I'm a jealous person. But, only, when it comes to him.
I don't envy people, normally. I don't wish ill of people who have more than I, nor do I covet their belongings or success.
Why am I jealous of her? Of anyone that spends time with you?
I don't know, really. Maybe its because they get an opportunity I don't. All I know, is that with just a couple of words, I can seeth.
Maybe its just because you know how to push my buttons. You know exactly what to say to set me in motion. You know my triggers, and use them at your will.
All I know is that tomorrow, when you are with her. With all of them, I will be thinking of you. And I will be jealous. I will be tormented by what you are doing, or rather, by what my imagination will conjure.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Differentiating
"Don't compare yourself to her. You aren't not the same. There are things that she is that you will never be and vice versa. But that doesn't mean she is better/worse. Just different."
Sounds like the diversity class I took when I started my corporate bureaucrat job. All people are beautiful, equal...blah blah. Yeah, we are. I get that. We should celebrate diversity in people. But, yet, societal norms preach to us differently.
Look this way, walk this way, use this product, and you will be "in".
So when you are 35, a bit (ok, more than a bit) overweight, wearing glasses, with less than perfect hair, a bit of a odd shaped nose, stretch marks, and big feet - well, darlin, society starts to devalue you. And while everything I've been taught tells me that we should celebrate diversity - somewhere down the line, you start to feel crappy about the things you aren't. I have days when I look in the mirror and think, "hey, I'm not so bad, in fact, I look pretty good" and then there are days, like today, when I look in the mirror and think "I shoulda applied for extreme makeover".
I'm not young. (not old yet, just not young) I'm not a size 6. (never was, as a matter of fact, even when I was thin) But, our society's standards of beauty say that to be beautiful you indeed must be young, and thin. (and a nice rack doesn't hurt)
Most of society isn't young and thin. I don't think most of society really buys it. But its shoved in our faces (male and female).
So, yeah, we are different. Not better, nor worse. But if you put the two of us in a room and were forced to choose, society would choose her.
Maybe that's why its hard not to think I'm worse. Because I can differentiate. I know why we are different. And I also know that she is closer to the societal standard than I am.
And yeah, I shouldn't listen to society - I should only listen to you. But its hard to turn the world out.
Sounds like the diversity class I took when I started my corporate bureaucrat job. All people are beautiful, equal...blah blah. Yeah, we are. I get that. We should celebrate diversity in people. But, yet, societal norms preach to us differently.
Look this way, walk this way, use this product, and you will be "in".
So when you are 35, a bit (ok, more than a bit) overweight, wearing glasses, with less than perfect hair, a bit of a odd shaped nose, stretch marks, and big feet - well, darlin, society starts to devalue you. And while everything I've been taught tells me that we should celebrate diversity - somewhere down the line, you start to feel crappy about the things you aren't. I have days when I look in the mirror and think, "hey, I'm not so bad, in fact, I look pretty good" and then there are days, like today, when I look in the mirror and think "I shoulda applied for extreme makeover".
I'm not young. (not old yet, just not young) I'm not a size 6. (never was, as a matter of fact, even when I was thin) But, our society's standards of beauty say that to be beautiful you indeed must be young, and thin. (and a nice rack doesn't hurt)
Most of society isn't young and thin. I don't think most of society really buys it. But its shoved in our faces (male and female).
So, yeah, we are different. Not better, nor worse. But if you put the two of us in a room and were forced to choose, society would choose her.
Maybe that's why its hard not to think I'm worse. Because I can differentiate. I know why we are different. And I also know that she is closer to the societal standard than I am.
And yeah, I shouldn't listen to society - I should only listen to you. But its hard to turn the world out.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Why
Does defending myself always seem so really fucking odd, and most of the time downright terrible?
Creativity and Pain
Sometimes, I think, pain brings out the best in me ... creatively speaking. What a cliche.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Somedays, I just get tired...
.... of being the "nice" one. You know that girl? The one who runs around trying to make everyone and their brother happy? The one who, rather that hurt someone's feelings, will poke out her own eyeball?
That's me. I am a perpetual people pleaser. Please don't get me wrong, I love doing things for people. I really do. I consider myself a highly compassionate and caring person. I don't get joy from the possible "thank you's" I may get. I really do find joy in the act of giving. But I just can't seem to draw that line between being a compassionate person and a doormat.
