One thing at a time

i’ve had to remind myself plenty today that i can actually only do one thing at a time.  My classes started back today and i had to do the obligatory introductions, discovered one professor got switched out last minute, turned in my first assignment in one class, and refrained from asking my professor what kind of an Asshole assigns five chapters to read in the first week? in the “Ask the Instructor” section.

i have two classes to juggle, concerns that the fever and intermittent pain could be another  (!) bladder infection, and am trying to prep for our MSC trip.  We don’t actually leave until Thursday, but there was stuff i had to get done today, like pick out cigars for the Masters, try on outfits for Sir Raven to approve of,  and get my mani/pedi done.  i look like me again and SR was pleased that i finally got my nails done.  i sort of-didn’t go-the last two months or so to get my nails done.

When Sir Raven texted me to ask if  was going to take care of that today, i realized it wasn’t a polite inquiry and made time to get it done.

It’s usually really pleasant getting my nails done but sometimes it’s way overstimulating because i am just not used to being touched, don’t like my feet touched, and i never know if it is gonna be a good experience or an overstimulating one until i’m already doing it.  Heh.  It doesn’t matter, really, its a rule and if i go regularly like i am supposed to i don’t have bad experiences often.

i had to spend the last week reading and reading and breathing through the low level anxiety that happens when school starts and also whenever we are leaving the house for a trip.  Sir Raven swears she didn’t make the latter item happen on purpose but i suppose it is part of being an empath and hers.  The two things happening at the same time is a bit to juggle because it means i need to work ahead of everyone else and get things turned in earlier than even the normal time constraints, which is why i wasn’t thrilled about the five chapters in one class.  i also had to fit in extras like pharmacy runs, making food to bring so i’m not trying to cook for five, and trying to figure out how to handle my guilt and anger at myself for binging after a great weight loss week by not doing a repeat performance.  The best way to ensure that i binge is guilt and anger, so i’ve gotta just let it go.

Tomorrow is another day.  i’m done working for tonight, in pjs, and will join Sir Raven who has been in bed since a little after 6.  Tomorrow, if i’m still cramping, i guess i will figure out how to fit going to the walk-in and seeing if i need antibiotics again.

 

Egregious

There are things i have to accept that i’m not particularly down with because i’m Sir Raven’s.

One of them is that she refused to play, Worst by Drake at my funeral if my mother shows up.  (Worst. Motherfucker never loved us. Fucker never loved us……..i’m on my worst behavior. Don’t you ever get it fucked up.  i should let you know i’m coming back on my worst behavior.)

Another is that she just makes up all of these crazy stuffy rules.  i’m trying to bargain and plead my way into taking two to MSC and it isn’t going well.  The problem is i can’t sleep with Jubilee because there is a recording of Sir Raven in her and apparently this is scary for the Masterly one to hear suddenly while she is sleeping.  i sleep with my sister bear, Georgianna, because she is the only baby bear and because she doesn’t have fur that makes SR try to unceremoniously fling friends out of the bed.  Poor Frederick got tired of the bedtime abuse after years and decided to sleep where he can watch over us instead.

My stuffy stuff is already packed.  Mama Vi gave me boots for her from her Library and Karida and i got her a Harley shirt in homage to my former life.  It seemed a little unseemly for her to just be in boots, after all.  There is a Cinderella dress too for when we have our formal night.  i am a Cinderella princess, the only princess legit happy to cook and clean and wait on everyone.  She just wanted a pretty dress and a party once in a while.

Speaking of a pretty dress, i think i’ve let myself behave like a pig one too many times and my rockability dress won’t fit.  i’m gonna ask SR to try to get it on me again this weekend to see if i’ve lost enough to make it work.  Otherwise, i have a really pretty black lace dress that i’m layering with crinoline underneath.

Because i also think that the coffee rule is cruel and inhumane, i really look forward to the more lax rules on vacations.  The soda rule is just not a personal favorite of mine but i’ve never threatened to call the child abuse hotline over it.  Happily, vacation rules are that i can have more coffee and soda because i have to take more meds to not be in a ball someplace.

Now, i’ve seen something even more disappointing, friends.  There is a breed of puppy that looks like a teddy bear!  Guess who can’t have a puppy?  Me.  BOOOOOO!  If i can’t have a wolf or a german shepard, this would be a close third because of the cute factor.  The 10 percent of Sir Raven that is a Daddy isn’t enough to persuade her that a good daddy would get me a puppy and walk her for me when i can’t.

