still remember those things, but your memories of riding a bike now, well... if you ride it's probably daily for either exercise (boring and/or strenous) or to get to work (also boring and you hope you don't sweat unless you work outside already). As an adult, you've formed first memories to a good many things so now they're just... passing twinges of memory that don't hold a candle to the original memory. Of course you just had Christmas. Oh wait, that was 30 years ago. You know you've had Christmas every year since then but can you remember anything really memorable about each one? Probably not. Not unless something really cool happened like Uncle John knocking over the Christmas tree after drowning his anxiety about family gatherings with some Wild Turkey or Old Grandad.
Well, that about covers it. Shit what month is it? Phew! Still September! Same year?!?!?! OMG yes! *sigh of relief*
Don't laugh. Had it happen! Haha!
September. How did it come to be September already!? It was just May and my son just finished school for the summer! I swear it!
I notice as I get older that time moves far more quickly than it did when I was younger. We all know this "time moving faster" bit to be complete and utter bullshit, but it feels that way. Time goes at the same speed it always does. So what's making it seem different? More importantly, how do we make things slow down again?
I think four things we learn and get better (or worse) at tend to work on our sense of time as we age:
Focus: Adults focus on tasks and life (problem solving on a life scale, like how to fix the air conditioner before the house is 100 degrees inside) better and better as they age. We can focus on what needs doing and not focus on the time it takes. We may groan at the idea of handwashing dishes, but we don't stare at the clock before, during, and after the fact. That's what a teen does. That's what a young adult does. (Once they make themselves DO the dishes, that is... they do the dishes generally after having run completely out of clean ones.) ----------- The positives of focus? Adults can focus on something until it is finished, taking the time, calm and patience to do the job right without having to lose time as they lose focus and have to refocus. The negatives of focus? We tend to lose track of time and lose ourselves in the day-to-day grind of things, not living in the moment and focusing on each moment.
Time management: Adults manage time fairly well. We have the abstract thinking ability to plan ahead much better. As a matter of fact, clinically it has been shown that young adults cannot do this until around age 25. So when your mother said to think about the consequences, she surely didn't understand that you just weren't capable of doing that completely and fully to the best of human capability yet. In other words, as we drive the 20 minutes to work, we are thinking way ahead, "Oh yes, there is road construction at 400 North. Better take the belt route." Suddenly we're at work and we mark that moment in time very briefly, just long enough to get what we need out of the car and go in, then we melt into the workplace needs. ---------- The positives of Time Management? You can virtually plan out your day and not forget your keys to the house or your phone. The negatives of Time Management? Suddenly it's Tuesday and you don't know where the hell the weekend went.
Acceptance: Do you remember being in school? I don't mean college. I mean elementary through highschool. Remember glancing at the clock every 10 to 30 seconds and feeling as if 5 minutes had passed in 10 seconds? That's because you were bored out of your mind. The droning voice of that Math teacher could put you to sleep, which you so desperately need because you were up until 2 a.m. talking to your best friend, Nancy, or gaming the night away with your XBox buddies. You know something great though, don't you. You know for a fact that you only have to get through graduation and then you can do whateeeeeeeeeeeever you waaaaaaaaaaant. The sad truth? There is no way to explain the working life to a teen. Why would we want to? The explanation would take away your hope! Adults start working... and realize they're in for the long haul... about 40 years of it. We don't have the luxury of knowing that after this 3 month trimester we don't ever have to see that stinking Home Economics teacher ever again! She only teaches the 9th grade! Nope. Adults know that they have a lifetime of servitude to any number of things. The boss. Payments on this, that, or the other. Food. Mate. Children. And if they don't stay in line, their parents bother the crap out of them. What's that? You thought that at age 18 your parents will miraculously stop bothering you about crap? Wrong again bucko! I think enough has been said to explain the positives and negatives. LOL!
Memory: As in, forming memories. As a child, you are busy learning everything. You make so many first memories that every moment is etched in your mind. You remember your bike crash, the feel of the wind in your hair as you ride the bike successfully the first time, how to tape a flashlight to the front of a box being pulled in the dark by a bike and how to strap that box to a skateboard. You remember the sound of your friend's delighted and terrified screams as you pull them behind your bike in the dark. As an adult, you might still remember those things, but your memories of riding a bike now, well... if you ride it's probably daily for either exercise (boring and/or strenous) or to get to work (also boring and you hope you don't sweat unless you work outside already). As an adult, you've formed first memories to a good many things so now they're just... passing twinges of memory that don't hold a candle to the original memory. Of course you just had Christmas. Oh wait, that was 30 years ago. You know you've had Christmas every year since then but can you remember anything really memorable about each one? Probably not. Not unless something really cool happened like Uncle John knocking over the Christmas tree after drowning his anxiety about family gatherings with some Wild Turkey or Old Grandad.
Well, that about covers it. Shit what month is it? Phew! Still September! Same year?!?!?! OMG yes! *sigh of relief*
Don't laugh. Had it happen! Haha!
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
OK so maybe it's me...
Today was a breakthrough day with my physician. I have been officially labeled. LOL!
Apparently I have a FORM of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). Much is left unknown about several of the classifications that fall under this disorder.
I suppose it should have been clear from the start, but so much was not known that I grew up just being me.