Just like Mikey, give it to me, and I'll do anything.
This is never so clear as in my relationship with the person I will affectionately term "psycho bitch".
Today I was accused of pitying her, and not giving her a break. I wasn't considering her feelings.
Yeah. That's me. Selfish bitch.
And I should just stop. I need to stop caring. Its like some awful obessive compulsive behavior. No matter how horrible she treats me, I continue to care. I know I should stop.
It just makes me tired. Very, very tired.
That's me. I am a perpetual people pleaser. Please don't get me wrong, I love doing things for people. I really do. I consider myself a highly compassionate and caring person. I don't get joy from the possible "thank you's" I may get. I really do find joy in the act of giving. But I just can't seem to draw that line between being a compassionate person and a doormat.
Just like Mikey, give it to me, and I'll do anything.
This is never so clear as in my relationship with the person I will affectionately term "psycho bitch".
Today I was accused of pitying her, and not giving her a break. I wasn't considering her feelings.
Yeah. That's me. Selfish bitch.
And I should just stop. I need to stop caring. Its like some awful obessive compulsive behavior. No matter how horrible she treats me, I continue to care. I know I should stop.
It just makes me tired. Very, very tired.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Sometimes something hits you
The truth in this statement, which I found on a message board I sometimes read, really hit me:
"And then you get into heavy absurdities, like the fact that it turns me and H on to NO end when I point out that he's out of his mind if he thinks I'd ever fuck him. We both want to screw a hole in the wall at that point, which is frankly harder to achieve than simply getting laid. Getting laid is easy, I've learned, getting so turned on you could scream is one of life's purest luxuries."
I can get off. My index finger and some double A's work just fine to get me off. I may even whimper a bit. But to get to the point that this poster so perfectly defined - that, dear reader, is a place not everyone gets to visit. To have every nerve in your body sparking at once, and to feel that, ache .... it is approaching ecstacy.
And becomes ecstasy, when you share it with someone else.
"And then you get into heavy absurdities, like the fact that it turns me and H on to NO end when I point out that he's out of his mind if he thinks I'd ever fuck him. We both want to screw a hole in the wall at that point, which is frankly harder to achieve than simply getting laid. Getting laid is easy, I've learned, getting so turned on you could scream is one of life's purest luxuries."
I can get off. My index finger and some double A's work just fine to get me off. I may even whimper a bit. But to get to the point that this poster so perfectly defined - that, dear reader, is a place not everyone gets to visit. To have every nerve in your body sparking at once, and to feel that, ache .... it is approaching ecstacy.
And becomes ecstasy, when you share it with someone else.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Me
I don't like Me, much. I'm not sure why. I think its because Me, has always been here. Me knows too much, and has seen too much. Me shares a collective history, one that isn't all happiness. Me seems to always stare back judgingly. Me looks in the mirror and sees plain, average. Sometimes Me sees Odd. Sometimes Me hates that reflection with a passion reserved for people that kick puppies.
Somedays I want to banish Me. Send Me off to some far off place where Me will never be found again. Set Me off to sail across some vast sea.
But what would I gain from that? That would just leave Me lost. I don't want Me to be lost. Me has feelings too, right? Me should feel treasured and loved. The same way that Me treats other people.
So maybe I need to look at Me again. Try to see Me as something other than the enemy.
Maybe I need to see the good things in Me. Me is very good at helping. Me is compassionate and kind. Me has uncanning perception. And maybe I need to see Me as someone separate from everyone else. Me doesn't just help. Me is intelligent. Me is sometimes witty. Me is good.
I don't know, maybe I'll always have a love/hate relationship with Me. Afterall, Me and I are stuck together for life.
Somedays I want to banish Me. Send Me off to some far off place where Me will never be found again. Set Me off to sail across some vast sea.
But what would I gain from that? That would just leave Me lost. I don't want Me to be lost. Me has feelings too, right? Me should feel treasured and loved. The same way that Me treats other people.
So maybe I need to look at Me again. Try to see Me as something other than the enemy.
