Breaking Down

In my personal healing process I have had a couple of emotional break downs.  A few days where I no longer wanted to go on.  I wanted to just die a couple of times.  The emotional pain was so great.  It felt like it would never end.  Others would tell me to hold on.  They told me it would get better.  In that emotional vulnerability, I did not believe any of them.  In that place, it doesn't feel like anything will ever be okay again.
There is another type of break down.  For me, it is crying.  The few times that I have faced tears that I could not hold back, I have felt absolute terror.  Afraid to have anyone near me and afraid to be alone.  When my composure breaks and I do cry, I become very vulnerable to self harm.  That coping mechanism kicks in hard.  I become angry with myself for not being stronger than the tears.  I want what ever is causing the tears to disappear.
I will be facing soon a very intense session.  I am very nervous to say the least.  Anxiety is rising.  I am sure that I will break down.  There are already butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it.  It is not that I don't trust the people who will be with me.  I trust them with my life at this point.  I know I am safe and I know I will be protected.  I have no doubt that whatever needs to be done, will be done.  So, where does all this nervousness come from?
It is about the breaking down.  The woman sitting here writing this is physically shaking.

Funny thing about writing... it can trigger some unexpected responses.  Writing this blog post, did that to me.  I reached out to a friend who spent some time with me.  It isn't easy to reach out when you find yourself on the verge of a breaking point.  But, that fresh perspective can be so beneficial.

Shards Of Glass

A phrase keeps going through my head.... "like a child learning to walk on shards of glass."

Like most things that are out of the blue like that and stuck in my head...it is likely part of a poem or creative writing piece that is working toward being heard.
The shattered glass pieces are hard enough to spot in the light.  Finding them in the darkness? Impossible, until harm is already done.  It sounds chilling and painful.

I guess sometimes this path of healing feels like I am trying to reassemble a precious piece of art.  I have entered the stark darkness of the past.  I have had to.  It is the only way to retrieve all the pieces needed to remake, reform,  this piece of art into the beautiful piece it was always meant to be.

 Fumbling in the dark, I am pricked by sharp points of glass that draw a drop of blood from time to time.  Even moving with the utmost care, I have stepped on a few parts of the glass that have sliced my foot open. Those wounds have needed help from others, a few stitches and much more time to heal.

 Some of those same pieces have broken even more, making them unrecognizable.  That is okay.  The form these pieces of glass come together to make, will be different and unique still.  It will be beautiful and whole as it was meant to be.  Even if only briefly, when light sweeps through the area, beauty is reflected back already.

At times, I have thrown a few of those shards away.  Realizing that I no longer need them.  As the pieces come together, some of them just no longer fit in the design.  Some of the shards of glass never belonged there in the first place.

This time of gathering shards of glass in the dark, has not always been alone.  A few times, someone has come along with a flashlight and we have gathered pieces together.  They have had a hand in helping me transform this brokenness into a wonderful and forever changing, piece of art.

I recognize that although I am doing the difficult emotional work, I am not the Master designer.  The original masterpiece was never treasured.  It was thrown to the floor and shattered.  I am fortunate to have the opportunity to gather the pieces and offer them up to the light for transformation.

Let There Be Tears

Burn your love through the years of shame.

Set afire the blanket of blame.

Ignite the words seared inside

Said by others as they lied.

Worthlessness, make it die.

Torch it all, until I cry.

Break the chain of icy chill.

Take me further and further still. 

Look Around

When dealing with emotional issues, I can develop tunnel vision.  There are times that I can only see the bad that swirls around the dark things from the past.  I have a tendency to allow myself to be drawn in too deeply.  It isn't that I am trying to hurt myself.  For me it comes more from a stubbornness that wants to meet most things head on.  I will push myself too hard, ONCE I get started.  It is difficult at times for me to put the brakes on and take a break.
There is a need to step out of the horrors and take a look around.  Consciously notice the light that is around.  Press into the good things in my life.  The monsters in the past can and do invade the present at times.  If I have lost control of my steps, I must fight just as hard to get myself back into the present.  The present is where the love is.  The present holds the good that I desire to embrace.  There is a need to breathe.  Must allow my eyes to see the beauty that is right here,  to wash them clean from the horrors that have colored my vision.
Look around.  Notice the way the breeze makes the branches dance.  Watch as the leaf rolls and plays tag with the sidewalk.  See the ears of my puppy flap wildly as she runs across the floor.  Examine the rose petal or the blade of grass.  Embrace the living breathing things and remember that I too am a part of them.
Look around.  Plant both feet firmly on the ground.  With eyes as the window to my soul, fill them with beauty and light.  Scan the snow covered mountain.  Look for the face in the moon.  Watch as the clouds play hide and seek with the stars.  Breathe girl and let the night air stroke your face.

When I cannot do this for myself - - -  Guide me with your voice.  Take me to the beach as I sit wrapped in your arms, safe.  Build the vision of the beauty we each know is there.  Show me with a whisper, while you also push the monsters away.  Keep reminding me who you are until I can again recognize your face.  Stay with me until you are confident I have left that place.

Leave A Trail

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." 

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I have walked this journey of healing, there have been times when I have been overwhelmed by suggestions on the way I should go.  Others have spoken to me about tried and tested roads to recovery from childhood sexual abuse.  It is not a case of who is right and who is wrong.  With each new thing from my past that I face, I am also faced with choices in how to deal with it.  There are different therapies and different approaches.  I am simply *me*.  As I have fought to move from victim to victorious, the methods used has changed as I became stronger and more willing to fight for freedom from my past.  

We are each unique.  Even if our pasts are identical, the paths that we take to become more free and stronger, are unlikely to be.  What works for one, may not work for another.  Understanding that this is okay, is important.  Sharing what has and has not been beneficial may be very helpful to someone else who is struggling with the same sort of issue.  It is okay to choose your own path and leave your own trail.  

The path that I am walking right now has evolved from different things that have been suggested to me, as well as from understanding myself better.  As a victim, I didn't have the right of choice.  I had no control.  Now, I do.  

There is no *cookie-cutter* approach to healing.  It is also not a sign of failure if some part of the path that is being walked, fails to have the hoped for outcome.  As we learn, grow and change, so does the things that are beneficial in healing, growing and becoming stronger.  

When my first therapist suggested and encouraged re-parenting for me, I was not ready.  She on the other hand continued to present it to me.  Today, although none of us are calling the way that we are interacting with one another, re-parenting, what I am experiencing is exactly what that woman wanted for me years ago.  She kept pointing me to that path, let me know that it was there and was an option that might be helpful to me.  After having become a lot stronger, it took me becoming so lost and stuck,  for me to see that path again as a possibility.  And, ya know what?  We are forging a new trail and it is working for me.

OTK

Over the knee.  This position is the favorite of so many.  It can be humbling for sure, given the right circumstances.  Laying over the knee or lap, of the one who is going to spank me, leaves no doubt in my mind of who is in control.  It puts me in a position where I have very little control.
Tonight I was in that position for quite some time.  A lot of the time, I was being spanked, but not all.  Just laying there, not being scolded or corrected.  Again, I was reminded about how calming and soothing that position is for me.  I don't know how to explain to another, the peace that floods over me when I am like that.  There is a total trust between me and the one spanking me.  It is a safe place for me.  So safe in fact that I have forgotten that I was laying there with my bare bottom exposed.
I was never spanked as a child.  For me there is no past personal experience to relate it to.  Tonight I laid over the knee doing much more than receiving a spanking.  I was so safe and so secure, that my Spanker and I actually watched a short video on her phone while I laid there!  We laughed together.  She let me lay there and just feel safe for awhile.  Most definitely cared for.   I am definitely a very blessed girl!  A sore bottomed one at the moment on top of it all!

