Bit of light

So, there is finally a bit of light through the darkness and fatalistic thoughts.

Sir Raven is evidently feeling well enough that she went back to work today.  i slept out on my playpen last night to make sure she got a good night sleep and wasn’t preoccupied with me talking in my sleep or moaning in pain when she’d roll and the bed would bounce.  She didn’t ask me to or anything, but it was the only helpful thing i could really do.

The meds are en route, finally at fucking last.

Sir Raven made an amazing meal last night and felt well enough to sit in the living room for a while.  She gently rebuked me for my angst and frustration that i can’t get my endless lists done right now, saying she does not understand how i am feeling angsty about something i cannot do, and furthermore am ordered to not do.

She is right.  My ability to feel joy about obedience is non existent.  i’m shuffling through the chores i can do, trying to not get a panic attack from my heart racing and otherwise beating strangely, and trying to rest and not have fatalistic fantasies.  The cool and logical part of my brain is well versed, calmly reminding me this is just the meds problems, nothing more.

i had a momentary flashback the other day, of when my mother would insist upon taking us to a (in)famous Mega Church in Orlando, where we spent at least two days a week, 8 hours at a time.  My mere desire to NOT be there with people emoting all over the place, speaking in tongues, and passing out on the floor was proof that demons were possessing me and i was forced into therapy at the same church for that reason.

After a particularly grueling Sunday of it, where in the middle my mother was praying at the car and i didn’t know and had asked her something and she hit me, i was totally drained.  It was around 9 at night by this point, and we had been there since 8am, with a break for a meal that never took place.  i didn’t want to go to school the next day and was busily sulking in a 12 year old silent fury.  She decided to respond by stopping the car in the middle of Orange Blossom Trail, in a section of secluded highway with nothing for miles in any direction, and shoved me out of the car before driving off.

i remember screaming after the lights, and for the first time i felt the steely rod of determination go down my spine for me.

i got into the next car that came down the highway, some fifteen minutes to half hour later.  He told me he had children in college, and somehow the instantly disarmed me, along with him saying he would not hurt me, and that if i stayed out there alone someone else wood.  He had a nice car, was dressed well, and ironically had the last name Knight.

What more could you ask for, right?

Wrong.

When i said that this part of me that had always walked alone, this is the part i mean.  The 12 year old kid, abandoned in the dark on the side of the road, living a life where no one seemed to see that i was very obviously abused.  My mother had always told us that strangers were not what we had to worry about in life; it’s the people you know who will get you in the end.

This was not the first time she had pulled a dramatic stunt of negligence and abuse in the name of “tough love,” or “discipline,” or because she was an “abused parent.”

This is the part of me that when you expect me to fall apart in the middle of the road i will show you that i won’t-come what may.

It’s also the part of me that still feels like what i do when i run away is somehow manage to get myself raped and injured.

And so its a twisty game that goes back and forth between feeling pride that i won’t fall apart and feeling shame because there is some kind of sign over my head that reads “Rape me.”

The fact that i have many times dealt with, and sometimes perversely enjoyed, rape in intimate relationships is no accident.

i was reading last week a text book which pointed out that shame is a collectivist emotion, in the sense that you don’t experience shame as a singular event.  That is guilt-something you feel about yourself alone.  Shame is connected to others, a deep sense that you are bad, and that this badness will effect other people.  So it makes sense why i have bouts of shame but not guilt.  i’m very collectivist bent, thinking about the whole first, more interested generally in group harmony than individual harmony.

i don’t know.  i know it’s the meds and read the delightful withdraw symptoms, which i quit doing years ago because there is just no point anymore.  i swallow what i’m told to swallow.

Inside i feel like i’m back on that highway in the dark, the one kids used to make fun of girls with.  The “queen of OBT” is slang for a prostitute in parts of Florida.  So, it lends a bit of irony that this is where my mother shoved me out of the car.

It’s amazing i can fuck at all or that i’m not a walking panic attack.

It’s just the meds.

It’s just the meds.

It’s just the meds.