Today I can look at my behaviors and I feel relief in knowing what's up, but I also feel tremendous sadness that I've lived my life with some of these behaviors and they have affected me so much. I really don't know what "normal" is any more than any other person on the planet. We are all, to some extent, screwed up. It may be our past, genetic, chemically induced... who knows. I can tell you I've picked my own skin my whole life and even when I was skinny I felt I was the elephant in the room full of gazelles.
I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The jury is still out on manic-depression and ADD. During my last visit with the physician, I told her about my skin picking, but she didn't know the extent until today when I showed her everything. I will be on an antibiotic for the lesions and abscesses. It is good to know that it could be much, much worse... but in the end it really doesn't help me stop, does it.
Apparently I have a FORM of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). Much is left unknown about several of the classifications that fall under this disorder.
I suppose it should have been clear from the start, but so much was not known that I grew up just being me.
- As a child, I didn't just count my steps on each piece of concrete sidewalk to make sure I had the same number of right footsteps as left, I got very upset and felt like something really bad would happen or I'd done something wrong if I went into a building before I had the same number of each (even if it meant hopping on one foot).
- I wash my hands more than anyone I know. When I was younger and I played piano I had to first wash and dry both my hands and the keys, then do it again between every song. It took me hours to practice, not because I wanted to practice, but because half of that time was spent washing my hands, drying my hands (they cannot be sticky dry) and the keys on the piano. I've transferred that to keeping a bottle of rubbing alcohol and cotton pads in the computer room and at work to clean my computer mouse and keys every few hours or so. I have to get up and wash my hands, clean the keyboard and mouse, then wash my hands again. I spend approximately 2-3 hours daily washing my hands.
- Mucous secretions such as spit or nasal secretions make me shudder in absolute revulsion and want to run from the room, generally I do so and... yup, you got it. I wash my hands. Over and over. I can be cleaning up something like that and have to wash my hands in the middle of it before I'm done.
- Dermatillomania - also known as skin picking disorder - has plagued me my whole life. When I touch my skin, if I find a bump or a rough spot, the vast landscape of smoothness is interrupted with mountainous proportions and it HAS TO BE OFF MY BODY. I HAVE to get it off of my body. Now. If I try not to, I start to shake and panic, then my hands cramp. I can spend hours removing every foreign bump, especially scabs, from my body. The edges have to be perfectly smooth and I'll tug and pull with fingertips, needles or tweezers until I get the edges smooth, even if that means removing healthy skin at the edge of an open sore. When I get stressed, I feel as if there are things crawling on and under my skin, sometimes poking me, biting me, tingling... and I must scratch. When I pick and scratch, the result is euphoric, and an audible, "Thank you..." will often be heard falling from my lips as the relief washes over me. I don't wear shorts anywhere, I don't go swimming. I don't even sunbathe in my own backyard... the neighbors might see my scars and sores. A full acre away on every side and I worry about that. Ha! I am to the point that I pick even when at work. Where I used to smoke while driving, I pick instead. If I'm on a computer at home, chances are I'm scratching somewhere unless both hands are busy with keyboard and mouse. I wake up in the morning with bloody spots on my sheets. I find that I pick with no conscious thought sometimes and don't notice until the blood is already flowing. I spend approximately 5 hours a day picking my skin.
- Sir has pretty much stopped my NEED to weigh myself several times a day by having my son first hide the scale, then move the scale to my son's bathroom when I had better control. When that ruled my life, I was on it at least an hour a day.
- Lining things up at a store. My mother used to tease me mercilessly when I went through a department store and lined up the products and made sure hangers were all hanging the same way and evenly. I can't just leave them that way. It drives me batshit to walk away knowing ONE book was half an inch out of line with the others on the row, or a hanger end poked up slightly. This, of course, brings me to the insanity that is my house, as I no longer have the energy to pick up or clean up. The little things are perfect though... the canned good lined up on the shelves exactly. The boxed foods lined up evenly as are the books on the bookshelves.
- Impossibly high standards nearing perfectionism that I hold myself to, but no one else. Of course no one else can meet those standards. They are MY standards. I am responsible for them. I created them. I can and will live up to them. Right. Let's go through that again. Later. After Master tells me that it is impossible to do such a thing and my therapist tells me yet again that I must be gentle with myself. (How???!!) I often must remind myself that I am human, just like the other people that don't have to reach my impossible standards.
- Social anxiety which may or may not be related to previous molestation, but I rather doubt that the fear of going into a gym where other people might look at me was based on molestation. It was more based on, "OMG I can't go in there, people will see me and know I don't belong there!"
- Seeking constant reassurance. Master gives me that. The point is, I do just fine. I've been fine for my whole life. I've made good decisions. I'm making good decisions right now. At least this is what I'm told by my therapist. One can never be sure. I'd rather ask and be sure, even if it is every few minutes on my bad days. He's incredibly patient, my Master...
- You should see my going to bed ritual. Nevermind, only Master gets to see that. It is essential for my ability to fall asleep that I miss no part of this ritual else I lay there completely awake, fidgeting.
- My clothing in the closet is in a certain order and always will be. Tops, bottoms - each organized by type, color, length -- however it makes the best sense. Fortunately I buy several of the same pair of pants in the same color so I don't have to worry about pants organization much.