Maybe I need to see the good things in Me. Me is very good at helping. Me is compassionate and kind. Me has uncanning perception. And maybe I need to see Me as someone separate from everyone else. Me doesn't just help. Me is intelligent. Me is sometimes witty. Me is good.
I don't know, maybe I'll always have a love/hate relationship with Me. Afterall, Me and I are stuck together for life.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Memory
It sneaks up on me. The day seems to going along, and then it is there. A thought that I have thought I have buried in my brain, resurfaces, like some mythic sea monster, raising from the murky depths.
Very dramatic, yes? Or possibly, melodramatic. Either way, it comes back. That description. A simple description of a kiss that broke my heart.
In my mind's eye, who's vision is not 20/20 by any means, I see you with her. Your hand on her hip pulling her close. The other cupping her cheek delicately. Every movement is careful and precise. My mind fills in the various blanks. How your lips must have felt across hers. How her breath must have caught. How she more than likely relaxed against you slowly, melting from the contact.
Its as if I feel your reactions. I feel your mind blank as you taste her for the first time. I assume that she tastes sweet. I feel your body hard against her. Gentle and hard at the same time. This is when it is difficult to know you so well. To know how excited you are, how this is a fantasy fulfilled for you, and yet it is more.
It is as if I am standing there, watching. Tears streaming down my face while I watch you treat her kindly, with gentleness, and generosity. And I know, that part of you, loves it. You love those tears. Tears that come from torment. They excite you.
Yet I wasn't there. In reality, I am so far from there. But, I could have been a world away, and I would have still felt it as deeply. And the memory comes back to me at odd times. Standing in a line, possibly. Or driving.
You've pointed out how we do not/cannot compare. And it has become my mantra over the days when I've tried to erase this memory. Each time that memory creeps back in, it hurts. Maybe not as much as on the first telling, but hurts all the same. Soon, I hope, as the mantra becomes rote, it will cease to hurt.
Yet when it does, I'll still be the one wishing it had been my kiss.
Very dramatic, yes? Or possibly, melodramatic. Either way, it comes back. That description. A simple description of a kiss that broke my heart.
In my mind's eye, who's vision is not 20/20 by any means, I see you with her. Your hand on her hip pulling her close. The other cupping her cheek delicately. Every movement is careful and precise. My mind fills in the various blanks. How your lips must have felt across hers. How her breath must have caught. How she more than likely relaxed against you slowly, melting from the contact.
Its as if I feel your reactions. I feel your mind blank as you taste her for the first time. I assume that she tastes sweet. I feel your body hard against her. Gentle and hard at the same time. This is when it is difficult to know you so well. To know how excited you are, how this is a fantasy fulfilled for you, and yet it is more.
It is as if I am standing there, watching. Tears streaming down my face while I watch you treat her kindly, with gentleness, and generosity. And I know, that part of you, loves it. You love those tears. Tears that come from torment. They excite you.
Yet I wasn't there. In reality, I am so far from there. But, I could have been a world away, and I would have still felt it as deeply. And the memory comes back to me at odd times. Standing in a line, possibly. Or driving.
You've pointed out how we do not/cannot compare. And it has become my mantra over the days when I've tried to erase this memory. Each time that memory creeps back in, it hurts. Maybe not as much as on the first telling, but hurts all the same. Soon, I hope, as the mantra becomes rote, it will cease to hurt.
Yet when it does, I'll still be the one wishing it had been my kiss.
Love
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way - Pablo Neruda
And so as I look over the posts previous to this, I realize it may not be clear to the reader (if there is one) my feelings for the man whom I call Master.Or even if it is clear that I call him such.
So let it be clear, now. That I indeed call him such. He is my owner. I am His. Despite my seemingly endless questions, and utter confusion of some matters. What everything eventually boils down to is that I am His. Even at times when I try to deny it, it remains true.
And honestly, I can't imagine life any other way.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Suffering
What does suffering for someone really mean? I have suffered in my life, but wouldn't count my suffering in the realm of holocaust survivors, or Martyrs for the faith.
But do the tears I've shed mean anything? Do they mean something because they are shed for the pleasure of someone else? Do they mean any less because I have consented to them?
And if I have consented, does that mean it isn't really suffering?
Have you noticed yet, that I think too much?
