Life Beyond

A few discussions with some close friends have dragged up some stuff that I thought I had addressed from the upheaval that dominated my life at the end of April. I hadn’t even noticed it, but there were a few gems festering in my psyche, just waiting for the chance to break free from their bonds and run amok in my brain, making me appear to suffer from a case of emotional Tourrette’s.

The biggest one was another run at being abandoned. And it’s sadly hilarious that this would even be an issue for me, because I was so fucking good at denial that for ten years (at least!) I had myself convinced that despite all the indicators for abandonment fears, I was most certainly NOT a member of that large and infamous group of sufferers. Nope, not me. Baggage, yeah, but none about abandonment.

I should have been a politician, because those were some whoppers of lies I told myself all that time.

I am terrified of being replaced in N’s life. When I am confronted with a situation where my typical “job” or duty for Him is done by someone else on a regular basis I feel expendable and aimless, ripe for discarding.

Part of it is a section of self-esteem that hasn’t rose quite as quickly as the rest of it.

Part of it is the esteem I tend to hold Him in.

Part of it is the fatalistic pessimism that runs my life.

And a huge fucking part of it is the self-loathing and self-shame I still carry with me like a can tied to my tail from way back when I was seven.

Despite His assertion that He needs me just as much as I need Him, I can’t help but think someone as wonderful as Him does not deserve to be saddled with me. He’s hot, He’s smart, He’s funny, kind and one of the best people I have ever met. It is hard for me to accept the idea that He considers our relationship together to be on equal par as far as worth and deserving of each other. He deserves so much…and I don’t know if I will ever be enough.

He says I am.

God I just so desperately want to believe, to have the peace of mind a person has when they are secure in the knowledge that they are loved deeply and are worthy of that love…

And the worst thing is having to be on guard, knowing that if I don’t watch myself, I will destroy the very thing I cherish above nearly anything else. It will become a self-fulfilling prophecy because I will break everything apart so I don’t feel the anguish and terror of being left behind again.

Better leaving than being left. At least, in crazy land.

I know it takes time to change such deeply held beliefs. At some point in my life, I will declare myself worthy of love and affection from Him. I will stand up and be able to fully bask in the relationship we have nourished. I will be able to really hear Him when He says forever.

I won’t have hope anymore. I will have sincere conviction.

But it is so hard to have it there just beyond…so close. Like the forty year wait at the edge of Canaan, I can smell the milk and honey. But there are hardships and hard lessons to be learned before I can cross into the promised land of supreme happiness.

And there is a darkly humorous part of me that just has to laugh at the idea of me having to be right that I push the love of my life away, just so I can prove that He was going to leave anyways. See? Sick, dark morbid humor. At least I can still laugh at my stupidity. 😀

Helter Skelter

Assessment:

  • Cracks found in the foundation mortar.
  • Some pieces of foundation mortar missing.
  • Load-bearing structures not properly supported.
  • Poor communication of maintenance crew led to some disrepair.

Correction:

  • Fill in cracks with stronger adhesive.
  • Re-patch the missing mortar with stronger type made for higher pressures.
  • Revamp the support structures to accept the load more safely.
  • Streamline the communication process and engage more in “active maintenance” than “later repair”.

Outlook: Highly favorable, nearly guaranteed to succeed. Foundation will be completely sound once again after the repairs are finished.

Effort Required: Heavy. Unfavorable conditions, harsh requirements to ensure a good repair. Will require consistent worker support and assistance.

Coasting (1/01/2011)

Dictionary.com defines coasting as “to continue to move or advance after effort has ceased; keep going on acquired momentum”

That is what the past two months of my life have been.

Life in this house has been stressed, to say the least. The holidays are not always a time of beauty and love for many of us, and for me it is magnified by having to leave the comfort and security of my house and traveling at least 1000 miles round trip. Doing this as a couple was easy-peasy and we looked forward to it…doing this with three small pre-school children is self-abuse. On top of that add money issues from trying to stabilize after the bankruptcy, the stinging defeat of two positions I ran for in my volunteer work and general bickering amongst family, and you have a toxic stew of unhappiness and inattentiveness.