- I wonder just how much list making is considered to be "excessive." I have 4 at home, 3 in my purse, and 10 here at work. *face palm* Color coded... so that I know which one I should focus upon should my brain decide to go on vacation without me.
- Have you ever felt that you simply MUST count between passing milemarkers on a highway? I don't have as much trouble with that if I'm driving, but so help me, if I'm the passenger, there are only so many times one can get from 1 to 40 (depending on the speed of course)... or are there? I never tire of counting. I figured everyone did it. When I found out they didn't? I started counting trees. Or houses. Or houses with trees. Or houses without trees. Pick one. Pick all of them. Sometimes I do as many different counts as I can just because...
- I'm currently experiencing a new thing. Recently I decided to go completely organic and non-GMO in everything. Food, shampoo, soap, toothpaste... these are just a start. As I progressed, thinking of new ways to improve my life with healthy behavior, this morning I felt the distinct urge to throw away my clothing, my towels, my furniture... all because it may be "contaminated" with some chemical that might cause physical harm or some health problem. This is just another symptom, according to my doctor. She says that a little non-organic food would be fine, which makes my system scream, "NO! I might get cancer!" and the idea of throwing away perfectly good clothing and going in a search for organic, non-GMO clothing is ludicrous. It sure would be expensive. And what about my car...
Today I can look at my behaviors and I feel relief in knowing what's up, but I also feel tremendous sadness that I've lived my life with some of these behaviors and they have affected me so much. I really don't know what "normal" is any more than any other person on the planet. We are all, to some extent, screwed up. It may be our past, genetic, chemically induced... who knows. I can tell you I've picked my own skin my whole life and even when I was skinny I felt I was the elephant in the room full of gazelles.
I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The jury is still out on manic-depression and ADD. During my last visit with the physician, I told her about my skin picking, but she didn't know the extent until today when I showed her everything. I will be on an antibiotic for the lesions and abscesses. It is good to know that it could be much, much worse... but in the end it really doesn't help me stop, does it.
Apparently I'm a mess but I'm surviving. The doctor congratulated me on having done so well for so long and i agree that I've done well. I have to say there are some really excellent things I've managed to do through all of this: I've quit drinking alcohol completely, quit smoking, quit caffeine, quit driving like a speed demon and go the speed limit, shifted to organic and non-GMO foods, increased my water intake from practically nil to 60+ ounces daily, started daily vitamins and minerals, and the next thing I'm going to hit is daily exercise with meditation. Hopefully some yoga will help my flexibility remain intact - somehow I still have that. LOL!
Focusing on the positive. Not sure what to think of today's diagnosis... business as usual. What's the difference in a day-to-day living when only the words give it a meaning to the why of it all? Not a dang thing!
Work to do...
Focusing on the positive. Not sure what to think of today's diagnosis... business as usual. What's the difference in a day-to-day living when only the words give it a meaning to the why of it all? Not a dang thing!
Work to do...
Thursday, July 19, 2012
The Lunacy Continues... or... what am I learning here?
The last two weeks in review for this girl:
Patience.
Fortitude.
Survival.
Inner strength.
Trust Master & Master's ideas that are not even biddings.
Learn to put limits on other people who violate this girl's space or somehow invade her privacy.
I bow my head as I speak the following, my body in full submission.
"Master's will be done."
There is only one god in my life, and He is my Master.
- Lost a friend when this girl stood up for said friend as well as for herself.
- Gained said "friend" back on a limited basis with severe boundaries. This girl hasn't specified boundaries yet, but if that one wishes to be my friend, then that one will learn to accept this girl in full.
- Family pedophile finally reported. Report considered null and void by the police because the member reporting lied about other things. The pedophile goes free. Nightmares for this girl for several nights along with flashbacks at the most inopportune of times.
- The truth came out regarding the family's decision regarding said pedophile when this girl was but a teen. The truth is ugly and painful. The family decided to "look the other way" so that the wife of said pedophile would not have problems. Thus this girl's long time suspicion has been confirmed: The needs of the adults were far more important than the well-being or health of any girl child. This girl is sickened and feels terribly betrayed.
- This girl "broke" Sunday night when her communication machine between her and her Master malfunctioned, taking two hours and finally resetting the whole thing and starting from scratch.
- A letter arrived stating that this girl may not get her Master if other paperwork is not turned in on time, and the clock has been ticking on the time limit for over a week already.
- Massive amounts of paperwork suddenly moved so that everything Master needs is in order and sent.
- Major work projects this week and an issue with a persistent customer who refuses to acknowledge that this girl is Owned and Loved and quite married!
- Therapy today during which this girl was given the suggestion to stand up to her boss for not protecting her from this customer while giving her limits that do not allow her to control and stop said customer's advances on this girl. This girl is also to stand up to her boss because of unrealistic expectations regarding being her coworker's keeper. The therapist does not realize how difficult it is for this girl to stand up to an authority figure, let alone someone in control of her financial situation.
Patience.
Fortitude.
Survival.
Inner strength.
Trust Master & Master's ideas that are not even biddings.
Learn to put limits on other people who violate this girl's space or somehow invade her privacy.
I bow my head as I speak the following, my body in full submission.
"Master's will be done."
There is only one god in my life, and He is my Master.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Crazy Happenings.
Been a busy time for me since my nervous breakdown in April.