Hands

 I am a person who is very tactile to begin with.  I am the one that is always touching things, wanting to know how they feel.  I am also the one that gravitates toward the softness.  When we travel there is always a *softie* in the car with me.  Usually one of my stuffed animals.  If it is a long car trip then the softie is more likely to be my pillow, feather of course.  My partner finds me more often than not stroking something that is soft.  Most of the time, I don't even realize that I am doing it until it is pointed out.  With the car trips or in times of high stress, stroking the softness aids in calming me.

The hands of other people coming towards my face is a bad trigger for me.  It sets off alarm bells inside of me.  This comes from being a little girl who was taught not to cry, in a very cruel manner, that included taunting and face slapping.  This may be why I have never played around with face slapping or mouth soaping within the lifestyle of spanking and/or BDSM.  It just brings someone else's hand much too close to my face.  I have talked with my partner recently about wanting to get past this.  I want to be able to allow those that I trust to also touch my face more freely.

Hands are most often the very first thing I notice about a person.  It doesn't matter what gender they are.  My eyes will wander to the hands and I am more likely to be following the hands than looking at the face or meeting the eyes of another.  I don't know where this has come from.  It has developed into a fetish of sorts.  What I mean is that I discovered that I enjoy doing hand worship.  This has been with other females only.  Holding their hand, especially of one who has or will be spanking me and offering my hands and mouth to massage, worship and care for, gives me such an incredibly good feeling. (This usually isn't a part of a spanking, it is more about their authority past or present)  Something as simple as being able to just hold their hand does so much for me emotionally.  It may seem sexual to have the fingers of another in my mouth and adoring them, but for me it has never exactly felt sexual.  With my life partner it very much can be, but even then it isn't always.  I don't have a sexual response while doing this. My partner does have a sexual response when I do this.  It is something she enjoys receiving very much.  At that moment, during that time, it is an adoration as well as a submission that feels wonderful to me.  It is a gift that I enjoy giving.
Having things in my mouth is difficult for me for many reasons, none of them pleasant.  Yet, when it comes to hand worship, I don't feel the same fear or reservations.  (I also enjoy giving foot worship.  With this, I do struggle with toes in my mouth.)

Hands can do so much. There is the *bad* we can all think of, but so much more that is good!   A simple caress has the power to change a scenario.  A swat to the bottom.  The beckoning finger or the pointed warning one.   A simple wave hello.  The outstretched hand.  Holding onto someone, helping them up.  Pointing the way and opening the door.  Stroking a face tenderly.
                                         So many wonderful things!

Find Time

This is something that so many of us let slip aside.  We are in *hurry-up*, *have-to* lifestyles so much of the time.  There is a need to slow down.  A need to have that *me* time.  It is not about being selfish.  It is about being healthy, whole, centered....
There is a need to take care of ourselves.  Finding, no, actually taking,  the time to recharge.
What puts that spring in your step and the smile on your face?  And, when is the last time you indulged yourself in it?  Find time.  Make time. Just do it!
Where ever we are in the path of life, let's take the time for the things that thrill us and make us happy to just be alive.

There!

Right now I am feeling frustrated.  I do not want to look at my father!  I understand that he did bad things.  I understand that he did bad things to a lot of people.  Yes, he even did bad things to me.  WHY do I have to write it?

  I DON"T WANT TO!!

He is a man now that is showing exactly how he was while I was growing up.  He has Alzheimer's and Dementia.  He is violent still.  He has no idea who anyone is.  He is trying to force his caregivers to have sex with him.  He is trying to force them to do what he forced me to do.  He is vulgar and racist.  His body is failing.

There!  I talked about my father.

Is He Dead?

I saw my father, on the floor, just his legs coming around the end of the bed.  As I looked in the room, I had one thought.  Please, let him be dead.  I was somewhere around 7 or 8 years old.  I didn't really know what *dead* meant.  I knew for sure it meant that he wouldn't come back.  By then, I was done.  I was so over all the violence and the drunkenness and the abuse.  I wanted it to end.  I wanted him to end.  That didn't mean that I didn't love him.  I adored him when he wasn't drunk.  By then, I knew the difference.  I was tired.  Tired of all of it.  Behind me, in the rest of the house, a war had taken place.  The war had consisted of one man versus everything else in the house.  Things were broken or up ended.  There was food all over the floors and walls.  He had had a one man violent temper tantrum.  Why?  Because my mother had left that night instead of waiting to get the crap beat out of her and had taken me with her.  Where was I?  I was across the street, shoved into an upstairs closet under a bunch of blankets.  The neighbors were protecting my mother.  I was upstairs when all the yelling and banging started.  When the man wouldn't let my dad get to my mother, he started yelling for me.  That's when this woman came and shoved me into a closet hiding me.  I did not know who these people were even though they were across the street.  I honestly don't think my mother did either and I think that's why that is where she ran to.  She didn't have a car then to get into to get away.  There had been many a midnight trips of her running from my father.  But, that's a different story.

When I went around the bed to look closer at my father on the floor I saw that he had thrown up everywhere.  He was a mess and the smell was sickening.  My mother wouldn't even go in the room.  It was up to me to see if he was dead or alive.  I am pretty sure that we both wished he was dead.

Seriously, a child shouldn't be that tired of life.  Neither should an adult lean that heavily on a child.

Regardless, that was my life.
During the day things were more *normal*.  When the sun set, monsters came out.  During the day things were cleaned up, new furniture replace broken pieces, walls were washed or painted.  At night screams were heard, punches were thrown, monsters ruled.
That night I knew he was the monster trying to tear down the door of that neighbors house.  He was the monster that was yelling for me. He was the monster they were hiding me from under all those hot and heavy blankets, just in case he broke through the door.  I slept in that closet. Alone. With the door closed.  In the morning, going across the street when the sun came up, going in the house...he was my dad, on the floor, filthy and I wished that he was dead.

Still Learning

Earlier, I had a wonderful time at the Seattle Aquarium.  I was able to touch things I had never touched before in the different tide pools they had.  It was amazing to discover for myself that what looked like it would be slimy and sharp, was actually silky soft and smooth.  Braved the cold and watched the sea and river otters play.  Was amazed by all the stunning colors of all the living things in the aquariums. We had a wonderful time together.
On the way home we had a serious discussion.  It was about my father but then shifted to an observation that was made.  It was presented to me that I was repeating a behavior.  Mickey told me that when I am presented with her authority, not only do I turn away or go silent, I also do something else.  When I think that she is going to be upset with me, especially if I think I may be headed toward being disciplined, I turn on the charm and the silliness.  My eyes go bright, the smile gets huge and I try to get her laughing.  I try to make light of the situation and draw her away from exerting any authority.
Very gently and lovingly she told me that she is not the father who was so violent.  She reminded me that *she* is Daddie now and that she is never going to erupt in anger and harm me or someone else.  She told me that she sees me try to change her mood or change her mind.  She went on to explain it is the same pattern she sees from my childhood.  I was the one that met the angry man at the door and got him laughing and calmed him down so he wouldn't attack my mother or do anything bad.  When I think she is going to correct me for something, I go into playful, teasing mode and try to direct her somewhere else by being *cute*.  I had done it in the restaurant that we were in earlier so I knew exactly what she was talking about it.  In the car I acknowledged what she said, saw it and told her that I saw her point as well as the correlation.  I didn't need to do those same sorts of things any more.
A couple hours later at home, I told her I had been thinking about it.  By then, I really could see the behavior she was talking about, clearly.  We talked about it more and came to the conclusion that changing this behavior needed to be added to my list of things that I am living by right now.  Together we decided that at home, this behavior could continue, to a point anyway.  It was playful for the most part anyway.  BUT, it was no longer going to be tolerated in public.   Some things are okay at home, but not okay in public.  For me now, this is one of those things.  I will be warned once about what I am doing and expected to stop it immediately whenever we are out somewhere.
I don't have to be concerned that something *bad* is going to happen if I don't act all cute and change the attitude of the one with authority.
I also learned that some things are okay at home and just not okay out in public.  Not that I didn't know this before, hehehe, but this is different.  I didn't see this behavior that I was doing as anything other than just being silly.  I am still learning. ♥