But all is forgiven (well, okay, mostly) because something truly fantastic is happening and i’m over-the-moon excited.  Vacation and then some much needed girl time for me.  i really need this and am really happy about all of it.  MSC may actually be fun this year.  It’s a great event for working on your relationship, a great tool for learning, and i do love learning and consider that fun.  That being said, its also a lot like spending a week in therapy for me, and that is worthwhile-but since i can’t make the therapist snort/spit water out of their mouths, its just not fun for me.  This year should be fun, though.  We are meeting up with Master Kaddans girls, Sir Josh and company are coming too.

i’m taking a whole bunch of pictures since i got cheated out of pictures every other year we went.  If i’m gonna have crinoline scratch my butt, i’m getting a picture of it.

i asked SR about packing toys and if she wanted me to pack her dick and she said she was going to pack herself.  i’m hoping that was a euphemism or double entendre.

 

Sleepy

Insomnia strikes again.  i follow this stupid and predictable pattern-can’t take naps because i can’t fall asleep, binging happens and/or not eating happens, nighttime insomnia.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

Ugh.

Sir Raven texted me yesterday to take it easy because she knew i was up all night.  She said i could skip the farmers market, but i wanted her to have her treats, so i went anyhow.  She also said she had a rough night sleeping because i wasn’t in the bed.  So, last night, i went to bed with her and quietly laid awake for hours and hours on end.

i’m exhausted and want to sleep, really, it just isn’t happening or i fall into nightmares that are anything but restful.

i know my Master is having a stressful time at work but that it will work itself out soon.  i know that she responds to stress by going up into her head, so i have been focusing on being very quiet and making sure she has time to write and recharge every day.  i do everything i can to support her, be her warm spot to come home to.  She came home yesterday looking like the walking wounded, and i instantly felt like a huge jerk to need anything from her.  i got her fed, relaxed, and made sure at least she got a good night sleep last night.

So, anyhow, i’m doing what i can for her and focusing on that and trying to let go of what i need again.  It will get better for me as i release what i need and ignore it and quit giving into the angry eating.  i’m working on it, making sure i take walks, making sure the house is clean and calm.  i don’t have much to say, really, just a bit sad and stressed but i’ll get through it.  The important thing is my Master and focusing on her.

Will

i believe, as a slave, it is my job wherever possible to align my will with my Masters.  Unfortunately, there are things i thought were shared values going into this but the reality is my intimacy needs are unmet.

i don’t know how to align my will to hers when her words say one thing and her behaviors say another.

Which will do i align to?

The one where she says she will make intimacy, s/m, touch, a priority-

or the one where those things end up last on the list?

i think that i do okay, for long stretches, and then something inside of me breaks.  Mainly, its when i’ve absorbed a lot of stress/pain alone and need her support.  i might ask to be held, or for s/m, and get denied outright.

i feel an unreasonable level of hurt, of anger, but-hell-i have no idea what a reasonable level would be in reply to being rejected by the person i love most in the world.

i feel ugly, both physically and spiritually.  i wonder what is so wrong, so disgusting, so bad about me that i’m not worth being held.  i wonder if i am actually bad for her because i can’t one hundred percent get past these things.  Stop needing them, needing her.

It’s all the worse because she wants my child like energy around her, and what she does is exactly the same thing as telling a five year old you don’t want to hug them, cuddle them, or tuck them in at night.  That kid is going to figure out some way that it is their fault, and try to fix who they are.

i was human first.

As an adult, yes,  i feel entitled to sex and s/m.  i know me and i know what i need to best be able to function and feel connected and loved.

As a child, i’m crushed, but i keep reaching in and giving my best, brushing it off, trying harder.

i feel myself shutting down again.

i swing wildly between the self-hatred of binging and the starvation that feels so right.

i feel sick with shame.  The insomnia is back.  i feel like a bad slave, or at least a bad slave for her.  i want to hide, to scream, to shake her, to disappear.

We have these playful moments, these sweet moments, tenderness between us.  There is love and the love of being her safe spot, her warm home.

There is the damage of her lies, her empty promises.  There is the weight of my need, my shame, my regret for not being able to change who i am more than i have already.