Financials are kicking my butt. After having to pull $5K out for taxes last year and putting a new roof on the other house for $5300 and the old roofing not being hauled off, you would think that would be enough for the year, but no. I've had the air conditioner fixed twice, finally ending up with a new motor and the whole bit cost me over $500 when it was all said and done. Last night it started making stupid noise again. My car tires are going to be over $1200 and that's the price of last month with tire prices rising and doesn't include installation. I couldn't pay my auto and house insurance for the year, ending up paying for a month. I still have hospital bills monthly due to my bi-monthly therapy. I'm almost out of my GERD medication, meaning another trip to the doctor for a written prescription to be mailed to Canada for a year's worth of medication for around $300 (for the year, as opposed to $300 for a month here) and the idea of buying the only inhaler that works for me at $240 per month is just laughable. With all the things like roof, hospital and air conditioner, I haven't even begun to pay my property taxes. I've not the slightest clue how to afford the fees or travel costs to get my master and his things here and I hope he has money set away but considering his situation, he likely does not have very much.
On top of this, I missed a week of work because my cousin came to stay for a week at the beginning of June, extended her stay to two weeks, and her father doesn't quite grasp the idea of working at a job that doesn't have paid sick leave or paid vacation time. We had fun, but it cost me more money when I would have rather been working and making money than spending any. It was a most excellent visit and when she left it felt like a hole opened up underneath me, midsummer hit and I realized the days will get shorter now and I felt despair. My depression kicked in full force despite my medication and last night I broke again.
Then there's my current medical situation. Yes. Nervous breakdown. First week of April on a Thursday. I started therapy and my therapist insisted I see my regular doctor as soon as possible. I couldn't get in until the next Monday and she put me on an antidepressant and a anti-anxiety pill. My doctor says I'm depressed with severe anxiety. She says I've borderline personality disorder, possibly manic-depressive, with possible obsessive-compulsive disorder manifesting as dermatillomania aka skin picking disorder. I didn't mention that I wash my hands at least 30-50 times a day. Nor did I mention that if I chew a certain number of times on one side of my mouth I must chew that many on the other. Same with walking, 2.5 steps per sidewalk slab, that's 1.5 left foot prints and 1 right, starting the next one with 1.5 left footprints and 1 right, I have to even it out so that I have the same number of left and right footsteps on the sidewalk. I'm not so bad with that anymore... just when I'm alone. I should mention that during the car show my anxiety has allowed me to leave before walking up and down every single row, whether or not I see all of the cars. I thought I was crazy or going crazy.
Finally, July brought some more pressure, enough that last night I broke again. It isn't a lot, but the things are major. At the beginning of the month, I lost a two year friendship because I'm so slightly cracked that I cannot seem to keep my opinions to myself on facebook. Once she got done trying to figure out what to do, she continued the friendship on a limited basis by creating a facebook that "keeps certain people out of her personal life." Earlier this month I chose to break connections with some friends and family because of both monetary issues (I loaned money out, will never see it back apparently.) Then last week my cousin put in a police report on a pedophile in our family that the family has chosen to cover up and ignore since molesting me when I was very young. Harsh words were exchanged between my aunt and I regarding her husband's pedophilia and when I learned my cousin has been banned from the aunt's house, I realized that I have probably (hopefully) also been banned. For the remainder of the week and all weekend I had flashbacks on my molestation experiences, and for several nights I've had the strangest nightmares. I've been beaten, drowned, and burned in my dreams. Spending more time awake or in a semi-awake state means little sleep as well. I wake up in the morning feeling tired, knowing the nightmares aren't real, but the physical toll on my body for lack of good sleep is beginning to show again.
So I broke last night. The itching went on for a few hours before the anxiety kicked in. I spent time ignoring both until it was impossible to ignore and then I sat on my bed trying to get in the shower. I realized the skype unit wasn't functioning properly and spent a tear-filled hour trying to get it online, hoping desperately not to awaken my master, but He awakened anyway. He lost precious sleep, I lost sleep and fell to pieces crying and panicking. I sure wish that would stop. I fear that with the shortening of days and the length of time that this immigration process is taking, my antidepressant dosage may have to be raised to a higher milligram level.
This morning my immigration attorney contacted me to tell me that the petition had expired. Fortunately, it shouldn't be difficult to reinstate. Hopefully, this means the countdown to having Master join me in the United States has begun.
On a final note, I must add that Master made a statement not long ago that bothered me and continues to bother me: He said that I have a time limit, referring back to the day I had the nervous breakdown in April and told him I couldn't do this anymore on a text. Of course the attempt at a breakup did not work as it was certainly not what either of us wanted but He came to the conclusion that I have a time limit on what I am capable of handling. I am not angry about his, but filled with fear that He believes his girl will fail Him. If He doesn't believe in me, how can I possibly believe in myself?