 

i’m imploding

i’m off my meds, which mean a wide array of fucked up withdraw symptoms ranging from anxiety to moments of intense rage to racing thought to insomnia to feeling like my skin is on fire.

Meanwhile, Sir Raven is sick and went to the doctor without me, because i was literally awake until almost 7am without sleeping at all and i didn’t know she was going.

i was trying to be supportive and all but quit smoking for almost four days, adding another layer of withdraw.

And i’ve been sitting in Limbo for a full week, waiting to see what the fuck is going on with Sir Raven and i.

i feel like i’m backed into a dark alley, with a knife at my heart, and all i want to do is rip open my blouse and hiss, “Go ahead, Motherfucker. Make my day.”

i had forgotten this thing inside of me, buried for so long.  The part of me that has always walked alone, isn’t afraid of shit, and will always figure out how to get back up.  i’m not losing one more time, one more thing.  i won’t back down.

i’m not looking for a fight, not at all.  There isn’t anything left to fight about for me.  It’s just the simple realization of what i need to have and give, and these things are for me alone.  My cunt and heart and skin can’t be in a prison.  It’s liberation day.

There is just too much spinning on inside me.  Fortunately, i know how to stay in my body and how to deal with this anxiety, this spitting and cursing animal inside.  i know how to manage it and i know a huge piece of this is the god damned meds i swallow and blow up inside every day and then having the mail order shit get messed up.  i’ve been out of two kinds of meds for days.

i’m also worried about Sir Raven, and i want to fix it, but i can’t.  Of course i can’t.  She is taking meds and will hopefully be better soon.  This is no time to talk, figure anything out, be rational or loving human beings to each other.

In the meantime, Limbo lingers on.  Waiting.  i was actually really calm, peaceful inside, ready for anything.  i’ll circle back to that soon.  In the meantime, i’m actually jonsing for the first time in a long while, wanting anything to bring me down, let me sleep, let me dream.  Instead, i’m blasting Staind in my ears.  i haven’t played this album in years, and its a familiar landscape infused with memories and love.  i wrap it around me like a veil and wait.

 

Fantasy?

Karida and i talked about fantasies over dinner.  i had remarked that i don’t really fantasize, that i’ve been told that what i actually do-replaying memories and dreams-isn’t actually fantasizing.

i think of fantasizing as something closer to what Oliva or Nilla do, weaving stories, plots, people together and using their innermost driving forces to snare them.

So, Karida probed a bit deeper, wanting to know what i think about while cumming alone.

What i think about is pretty random, i think.

The only man i had amazing sex with in my life, because the first time we were in bed, i only had the language to say, “Forget that you love me, forget you even know my name.  Force pleasure for yourself from my body.  Use me.”  His eyes suddenly turned dark, his demon came forth like a dark secret, and he asked me if i was sure.  Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed me by the hair, slammed me down with his hands around my throat, and fucked me until i was bruised, bleeding, pleading, crying for it to stop, pleading for him to hurry-but he wouldn’t-he would just reply-very calmly-“You can take it, and you will,” and fuck me harder.

About a year into our relationship, where i would spend the weekends with him, he had a little pissy fit about how he was tired from work and didn’t want to fuck.  i had acknowledged his complaint, my energy cool and aloof, inviting no further conversation-but i told him that was fine, that i could give him a massage instead, and he went for a shower.

When he came out, his dick was already hard, and i was betting it was so hard that there was pre cum.  i smiled, Victorious.