I suppose I should just look up the rote definitions of sadism and masochism. But I suspect, that rather than answering my questions, only more would be raised.
"That what doesn't kill you makes you stronger", they say. Who the fuck is "they", and why won't "they" answer these questions that pile up in head.
But do the tears I've shed mean anything? Do they mean something because they are shed for the pleasure of someone else? Do they mean any less because I have consented to them?
And if I have consented, does that mean it isn't really suffering?
Have you noticed yet, that I think too much?
I suppose I should just look up the rote definitions of sadism and masochism. But I suspect, that rather than answering my questions, only more would be raised.
"That what doesn't kill you makes you stronger", they say. Who the fuck is "they", and why won't "they" answer these questions that pile up in head.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Surrender
The next night he's over and over and under
and after he's finished she lies there and wonders.
just why does she need him and why does she stay here
and then in the darkness she'll quietly say Dear,
you've never really known that when the white flag
is flown, no one no one no one has won the war.
`The Flag - Barenaked Ladies
Who wins when the white flag is flown? Does anyone?
Maybe I think too much. Today I surrendered. I gave in to the torment, and pain. I surrendered myself, and my control. I surrendered any perceived control I have over my feelings, my reactions, and my body.
And, I begged for it. I begged for the humiliation. And when he said that he broke me because he was bored, and it was something to do - well, being reduced to trivia was enough to throw me over the edge. The pain was set free and I surrendered. I was reduced to a sobbing mess.
Is this what it is about? Is humiliation the trigger that allows the surrender? Sets the pain free?
I don't know, but I still have the headache.
and after he's finished she lies there and wonders.
just why does she need him and why does she stay here
and then in the darkness she'll quietly say Dear,
you've never really known that when the white flag
is flown, no one no one no one has won the war.
`The Flag - Barenaked Ladies
Who wins when the white flag is flown? Does anyone?
Maybe I think too much. Today I surrendered. I gave in to the torment, and pain. I surrendered myself, and my control. I surrendered any perceived control I have over my feelings, my reactions, and my body.
And, I begged for it. I begged for the humiliation. And when he said that he broke me because he was bored, and it was something to do - well, being reduced to trivia was enough to throw me over the edge. The pain was set free and I surrendered. I was reduced to a sobbing mess.
Is this what it is about? Is humiliation the trigger that allows the surrender? Sets the pain free?
I don't know, but I still have the headache.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
The In Between
When the pain starts to fade, and the future is unknown ~ how do you deal with the in between?
Suffering you can wrap around you, it holds you in its arms. When those arms begin to release you and you are left standing looking into what could be ... that in between place of knowing and not knowing ....
That's probably the scariest place of them all.
Suffering you can wrap around you, it holds you in its arms. When those arms begin to release you and you are left standing looking into what could be ... that in between place of knowing and not knowing ....
That's probably the scariest place of them all.
Roller Coaster
Maybe if I was an experienced roller coaster rider, I would already know the feeling. That rise of anticipation before a fall. The steady build. Each click bringing you closer to that edge. Knowing its going to happen, now matter how hard your heart pounds. You are now strapped in for the ride, and its taking you with it, no matter how hard you scream that you want off.
And most roller coaster devotees will tell you that they get back on every time. They crave the rush. The thrill. The unknown. The known.
Saturday, standing in that dressing room after speaking with him, I felt the ascent. That rush of unknowing the known. I knew that eventually I'd cease to exist and yet I'd be the one standing alone at the end of the day, waiting in that terrible anticipation of what was to come next.
Click
Who would I be tomorrow? Would I be diminished? Oh don't compare yourself, be your own person. Fuck, who is that again? Devoted Mother? Loyal Friend? Who am I again? Jesus, its hard to remember on the ascent. Who the fuck do I have to be again? Oh yeah, that one. The one who waits. Who does what she's told. That's right. I'll be fine. I'll be just fine.
Click.
What's he doing now? Did he kiss her? oh my God, what if he did? I'm going to die. Oh don't be so melodramatic you idiot you are going to be fine. You're loved, right?
Click.
Fuck this shit, I don't care what he does. He can screw his Boss for all I care.
Click.