Financials are kicking my butt. After having to pull $5K out for taxes last year and putting a new roof on the other house for $5300 and the old roofing not being hauled off, you would think that would be enough for the year, but no. I've had the air conditioner fixed twice, finally ending up with a new motor and the whole bit cost me over $500 when it was all said and done. Last night it started making stupid noise again. My car tires are going to be over $1200 and that's the price of last month with tire prices rising and doesn't include installation. I couldn't pay my auto and house insurance for the year, ending up paying for a month. I still have hospital bills monthly due to my bi-monthly therapy. I'm almost out of my GERD medication, meaning another trip to the doctor for a written prescription to be mailed to Canada for a year's worth of medication for around $300 (for the year, as opposed to $300 for a month here) and the idea of buying the only inhaler that works for me at $240 per month is just laughable. With all the things like roof, hospital and air conditioner, I haven't even begun to pay my property taxes. I've not the slightest clue how to afford the fees or travel costs to get my master and his things here and I hope he has money set away but considering his situation, he likely does not have very much.
On top of this, I missed a week of work because my cousin came to stay for a week at the beginning of June, extended her stay to two weeks, and her father doesn't quite grasp the idea of working at a job that doesn't have paid sick leave or paid vacation time. We had fun, but it cost me more money when I would have rather been working and making money than spending any. It was a most excellent visit and when she left it felt like a hole opened up underneath me, midsummer hit and I realized the days will get shorter now and I felt despair. My depression kicked in full force despite my medication and last night I broke again.
Then there's my current medical situation. Yes. Nervous breakdown. First week of April on a Thursday. I started therapy and my therapist insisted I see my regular doctor as soon as possible. I couldn't get in until the next Monday and she put me on an antidepressant and a anti-anxiety pill. My doctor says I'm depressed with severe anxiety. She says I've borderline personality disorder, possibly manic-depressive, with possible obsessive-compulsive disorder manifesting as dermatillomania aka skin picking disorder. I didn't mention that I wash my hands at least 30-50 times a day. Nor did I mention that if I chew a certain number of times on one side of my mouth I must chew that many on the other. Same with walking, 2.5 steps per sidewalk slab, that's 1.5 left foot prints and 1 right, starting the next one with 1.5 left footprints and 1 right, I have to even it out so that I have the same number of left and right footsteps on the sidewalk. I'm not so bad with that anymore... just when I'm alone. I should mention that during the car show my anxiety has allowed me to leave before walking up and down every single row, whether or not I see all of the cars. I thought I was crazy or going crazy.
Finally, July brought some more pressure, enough that last night I broke again. It isn't a lot, but the things are major. At the beginning of the month, I lost a two year friendship because I'm so slightly cracked that I cannot seem to keep my opinions to myself on facebook. Once she got done trying to figure out what to do, she continued the friendship on a limited basis by creating a facebook that "keeps certain people out of her personal life." Earlier this month I chose to break connections with some friends and family because of both monetary issues (I loaned money out, will never see it back apparently.) Then last week my cousin put in a police report on a pedophile in our family that the family has chosen to cover up and ignore since molesting me when I was very young. Harsh words were exchanged between my aunt and I regarding her husband's pedophilia and when I learned my cousin has been banned from the aunt's house, I realized that I have probably (hopefully) also been banned. For the remainder of the week and all weekend I had flashbacks on my molestation experiences, and for several nights I've had the strangest nightmares. I've been beaten, drowned, and burned in my dreams. Spending more time awake or in a semi-awake state means little sleep as well. I wake up in the morning feeling tired, knowing the nightmares aren't real, but the physical toll on my body for lack of good sleep is beginning to show again.
So I broke last night. The itching went on for a few hours before the anxiety kicked in. I spent time ignoring both until it was impossible to ignore and then I sat on my bed trying to get in the shower. I realized the skype unit wasn't functioning properly and spent a tear-filled hour trying to get it online, hoping desperately not to awaken my master, but He awakened anyway. He lost precious sleep, I lost sleep and fell to pieces crying and panicking. I sure wish that would stop. I fear that with the shortening of days and the length of time that this immigration process is taking, my antidepressant dosage may have to be raised to a higher milligram level.
This morning my immigration attorney contacted me to tell me that the petition had expired. Fortunately, it shouldn't be difficult to reinstate. Hopefully, this means the countdown to having Master join me in the United States has begun.
On a final note, I must add that Master made a statement not long ago that bothered me and continues to bother me: He said that I have a time limit, referring back to the day I had the nervous breakdown in April and told him I couldn't do this anymore on a text. Of course the attempt at a breakup did not work as it was certainly not what either of us wanted but He came to the conclusion that I have a time limit on what I am capable of handling. I am not angry about his, but filled with fear that He believes his girl will fail Him. If He doesn't believe in me, how can I possibly believe in myself?
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Surrender
"How did you know the person you serve was the one you could surrender to?"
Interest: From day one he was interested in everything about me. He paid attention to little details, tiny things missed by everyone else but me. He even noticed things that I didn't and I'm pretty sensitive about details.
Love: We didn't mean to fall in love. We weren't looking for a partner. He had been free for a while and had just come out of a time of intense self-examination and healing. I was in a dead relationship and the end was occurring. Love came as a surprise, a delight, a fear, a shock and with a sense of awe and wonder as I realized I finally found my life-mate.
Consistent: Always the same "good night," not missing a word or a night. Always the same "good morning," not missing a word or a morning. There are several sentences to each and he never misses a single word or a single day. Talk about consistent! I kept waiting for him to stop doing it, for me to gradually to fade to the background and become less important to him as he got comfortable (like all the others did.) I figured eventually he'd take me for granted, thinking I would always be here. But no. He is consistent in everything he does.