Being Disciplined

I have been reminded a few times in the past 24-36 hours that I asked for this.  I asked for firm boundaries around me.  I asked that there be more discipline in my life.  I agreed to a 3 month contract of sorts.  I have been reminded that I asked to not be allowed to *get away* with things.  I have been reminded that my Counselor is on board as well.  I have been reminded that they agreed to hold me accountable.
Saturday, I was scolded.  I brought it on myself because I am the one who refused to do what I was told.  My Counselor was very direct and clear about what I was to do.  Her direction came after I had challenged both her and Daddie Mickey earlier.  During that few minutes I responded like a stubborn little brat.  I am not proud of it.  So when Pamela, (Counselor) told me I was ready and needed to write about and face the truth about my father, Pamela told me to tell them ( two other people) what she had told me to do.  So, I told those I was suppose to tell.  I was in a bad mood already.  Oh, I told them alright, what I had been told to do, then I told them that I didn't want to do it.  And, I didn't. Everything I said to them was all about,  *I don't want to do this.*
Ya know what?  I was not ready for the response I got.  I was scolded.  I was told that I knew what I was suppose to do.   I was told that Pamela's instructions were simple and clear and had told me exactly what I was to write about and do.  I wasn't given a threat or a warning that I had better do as I had been told. No.  After the scolding I was told that I was banned from Internet and TV until I decided to do what I was told.  Grounded!
It would be nice to be able to say that I took this well, saw the error in what I was doing and immediately changed my behavior.  *That* didn't happen.  I was instead, instantly stubborn.  The one enforcing this on me, knows me well enough that she continued on and told me that if I started whining or being a brat, a belt would be used on my back side.  So, I can't whine and I can't be a brat, I can't watch television and I can't get on the internet.  I handled it so well that I instantly told the person doing this to me that I did NOT like her right then!  I looked to Daddie Mickey who just shook her head and actually said to me... don't look at me, I am in total agreement here.  Mickey even turned off the television program she was watching because I was in the room!
An hour later..... yeah right!  I am very stubborn, remember?  Sitting in my chair, arms crossed, feeling like I am in time out (not a good feeling at all), very frustrated.  Oh, on top of this, after a few hours of my silent protest, I was told that the trip to the Aquarium on Sunday was not going to happen either if I didn't start writing exactly what I was suppose to.  In fact I was told I would be going no where until I got started and showed that I was going to cooperate.  This is so not fair!
It was about 6 and a half, maybe 7 hours later that I gave up.  I knew that they were not going to give in at all.  I knew that I had only two choices : keep sitting there silently or do what I was told.  I saw that the situation wasn't going to change.  I also saw that it was likely only going to get worse if I didn't do what I was told.
There was no magical good mood that came over me.  No, revelation that I was doing the right thing.  I was still totally protesting (silently because I do not want to ever feel the belt!) but, I got my headphones and my music, my computer and dumb notepad (because I wasn't allowed on the internet) and started writing.  I was so frustrated, angry I guess, but I did it anyway.  What I wrote was hard to write.  My attitude didn't help matters.  I was still angry/frustrated when I finished but also, more emotional because of what I wrote.
It was around 4 hours later that my mood changed.  I was then able to look back over what had taken place.  I have been sort of laughing about the situation here in this blog.  My responses were ridiculous for sure.  Looking back at it, I was being disciplined.  None of it was comfortable, that's for sure.  I did not like them.  I didn't like the situation I was in.  I was the one who had to come around to their way of thinking and do what I was told.  They showed me that where I am in my life and this path that I am on, matters.  That I do what I am told, matters.  I matter.  They care enough to discipline me and point me in the right direction whether I like it or not.  I know they care about me.  I know they are in this with me.  Right now I actually feel good that I gave in and did what I was told.  I am glad that I didn't let it escalate.  I know now that if it did escalate, it would only have done so because of my behavior.  I had choices.  They cared enough about me to keep pointing me to the right choice.  I am glad they did.  It was a hard day for me and I still want to tell them, Thank You!

Taking Hard Steps

I am at a place in my life where I have to take some hard steps.  They include looking at the man that my father was.  My perception of him has been built around a little girl's struggle to survive.  I know the horror of it.  I remember more than I have ever said.  Some memories never faded.  My sanity insisted that I hold onto all the good that I could.
The hard steps are not fun.  Today I took a few steps.  I hated every minute of it.  Thank God for the safety net in my life.  I was faced with unpleasant alternatives until I did take that first hard step.  Stubbornness ran in and stood firm for awhile.
Now that the first couple of steps have been made, I am not sure exactly what I feel.  Vulnerable is the first word that comes to mind.  It is not easy to say that my father raped me.  It is even harder to call him a rapist.  The little girl part of me wants to scream.  No one is suppose to say anything bad about my daddy!
Why am I trying to protect him?  Am I just trying to protect that little girl image of him?  Can I face the truth?
Taking hard steps.  The man that I adored most of my life, is a rapist.  I always knew he was violent.  This is even more personal.  I was one of his victims.

Blah!

It has been one of those days.  Filled with physical pain.  Needed help getting to my feet to get out of bed.  The constant rain and colder temperatures doesn't help.  Then I have wet and muddy dogs jumping on me and wanting under the blanket to warm up.  So between me and the blanket is wet cold dog!  Normally, I like the fact that they are living heating pads.  Wet & dirty?  Not so much.

Emotionally I feel like a laundry basket that is filled with puppies that I am trying to catch and corral back inside the containment!  Things are coming up faster than I can shove them down or away.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I am suppose to be dealing with them.  But, ya know what?  I don't want to!  

There has to be a way to salvage this day and change my mood.

I did write an email and come completely clean to a person that I needed to come clean to.  I didn't exactly lie, but I sure didn't exactly tell the truth either.  It did not sit well with my conscience.  I felt the need to right what I was feeling was so wrong.  The fact that I have a conscience is good.  I sure don't need a tattletale in my life.  I do a good enough job of it all on my own.  I can't stand it when I know I haven't been honest.  I can't get away with anything, because I tell on myself!

I have been thinking about the things my therapist wants me to do.  Every ounce of me says NO!  Usually, I am not afraid of hard work.  What she is asking of me is going to be very hard.  The fact that she also wants me to share it seems even harder.  I have never tackled the violence of my father in any real significant way.  I admit he was violent.  That's about it though.  To speak the details?  There is a part of me that knows it is going to cause a shift in my feelings toward him.  She believes I am strong enough and that I have a strong safety net.  Me?  I am not feeling as confident.

Where is the Anger?