Well, I spent money. I feel better. Clothes look decent. Suppose that's a plus. The Kidlet has been a good girl today. Deb's always sweet to me. I guess things aren't so bad.
Click.
I'll bet she's soft. I'll bet she's sweet. Oh my god. Shake it off, girl.
Click.
Well that was fun. Kidlet made some new friends. Family seemed good. Got some stuff I've needed. Wonder how the day went for him.
Click.
Holy shit I can't breathe. He has kissed her for the first time, and now he's going to forget me. I'll be back to being ye old support system. Fuck me straight up the ass sideways, I'm screwed.
Click.
Time to go to bed. Tomorrow I'll know. It will be ok. I'll have a good day. Don't have to do much. Have to run out to the house. Come home and spend time with my kidlet. Plant some flowers. Blessed sleep.
Click.
7:30 ish. Damn it I can't sleep. I know its bad. I'm going to hurt. Its going to hurt badly.
Click.
Well, he's really wondering how my day went. When is he going to tell me damn it.
Click.
He kissed her twice.
Click, pause, scream. Down the hill.
I can't breathe.
Rushing
Steady girl, you've got the whole day ahead of you. Fuck him. Fuck him all to goddamn holy hell.
Rushing
What am I going to do now? I can't compare. I'm just me. I'm average. I'm just the smart one. I'm not pretty. I'm not anything really. I'm just the go-to girl.
Rushing
He held her cheek, softly. Oh my god, I can't take it.
Rushing
He doesn't want you to hurt. Yeah. Ok. I know that. I do. He loves me. He does.
Rushing
I slept and dreamed he made me watch them. I'm going to be sick.
Rushing.
I so goddamn horny from all the crying. Son of Bitch made me like this. Goddamn him.
Rushing.
Why do I want him more now than ever. I hate this. I hate me.
Rushing
Cumming, oh my god, the tears. I can't take it. The world is upside down.
Rushing
He still wants me, dear god, thank you. Thank you so much.
Slowing
He's yelling at me? What the fuck did I do to deserve that?
Slowing
Fuck this, I get a say in how I feel
Slowing
God, I still need him.
Slowing
I still want him.
Stop.
Wanna fuck?
Click
"Would you hate me if it happens again?"
And the ride starts over.
And most roller coaster devotees will tell you that they get back on every time. They crave the rush. The thrill. The unknown. The known.
Saturday, standing in that dressing room after speaking with him, I felt the ascent. That rush of unknowing the known. I knew that eventually I'd cease to exist and yet I'd be the one standing alone at the end of the day, waiting in that terrible anticipation of what was to come next.
Click
Who would I be tomorrow? Would I be diminished? Oh don't compare yourself, be your own person. Fuck, who is that again? Devoted Mother? Loyal Friend? Who am I again? Jesus, its hard to remember on the ascent. Who the fuck do I have to be again? Oh yeah, that one. The one who waits. Who does what she's told. That's right. I'll be fine. I'll be just fine.
Click.
What's he doing now? Did he kiss her? oh my God, what if he did? I'm going to die. Oh don't be so melodramatic you idiot you are going to be fine. You're loved, right?
Click.
Fuck this shit, I don't care what he does. He can screw his Boss for all I care.
Click.
Well, I spent money. I feel better. Clothes look decent. Suppose that's a plus. The Kidlet has been a good girl today. Deb's always sweet to me. I guess things aren't so bad.
Click.
I'll bet she's soft. I'll bet she's sweet. Oh my god. Shake it off, girl.
Click.
Well that was fun. Kidlet made some new friends. Family seemed good. Got some stuff I've needed. Wonder how the day went for him.
Click.
Holy shit I can't breathe. He has kissed her for the first time, and now he's going to forget me. I'll be back to being ye old support system. Fuck me straight up the ass sideways, I'm screwed.
Click.
Time to go to bed. Tomorrow I'll know. It will be ok. I'll have a good day. Don't have to do much. Have to run out to the house. Come home and spend time with my kidlet. Plant some flowers. Blessed sleep.
Click.
7:30 ish. Damn it I can't sleep. I know its bad. I'm going to hurt. Its going to hurt badly.
Click.
Well, he's really wondering how my day went. When is he going to tell me damn it.
Click.
He kissed her twice.