Patience. From the beginning he was supremely patient with me and all my little quirks, never losing his temper or blowing me off or telling me that I was somehow a lesser being for emotions or being a woman. It is not a statement of equality, oh no. It is a statement that those things mean something to him, that they are important things to him too. He does not yell at me, call me names, demean me or lose his temper. If he is at the point he needs to cool off, he tells me he loves me and takes a walk. But he ALWAYS comes back and we fix whatever it is.
Guidance: He takes it upon himself to then help fix those things that cause me problems, whether they are inner being issues or outside of myself. He guides me so that I may fix them.
Abandonment. There isn't any. Ever. He will never leave me. He will never replace me with another woman, a car or motorcycle, the television, alcohol or drugs, or anything else. I am the most important possession he has, and he makes me feel incredibly special. This is HUGE.
Trust. Now this one is on me. The man has never done one thing to make me distrust him. Not one thing. My trust issues stem from a lifetime of betrayals from people I was supposed to be able to trust. It will take me time and probably his actual physical presence in my life to get there. I know it will come. It is the last hurdle and I am the one who must leap it. I will get there! This is one man who will not betray me. He will never replace me with anything else. I am a prized possession and I love being his belonging, his favorite toy, his lover, his wife, his friend, his slave.
Je t'adore, Maître!
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Rules, Lies, & Learning to Live
I was never very good with rules. Always in rebellion, it is as if I never really progressed beyond the years of being a teen, when I first took some of power and control of my life back from the mad authority figures who were my parents.
Blood they were, yes, but love me? Only Dad did that. My father loved me, yes, but he was beleaguered with visions of war gone wrong even when sleeping & some unnameable mental illness (he was never properly diagnosed, truly). He was known as an alcoholic who vomited up copious amounts of vodka nightly, a constant lifelong smoker, and prescription drug stealer (we could never leave painkillers, muscle relaxers or downers where he could find them). He was also one of the hardest workers I've ever known - being gone long periods of time and working long shifts in the mud and the cold and the heat. He didn't shrink from working on the house and yard. Despite his expensive vices, we always had a roof over our heads, clothing to wear, food to eat - the basic necessities and more. He put food on the table, especially during hunting season - and for Dad, every season was hunting season. I remember when every month with an "r" in it we could hunt rabbits. That changed with time, of course. He always said that not in his lifetime but in mine, I would see eventually that only the rich could hunt. Dad read stories to us every night that he was home. I grew up thinking every father did that. Boy was I wrong! And even when it put him in the doghouse with Mom, Dad stood on my side on several occasions when I couldn't tell him why I was acting a certain way.
For my mother I seemed a vessel of impurity wherein all her hatred could be poured. I've been told that perhaps I am not a product of my father's making, but that of someone else. Recently when I mentioned this, a thoughtful person told me that if that were indeed a possibility, that might explain mother's hatred toward me. For mother, perhaps I was the constant reminder of a dalliance wherein she was obviously unfaithful. Who knows. Too late now. They're both long since gone and there is no possibility of a DNA test. Not that I'd want to know. Really. Dad raised me as his own even if there may have been a possibility that I was not. He loved me completely and truly and I miss him. Mom on the other hand...
If he's not my father though, well... It wasn't the first time she lied to him. Or us as a family. She was the best and smoothest liar I've ever known and she enjoyed manipulating people just to see if she could. As a child, I watched this, drinking it all in, learning that lies must be told if one wanted to be safe. (And then the woman had the gall to be angry with me when I lied to her!) She used to tell me that I lied when the truth would sound better! I wasn't that bad of a liar at that time myself. She was furious when she read my diary, punishing me for things I'd done a whole year previously as if I'd just done them. I'm not so sure now if perhaps she was more angry at herself that I could lie so well she didn't catch it. But I learned from the best.
It surprised me when we found oodles of bottles of vodka hidden all over her room after her death. My mother was a closet alcoholic. Of course I'd known for years she was a prescription drug abuser, her preference being muscle relaxers (that she had to lock into a box away from Dad).
Yes, I learned to lie from the best. And I hated her rules. She wielded power and control over me with an iron fist, gloating at me that I could do nothing, say nothing, prove nothing. Her weapons were her words and she used them well, beating me down until there was little left but a mass of emotion covering a curled up little girl. Nobody saw her do it. She was well versed in keeping the people around her manipulated against me. I was the crazy one. I was the rebellious one. And years later when I had married, she was angry that I changed for him and had the gall to tell me that one of the things she respected about me was that I let no one rule me or control me, so why did I act different with him around? Control... and now we have control from beyond the grave in a way, but that's a story for another time.
Rebellion. The minute I had an inkling of it, it tickled my skin, made my face burn because I knew it was wrong, KNEW if I got caught I'd be in trouble deep. Oh I kept my grades up to A's & B's; I didn't skip school; I even bought my own car and held a job from the age of 16 on. (Not being allowed to work before age 16 SUCKED!) I had good friends, some of whom were going nowhere and I knew it, but I accepted them for who they were. Yet because of some of the people I chose as friends, my mother decided that she could somehow read my future. Suddenly I was condemned to be a highschool drop out, a drug addict, and pregnant before I ever reached 16.