Because, truly, i didn’t really give a shit if he was tired.  What i cared about was that he could not control his dick from getting hard around me, that he had to face that my cunt had power, and i like it that way.  Even knowing in the next hour or two, i’d live to regret his hard dick, the sheets would have blood, i wouldn’t know what my name was or care, it still felt genuinely victorious.

i suppose that explains how i like my sex.  Something neither of us can fully control.  Something just beyond our mutual ability to say, “no” and make it stick for long.

i knew a woman who was a pure masochist, that any form of pain made her become arroused, to the point of being able to orgasm from it.  She had burned herself accidentally, in a place i had become accustomed to touching, a place i thought of as mine.  i had inadvertently touched her on the burn two or three times, beneath her jeans, and there is a Queer Sex second sense that tells you when a female-identified body has a hard dick.  i felt my familiar victory smile-and then her eyes turned Demon, and very quietly, very calmly, she said, “If you touch me there again, girl, I’m going to rape you.”

i felt a heady sense, a rush of joy, and excitement and adrenaline, because i wanted to make her do it with just the look in my eyes, the cruel smile on my lips.

 

Once, someone i am madly in love with, told me she wanted to take me to a Harley Davidson shop, where they had a fine selection of belts.  She knew the shop keepers enough to ask if they would mind her trying out the merchandise on me before buying for her collection, and when she told me this, i demured.  Not because i objected to being objectified.  i don’t.  But because the joy for me was in not being able to say no, to stop it, to not decide anything about how far it will go.  The simple fact is, she is wired exactly the same way, in reverse.  Sure, she loves belts.  She also loves that she fucked with my wiring enough that i will crave the thing i hate.  That when i’m screaming, “I hate you!” it’s just getting good.  And that, just like me, her “No,” doesn’t mean a whole lot.

It might mean, “not now.” But it can’t mean a whole hell of a lot more than that because i can ping her psychically and there is a line between that and her cunt, just like mine.

The joy is in riding the razor thin area between You not being able to control your dick….and me not being able to control you raping me.

Force. Rape. Desire. Need. Rage. Demons. Something-near-hate-and-love, mixed together.

Left to my own devices, i am my own kind of primal.  i bite, i kick, i suck, my nails dig in, i want to hurt you, want to fight you and loose, and want to give you every fucking thing inside of me at the same time.

i am totally comfortable shoving a Top down, going down on them, and not asking in any way first.  i don’t have a problem with that.  i don’t mind doing all the work after a long day.

So this is where my mind goes, rather than fantasies.  It is a compilation of real life, dreams that are more real than life, and memories that haven’t happened yet.

i am awake inside again, growling, hungry, sweaty need.

i am awake.

What a week

We generally have very few outings, especially during the week.  This week was jam packed.

Monday, i had my pain management appointment, and a dinner date with Karida.  It was my only chance to see her before she heads back to be a good daughter and take care of her Mom again.  i had shots, and something very bad happened on the surgical table.  i have done this many times, sans sedation.  It generally feels like what it is-a very large needle going in between the vertebra bones, following by a feeling like a single vein has been injected with fire.  It burns, stings, but the worst part for me was always the large needle digging around, because it has to be repositioned toward my head, toward my feet, and so on.

This time, what happened instead was actually pretty traumatic for me.  It hit bone and then nerve, which felt like i had been zapped with electricity from my right hip down to my foot at the same time.  The leg kicked up by itself so damn hard that i kicked off the restraints and the needle was still in my back at the time, so it hit a second time as the leg came back down.  Then, for several minutes, i could not move the leg.  Normally, i just feel a bit unsteady, in part from the adrenaline rush from taking pain and getting through it.  It’s the same rush many of us know and love, but context is everything.  Heh.

Anyhow, this time i couldn’t move the leg, couldn’t walk, for several minutes.  It was scary.  My heart hurt the effort to want to make me run when all i could do is stand there, with two tiny nurses.  So, of course, i had one of those body dysphoria moments, where i believed i was literally 600 pounds and these two tiny nurses were going to let me drop face first.

When they let me out, finally, i told Sir Raven what happened and was still pretty shook up.  Finally, i asked her to comfort me, and i was pretty angry that she wasn’t really responsive and just sort of touched me with the back of her hand.  She had a book in that hand, so i thought she was sort of using the book to pat my shoulder.  Anyhow, it wasn’t ideal for either of us.  Sir Raven understandably felt i was a bitch for snapping at her, “Comfort me!” in the middle of Park Avenue.