So, I have been asked to write about my experiences.  Specifically to write of the violence of my father.  The purpose?  To bring out the anger in me.  To open up that place in me that I don't want anyone to see.  That place that even I don't want to look at.  I have been told that it is time.  I have been told that living with the buried anger is harming me.
My support system is in place.  Good people that care about me do know what I am dealing with and what I am going through.  I am confident that they will help in whatever way they can.
I saw my therapist today.  I told her about what I wrote yesterday in the blog titled *Violence*  She hadn't heard the memory of my father destroying the room around me before.  She asked me what I would do today if he was doing that to me.  I told her I would still stand there silently.  She asked me if I would say anything to him, would I ask him to stop, tell him to stop?  My answer was no.  She wondered why.  I told her because I know now like I knew then, that he wouldn't hurt me.  So, she asked what I would do if someone else was there and the broken pieces were hitting them as well as me.  I told her I would make him stop, I would attack him.  I tried to protect my mother from him when I could.  I stood over what I thought was my mother's dead body with a knife in my hand, refusing to allow my father to hurt her anymore.  My therapist wants to know why I will protect everyone except myself.  Good question.  I don't know the answer.  I don't recall ever really being afraid of him.  Even when he was drunk.  I had to have been afraid.  The violence was beyond words.  I don't think anyone, let a lone a child can watch it and not feel fear.  I don't know where the fear and anger went.  Anger comes out in me really only when someone I care about is threatened or harmed in some way.  During a time like that, I don't care what might happen to me.  I only care about protecting the other person.
I am not sure why I really haven't had any anger toward my father.  Everyone else sure has.  They have expressed it to me.  They are angry about the things that happened to me and the things he did.  I stopped making excuses for his actions.  I have no relationship with him any more.  I don't think I have ever blamed him.  Nor, even held him accountable in my own mind.
The anger is walled up somewhere.  Maybe I wasn't angry as I watched him beat my mother and sister.  I remember just wanting it to stop.  Can a person be afraid of a regular occurrence?  It was just my life.  My Dad was violent.  He loved me.  My therapist told me today that love doesn't destroy a room with a child standing in the middle of it.  I *know* that is true.
Where is the anger?  The only time I felt a twinge of anger was when my therapist called my father *evil* today.  She is pushing me.  She knows of my safety net and she is a part of it.   She knows what Mickey and Miss Jenn are doing with me and approves.  Heck, she was talking with Mickey and me in the outer office and I was messing around.  Nothing too serious, but I was told to do something and I refused.  I kept refusing until Mickey asked me if she needed to spank me.  She actually asked me a second time letting me know she was dead serious.  I stopped and did what I was told.  My therapist just watched and nodded her approval.  She sees the little girl me too and likes the fact that right now I am very much held accountable.  She has told me a few times that I am very fortunate to have them in my life.
What if the anger is there and comes to the surface?  Will I be able to keep myself together?  Will I be able to protect myself?  Where is it?  Why don't I feel anger toward him?

Violence

 A journey from the heart.  It is me, my journey.  I have come a long way in this journey.  The fact that I write openly now, not caring who reads it.  Everything is a piece of me somehow.  The pieces all fit together.  In the same way that the pieces from my past all fit together to form the woman I am today.
I had to fight to survive.  Strange thing though, I didn't know I was fighting.  All I was doing was living.  I was getting through the days and the experiences as best I could.  There was no one for me to talk to.  No one was there to protect me.  I did the best that I could under the circumstances.  I found a way to deal with the confusion.  I found a way to deal with the fear and the anger.   Instead of breaking under it all, I became more stubborn.  Did that happen because I was living two lives?  In one life no one was allowed to harm me or tell me what to do.  In the other life I was brutally sexually assaulted.  My father was present in both of them.
Sex before 8 or it's too late.  I do not know where that phrase comes from.  It rings in my head over and over.  I know what it means and it is not speaking of time.  My body holds the physical scars of what they did to my body.  Those can be seen but no one can see the emotional ones.
I am no longer a victim.  I would fight to my death before allowing anyone to ever assault me again in that way.  I have no fear in facing a gun or a knife.  That I have no fear there is something that scares the hell out of Mickey.  I have seen so much violence, been faced with so much, that I no longer fear it being directed at me.
I don't see myself as bullet proof.  I just don't fear death.  I don't have a healthy respect for danger.  I am the dummy that steps out in traffic.  Sometimes, it is on purpose, just like when I was little and it made me feel powerful.  Mostly though, at least now, it is more from the fact that I don't perceive the danger.  I sometimes have an *I dare you* attitude when it comes to cars coming toward me.
 I have stood as a little girl in the middle of the living room as my father picked up everything he could lift and threw it breaking it apart.  I did not move, cry or make a sound.  He did not throw anything directly at me until the very end.  Everything was thrown around me and I did get hit with pieces that broke off.  Every piece of furniture was broken.  Lamps were shattered.  At the end, he threw the telephone at me.   I don't recall it hitting me.  What I do recall is him yelling at me to get my mother on the phone.  I stood my ground silently.  He got more pissed and left the house.  I heard his car squeal away.  That is when I picked up the phone and called the place my mother was working at.  I told her what had happened and that he was looking for her.  Then, the calm in me shattered and I started hyperventilating.  I have no clue what happened after that.  I don't know how old I was, just that I was under 12.  I had already become accustomed to standing up to him when he was drunk.  I was the only one that could.
His wife was terrified of him when he was drunk.  Most people were actually.  If she met him at the door as he came home drunk, she would be back handed across the room.  If I met him at the door, his hand would fall and he would see his little darling.  How sick is that?  My mother learned quickly that if she encouraged me to stay awake I usually could prevent him from beating the living hell out of her.  She would beg me to not let him hurt her.
Violence was just a part of my life.  I wish that it hadn't been.  I accept that it was my normal.  Today, I fear it much less than some folks.  I have some triggers that seem to transport me back in time.  When it happens, I feel fear sometimes.  I feel a child's terror.  While it was happening in childhood, I am not sure I really felt any of those things.  They got pushed aside so quickly, apparently so I could survive.

My Soap Box

I do a lot of reading on so many different topics.  Yeah, it's not all about spanking, lol.  I enjoy reading fiction and nonfiction as well.  Lately I have read more biographies.  I was given a book by a friend that I started reading a week or so ago.  It has been a book that I have had to take in small doses.  The beginning was very intense for me because it spoke frankly about this woman's childhood and I had a very emotional response to it.

The fact that childhood sexual abuse still takes place in every country in the world pisses me off.  It doesn't seem that children are any more protected now than when I was growing up.  The fact that churches still teach their parishioners that all gays and lesbians molest children, just makes me shake my head in disbelief.  Adult Caucasian Men make up the largest percentage of those that molest children.
The whole movement *Black Lives Matter* is something that I still see as segregation.  ALL lives matter regardless of skin color, gender, sexual orientation, etc.  Do I believe that people of color are treated unjustly just because of their skin color?  YES!  And it is NOT right!
 As a people, so many of us make snap judgments of others when we know nothing about them.  Seems that too often those snap judgments also get cemented in place before any real truth or fact can be applied.
 So often, the loudest voice is the only voice heard.  Even the voice of reason can't get through the screaming flood of words.
 People are hungry and living on the streets here in our own Country.  How much money are we sending out in aide to other countries?  I believe in helping others and also believe that charity needs to begin at home.
Okay, stepping off my soap-box now.

I can begin with myself.  I can change things that need changed in my own life.  Whether that is my views or attitudes, I do have the power to change them.  Educating myself is important to me.  That learning means nothing if I don't also apply it, use it, learn from it. :)

Tan Your Hide

Hmmm... Sure don't know what they actually *do* in this business. 

 It does get the imagination going for sure.  

Maybe I should open a business. 

 Hire a few Tops.  

Invest in a *few* implements or steal all of Mickey's.  

She probably would be the first one on the payroll! hehehehe!

Instead of live music, maybe I could have a few Guest Spankers from time to time.  

I wonder how much sound proofing would cost? lol

Do I Need To Spank You?

"Do I need to give you a spanking?" 

 Why is that a sentence that reaches in and grabs a hold of my heart?  What is it about those words in that order that have so much power over me?  It really isn't even a question that expects an answer.  It is much more a question with intent.  I know that I am not about to answer.....why yes, you do need to give me a spanking. lol!  I might be thinking it.  I may even be wanting it.  But I sure in the heck am not going to say it.
That question coming from one who does spank, wields a lot of power. It is definitely a reminder of their authority in that moment.  It does tell me that my behavior is pushing the edges of the bratting boundary.  It is a question that asks me to check my behavior or attitude.
Wonder what would happen if the little brat part actually did answer, yes?