In rebellion I finished high school and went straight to college because it was my only ticket outta that joint. I have an aversion to addiction that goes deeply into fear but am fascinated enough to try things anyway, just my gut telling me "time to stop" and I obey that, and I didn't get pregnant until I was 28. But those ghosts do haunt me. Those words. The hatred I felt growing up from the one person who SHOULD have shown me absolute love. I give this love to my son and I know he feels it. It is not spoiling a child, it is letting them know they are absolutely loved. Something I never had and knew I should have had.
Rebellion. It has directed so many of my actions. For when I reach a point where I look at my life and take stock of what is really going on, I've never stuck with "the norm" or what society bids females to do. "You make your bed and you sleep in it," they say, meaning that you make your choices, stick with them and take the consequences. So my mother stayed with my alcoholic father until she went crazy from despair and anger. Me? When my spouses acted like idiots I told them and I gave them a choice to stop. Every single one of them refused to believe me. They had all grown up with the same thing - women will stay no matter what because that's how we, as a society, have trained them. The look of surprise was priceless when I walked out.
Rebellion. It gets me in trouble even now. It isn't so much the "No I won't!" with a folded arms and stamping of foot and impetuous pout. No, it's more like, "Seriously? I gotta do SOMETHING here... what's one little thing gonna hurt?" That always ends up being a mess.
Sir, I thank you for the opportunity to learn this with you. You watch and wait and say nothing for months until you've gathered a full picture and then you direct me the way I need to go in order to attain and maintain peace within me. Forgive me that I do not always see the big picture. Always the impulsive one, I struggle to maintain the status quo when things are difficult for me and begin looking for a way to reduce the resulting stress from the struggle without battering the struggle within. I seem to cause more stress to my own self than the world does!
Good luck to you, Sir... the beings within are hard to tame and harder to hold. Some of them rear up at the last possible minute and do terrible things, haunting things, and sometimes beautiful things. When I can channel them into art, it is beautiful for everyone else, yet terrible for me to behold as it holds the key to a time when my head was not at rest but in chaos. Yet when I cannot channel those beings well for some reason, THAT is when they get me into trouble. Little rebellions become lies. For some reason, I have a very hard time lying to you though. I cannot keep a lie from you. "Oh what's one cookie?" becomes a blurted out "Sir I ate a cookie today" followed by grief that I have let you down and a deep shame.
Funny, isn't it? Submission has been embraced by me. Yet the inner beings have not reached the peace I seek. Peace I want desperately, aching for it. I stand on tiptoe on the edge of instability and stretch for inner peace with my whole being, reaching for it with grasping hands, arms stretched to the limit, body arced over the void of chaos just below, my face transformed by heart shattering longing, lips parted slightly, shaking with the full body tremor of the addicted. You've done this. I wait for you with that longing. I love you, my Master.
------- Later thoughts...
I know that lying is a choice. I also know that it isn't my parents fault if I lie now. They're dead. They have no input here. I only wanted to explain where I learned it and explain the resulting fucked up logic that somehow if it was okay for them to do it, why was it not okay for me? 43 years... Long time to figure that out. I won't make any blonde jokes here.
Rebellion. That is harder, but it is still a choice and it is still no one else's fault. I explained some of the past and perhaps you see why I chose to take back the control over myself. It has been a long hard battle to get to this point and know I am submissive, harder still to actually do it sometimes. I am very used to being "the one in charge."
I am learning. I just hope that in my learning process (often done "the hard way") I don't lose my Master. That's what I fear the most.
Blood they were, yes, but love me? Only Dad did that. My father loved me, yes, but he was beleaguered with visions of war gone wrong even when sleeping & some unnameable mental illness (he was never properly diagnosed, truly). He was known as an alcoholic who vomited up copious amounts of vodka nightly, a constant lifelong smoker, and prescription drug stealer (we could never leave painkillers, muscle relaxers or downers where he could find them). He was also one of the hardest workers I've ever known - being gone long periods of time and working long shifts in the mud and the cold and the heat. He didn't shrink from working on the house and yard. Despite his expensive vices, we always had a roof over our heads, clothing to wear, food to eat - the basic necessities and more. He put food on the table, especially during hunting season - and for Dad, every season was hunting season. I remember when every month with an "r" in it we could hunt rabbits. That changed with time, of course. He always said that not in his lifetime but in mine, I would see eventually that only the rich could hunt. Dad read stories to us every night that he was home. I grew up thinking every father did that. Boy was I wrong! And even when it put him in the doghouse with Mom, Dad stood on my side on several occasions when I couldn't tell him why I was acting a certain way.
For my mother I seemed a vessel of impurity wherein all her hatred could be poured. I've been told that perhaps I am not a product of my father's making, but that of someone else. Recently when I mentioned this, a thoughtful person told me that if that were indeed a possibility, that might explain mother's hatred toward me. For mother, perhaps I was the constant reminder of a dalliance wherein she was obviously unfaithful. Who knows. Too late now. They're both long since gone and there is no possibility of a DNA test. Not that I'd want to know. Really. Dad raised me as his own even if there may have been a possibility that I was not. He loved me completely and truly and I miss him. Mom on the other hand...
