Scent

Of all of our senses, scent is easily the most underrated.  It is just one reason that i cheerily refer to PTSD as the gift that keeps on giving.

We had a really busy weekend.  First, a monthly giant shopping trip at BJs.  We were out of everything because this was a planned trip.  After everything was bought, hauled up stairs, and put up, we both fell into an overstimulated and exhausted nap.  Sir Raven, of course, did not have to help me but i told her how much i appreciated her help.  She injured her thumb, so i was eager to not have her do too much, and was trying diligently to race her in getting everything done.

Then, we had a bar invasion with her leather brothers.  It went a whole lot better than i was expecting, to be honest.  i had a moment when i had to dart outside for a break, because there was a lot of blinking lights, and i was having that tell tale feeling in my brain that i needed to get away from it-immediately.  Fortunately, i was left at a table with Sir Josh and Master Kaddan, who would know where i was if Sir Raven didn’t happen to see me go out the door.  I almost never move without her say when i’m deposited someplace, but i had little choice.  i was without a needed medicine for a week, and a side effect of not having it can be seizures.  So-yeah.

The next day, we had a get together with the whole crew at Master Kaddans.  i was happy, because her person let me help in the kitchen.  i had a super bad moment, which i tried to hide, and failed.  i smelled pine sol and it started freaking me out.  Its the only cleaner that my mother liked, and i used it daily for her, until i was in my mid twenties and realized-stunned-one day that i really and truly hated that smell.  It is the smell of grinding poverty and abuse.

And so i was fighting off everything from a scent.  Finally, i asked for a smoke, and that helped considerably.  i have just recently realized that i smoke to make myself bigger.  It explains a hell of a lot.  When i need to dial down my feelings, something my inner 5 year old doesn’t really care about, i smoke.  It puts me into a bigger mindframe.  i had never realized this before.  No wonder i fought Sir T so hard when she freaked out about me smoking-it was the only way i had to keep myself from emotions that were overwhelming to me.

i managed to sort of get through it, and helped in the kitchen, which made me happy.  i have been there enough times to know how things should be done and where they go.  There was so much food!  Food for days!  It gave me something to focus on besides the confusing and scary feelings that were coming up.

i hate the ways that it is so obvious i was abused.

i hate that i don’t have a partner i can turn to that will help me work through it.

i hate that i am smoking here and there to cope.  i smoke very little, and not every day, but still.  i asked her to make a rule about it, but she just doesn’t care enough to do it.  Somehow, she finds it unfair.  To which i would point out that most of her rules are unfair, in the sense that they don’t serve any purpose besides her controlling the shit out of everything.  Heh.

i’ve been making the effort to be more open, more little girl energy for her, because she responds to it with greater warmth and seems happier with that.  A friend pointed out that i hit a wall inside because there really isn’t anywhere else to go in my slavery.  i’ve been thinking about that for days now, turning it around slowly, thinking.  There is some truth to it.  i don’t have any will of my own to speak of.  No capacity for leaving.  No agency for changing anything.  Nothing kept aside for me.  Nothing that i am in charge of.  Very few things that i can’t align to her will or ways.  i’ve tried to plan, to form will, and i failed.

i had a slave friend who said of her Master, “I love him beyond reason.”  It always stuck with me, having never head that turn of phrase before.  Frankly, i thought that he treated her badly.  i could see she had no will to leave him, no agency, no ability.  i wondered at what it meant until i was there.  i love Sir Raven beyond reason.

i had another slave friend who shocked me by sitting calmly while her Master shaved her head.  She was vain and lovely and it was a shock to me.  She said simply, there was nowhere else to go.  And i wondered at it, for years, until i was there.  i’d sit for it too.  i wouldn’t want to, but i would.

The thoughts that are bad give me great anxiety.  It’s easier to not have them.  It is easier to just smile, do what is needed, get things done as best i can.  i sit on my playpen, am quiet, work, try to work, read, rest.  i’m trying to just keep myself small and calm and sweet.  Today, i’m not feeling much of anything.  Just tired-bone tired.

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4 thoughts on “Scent

  1. David says:

    I always love what you write. You open doors into experiences and perspectives that I have not had. may that’s what distinguishes extraordinary writing from the mundane. Thank you in a Big Way.

  2. not just a country boi says:

    My sweet friend xoxo I so desperately wish you had a reliable supply of meds, I worry greatly about your health, I sometimes feel I fail you:( I need to be with you more, spend time talking, help you as much as you help me, might I suggest that if she softens some and becomes more attentive when you shift into little space, that perhaps you do so more often? I don’t think you have bad thoughts, my Daddi doesn’t think so eithers, I will tell you or Daddi can what I thinks they are, cuz its the same as her thoughts on it anyway on fb tomorrow . I miss you and will have more free time soon. xoxo

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