1. Grad school requires being able to read and absorb endless chapters, which is excruciatingly slow for me. We upgraded my reader, which helps some but it’s taxing.
2. i have to transcribe mock therapy sessions. The good news is that they actually help my “client” and my professor remarks that “I’m a natural at this.” The bad news is how many, many, many *hours* it takes me to transcribe and code all of our words and behaviors. Thank God Sir Raven sends me off for manicures and i have black nails all of the time so i can sometimes see when i’m touching the pale client. Heh.
3. Inside, i’m trying to bring the girl part of me back and i feel hollow about it. There is so much anger, so much fear of being abandoned again. It’s bigger than me and seems like a thing that needs to be locked up tight. How do you ask someone who is also hurting to deal with that? Is it fair? We both know that she can beat me through the rage, past the pain, and into sobbing. It might work one more time. Maybe i’v got one more shot in me, to let go all of the way to zero. To feel. To let her see me come undone.
4. So much of this journal has been me trying to accept. Sometimes, what i was accepting was not getting my basic needs met. i justified it (She works hard and needs to relax. i want to take care of her.) i’m bone dry now and it’s going to take a real commitment on her part to be able to embrace me, all of me, again.
5. The good news is she misses the little girl in me. Maybe a lot.
6. The other good news is she is agreeing to work on it. i should be happy for that, whatever the reason. But i feel like i fell through floors i didn’t know i could fall through, over and over again, for so many months now. We aren’t talking ancient history here. Just last week we hit a new low. Even in the best of times, i have said that we need to focus on each other, use s/m to connect, use sex to connect, be present. These are needs.
7. She returned the collar, “The broken collar,” she said. i have mixed feelings about it. It feels like me, and her, and us. That is remarkable, considering. But it also feels like i’m wearing the scarlet letter. Okay. Yes. i did it. i was the runaway slave and i own it. But at least i don’t feel like i look like a whore anymore and that is how i felt for five months. A whore is not about sex, not really, but a woman who gives away parts of herself and gets nothing back in return. In my family, a whore was the lowest of low because even a prostitute knew she had some worth. It was just a trade. Money is power. Sex is power. A whore, however, is an unwanted and powerless thing. Something shameful and disgusting. Something no one wants.
8. Issues much? Why yes. Yes. Right now it’s all raw and exposed and ripped open.
9. i have never more felt like that five year old whore child. i thought i was trading myself to keep my family together.
10. When he left us, my mother went into her first rage attack, beating me with wire hangers and sending me outside with my little bag to see if anyone wanted me. i was five and thought that the passing cars knew what had happened and that my mother was telling the truth. In fact, she was. No one wanted my brother or me.
11. Inside my head, i chant, “let the circle be unbroken.” i imagine the steel around my throat melding together. Of course, i want something new, for the new journey we are trying. i pin pictures on pinterest, like a little girl filling her hope chest. It’s me offering hope for the road.
12. i haven’t felt like a broken child since i was one. i don’t know what to do with this but notice it.
13. i still believe love is stronger than anything else. We still love each other.
14. i’ve been trapped in the house for two days, let out only to take a break from school work to do laundry. It does not motivate me whatsoever. All it does is make me feel like i’m being punished for not being able to think clearly long enough to turn out work. And i can’t. Certainly not like this. i know she isn’t meaning to be punitive, not really, but it does shit to improve my morale.
15. i didn’t get the floors mopped today and it’s freaking me out. Seriously. The least i can do is make sure she has a clean house, a frig full of food, hot meals, and clean clothes. She has tried to help me by taking me to BJ’s (in a rental car, no less) and has been grabbing her own snacks. It’s weird, like if your cat suddenly started opening up it’s own cat food. i’m so used to doing literally everything and i’ve never been unhappy about that. i like taking care of her. i just want to be appreciated for that and for people to understand how much work it actually is to take care of everything. It’s a full time job all by itself. Even slaves don’t like to feel taken for granted, which is stupid of me, considering. Part of why i gravitate to a Roman style of slavery is that slaves were actually prized for what they managed to pull off everyday.
16. i fell out of bed hard last week, busting my tailbone, and it’s making me utterly miserable. Ugh. i feel like i get all of my chores done in slow motion, thought i’m told that is not the case at all. And i’m exhausted from taking the meds i need to get through everything that must be done. i’m also exhausted from the pain, which ramps up to a ten out of nowhere, leaving me shaking in it’s wake. When i fell, she woke up in an instant, and was on the floor with me trying to help. She said, “oh, my baby, oh my babygirl” and i melted to hear those words, in that tone again. i keep thinking about it, when the pain ramps up, when it consumes me. Right now, it is gearing up, spreading so i think i’ll dust the bedroom and get off my tailbone for awhile.