Click, pause, scream. Down the hill.
I can't breathe.
Rushing
Steady girl, you've got the whole day ahead of you. Fuck him. Fuck him all to goddamn holy hell.
Rushing
What am I going to do now? I can't compare. I'm just me. I'm average. I'm just the smart one. I'm not pretty. I'm not anything really. I'm just the go-to girl.
Rushing
He held her cheek, softly. Oh my god, I can't take it.
Rushing
He doesn't want you to hurt. Yeah. Ok. I know that. I do. He loves me. He does.
Rushing
I slept and dreamed he made me watch them. I'm going to be sick.
Rushing.
I so goddamn horny from all the crying. Son of Bitch made me like this. Goddamn him.
Rushing.
Why do I want him more now than ever. I hate this. I hate me.
Rushing
Cumming, oh my god, the tears. I can't take it. The world is upside down.
Rushing
He still wants me, dear god, thank you. Thank you so much.
Slowing
He's yelling at me? What the fuck did I do to deserve that?
Slowing
Fuck this, I get a say in how I feel
Slowing
God, I still need him.
Slowing
I still want him.
Stop.
Wanna fuck?
Click
"Would you hate me if it happens again?"
And the ride starts over.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
How do you Mend a Broken Heart?
How do you mend a broken heart? A cheesey song by the Brothers Gibb? or a very real pain.
So now I know. I know more than I did yesterday. I have more questions. All the while I'm struggling to make sense of why it affects me so, and why it hurts so bad, when you have every right to do what you want, with whomever you want. Lord knows I have my limitations and can't give you everything you need. The fact that you give me attention and love even though I have limitations means the world to me.
So why do I feel so bad? Simple jealousy? Possibly. She got what I have wanted and waited for six years for. And didn't have to do a goddamn thing but be young and beautiful, sweet and innocent to get it. You see that? Do you see that I feel like I've devoted myself to being your friend, you support, your confidant, and yes, even your lover ... and in walks a vision of sweetness and light, and doesn't devote anything, doesn't have to change herself, doesn't have to give till it hurts. She grabs your attention without lifting a finger. Without tears.
Even now I struggle to write what I'm feeling in deference to not making you feel bad.
So let me be bluntly honest for a moment. There are days when I feel taken for granted. Kinda like Mikey in the Life commercials. Give it to her, she'll do anything. And maybe I hate myself more because I can't stand up and say, enough of this bullshit. Its where being this perfect submissive personality collides with wanting a bit for myself.
And were does being your submissive fit in to all this? In those months were you so busy, besides missing you so much, was that feeling that I wanted to feel owned again. I know its a fact, and that dynamic is always in the background. But, there was something in me that wanted you to acknowledge it directly. I think that's why I literally begged you to help me. Which felt ridiculous. Absolutely and completely ridiculous. Still does. And I was honest, yesterday when I helped out at the house I wasn't directly going against an order in my head. I just simply wasn't thinking. But later, when I realized it, for moments, I actually felt defiant.
Do I hate what you did? No. Do I hate her? No. Do I hate you? No.
I hate what I'm not. Do you see that? Isn't it possible that I don't really hate you at all? But that I hate myself. I hate everything I can't be to you. I hate that I can't stand up and ask for more without feeling selfish and guilty. I hate that I look in the mirror and can't see anything but an aging, average Mom. I hate that the only person I trust right now is Danielle. I hate not feeling safe. And I hate that I'm making this about me. Because in the back of my mind, I think that if I did place my needs first, I wouldn't be able to enjoy or handle it.
So now I know. I know more than I did yesterday. I have more questions. All the while I'm struggling to make sense of why it affects me so, and why it hurts so bad, when you have every right to do what you want, with whomever you want. Lord knows I have my limitations and can't give you everything you need. The fact that you give me attention and love even though I have limitations means the world to me.
So why do I feel so bad? Simple jealousy? Possibly. She got what I have wanted and waited for six years for. And didn't have to do a goddamn thing but be young and beautiful, sweet and innocent to get it. You see that? Do you see that I feel like I've devoted myself to being your friend, you support, your confidant, and yes, even your lover ... and in walks a vision of sweetness and light, and doesn't devote anything, doesn't have to change herself, doesn't have to give till it hurts. She grabs your attention without lifting a finger. Without tears.