I have my times of just being over the top silly.  So often it happens on a day when we are out and about.  It is not that I don't know when to quit or tone it down.  It is that I don't want to.  Sometimes it is just so damn fun that I don't want to stop and I don't care if it is irritating.  I don't care because I am having fun.  I may be being naughty but on my end, I am just playing around.
The first time I ever heard those words, I was about 11 years old.  I was *sort of* helping clean and fix up a house for my grandparents to move into.  I had found a piece of a belt and I was snapping it over and over.  God, how I loved the sound it made.  I wasn't thinking anything.  The thought of spanking never entered my mind.  I just thought the sound was so cool.  Apparently, my Aunt didn't agree with me.  She asked me a couple of times to go throw it away.  I did put it away and go back to working but I just couldn't resist the damn thing.  It seemed to her that every time she came back into the room I was playing with it again.  She had quietly come up behind me as I was snapping it and very quietly whispered in my ear, "Do I need to spank you with that?"  Holy shit!  That was the farthest thing from my thoughts.  I was totally startled and when I looked at her, she had a grin on her face.  There was a panic in me for a moment, wondering if she knew my secret.  She simply told me that she would just go throw it away for me.  I didn't protest.  I was too in shock to actually respond.  Someone had actually said to me... do I need to spank you.
Oh I had heard threats of punishment from many other adults before then.  They were mostly serious threats even though not one person carried through.  Here was my Aunt saying something that wasn't a threat and it took my breath away.  She was teasing me of course and had no intention of using that piece of belt on me.  I have to say that those words became a part of my fantasy world after that.  She had no idea what she had caused inside of me.
Being out somewhere public and just messing around is so much fun for me.  I will admit, I am the one who wants to be spanked in public.  I am the one who wants to be taken from the table to the restroom and given a reminder of who is in charge and how I am suppose to behave.  I am the one that will push right to the edge but rarely go beyond it.  I want to see that warning look.  I want to hear the whispered threat.  I want to push to the point that the hairbrush gets taken from the purse and set on the table.  But, I also want to know that the threat is actually a promise.
I have this fantasy rolling around in my head of being out shopping and being taken to the women's dressing room and spanked.  Oh, and at the Tacoma mall there is this restroom that has a whole room off to the side for mothers with children, for breastfeeding, for women to just sit and relax.  It has chairs and couches and stools.  I have never seen any one actually in it using it for anything.  I do dream of being taken there because I have been so naughty while shopping.  Ahh, a girl can dream.

February 14

Today is a day set aside to

show our love.

Let's give, love, trust and listen.

Whether there is someone special

or we are completely alone,

LOVE!

Love begins with us.

Give it, share it, express it

receive it!

You are loved.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Submission

Like a Prayer... a song by Madonna.  I have been listening to it tonight.  It has always spoken to me of a D/s relationship.
 Life is a mystery.  Everyone must stand alone.  I hear You call my name and it feels like home.  When you call my name it's like a little prayer, I'm down on my knees, I want to take you there.  In the midnight hour I can feel your power, just like a prayer. You know I'll take you there.  Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.
As a submissive, it is how I feel.
Sometimes, I see things differently.  This song speaks to me of both sides in a D/s relationship.  It touches the need in me to submit.  *I hear You call my name and it feels like home*  There is a tug inside me that wants to respond.  I want to be of service.  I want to help.  At the same time, it is a very protected place.  Submission is never demanded of me, it is a gift given.  For those that might not know, a submissive is in no way a doormat.  A submissive gives and serves from a place of strength.  There is so much garbage out there about what a D/s relationship is.  Submissives portrayed as weak, worthless, ignorant... Why would one person decide to serve another?  Why would someone decide to submit to someone else?  That person has to be weak-willed or crazy.  SO NOT TRUE!
Mickey has been my Dominant almost from day one.  Wanna know how it began?  It began with Her absolutely treasuring me.  She showered me with care and concern.  She did nothing without my complete understanding and permission.  She built trust and demanded communication.  She never ever demanded respect.  She showed me what respect was by respecting me.  She showed me what love is by loving me.  Not all D/s relationships have or need to have the component of love or sexual intimacy.  In my experience, love has grown with respect in the two strong D/s relationships I have had and in every D/s couple I personally know of.  Some of the couples only ever came together in a dungeon setting and still a love for one another grew and was visible to outsiders.
Mickey was not my first *Mistress* or Dominant. (I am sure She is shaking her head reading this, because Mistress is not how she describes herself anymore)  I was introduced to BDSM by a friend that I didn't know was a Pro Dominatrix.  We got around to the subject of spanking which was all I knew and dreamed of.  Boy, was I in for a surprise.  Stefany, showed me things and made me feel things that I could not have ever even dreamed of.  It was new ground for her as well.  She had never played with a girl before.  She had never had a girl and didn't know that she might want one until she met me and got to know me.  She helped me find the submissive in me and she helped bring it out.  I wanted to submit to her.  With her as well, it began with being treasured.  Absolutely everything was consensual.  I was like a kid in a candy store and I wanted to try everything!  I was held back.  Reins put on me that still make me laugh as I think about it.  I was trying to run forward into everything and to experience as much as possible.  Being told to wait or that I wasn't ready yet, frustrated me.  But, I learned to trust.  I learned to communicate.  I learned the right way to do things.  I am not just talking about the right way to serve a cup of coffee, although I did that.  I was taught how to keep myself safe.  I was taught where pain could be applied and where it should never be.  I was taught the why behind things.  I was taught about safe words.  I was taught about negotiation, soft and hard limits. I received so much education along with experiences.  My training and learning still continues with Mickey.
For me a D/s relationship is so much more intimate and so much closer than any other type of relationship I have ever experienced.  Maybe because there has to be so much communication and trust.  We have a D/s relationship and we are life partners.  We are best friends and lovers.  In the early years I use to joke with her that she needed to switch hats for a minute because I wanted to talk to my Mistress or my Lover.  I can't imagine living my life without also having the opportunity to express my submission.  I have played with, scened with,  other Dominants and for that period of time, I gift them my submission.  That is far different from living it.  I am a submissive.  I am a strong willful mature and intelligent woman as well.  I have been very dominant out in the world, with a successful career and that doesn't make me any less of a submissive.  I can proudly say that I am a submissive.  Better yet, I am Mickey's submissive!

Favorite Things

Blowing bubbles with a wand and soap.  Tickle fights.  Reading stories.  Coloring.
 Throwing rocks in the water.  Letting waves hit my toes.  Laughing til it hurts.  Making cookies.  Squirt guns.  Paper airplanes.  Singing a song.  Dancing like crazy.  Hiccups.  Snoopy.
Mickey Mouse.  Elephants.  Silly socks.  Building with blocks.
They all make me smile.  They are some of my favorite things.

Watching the sun rise or set.  Looking at a full moon.  The wind in my face.  A field of flowers.  Mount Rainier on a clear day.  The sound of the ocean.  The song of a bird.  An eagle in flight.  Soft grass under my feet.  Laying and watching the clouds go by.  The leaves changing color.
These too are some of my favorite things.

Hearing, I am proud of you.  Being called a good girl.  A spanking for fun.  The smile on her face.
The unexpected swat.  The finger that beckons and points to her knee.  Laying over her lap.
The hand on my back holding me in place.  The heat that slowly rises from the palm of her hand.
Mmm yes, more of my favorite things.