The child part of me is dying again and i’m trying to find any way to keep that alive-for her.  Every time i ask to be held when i’m sick, scared, in pain-and get rejected-i die a little bit inside.

The thing is, i’m not sure if i care if that part of me just died off.  Sir Raven does.  It would just be easier for me to not feel anything and just work, work, work.  That is not her will.  i tried that once, for months, when i still a warm and dedicated servant and slave, but nothing more.  She was miserable.

So, even self-protective gestures won’t work because it doesn’t align to her will and compromises my own values of not taking things away that matter to my Master.

What if i’m just not good for her?

Photo blog

We had a really lovely weekend.  Sir Raven and i were invited out to a cookout in a really large park.  The morning didn’t start out very well but the day got better as it went on.  When we arrived, i was totally disappointed that my favorite ice cream truck was out there but we didn’t bring cash, so i couldn’t get a soft serve ice cream with cherry shell and sprinkles.  i was obsessed by it all day.  lol.

Sir Raven brought a folding chair and let me use her towel to sit in the grass, and i was really thankful that i was able to get up all day and serve.  i wasn’t sure i’d make it for so many hours because my tailbone makes my legs go to sleep, but it worked out fine.  i had a blind problem when i got there and accidentally stabbed someone with a steel serving fork and wanted to cry because i was really upset about it.  She was moving her hand to help me at the same time i was reaching forward and we connected because i had no idea her hand was that close at all.  The Master who knows i love and rarely get soda brought my favorite kind, which helped the nausea i live with and kept me awake.  Sir Raven was sweet when i was so flustered and let me calm down before letting me know i accidentally brought her back a hot dog when she had asked for a hamburger.  Sir Raven teased me that everyone else is sighted and knows when i’m taking pictures but she had no idea i was snapping away pictures of us when she moved down by me for a few minutes.

The whole rest of the day was really peaceful, the weather was absolutely perfect, and Sir Raven treated us to a cab ride home.  Sunday was a rest day, which we both needed.  Today has been chores, laundry, pharmacy, errands, a whirlwind of go-go-go day.  It was a good day, though, because i got everything done and a productive day is a great day.

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Where Beauty Resides

A comment asking me, “what does beauty have to do with what is going on?” really caused me to think deeply.

i’ve come to a place where i understand that beauty is intricately tied, with a thousand knots, to the abuse in my life.

My mother would say, “If you weren’t so pretty today, I’d knock you out,” and I’d thank her sincerely, go to my room, pull out a photograph of her taken in front of a driving school before she got pregnant with me and i ruined her life.  Her hair was very long and a deep, rich brown.  She had straightened it.  There was something innocent in her sweet brown eyes.  i would strip search myself in the mirror, looking for what i had done differently that day to make myself pretty enough to not be hit.  i would look for any evidence, any sign, that maybe i’d become the great beauty my mother was.

Other times, my mother would say, “Just looking at you repulses me.”  “Just the sight of you makes me sick.”

One day I zoned out on the bus ride home and got off at the next stop and had to walk an extra block home.  Florida weather is bizarre and unpredictable, and the sunny day went ominously black and rain started to fall in fat drops.  I could see my mothers car wasn’t in the driveway, but she drove up behind me.  Always excited to see her, I was smiling, rushing-but her glare of rage and disgust stopped me in my tracks.  She said, “I was late coming home and saw this poor, homely child.  I felt bad for the little girl, with her hair all a mess and her slip showing, she didn’t even have the sense to get out of the rain.  And then imagine my surprise, my disgust, when I realized the little girl was you.”  Her voice had dramatically rose up at the end, as if i had betrayed her somehow.  She threw a towel at me inside the house, and her rage couldn’t be contained.  She hit me, over and over, and i kept telling her how sorry i was for being ugly, stupid, slow.

i was 10 years old.

Another time, on vacation, i was beaten and locked outside on the balcony for the crime of eating her reeses candy.  i was only let in after hours because my brother finally admitted it was him who ate the candy.  i still apologized, because i was fully into my eating disorders by then, though no one noticed that i hadn’t eaten in days.

Other times, my mother would tell me how shameful it was to have a fat daughter.  She let me wear her favorite shirt once, and i had the nerve to start my period in it, and she beat me for it.  Because i’m disgusting.  And i ruin her things.