Karida was great, took me to the store we had planned on already, the one that sells only barrettes and headbands.  i was truly excited because i was taking pictures and getting feedback for a Fibrowarrior from a teeny, itsy, bitsy town.  She inspired an awesome concept of showing how we actually feel in pictures, and i wanted to do something to honor her bravery.  She picked out purple, glittery devil ears!

Then, Karida and i went to her favorite place for dinner, and had honey chicken.  i brought a meal home for Sir Raven, determined to do something nice for her after a hellish day.  We talked and gabbed and just enjoyed each other as sisters.  We had a pretty interesting conversation around fantasies, which i’m going to write about separately, because i’m not sure if i can get what i think out or not.

Tuesday, i ended up running out to Sir Raven’s branch to help set up for a Leather Women’s documentary we were hosting.  It was a bit frustrating for me, because i knew how to solve the problems, but the other person there wanted to trust what Apple told her and i knew that would not work.  i’m the kind of person who has an impossible time with knowing that a problem exists that i can fix, and not fix it.  Especially when i love someone.  If i could, i’d make their life a place where nothing ever was frustrating or annoying or inconvenient.  i stay on top of everything i can in life, smoothing the path in advance.  It’s how i show love and dedication, to always be thinking of new ways to show love and help create harmony.

Wednesday, i had a lot of work due, and the farmers market for Sir Raven’s treats.

Thursday was the Leather Women’s documentary work, and it was erotic, even with so much removed because of where we were.  This photographer doesn’t stage anyone, she catches them naturally playing, fucking, being Leather Women.  So even without the cunt shots, fisting shots, it was still hot and empowering.  i wish i had seen more black women in it, as always, and i’m always left a bit longing for something that looks more like Sir Raven and i.  We all went out to eat after.  Sir Raven’s friends all turned up, and i was genuinely happy about that, because you never know if its just going to be three people or something for this kind of a thing.  We have awesome friends.

Sir Raven had Friday off, and it rained all day.  We were both pretty achey and sleepy.  She watched the remake of Rocky Horror in bed.  i worked on getting some papers written and turned in.  i rested a bit, because i was told to, rather than worry about getting the house perfect.  We went out to Lady Sabrina’s presentation on sensual spanking.  It was really great to see her.  We have literally not seen her since my birthday, in June, because of her stupid job.  We had dinner after at a lousy diner, but the company matters more than the food, and the place was quiet and empty so we got to just visit together.  We didn’t get home til 1am.  Long night!

Yesterday, i had plans to go to the zoo with Destiny, but it was frigid cold and rainy and windy.  Sir Raven gave permission for her to come to the apartment instead, so we hung out while she was at work.  We went to the Botanical Gardens, briefly.  We got on the tram, which oddly took forever for them to start up and drive, and decided to hop back off and go home because it was so damn cold.  We made chili and brownies and ate our hot brownies first.  We talked and just goofed off all day, which was great.  When Sir Raven got home, she visited for a bit and then we settled down and watched Minions together on my playpen.  i felt a sudden longing for Karida, because we’d always curl up on my playpen together and fall asleep like kittens.

Sir Raven and i have a Big Talk coming up tomorrow.  That has been on my mind all week, and i’m nervous about it.

And she quit smoking this week.  i’ve switched to mostly vaping, and its a hard adjustment.  i want to be supportive and if she would say she was done smoking-period-then id just quit.  But she says she is taking a break.  She doesn’t seem to have the headache or sugar drops that i have.  i know the withdrawls don’t last forever, but damn.  Also i’m out of two of my meds and am praying that Monday we get my meds in the mail, since that is how we have to do it now.

i have to get back to homework now, but may be back later to write about fantasies, or lack thereof.  Heh.