F-ed up Family

Just one of those days.  Don't feel much like writing.  Exhaustion is tugging at me.  If I am not careful, that can mess with my emotions.  It is strange.  I am not much of a drinker but I find myself really wanting one right now.  I do drink socially.  Can't say that I have ever been drunk.  Mostly, I think it is because of my father that I never picked up that habit.  I have been on my own completely since I was 17 and rarely lived under my parent's roof after age 12-13.  When I finally left all of that family behind me, I had one goal.  My goal was to be absolutely nothing like them.
I had started smoking when I was 11.  Tried drugs for the first time then as well.  I used drugs off and on into my late teens.  I liked the warm feeling I felt from them but I hated the feeling of being out of control.  If the high I got made me forget what was happening, it scared the hell out of me.  I had to be in control.  I had to be aware.  Really it came from a need to keep myself safe.  I was still being sexually abused, raped and molested as a young teen.  My uncle got to me when I was 11.  I actually did tell someone, his sister, my mother, who told me I was a complete liar.
Strange, when she passed away a couple years ago, my first thought was... NOW, you know I wasn't lying.  Funny how the mind works sometimes. I guess I thought that in her death all the blinders would be removed and that she would see the whole truth of how things really were.  I don't know where that thought came from.  It is just how I felt at the time.
When Don was raping me that first time, the only words I remember him saying were, it doesn't matter because you aren't family anyway.  That didn't make any sense to me then at all.  It sure does now.  It pisses me off right now that he knew this secret about me all my life and that I didn't.
My bio mother actually was in and out of my life while I was growing up.  I recall being introduced to her a few times.  I never remembered who she was in between visits.  She was this woman named Aunt Evelyn who came to see me and my father.  Like any other adult in my life, I just wanted her to leave me alone and go away.  When I was older, I knew my Dad was having an affair with her.  He had an affair with her all of my life.  I can't imagine that her visits to the house were very pleasant for anyone.  I sure didn't stick around. The fact that they wanted me to stay there and visit with her was enough for me to tell them to go to hell and go do my own thing.
  Luckily for me that back then I didnt know what she had done to me when I was 7.  The person who helped in that first rape was my Dad's girlfriend.  I didn't realize that it was my bio mother, this Aunt Evelyn.  My father dropped my sister off with our mother's best friend and then dropped me off with this woman to stay with.  I didn't know who in the hell she was.  She was just Evelyn, dad's friend.  Now I know that Evelyn Wooliever is my great aunt and my bio mother, and the first person that I have any memory of sexually abusing me.  I don't know if she is dead or alive.  I turned my back on all of that and all of them a long time ago.  I believe I am better for it.

Success

I should eat three meals a day.  (I don't even come close)
I should exercise more.
I  try to stick to the program.
I wish to save more.
I try to be a good friend.
I wish to lose weight.

Now, replace all the *should* *try to* and *wish to* with, *I will*

Changes the whole meaning, doesn't it?  I think our success or failure begins in our own thinking.  Saying I should do something, is a whole lot different than saying I will do it.  The truth is that I should eat three meals a day.  Most days, I eat what probably amounts to one full meal.  Saying that I will do it, adds a responsibility that wasn't there before.
To what degree do we want success in the areas we wish we could change, should change or try to change?
The successful people I have seen all seem to have at least one thing in common : A determination to succeed!  They stumble, they fall and they fail.  They also have the determination to stand back up and say to themselves, I WILL do this.

Self Harm

Anger does not feel good.  I am not an angry type person to begin with.  Until about 15 years ago I don't think I could have described to anyone what anger feels like.  Probably because of the continual sexual abuse and the f*cked up world I lived in, anger was not an emotion I knew.  It was not safe for me to express it, so it got buried along with a lot of other things.  I had moments of *losing* it toward other people.  I know now that it was anger, but |I did not know it then.  For me it was the thought that I was just not going to take it anymore.
When I started harming myself at age 11, it really happened by accident.  My father was in prison and my mother had told me I needed to do the dishes.  I refused.  Then she told me I was grounded.  I actually stormed off to my room and flopped down on my bed.  I sat there fuming.  I know now it was anger.  For me, it was a light bulb that went off in my head.  Grounded?  Who the hell did she think she was?  She couldn't ground me!  I don't have to take this!  I got up and marched down the hallway.  She was in the living room, if I remember right, there was some lady there with her.  My mother asked me what I thought I was doing.  I told her I was leaving.  She of course dared to tell me that I wasn't going anywhere.  My response was, *watch me!*  I went out the door and slammed it behind me.  Every part of me was shaking.  At that time we were in a third floor apartment.  I made it to the stairs and went down just a couple of them and sat.  I could still see the bottom of our front door.  My whole body was tense.  I wanted her to open that door and say something to me.  I wanted her to follow me.  My thought wasn't for her to try and stop me or try to enforce her authority (she had none and we both knew it)  I wanted the satisfaction of defying her again before I actually left.  That is what I was thinking as I sat there.  In my head daring her to come to that outer hallway.  While sitting there watching the door, whatever I was feeling shifted.  To me, she was just a bitch who didn't give a shit.  For a brief moment anyway, I wanted her to give a shit about me.  I remember standing up and giving the door the finger before running down the stairs.  I no longer remember where I went or what I did.  Not sure how long I was gone either.  When I came home it was dark and the house was quiet.  Dirty dishes were still in the sink.  I don't know what I was thinking or feeling, but I decided to wash them.  As I did, a glass broke with my hand inside it.  It made a small cut that bled.  I rinsed my hand and went to throw the pieces of glass away.  It had only broke in two.  But, I looked at the small spot of blood, I looked at the dishes I had finished.  There was a sense of peace inside me.  I don't know if I even know why I did it, but I took the jagged glass and cut from just above my wrist to halfway down my thumb.  I did not feel physical pain.  I felt a release, a warmth, I felt something so incredibly different from anything I had ever known before.  I stopped the bleeding as best I could and finished the couple of dishes that were left.  At that moment, a cutter was born.

Whenever I felt something that had my body tense or shaking, I found that if I harmed myself, it went away.  I learned quickly to hide the cuts on other parts of my body.  I did not want anyone to know or to see.  I did not want their attention.  I found that banging my head against the wall a few times had the same effect.  I also found that doing this made a loud sound and drew attention.  I wasn't after attention.  I used hammers on my arms and hands, thighs and shins. I picked at the nails on my little toes until I could pull them completely off.   That outside pain, took away the pain inside.  Understand, that there was no way I could have explained this to anyone back then.  I had no concept that I was using physical pain to take away emotional pain.  I didn't know a better way.  I didn't even know a different way.
As I got older I used it less.  It wasn't until I finally went to therapy and started dealing with some of my past that this behavior raised it's ugly head again.  My therapist back then helped me understand what I was doing and why.  Understanding self harm for what it is, did not help me.  Dammit, for me it worked!  It kept me from falling over the edge to suicide.  I was scared to death of all the emotions that overran me.  I was honestly afraid that feeling the emotions would kill me.  I wasn't trying to kill myself with cutting, I was trying to stay alive.
Cutting myself or harming myself through the years also sort of morphed into punishing myself.  No one else was correcting or punishing me.  When I felt that I had really messed up, I harmed myself.  I wish I could explain it, I just can't.  As screwed up as it sounds, it was a survival tool for me.
I am dealing again with things from my past.  I am experiencing emotional pain from time to time.  I have better tools for survival now.  That doesn't mean that the thought of self harm has gone away.  It is still very much an ugly monster I struggle with.  I don't remember for sure the last time I purposely harmed myself.  My hope is that I never choose that way again.