There was also the men to contend with that she forced into our lives, most of whom raped me.  In response to one being accused of molesting me-which he was doing-he offered this compelling argument to my mother: “Why would you want chopped liver when you can have steak?”

That remark was said hundreds of times over the years-from the age of 12 until 25, when she accused me of fucking her husband, and i dryly remarked, “Why would you want chopped liver when you could have steak?”  She had laughed and said i was right.  And then i said, “In case you haven’t noticed, i’ve got USDA stamped Grade A on my ass,” and just like magic-she laughed-and said, “Good for you, girlie.  That’s my girl.  You certainly do.”  And the fight was over.

There were also times she told me i was beautiful, that it wasn’t my fault i don’t look like her, that she would be my lover if we weren’t mother and daughter.  She would hold me and stroke me and tell me over and over.

The abuse was connected to how i look, very often.  My brother also pointedly told me how ashamed he was of my weight, and spit on me like my mother did, but also bit me until my arms were covered in bruises and bleeding.  When we got older, toward the end before i left everyone, he told me that he found girls to fuck that looked like me.  He enjoyed telling me this.  He also said he felt bad about telling me i was ugly for so many years, and that it was never true.  He’d crawl into bed with me and hold me, and tell me i was beautiful.

i did not have the option to not be held by them, any more than i had to option to not be hit or spit on.

When i am rejected by Sir Raven, i feel like the ugly little girl with her slip showing.  When she doesn’t have interest in being affectionate, holding me, s/m, sex-i think it is because i am not beautiful enough.  A more beautiful woman could melt her heart.  i’ve seen what great beauty does to men.  They are charmed by it.  They lust after it.  Beauty is a kind of power, a magic potion, a love spell.

i know what it feels like because i’ve known lovers and would-be lovers who could not deny me, who looked upon me with such lust that it could have blocked out the sun.

Beauty is a kind of safety.  So is love.  And they are connected, for me.  i believe when you love a person, they become beautiful.  Sir Raven is one of the most beautiful people in the world, to me.  Everything about her physicality is beautiful, and i’m always telling her so.

She has tried to change her language, and think to comment on my attractiveness more often.  It is a hard area, for both of us.  She has her own emotional landmines around beauty.  i don’t know that anyone-ever-has caused her to feel like she must touch them, or fuck them, or worship them because they are so damn beautiful.  That is how i feel about her, though, and i never waste a chance to tell her how beautiful she is.

i cannot change that the little girl inside needs this kind of approval.  i cannot change that she can’t provide it.  And i don’t know what to do with that.  This relationship has caused damage to me in some ways that i don’t know how to heal.

Sir Raven was talking to someone recently and remarked that someone we know-another Master-had called her to ask if she knew what i was saying about her.  This is the second time i’ve heard this remark, though the first time i asked when this happened, and it was years ago.

i don’t have the capacity to feel badly about it.  i just…don’t.  Everything i write here is true, and there is a lot that i don’t write because it would make her look bad, and that is never my intent.  This is the place i’ve been given to talk out how i feel.  So i can’t feel bad about doing that.  i won’t.  If the truth hurts, then all one can do is change the truth.

 

 

Whirlwind, inside and out

It’s been a really busy Friday.  i spent yesterday dusting, getting organized, and shredding Masters basket that holds paperwork and stuff that can’t go right out to the garbage.  Then, i gave into my exhaustion, put on pjs and ate popcorn in bed and watched netflix until she came home.  It was her late night, and she got home even later than normal, wolfing down dinner at 9:30.

i was a bit down yesterday from the doctor’s appointment.  i had an interesting adventure getting there, with a very late bus and then the 6 train did not stop at 68th street at all.  i had to get out at 59th and Lexington, go to the window, and ask for help.  i was able to handle it calmly, the attendant was really nice, giving me directions three times and refunding my trip.  She was angry that they didn’t stop at the required stop, and understood that this particular stop was a large maze with multiple ways to get lost.  i have to say, that when you get lost in the subway and figure it out, you feel like a world-class genius.  After that, i still had to figure out how to correctly exit to Hunter College, because i was now coming at it from a totally different angle.  So, i thought a tiny celebration was in order, when i handled all that calmly and was still half an hour early for my appointment.

i went to Bel-Ami and saw cupcakes, my favorite kind, but instead i got a coffee cake to bring home to Sir Raven and an iced green tea for me.  i sat on my second favorite bench by Central Park, pouted a little over wanting ALL THE CUPCAKES and took more meds.