Nick’s reaction to overwhelming stress is to rely heavily on my internal enslavement that is already established and expend less effort on active Ownership to focus more intensely on solving or grappling with whatever has come up. This is fine for short-term situations; I feel honored that He trusts me enough to expect me to continue to perform to His standards after His direct involvement has lessened. Unfortunately, lately it went beyond short-term and I began to struggle with His lack of active Ownership. The base of our O/p dynamic began to crumble as I stagnated and the IE started to erode. When I feel the beginnings of the decay I tend to react with a sharp uprise in resentment and outright civil disobedience. It’s my flawed last-ditch effort to draw attention to the fact that we’re off course and doomed to hit the shoals if He doesn’t start steering soon. (I’ve been broken of the need to jump for the steering wheel…that NEVER ends well)

Our last-ditch effort came about while we were on holiday in Arizona for the Christmas break. Being out of my routine, in unfamiliar surroundings, with Him still asleep at the wheel…the last of my resolve dissolved and I started running amok. Back talk. Balking. Lashing out. At one point when He inadvertently hit me harder than expected while trying to get my attention I threatened to hit Him as hard as possible if He ever did it again. And I meant it, not like a playing mocking tone, but in a very real “bad things will happen if You do that” way.

You can easily see that no good could come from this.

We were adversarial by the time we made it back home. I was angry and resentful, feeling abandoned and insignificant, untrusting and nearly aggressive in avoiding Him. He was also distant and snappish, easily irritated, disinterested in sex or vanilla intimacies.

I mourned the absence of what we had. I spent a few nights awake trying to figure out where I had gone wrong, where I had let in the decay that separated us.

So one morning I woke with a new resolve. One does not inspire leadership by challenging each move…I vowed to be submissive to Him, without any prompting, to be unresisting, to be more pleasing, to remind Him why He took the lead in our relationship to begin with…

I doted. I devoted. I lavished attention on Him, played geisha to Him and struggled to curb my impetuous anger and presumptuous thoughts. What could this dying effort hurt? I was already in pain and sadness…what could showing Him these things, being revealed and raw to Him really do now?

His inner dominance awoke to my more docile self. He saw my pain and confusion, felt my loss and anger, and responded. He began to make His way to the wheel and was reading the maps. And suddenly He went “How the fuck did we get here?!”

Damnit, I *knew* we were supposed to turn at Albuquerque!

The past week has been a time of self-awareness and discovery on both of our parts. I have discovered that languishing for His dominance is nowhere near as effective as inviting it; He’s discovered that in making me what I am today He has shouldered more of the burden of Ownership than He initially thought. It was painful, lonely and I hope we never have to do it again. We still have our moments, where I get defensive, waiting for Him to pull away again, and He has His moments where He fully expects something from me that withered away without His direct nurturing.

He’s made changes that will hopefully get us back on track. I’m trying to hold a positive outlook on His renewed attention. He has goals for us, a way to ensure that we don’t decay like that again. While I welcome His full return, I still resent times when my leash is shortened. I have grown accustomed to Him not caring, so for Him to poke His nose in and stir shit up again makes me a little edgy until I re accustom myself to it.

And if we do run off course, I’m grabbing the wheel. A little coup d’etat might encourage Him to not let go of the wheel next time.

Warning: Not-very-good-slave behavior described within! (04-08-23010)

Now that i got that pesky warning out of the way, onto the subject matter for today.

i have been in a vicious headspace the past few days. Looking back, i would almost venture to say a week. i’ve been restless, snappish, tired and irritable. i’ve had completely random thoughts of deliberate disobedience pop into mind. i’ve (barely) bit back harsh names and ill-tempered insults hurled in His general direction. Seeing my weight shoot into the stratosphere hasn’t helped the mood. Seriously, i gained 10 pounds in one week.

i’m sure everyone else has already put the clues together, but i was at a loss as to why i felt this way. During my few lucid moments, i would look back at the day and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. i wanted to be a slave to this Man, so why was Him telling me to do the dishes leading to me sitting on my hands to not reach out and throttle Him? When i wasn’t suppressing the urge to scream at the top of my lungs and lunge for His throat, i was berating myself for being such a shitty slave. Two-fer special, ya dig.