Talking About Age-play

I think most people have an idea of what age play is.  In the very basic form it is the interaction of at least two people who take on roles of differing ages.  (That's not to say that a person cannot age play by themselves.  I engage in age play by myself at least once a week.)  Age play most often involve two people where at least one of them take on the role of someone younger or even older than themselves.
For some people, age play is a lifestyle within their relationship.  I have a friend that is always a *little* when she is in the privacy of her home and sometimes, outside of it.  Her partner is always the parent and she is always the child.  This woman holds a full time position outside of her home as well.
Age play, because it does involve two consenting adults, may have a sexual component to it as well.  Just because this exists in no way means that either of them would actually ever touch a real child.  They recognize that they are two adults and are playing out their own fantasy with one another.
Some *brats* are also age players.  Not all age players are brats.  In the world of spanking, Tops do see a lot of brats.  They see their fair share of the person who wants to be spanked for the naughty things they have done, real or imagined.  Sometimes this does involve acting out a scene with an age difference.  That alone does not necessarily make it age play.
So, what makes it age play?
Answering from my own experience, it is the mind set.  I am not acting like a seven year old.  For that period of time, I am seven.  The adult me fades way into the background.  I think like a seven year old, I respond like a seven year old. I feel like a seven year old.  The inner kid in me has the reigns.  For myself, I don't even have to think about it.  I am no longer acting a part.  When I go into that place it takes more time afterward to come fully back out and into the adult me.
Others have no problem putting themselves into that mindset, playing for an hour and then talking about how much fun it was.  It is a stress reliever for sure.  It isn't only about the exchange of power, it includes most often a deep sense of being cared for as well.
Age play can be intensely emotional.  It can be healing and therapeutic.  It can be downright silly.  It can meet an emotional need.  It can draw two people together in a way neither ever imagined.  It can form an unexpected bond and draw out emotions from both individuals.  I have found that when it is *right* a strong bond forms on both sides.  Like with Mickey and I.
I can role play any age with just about anybody.  It is not the same with age play for me.  There is a vulnerability I feel and I have to be absolutely certain that if I allow that inner little Crie to come out, she will be safe and protected.  Because of the mindset that I go into, I would not be capable of using a safe word.
I am disciplined and spanked within age play.  The corrections are still those that might be used with a real child.  The *Parents* in my life do use spanking.  I have the feelings and emotions of a little girl but the body of an adult woman.  It is a grown woman over their knee and I am treated accordingly.  Sometimes it is simply a swat or two to get my attention, other times it is a full blown spanking.  The difference here is that I have given them the right to correct me as they see fit.  I have submitted myself to their authority.  If I were a biological child, it would be a whole different story, because a bio-child cannot consent in the way an adult can.
I have not even scratched the surface here with age play.  There is adult baby (AB) play, adult baby diaper lover (ABDL) play and more.  I think like anything with the exchange of power, it is what the people involved make it.

Outlook On Life

"Your outlook on life is a direct reflection of how much you like yourself."

  I wish I remembered where I read this quote.  It stuck with me, actually, because I don't think I agree with it, lol.  Working at having a positive attitude toward life, in general, is important to me.  I believe that life is filled with good things, amazing things, incredible opportunities to grow and learn, wonderful people and so much love.  If I were to make a list that consists of all the good around me and in my life, it would be so much longer than the things that I consider bad in my life.
Most days, I would likely say that I do not like myself very much.

I really don't think that my outlook on life has much, if any, correlation to how much I like or dislike myself.

 I have failed repeatedly at a lot of things.  I struggle with self image issues, Right now I would likely be throwing a fit if I were asked to list things I like about myself.  Listing what I don't like would be easier.  I am hard on myself.  I tend toward not being very kind to myself.  Being Judge, Jury and Executioner with myself is more common and is much easier than being my own cheerleader or praising myself for anything.  I have my times of believing that I am worthless.  I struggle so much with others offering to help me, or giving me a gift, because I don't feel worth their time or attention.

So, if that quote has any truth to it, why then is my outlook on life and my ability to like myself so much at odds with one another?  Am I somehow lying to myself about how I really feel? - I sure don't think so.

I believe that people have worth, simply because they are a person.  I believe that others are worth my time and attention.  I believe others deserve the benefit of a doubt.  I believe others are lovable.  I believe they have potential.  I believe that if they make a mistake, they can be forgiven.  I believe they deserve a second chance.  I can feel love for the person and still hate what they have done.  I can correct someone out of love.  I can commit to a relationship.  I can be upset with someone and stick around to work it out, stick with the relationship and work to resolve the issue.  I don't give up on people easily.  I welcome helping when I can.  I can and do encourage others.
For myself though... believing someone else can or will do all of that with me?  Believing I am *worth something* to someone else?  *Shaking my head here*  Maybe I am an alien?

Maybe, just maybe, all of the dislike (or much of it) for myself, really comes from the past and the way I was treated and spoken to.  In my head I can still hear the voice of my mother telling me I am worthless.  I still hear her talking about how ugly I am.  I still feel the horrible guilt for hitting her and being responsible for destroying anything good that might have been possible in that relationship.  I still feel and take the blame for that.
Wow, I just realized that I am afraid of being rejected and thrown away if I mess up.  Damn, I am afraid that a certain person won't step in and discipline me.  I haven't had the experience of doing something wrong yet so that I know how she will respond. (You know who you are)  This revelation has helped make a few things I am feeling, make sense.  A foundation of trust is being built, isn't it?  I won't know and won't believe it, can't accept it as fact, until or unless it actually happens.

I believe life is good.  I like being alive.  I believe it is never too late to learn, to experience, to explore.  Now, I need to believe that it applies to me too.  It is not too late for me to learn and for me to experience new things.

Conflict

I think that conflict is unavoidable.  It is going to happen.  The choice here is how I respond to the conflict.  I may be conflicted over something I have to do (or need to do), that I just don't want to do.  I may be in conflict with a person.  Maybe having differing opinions on a subject.
For me, conflict is not comfortable.  It is not a situation I want to be in.  Especially if it involves someone else.
I am already facing some conflict inside myself over the boundaries around me.  I remember something that I need to do and I feel that twinge rise in me that just says, I don't want to do it.  So far, I am able to push that thought away and just go ahead and do what I am suppose to.  I am so surprised that I feel that rising in me already.
I feel conflicted inside about doing the right thing.  I am finding myself weighing the possible consequences and not liking any of them.  Sheesh, I have even thought about just not telling the truth.  I could sort of skirt the truth and might even get away with it.  But... I also know me.  I have never been comfortable lying and I am just not good at it.  I think the guilt would really put me in conflict with myself!
Are some of us just wired to avoid conflict?  I do know that some people handle it better than others.  Conflict also can come in so many different ways and situations.  Even just trying to make a decision can trigger conflict.  Two friends want to do something on the same day with you, but you only have the time or energy to do one.
As we grow and mature as individuals we are faced with conflict at different stages in that growth.  In the first psychosocial development stage, the conflict is trust versus mistrust.  As children we learn early on whether or not we can trust the people in our lives.  When a child learns that they can trust and depend on their caregivers they emerge through this stage of conflict with a sense of security and safety.  Those who are not able to trust their caregivers likely will see not just the people around them, but the world, as unreliable.
Sexual abuse for me began in infancy.  I was given away by my birth mother when I was around 4 months old and dropped in the lap of a woman who didn't want me.  She also had no idea how to care for me.  Nurturing was not a part of my life with either of these women.  Talk about conflict right off the bat.  A bio-mother, that I had to have had some sort of bond with.  I mean after-all, I was alive and basically healthy.  She physically cared for me and met those needs.  I depended on her to be able to survive.  Then, one day, she was no longer a part of my life.  That child me learned very early on that the world was an unreliable place.  I did learn mistrust.
The only reason I am mentioning this is that I believe that when we are faced with conflict, we draw from the early phases of development in how we face the conflict.  That doesn't mean that we can't grow and learn later on in life.  Right now I face conflict with keeping to the program I am in.  I question myself about the consequences and the rewards.  I also question myself over the issue of trust.  Trusting them.  Will they follow through?  I think they will.  I hope they will.  Still, I am not exactly sure.  I haven't been in a situation like this that has had an outcome that built trust.  So many people have told me they were going to do something, enforce some consequence and they just didn't.
The next stage in that development is about independence.  I sort of tossed the trust/mistrust stage away and jumped straight into independence.  The, I can do it myself, stage.  I am capable.  I didn't want others helping me or even touching me.  I learned to do things by myself for myself.  The good thing in that, is the sense of accomplishment and pride in myself.  Feeling capable.  Stubbornness came from this and that is not always a bad thing at all.  Stubbornness that is built on a foundation of mistrust, might not be so great.
So, in my conflict right now I am working toward building a base of trust.  Trusting myself to do the right things.  Trusting others to do what they say they will do.  Showing them that I can do what has been agreed to.  I feel pretty conflicted over all of it but am willing to put myself out there and learn a new way.