Triggered

In general, i think people are far too quick to use the word “triggered.”  But here i am, using it.

i’m triggered by the idea that what men do, alone, is graphically discuss abusing women.  Deep down, that is the fear that we all live with in this rape culture.

i feel sad for men, because what do we expect as a society when we tell little boys to not talk, feel, or express emotions.  As a society, we abuse everyone with these demands on what it means to “be a man.”

i’m triggered because i was raped at 5, at 12, 21, 29, and the years i was kidnapped.  Some of the rapists were women.  Butch women are sometimes the worst about promoting machismo.  i can still remember the HRS counselor sitting at my grandmother’s table, taking pictures of my bruises, asking about the sexual abuse.

She told me that she didn’t believe this many men had abused me.

The reality is, the younger is happens first, the greater the statistical likelihood of being a repeat victim.

Watching a ten second tape of several women walking down a hall way, just the back of them walking, a sociopath was correctly able to identify the woman who had been the rape victim every single time.

i’m triggered because someone in the fibromyalgia group wrote about how upset she was that her husband woke her up for sex during a flare and my fist thought was i’d never, ever tell her no for sex or play.  It simply wouldn’t cross my mind.  i wish to hell she’d wake me up for sex, would just put her arm around me.

Everything seems big and overwhelming and i just keep trying to focus on my never ending lists, getting everything done, the endless rounds of cooking/cleaning/errands/ shopping/laundry/study/reading/homework/study/walking/.

i try to not pay attention to what all isn’t getting done by her.  i focus on the only things i can, how well i perform service, all day, every day.

Nothing is ever going to change, not really, not for me.

Strangely, Sir Raven has been very on the ball making plans for other people-group dates out, organizing a painting party at the house, a karaoke singing event.  It isn’t that i didn’t enjoy these things, because i did enjoy the karaoke last weekend.  We even went to an actually damn good MAsT meeting.  It just reverifies to me that if she makes a commitment to others-friends, leather groups, whatever-it gets done.  Something to make me feel special or loved?  No.  Not done.

i don’t know.  Maybe i’m just a hormonal bitch at the moment, in a shit ton of pain from my middle back going out and making everything miserable.  i have herniated discs there from the car wreck that damn near killed all of us and it is really acting up lately.  So i’m feeling a bit grumpy and needy.  i also started my period, so that is miserable as well.  i was really mad at myself last night went i felt a surge of rage when i was calling her and really needed help and she couldn’t hear me over her headset.  So, me being me, i have tried even harder today to be sweet and kind and gentle and quiet.

Otherwise, everything is just normal.  We get along really well, enjoy each other’s comany, and all that jazz.

i think what really set me off was her remark that she wears headsets and has the tv blasting at the same time all of the time because i talk to my book when it won’t start reading or whatever-and that she has to do these things because of me.  That really made me very angry as it was total BS.  It works a whole lot better for me to just say that they want to do this thing, don’t care what impact it may have, the end.  i can handle that-at least it is honest.  i know for sure i’m not the reason why she tunes out everything and i won’t sit there and agree that i am.

i’ll try and post something that isn’t bitchy and whiney.  Soon.  🙂

Busy girl

I’ve managed to get caught back up in both classes, and made it through the Midterm, with an A in one class and a B in the other.  There should be enough time to get the B up, and there are tests in both classes this week, so that should go well.

I’ve been busy, as i spend at least thirty hours a week in service to Sir Raven (“Doing her Bidding” as we joke at each other) and another thirty hours a week with study, writing, and reading for my classes.

Today i cleaned, showered, get everything for classes logged in for the week in wanderlist, turned in my grades to SR, went to the Farmer’s market for her treats (carrot cake and some fancy cookies), and bought some earrings for Karida and i.  i walked two and a half miles, wrote a five page paper, read a chapter, made tacos, cleaned the kitchen again, got her lunch ready, put snacks in her work bag, and just got pjs on–when my Mommy friend said i need to write, so here i am.  🙂

So, yeah, i’ve been busy-

but that isn’t the whole reason i haven’t been here.