Of course, in classic N style, His answer was to withdraw. Guaranteed to make me go from mildly pissed to homicidal in no time flat. If i start to come unraveled, He refuses to engage me. If i am unable to catch myself in time, i’ll totally come apart. Uncunted, in a horrible fashion. He’ll just ignore it, refuse to acknowledge the behavior, deny my urgings to engage on any kind of level with me. Once i’ve finally exhausted myself, lathered and heaving in a mental sense, He’ll saunter into my head and say “Done?” i know the outcome every time, but i still get absolutely furious when He does it. Could it be done some other way? i dunno. i’m not the one in charge of finding out, and i am not sure if He does it this way because He’s too fucking lazy to figure out a more effective tactic or He really thinks this will get us somewhere.

So. Anyway.

i had gone through the trouble of writing a blow-by-blow account of the argument that ensued after i came home and got ready for bed. Then i deleted it. It doesn’t really matter, honestly. i can sum it up for you pretty damn easily:

Tipsy, PMS-‘ing slave comes home and gets ready to crawl into bed, Owner starts acting like a passive-aggressive whiner (excuse me, Whiner), lectures said slave about something slave doesn’t really give a flying fuck about, Owner kills the buzz the  slave was enjoying, slave lashes out at Owner, who’s smug “neener-neener” attitude digs at her more than Glenn Beck, Owner doesn’t really answer any of the retaliatory questions slave has, both go to bed irritated and suppressing the urge to smother the other.

Last night, i said to my friend that we were both too fucking stubborn to leave. i’m pretty sure i was right. i also said that one of us would end up dead before the relationship ended. i’m pretty sure i was right about that, too.

The fact that He didn’t reach over and smack the shit out of me is either a testament to His patience or a sign of apathy. The fact that i didn’t beat the fuck out of Him is either a sign of my devotion to Him or my immense stupidity. i haven’t figured out which one it was for either of us yet.

i foresee a tense regrouping in my future. Battle lines are being drawn, walls are being buttressed. i can feel that stupidity in me, multiplying, crowding out the logical thoughts, urging a coup, wanting to wage war. My teeth are gritted, muscles clenched with stress, desperately working to overcome this uprising in my head. i don’t know if i will win.

i read a saying the other day on FetLife that resonated with me: every Master gets exactly the slave he deserves. i’m going to try and keep that in mind as i work so frantically to quell these thoughts. Because, if the dam should break and i finally lose it, i won’t stand alone in the rubble and shoulder all the responsibility myself. Nuh-uh. There have been warning signs of impending collapse. Shots across the bow. Statements of intent. If The Man doesn’t deign to assist me in keeping my shit together, doesn’t see a need to reinforce the dynamic as He wants it, well, then:

Every Master gets exactly the slave he deserves.

Patience, grasshopper. (04-04-2010)

The Man has been lazy lately. i am totally justified in saying that. He works all day, He goes and plays/works outside after work until the kids need to go to bed, then He comes in and does the bills or watches tv. Then it is our bedtime. It isn’t in physical activity that He’s been slacking. It’s been in the physical mastering and forceful subjugation He’s less enamored with. When we started figuring out what we both wanted, we discovered that i wanted the pain play as much as He wanted to give it. Even with the kids, we found time to indulge both of our desires. Recently, He has felt the urge to beat me less and less, so i’ve been scrambling to learn a new way to squelch the seething need to be taken down and reduced to sniveling pile of sore bitch-flesh. (See that line made me hawt. That’s how hard-up i am.) i’ve asked for a session, i’ve begged. He has no interest in it, so i have accepted that He isn’t in that head-space. Not graciously, not without a little bitterness and cuntishness. Right now, all i can give is the acceptance. i have no way of knowing if i will ever feel the lash of His belt or the punch of the flogger handle. This kills me a little, not knowing where He is taking me. i understand in my mind that His will overrides mine, but in my heart (my slavie heart *snicker*) i rail against it. i don’t want to accept it, i want a good solid beating and some rough sex to finish me off. Can i subjugate that desire? Can i beat the tiger into the cage again? i am going to have to learn, because i don’t see the drought easing up.