The doctors appointment itself went well.  i had a form i had to have filled out, which Sir Raven had graciously faxed in for me, so they had time and i didn’t have to feel like a pain in the ass at the appointment.  Fortunately, i remembered to bring the originals with me after i rushed through my morning chores.  Sir Raven called to remind me, but was pleased it was already in my purse.  The form is to certify that i’m still permanently and totally disabled, unable to perform any kind of work.  Intellectually, i know it is true, and i’m thankful for the 800 a month it provides.  Emotionally, it feels like being kicked in the stomach.

We scheduled shots again for next month.  i was also told about a surgery that could implant a nerve blocker in my back and that this is an option further down the road, when the shots stop working for less than a month.  i am glad there are still options.

i left the house at noon and got home around 4:30, headed back out to get wine and snacks for Sir Raven.  She had picked up shrimp to make her famous tempura, but realized when she got home at 12:30 that we didn’t have tempura or enough oil and texted me to get that on the way home, which i did.  She fixed dinner and i cleaned everything up.  i almost hate to get tempura shrimp and veggies when we eat out now, because hers is so damn good.

Last night i was feeling a bit emotional, partly from pain and partly from a movie called Telulah on Netflix.  A totally fucked up, rich, addicted woman gave her one year old baby to a complete stranger to watch.  The stranger took the baby and took care of her and the baby naturally bonded where she had zero bond with her bio mom.  At the end, she was arrested for kidnapping, but the cops by this point knew the mother was a total fuck-up, who had zero regard for her child.  It made me think of my boys, how the police had photos of the hoarding house my brother lived in, with loaded guns in every room and drugs stashed in the closet.  At the time, the boys were living with me, and their parents bothered to see them maybe once a month for a day or two.  Even that proved too much and the boys came home to me with severe diaper rashes from not being changed, not being fed, and witnessing abuse.

The police arrested my brother, not for child abuse (which should have happened to BOTH “parents”) but for 26 felonies.  i begged him to give me half custody, so they could stay with me.  My mother bailed his sorry ass out, paid ten grand to an attorney, who stalled things for a year.  My brother refused to give me any rights whatsoever, and the boys continued to live with me, except for the rare occasion that the “mother” would show up high and take them for the day or so.  We lived all of five miles apart, but they didn’t care, didn’t call, didn’t supply anything.  The police showed up with the mother the day after Easter and took them from me.  i saw them twice after that, at supervised visitation for my brother who didn’t use it more than once.  The mother met me two other times, assuring me she never meant to take them away form me.  My youngest-Jacob-called me Mama, even though we desperately tried to get him to say Auntie.  He refused.  His speech was extremely delayed, his walking was extremely delayed, but he was very gifted in other areas like spacial awareness.  Both boys came running to me, crying and yelling for me, at visitations.  When they saw their parents, they had no reaction at all.  i felt bad about that, but the worst part was knowing that from the boys perspective, it must have seemed like their mommy-me-left them.

i tried everything.  Everything.  No one would listen to me.  Not Child protective services, the police, the judge.

Years have gone by and they are likely past saving.  i know that the first 3-5 years is the difference between my boys becoming sociopaths or not.  i don’t know if i managed to break that cycle.  i don’t know what else they have seen.

If i had not lost my sight by that point, i would have literally taken my boys and ran with them.  It would have never crossed my mind that it would be considered kidnapping.  How can you kidnap your own flesh and blood?  The children of your heart, who cry  for you?

With all of this whirling through my head, i tried to sleep, but couldn’t.  i wanted Sir Raven to hold me, but i know she won’t.  She just-won’t.  i must have gotten up and binged at some point, in anger.  Today, i went crazy cleaning ALL THE THINGS.  The house is dusted, fresh sheets on the bed, snacks for Sir Ravens weekend are here, errands run, house mopped fresh, energy clean.

i had a mini panic attack when i couldn’t find my little mothers day diamond pendent that i don’t wear because i don’t have a gold necklace.  i know we are trying to not spent a bunch of money right now because we are headed to MSC at the end of the month, but i feel like i need to have it on me.  i received it for my Brandon’s fifth year of life, honoring my motherhood, and i wore it when both of my boys were born.  All three of my boys have grown up with me wearing it, and it would mean a lot to me to wear it again.

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