After reading this blog, i got a message on my phone, asking a lot of pointed questions about my enforced celibacy, which ended with, “If Sir Raven had sex with you without really wanting to, wouldn’t that just make you a pity fuck?”  Frankly, my first thought was, “Bitch, have you seen me?  i am nobodys pity fuck. i am incredibly fuckable.”   My next thought was to be diplomatic and point out that my disabilities are things that i fight tooth and nail to never have affect Sir Raven’s life-certainly not her ability to play with or fuck me.  The bottom line of all of that is that, as i’ve occasionally said in the past, when it comes to me, Sir Raven is lazy and selfish.  And that is hard for me to say, because those are two traits that i genuinely hate.  So, no, her putting some effort into us would not make me a pity fuck, thankyouverymuch.

i put everything i have in, every single day.  That is who i am, how i show integrity, how i am trustworthy.  There are times that i wonder if i put effort into the wrong person, but i don’t believe in throwing away five years or the love we have for each other.

i tried to talk to Sir Raven about the remark.  She couldn’t understand what my dilemma was.  I have to have an incredible level of trust in a person to let them know they fucked up, and i have not established that with this person.  So, it became a situation where i just tried to let it go.

The other thing that happened that really hit me below the belt was another friend has a closed group where she thought it would be “fun” to do a little poll about which sense would be choose to loose, if we had to loose one.  i was really surprised that several replies posited that they would not want to give up listening to music, or give up scent, because then how would they eat?  The same people figured they would be just fine if they were blind like me.  Gee.  What fun!  What a swell game!  You know what-it isn’t fun to not see faces, to have problems traveling, to be taken less seriously, to have to disclose to professors why you need help because they came up with some dumb system of highlighting for grading that i can’t have read to me, to feel like a burden, to worry about going to the zoo with a friend because i’ve never been and now she will be forced to babysit me, to not be able to read my mail or a menu or a goddamned book.  The thing is, several people in the closed group know me personally and no one considered that it might be really inconsiderate to have this conversation of stupidity right in my face.  Once again, i decided to not confront, but walk away.

i have also been concerned about the Bigs, spent a lot of time in prayer and extra meditations for them.  M took a video and sent it to me from his hospital room, and i broke down crying like a child.  In fact, i have a very childlike range of feelings there-that he shouldn’t be sick, that i should somehow be able to make him smile.  i send reiki, i pray, and i have faith-which is all i suppose anyone can do.

Something pretty amazing happened in my online fibromyalgia support group.  One woman took two photos of herself, just moments apart-with the mask on that we all wear to make others not have to face how sick we are, and with the “mask off” showing the true pain inside.  i suggested that all of us who feel comfortable do it, and she started a movement.  It is just….profound.  You know the public service announcement that shows people before and after crack addiction and they have nothing in their eyes?  It is that level of profound, that heart breaking, but also strangely inspiring-because i make it my mission to try and never look sick.  i cry alone.  But i was brave too, posting a mask on/mask off photo, and then one in my kitty ears, because everyone knows kitties don’t feel like they are dying, bones aching, desperate for touch and connection and love.

You can really see the pain, the exhaustion, the drooping face, the scared smiles in all of us.  The woman who started the movement said she loved my kitty ears, so i’m going to get her a pair to wear.  She is a single mom, and so brave for doing this for all of us, and i can’t wait for Karida to get me to the hair store again for her ears.

i focus on using my love to push me to look beautiful, keep a clean house, cook lovely meals, be kind and warm and gentle and sweet-despite it all.  i focus on others, buying little treats, showing up for people, being dependable.  i refuse to become bitter-ever.

 

Sir Raven has had a hard few days of back pain.  We had actually been flirting with each other a bit, there was talk of a “Bad Daddy” appearance, and then her back went out.  Thankfully, i had meds to share, and she is on the mend.

i’ve been so focused on all of my goals that a great day to me means everything is done on my huge list.  Two weeks ago, i quietly added a personal goal to walk ten miles a week, and both weeks i walked more than that (12 and 13, respectively).  My body and mind need the exercise, it makes my mood authentically lighter and brighter.  i am truly inspired by my Shisho Mommy, who amazes me all of the time.  That inspiration led to me little resolve to walk more and avoid the giant cookie at the farmers market.  See? And i wrote.  🙂