Tangled Tora (06-15-2010)

There’s been quite the flurry of communication in this house as we further explore some of the outside stressors that are taking their toll on our sanity. One of the topics that came up was His continuing interest in swapping with another friendly couple or with a female, preferably bisexual, but not necessarily required.

That topic, of swapping, always leads to interesting reactions on my part, because it is absolutely loaded with implications, fears, insecurities and nightmares for me. It makes even the most mundane comments from Him make me tremble with suppressed rage or sob quietly in the bathroom.  It’s quite the fucking mental minefield, for sure.

The more direct consequences of the swapping I’ll discuss later on in a different set of posts. This post will be a multi-post series on how an open-bedroom policy has an affect on how I serve Him in the O/p relationship.

Being His slave is my life. It sounds awful, and even now a part of me involuntarily grimaced at typing that, but it is. This house, the kids, Him – it’s all I know how to do. It’s all I have done for the past 5 years. Consequently, much, if not all, of my perception of self-worth is directly related to my being His slave, and doing it well. This is fine for 90% of the time, when there isn’t much that challenges my perception. It’s that 10% of the time where I start to examine things, I start to panic, I start to get uppity in fear and self-preservation.

Part of the 10% is when He expresses His desire to bang other women. On the surface, I’m all good about it. Theoretically, I can understand the drive, the hunger to know another body in a purely sexual way. Emotionally, a part of me starts to shut down. Because in the scenarios He’s described, the girl would be sleeping in the bed with Him, getting up in the morning and eating breakfast with Him, looking at my house, my stuff, touching my things…

(I realize how absurd it is for a slave to be bitching about someone else touching her stuff. I am fully aware that in the basest sense, I own nothing, nothing is mine. I am referring to “mine” as thing normally allotted to me, that I have forged important connections with, like the house, which I have spent a great deal of time trying to make not only livable but lovable; the bed, which is my refuge from the world; and most of all, my service to Him.)

and I imagine myself laying next to the other half of the swapping couple, wondering if she’s spooning with Him the way I often ask to, if she’s falling asleep listening to Him breath His dream breaths like I do, if she’s making Him breakfast with the love I try to…

Can’t imagine why I am not jumping at the chance to swap.

I fear being replaced. I’ve had nightmares about it. Imagining the girl doing everything that I use to define my worth to Him is enough to make my hands shake. I fear being abandoned after narrowing the focus of my life down to pinpoint accuracy of life with Him.

This inner turmoil brings on large amounts of self-doubt and self-hatred. I hate that I am not able to take my Owner’s word as gospel when He says I am not replaceable and that He’ll never leave me. I hate that I place limits, even if unwillingly, on His future actions because I am not strong enough to get over myself.  I hate myself for not being able to place His desire, His wants, over my inability to get a grip on life as a slave.

I just want to move on to acceptance. I don’t want to have to push through all the pain and fears, the old hurts and new terrors, to make it to the fabled El Dorado of kinkdom: gracious and calm slavery. Especially since this is something I have to do without much assistance from Him. He can’t kick my ass through it. I have to force myself every inch of the way, snuffling and sobbing, until I can finally look in the mirror and be absolutely sure that I am the one He will keep, I am the one He truly knows and desires, that I am the one that has earned the title of His slave.

Only then will I not stand in the way of His wants and desires. Because even though now I wouldn’t stop Him from sleeping out, wouldn’t begrudge Him from finding some sweet thing to enjoy, a part of my soul would commence bathing in acid. I’d kill myself inside to serve Him, all the doubts and fears and insecurites eating me from the inside out until I was nothing but a shell of the woman He loved.  I know all the poly sayings and theories and truisms. I know why my thought processes are false. That is what is so frustrating about it.

A good example would be this song by Tracy Lawrence called Time Marches On.

And most of all, even as I’m beating my breasts and gnashing my teeth about how it kills me to be an impediment to Him, I’m so very very thankful that He restricts Himself to guard the safety of my sanity until I am strong enough to know that Him sleeping around doesn’t mean I am not valuable to Him.