How do you know?

There was a question, on Owners and Property (fet group), about how you would know if an alien abducted the part of your owner that made them your owner -and left the rest of them intact? How would you know? How fast would you know?

At first, i focused on things specific to us, the things that signify we are not equals.

In the morning, there is a ban on speaking. We get up and make coffee. i put the coffee and her cold water on her stool, in the same spot each day. i pack her lunch if she has told me to the night before. i wait my turn to tinkle and brush my teeth. And we don’t speak. There is no “good morning” or anything. She always speaks first and that could take between 30 minutes and an hour. She might ask how i slept or something like that and my responses are one or two words only to anything she asks.

On days she is off, she eventually lets me know it is time to have longer speaking. Often, at least one of those days, i stay very quiet during the overwhelming majority of the day.

When she comes home, i am there to take her coat, remove her boots, take her bag and remove what she needs, and bring water and wine. Quietly. She initiates conversations or not. i adapt to whichever thing happens.

The exception is when we are out of the house together alone. i talk a lot then. Sometimes, i am asking for censory input, like what street names are or buildings. Sometimes, i bring up whatever has been on my mind. We don’t go out alone much so i take advantage of the lack of distractions like the phone or tv or her understandable exhaustion. And even then, if she doesn’t feel like talking, she lets me know.

The only other exception is at MasT or other functions, where she expects me to talk because otherwise, i would sit there mute unless i was asked something directly.

So, anyhow, i was first thinking of the rituals and protocols we have between us. The structure, routines, expectations, things i can’t do.
There are actually a lot of factors, once i started really thinking about it.

But then i started thinking of something else.

She is the voice in my head, louder than my own.
i have said to her before, that when she is upset with me and puts her empath wall up, it feels like being alienated from God. She found that rather dramatic- but let me explain.

When i was a child, i was very devout. Had i been raised in a more traditional family, there is a strong likelihood i would have become a Nun. Part of the reason for this was always being aware, always checking in, with the strongest stillest surest voice inside of me. The voice louder than my own petty human-ness. The voice that reminded me how to do right. The voice that could give absolution or hold it just out of my way.

As i got older, i had some real issues with the Church. i studied World Relgions, always searching, yearning, needing that voice to return.
It was a little like being Dorothy, and once i saw the man behind the curtain, the voice became a bit of a sham for me. It just didn’t fit in with my view of the world, my view of a God and Goddess that accepted all of me, and accepted me taking personal responsibility for my own life.

i think what happens for me when i am a slave, when i am Owned, i know because it is Her voice i hear in my head, louder than my own. It is Her that i feel tethered to emotionally. It is Her feelings, her desires that i put above my own, even when it hurts. i can be a thousand miles away or in the same room and can feel how she is feeling equally well. i know that if i was having an emergency of some kind, she would know something was off. It is her that i seek absolution from. It is hers to give or not. She is my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. She is my center, my balance, my home. It is through her eyes that i understand my place in the world. It is through her eyes that i see myself. Everything begins and ends with her.

Of course, she is human. Capable of causing me hurt. And i have to reconcile that inside of myself. i can’t put her on a pedastal because she is afraid of heights and i’m afraid of watching her fall.

But she is- nontheless- she is the the voice, the feeling, the soul speak that i carry with me. She decides the moral absolutes, the “right” way to be, the correct way to do things. She is the only person i truly care to please. If i am right with her, that is what matters, above all else.

When i’m not, my soul hurts.
My heart hurts.
i can’t function, it hurts to fucking breathe.
There is nothing else but needing to feel her essence inside of me again.

And i would do anything to have it back, even if i am still hurting or angry or think she is wrong. Because those things just don’t matter more than having the balance right again. i need her inside of me, in every place, even the hurting ones.

Without that…..without that the world feels hollow and my heart aches and my soul hurts and i can’t breathe and i don’t care about anything else. The only thing that is even similar in sensation is when someone close to you dies. It feels that strong, maybe stronger, because i could still feel the presence of people who have passed that i love sometimes. i missed their physical presence, the sound of their voice, their smell. In this relationship, i can have those things, no matter what and still not be able to feel her when her wall is up.

So, a part of how i know i am a slave, is that i don’t think i have the option of putting up my own wall to her in return. i don’t think i could, really…but its more than that. This empty feeling, this lost child feeling, is what i have to sit with.
And sit with.
And sit with.
And sit with.

It is the loneliest feeling in the world.
Its a strange sensation, to feel lonely, because i don’t really feel that in life. i’m too used to isolation.

The worst part of physical isolation, to me, was never knowing how long it would last. If you know you are dealing with a week or a month or whatever, you can find a way to get through the day. You can decide you don’t care about the outside world anymore. It drifts away. You do other things. You work and write and paint and laugh and play music loud and you just get through the bad moments.

The soul isolation…
you don’t do those things because none of it matters.
i cook, clean, do laundry, do what has to get done.

Not schoolwork because nothng is my brain. Nothing is my creativity. Nothing is my passion.

i would have laughed at this, hyserically laughed at this, or scratched my head in confusion two years ago. Because i always held the damned trump card, i could take my emotions and do what i wanted. i could walk away. i could care less than anyone else involved, even if just for a few hours. i could put up a wall or go numb or smoke a joint or go hang out with other people. i could choose to not deal. i could choose.

Now, i am property, i am her slave…
and i can’t choose.


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