Even now I struggle to write what I'm feeling in deference to not making you feel bad.
So let me be bluntly honest for a moment. There are days when I feel taken for granted. Kinda like Mikey in the Life commercials. Give it to her, she'll do anything. And maybe I hate myself more because I can't stand up and say, enough of this bullshit. Its where being this perfect submissive personality collides with wanting a bit for myself.
And were does being your submissive fit in to all this? In those months were you so busy, besides missing you so much, was that feeling that I wanted to feel owned again. I know its a fact, and that dynamic is always in the background. But, there was something in me that wanted you to acknowledge it directly. I think that's why I literally begged you to help me. Which felt ridiculous. Absolutely and completely ridiculous. Still does. And I was honest, yesterday when I helped out at the house I wasn't directly going against an order in my head. I just simply wasn't thinking. But later, when I realized it, for moments, I actually felt defiant.
Do I hate what you did? No. Do I hate her? No. Do I hate you? No.
I hate what I'm not. Do you see that? Isn't it possible that I don't really hate you at all? But that I hate myself. I hate everything I can't be to you. I hate that I can't stand up and ask for more without feeling selfish and guilty. I hate that I look in the mirror and can't see anything but an aging, average Mom. I hate that the only person I trust right now is Danielle. I hate not feeling safe. And I hate that I'm making this about me. Because in the back of my mind, I think that if I did place my needs first, I wouldn't be able to enjoy or handle it.
What Ifs and Heartache
It starts as an "if". Once I heard worry described as the infinite web of "what if". I think in my lifetime I've spun some very eloborate webs. Once there is one "if" in my brain, it can't be stopped. I will keep adding them. Like links in a chain that bind me to some unimaginable fate.
So, its Saturday morning, at 6:43 am. And whether she ends up going with you or not, I know that sometime this weekend you will see her. And when you do, your mind and body will react. She will, of course, smile and hug you after being gone for so long. You will hug her back, and I will think of how you are loving the feel of her against you. Maybe you will pat her on the ass. Maybe you'll whisper something to her. A sweet nothing. Maybe she will purr in your ear.
Do you see how my thoughts work? Its not just one thought, like "Will he kiss her". It is so many possibilities, that my brain literally can not grasp them all at once. It spins itself in so many directions that I literally cannot stop it. I effectively become that mess of a person that you love to hear sobbing. But, I can't show it. The people around me have no idea. Everything is status quo, I continue to present that facade to the world, while my heart breaks. It is a pain that wraps itself around who I am. Who am I? I'm yours. And my mind struggles to wrap itself around the idea that I have to accept that this is what you want, and the fact that I hate it. I hate it with a passion.
So, that thought, like "He's touching her. I wonder what he'll get her to do next" literally becomes a thousand thoughts at once. Every one of them stabs me like a dagger. You know why these thoughts are so powerful? Because I know you better than anyone, and I know how you can get people to do what you want. I know if you really wanted to you could have that girl on her knees in flash. This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'm not a jealous person normally. Now don't laugh so hard you injure yourself. I don't envy others the things that they have. Usually. I do not know why I am a jealous bitch when it comes to you, but I am. I've always known that she was more than an acquaintance. I'm not stupid. I can hear that you care for her in your voice. I guess this should make me feel better. It doesn't. I think it hurts more. Do you really think I hate her? No. I don't hate her. I hate that you care for her. I hate that she is there with you. I hate that she is tiny. I hate that she is lovely. I hate that she gets you up close and personal, and I don't.
She represents everything that I don't have, everything that I want, and everything that I'll never be. She gets you in person. She gets to touch you. She gets to see your smile. She is beautiful, and young, and sweet. And you want to care for her, and be gentle with her.
Don't you think that there is part of me that wants that? That would like to be taken care of like that too? That wonders what it is about me that you want to make me cry, and yet there is someone else you want to care for and protect? I will feel very small, and very inadequate. I will feel like it will never matter what I perversities I attempt, or the thousand things I will do for you. I will never be the person that you want to be sweet to. Do I get that you give me something I need when I'm crying, yeah, I get that. But there is that part of me that when I'm finished crying, wants you to treat me with the care you reserve for her.