If he's not my father though, well... It wasn't the first time she lied to him. Or us as a family. She was the best and smoothest liar I've ever known and she enjoyed manipulating people just to see if she could. As a child, I watched this, drinking it all in, learning that lies must be told if one wanted to be safe. (And then the woman had the gall to be angry with me when I lied to her!) She used to tell me that I lied when the truth would sound better! I wasn't that bad of a liar at that time myself. She was furious when she read my diary, punishing me for things I'd done a whole year previously as if I'd just done them. I'm not so sure now if perhaps she was more angry at herself that I could lie so well she didn't catch it. But I learned from the best.
It surprised me when we found oodles of bottles of vodka hidden all over her room after her death. My mother was a closet alcoholic. Of course I'd known for years she was a prescription drug abuser, her preference being muscle relaxers (that she had to lock into a box away from Dad).
Yes, I learned to lie from the best. And I hated her rules. She wielded power and control over me with an iron fist, gloating at me that I could do nothing, say nothing, prove nothing. Her weapons were her words and she used them well, beating me down until there was little left but a mass of emotion covering a curled up little girl. Nobody saw her do it. She was well versed in keeping the people around her manipulated against me. I was the crazy one. I was the rebellious one. And years later when I had married, she was angry that I changed for him and had the gall to tell me that one of the things she respected about me was that I let no one rule me or control me, so why did I act different with him around? Control... and now we have control from beyond the grave in a way, but that's a story for another time.
Rebellion. The minute I had an inkling of it, it tickled my skin, made my face burn because I knew it was wrong, KNEW if I got caught I'd be in trouble deep. Oh I kept my grades up to A's & B's; I didn't skip school; I even bought my own car and held a job from the age of 16 on. (Not being allowed to work before age 16 SUCKED!) I had good friends, some of whom were going nowhere and I knew it, but I accepted them for who they were. Yet because of some of the people I chose as friends, my mother decided that she could somehow read my future. Suddenly I was condemned to be a highschool drop out, a drug addict, and pregnant before I ever reached 16.
In rebellion I finished high school and went straight to college because it was my only ticket outta that joint. I have an aversion to addiction that goes deeply into fear but am fascinated enough to try things anyway, just my gut telling me "time to stop" and I obey that, and I didn't get pregnant until I was 28. But those ghosts do haunt me. Those words. The hatred I felt growing up from the one person who SHOULD have shown me absolute love. I give this love to my son and I know he feels it. It is not spoiling a child, it is letting them know they are absolutely loved. Something I never had and knew I should have had.
Rebellion. It has directed so many of my actions. For when I reach a point where I look at my life and take stock of what is really going on, I've never stuck with "the norm" or what society bids females to do. "You make your bed and you sleep in it," they say, meaning that you make your choices, stick with them and take the consequences. So my mother stayed with my alcoholic father until she went crazy from despair and anger. Me? When my spouses acted like idiots I told them and I gave them a choice to stop. Every single one of them refused to believe me. They had all grown up with the same thing - women will stay no matter what because that's how we, as a society, have trained them. The look of surprise was priceless when I walked out.
Rebellion. It gets me in trouble even now. It isn't so much the "No I won't!" with a folded arms and stamping of foot and impetuous pout. No, it's more like, "Seriously? I gotta do SOMETHING here... what's one little thing gonna hurt?" That always ends up being a mess.
Sir, I thank you for the opportunity to learn this with you. You watch and wait and say nothing for months until you've gathered a full picture and then you direct me the way I need to go in order to attain and maintain peace within me. Forgive me that I do not always see the big picture. Always the impulsive one, I struggle to maintain the status quo when things are difficult for me and begin looking for a way to reduce the resulting stress from the struggle without battering the struggle within. I seem to cause more stress to my own self than the world does!
Good luck to you, Sir... the beings within are hard to tame and harder to hold. Some of them rear up at the last possible minute and do terrible things, haunting things, and sometimes beautiful things. When I can channel them into art, it is beautiful for everyone else, yet terrible for me to behold as it holds the key to a time when my head was not at rest but in chaos. Yet when I cannot channel those beings well for some reason, THAT is when they get me into trouble. Little rebellions become lies. For some reason, I have a very hard time lying to you though. I cannot keep a lie from you. "Oh what's one cookie?" becomes a blurted out "Sir I ate a cookie today" followed by grief that I have let you down and a deep shame.
Funny, isn't it? Submission has been embraced by me. Yet the inner beings have not reached the peace I seek. Peace I want desperately, aching for it. I stand on tiptoe on the edge of instability and stretch for inner peace with my whole being, reaching for it with grasping hands, arms stretched to the limit, body arced over the void of chaos just below, my face transformed by heart shattering longing, lips parted slightly, shaking with the full body tremor of the addicted. You've done this. I wait for you with that longing. I love you, my Master.
------- Later thoughts...
I know that lying is a choice. I also know that it isn't my parents fault if I lie now. They're dead. They have no input here. I only wanted to explain where I learned it and explain the resulting fucked up logic that somehow if it was okay for them to do it, why was it not okay for me? 43 years... Long time to figure that out. I won't make any blonde jokes here.
Rebellion. That is harder, but it is still a choice and it is still no one else's fault. I explained some of the past and perhaps you see why I chose to take back the control over myself. It has been a long hard battle to get to this point and know I am submissive, harder still to actually do it sometimes. I am very used to being "the one in charge."
I am learning. I just hope that in my learning process (often done "the hard way") I don't lose my Master. That's what I fear the most.
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