And what kills me, is that I could feel your dissapointment yesterday when you heard she probably wouldn't go. And I was dissapointed for you. What the hell? I should have been estactic. But I wasn't. Because I always will want for you the things that you want, and the things that make you happy. Even if they make me cry.
So today, or tomorrow, my thoughts will drift. I will be smiling to the world, while my heart breaks.
So, its Saturday morning, at 6:43 am. And whether she ends up going with you or not, I know that sometime this weekend you will see her. And when you do, your mind and body will react. She will, of course, smile and hug you after being gone for so long. You will hug her back, and I will think of how you are loving the feel of her against you. Maybe you will pat her on the ass. Maybe you'll whisper something to her. A sweet nothing. Maybe she will purr in your ear.
Do you see how my thoughts work? Its not just one thought, like "Will he kiss her". It is so many possibilities, that my brain literally can not grasp them all at once. It spins itself in so many directions that I literally cannot stop it. I effectively become that mess of a person that you love to hear sobbing. But, I can't show it. The people around me have no idea. Everything is status quo, I continue to present that facade to the world, while my heart breaks. It is a pain that wraps itself around who I am. Who am I? I'm yours. And my mind struggles to wrap itself around the idea that I have to accept that this is what you want, and the fact that I hate it. I hate it with a passion.
So, that thought, like "He's touching her. I wonder what he'll get her to do next" literally becomes a thousand thoughts at once. Every one of them stabs me like a dagger. You know why these thoughts are so powerful? Because I know you better than anyone, and I know how you can get people to do what you want. I know if you really wanted to you could have that girl on her knees in flash. This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'm not a jealous person normally. Now don't laugh so hard you injure yourself. I don't envy others the things that they have. Usually. I do not know why I am a jealous bitch when it comes to you, but I am. I've always known that she was more than an acquaintance. I'm not stupid. I can hear that you care for her in your voice. I guess this should make me feel better. It doesn't. I think it hurts more. Do you really think I hate her? No. I don't hate her. I hate that you care for her. I hate that she is there with you. I hate that she is tiny. I hate that she is lovely. I hate that she gets you up close and personal, and I don't.
She represents everything that I don't have, everything that I want, and everything that I'll never be. She gets you in person. She gets to touch you. She gets to see your smile. She is beautiful, and young, and sweet. And you want to care for her, and be gentle with her.
Don't you think that there is part of me that wants that? That would like to be taken care of like that too? That wonders what it is about me that you want to make me cry, and yet there is someone else you want to care for and protect? I will feel very small, and very inadequate. I will feel like it will never matter what I perversities I attempt, or the thousand things I will do for you. I will never be the person that you want to be sweet to. Do I get that you give me something I need when I'm crying, yeah, I get that. But there is that part of me that when I'm finished crying, wants you to treat me with the care you reserve for her.
And what kills me, is that I could feel your dissapointment yesterday when you heard she probably wouldn't go. And I was dissapointed for you. What the hell? I should have been estactic. But I wasn't. Because I always will want for you the things that you want, and the things that make you happy. Even if they make me cry.
So today, or tomorrow, my thoughts will drift. I will be smiling to the world, while my heart breaks.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Baring of a Soul
Its an odd thing starting a blog. Unlike the journal I sporadically write in, the one that sits by the side of the bed for the late-night ramblings of a dedicated insominiac, a blog is something that from the outset is started with the assumption that someone, somewhere may read it.
I have no delusions that I will say anything new. Anything that may be unique. But what I will say will be true to me. And maybe, if I'm very lucky, I will gain some insight into this soul of mine, while possibly writing something that may ring true for someone else. I suppose that is why people start blogs to begin with.
Who knows, right? Stranger things have happened. Hell, stranger things have happened to me - which if you continue to read this blog, you will find out.
I have no delusions that I will say anything new. Anything that may be unique. But what I will say will be true to me. And maybe, if I'm very lucky, I will gain some insight into this soul of mine, while possibly writing something that may ring true for someone else. I suppose that is why people start blogs to begin with.
Who knows, right? Stranger things have happened. Hell, stranger things have happened to me - which if you continue to read this blog, you will find out.
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