Turning Away

I will admit that I enjoy the idea of being in trouble.  I like that thought in my head that says, no please don't spank me.  The idea of real trouble, is not so pleasant.  I do not want to actually be in trouble.
I was in real distress yesterday.  When I saw my actions for what they really were, it was very troubling to me.  I do not wish to act like that.  Defiance toward my Dominant and toward my Disciplinarian is not acceptable to me.  It is not acceptable to them either, just for the record.  I apologized to both of them and they read my writings.  I was not punished.  I didn't need to be.  It was a revelation that needed to be seen and will be corrected.  Even though I have the two of them in my life, most of the correction is going to be on my shoulders.  At least that is how I see it.  That doesn't mean that I won't be punished.  It means that it is up to me to make the changes.  This is for *my* good.  I may at times have the mindset of a child and my inner child may be fully visible, but it is on me to make these changes for my good.  I do not passively accept their guidance.  My role is very active.
Miss Jenn read over the list of rules/guidelines for me and asked me how I felt I would do with them.  I told her that I thought that for the first few days anyway that I would be okay with it all.  Then I told her that after that, I probably would experience times of just not liking them at all.  Not liking the rules and not being very happy with her or Mickey either.  She nodded her head in agreement, as did Mickey.
Both of these women have a habit of digging deeper than is comfortable for me.  They make me look at things in different ways and both have the mindset of teacher.  Both are very dominant women.  They are used to getting their own way and I know full well that when it comes to my own stubbornness, I have met my match in the two of them.  Instead of scaring me off, this is comforting to me.  If or when the time comes that I rebel, I know it is going to be met head on.
I am not looking forward to the first disagreement.  I am not looking forward to the time when a consequence is put on me.  Everything in me wants to avoid that.  Knowing myself, and the way they know me, we all know that the time is going to come where I push against those boundaries.  Some part of me is going to stand up and see if they are going to push back, respond, ignore or correct.  I would rather that I didn't do that.  I would like to just travel along in my safe little bubble here.  I hate the thought of them being disappointed in me.
I don't know how I am going to stop myself from turning my back on their authority.  I just know that I have to.  I want that authority in my life.  There is a need for it.  Mickey says I close my eyes and go silent, pushing her away by my actions.  I turn my back.  I look away.  It is a habit that needs to be broken.  How do I face and accept?  How do I make myself stay in that moment and accept their instruction or correction?  Why do I even turn away from what I so desperately want and need in my life right now?  It doesn't make sense to me at all.

Humbled

It is so humbling to me right now to see my actions for what they really are.  To have messed up in such a big way, right at the start of a new path for me.  Realizing that I acted so dismissive toward an authority figure is not setting well with me at all.
I am trying to find the positive here....  I guess maybe the fact that I do really see it now.  All blinders are off for sure.  I am real sure that it won't be tolerated again.  I am just as sure that I will put more effort into making sure it doesn't happen again.
The way I feel right now is horrible.  I don't want to feel like this anymore and I don't want to feel like this ever again.  Maybe the positive there too is in the learning process.  I learned something about myself.  It isn't something I like and my heart hurts right now over the fact that I actually did this.  I don't want this feeling to stay with me.  I do want the memory of how I feel right now to stick with me.  That way, when faced with the same situation again, I will remember how I feel right now and make a better choice then.
There is a part of me that really just wants to beat myself up right now.  I hear the voice inside of me asking me how I could have been so stupid.  I expect perfection.  I have to understand that they don't expect perfection from me.  They know I am going to mess up.  This is to help me through a real trying time in my life.  They want the best for me and want me safe.  I have not been set up to fail.  I have been set up to thrive and to grow and to learn.
What I did was a very willful act.  A wrong one for sure.  No one has ever called me on it before.  Now, being faced with it, what it really is, I am at a crossroads.  This is a place where I can learn.  This is a place where I can choose a better way.  Or I can just beat myself up.  Which is something that would get me in trouble.  I have been told in no uncertain terms that I am not allowed to punish myself.  The if, when and how, is not in my hands.  I am pretty sure that means that beating myself up emotionally is not going to fly.
ARRGGG, can I just do yesterday afternoon all over again?  Where's a fairy godmother when ya really need one??

Defiance

This blog is actually a request.  It is not exactly a subject that I want to explore right now.  It was pointed out to me tonight that I am being defiant.  That was not a good feeling for me at all.  I don't see myself as defiant.  Only, tonight when it was pointed out what I was doing and I was asked to really look into myself about why I had done it, being defiant kind of fits.
I have just entered into a 3 month contract of sorts.  I am the one who asked for it and I agreed to the boundaries being placed around me.  Two people have authority over me and I have agreed to it completely.  None of this was forced on me.  This afternoon, right off the bat when faced with an authoritative tone and look, I turned away.  She was not trying to be that way.  She was actually just trying to teach me something, give me some instruction, and when I felt that authority coming from her, I literally turned my back on her.
It was pointed out to me, that not only was that very rude, it was dismissive on my part.  Definitely not the way to begin a new relationship that actually includes teaching, structure and discipline.  I feel pretty ashamed of myself at this moment.  I didn't mean to do it, I really didn't.  It was a gut reaction.  Right now I don't know how to break it.

I have apologized.  I do see that this is something that must change in my life.  I know that defiance like this is not a good thing at all.  I feel sort of humbled at this moment.  Defiance toward someone I respect is not acceptable.

Exhaustion & Stress

Exhaustion can sure be a crazy thing sometimes.  I have slept about 19 hours in the past 4 days now.  My body is just going through one of those periods where sleep is not easy or long.  Sometimes I think I run on coffee and adrenaline.  I have learned not to stress over it a lot.  Eventually my body does give up and I sleep for a longer stretch of time.
Although exhaustion can take a toll, I really think it is the stress that is more draining.  For me, exhaustion has a more definite ending point.  I understand the cause.  I understand the why of it.  I understand what it does to my body and my thinking.  Heck, I even have meds to put me to sleep if need be.  But, with stress, it is all different.  I might understand what is causing the stress, but not always.  Neither do I always understand why I am stressed.  Exhaustion does not seem to have a lot of causes.  Stress on the other hand can come for a hundred different reasons.



A friend sent me this picture and I just laughed.  I know that so many of us have nights like that, or even days on end like that.  It is nice when we can joke and laugh about it.  Finding some humor in the predicament we are in, is always helpful for me.  Our bodies are going to physically respond to exhaustion and to stress.  They both can effect us in negative ways.
It is hard sometimes to step out of the day to day stuff of *I have to's* and take care of ourselves.  We do become overloaded from time to time with things that we have come to accept as normal for us.  I don't care how busy a person is, there has to come a time of rest.  A time of stepping out of the responsibility and relaxing.  I know people who are so afraid of being seen as self centered, they don't take the time to check in with themselves and take some much needed *me* time.  We are surrounded by the me-myself-and I  generation which stands toe to toe with the instant gratification group.  When we truly recognize that we are exhausted or stressed, there should be no guilt in stepping back and taking care of ourselves.  What good are we really going to be to anyone else if the exhaustion and/or stress just keeps building?
I was told tonight to go to bed.  I laughed and joked about it but in the end, I did exactly that.  I slept 4 hours.  A solid deep sleep which was much needed.  It hasn't made everything all better but it sure hasn't made anything worse either.  I can think more clearly and that is always a good thing.
Listen to your body.  Take the time to rest and recharge.  Your body will thank you for it.

Accountability

Strange how things can be going along just fine and then something will slip me up.  Often it is something small and insignificant, yet it seems to have the power to knock me off balance.  This time it is the thought of accountability.  Maybe not exactly small or insignificant, just pressing in my thoughts.
I feel a need for more accountability in my life right now.  I view it more as a safety net than as a set of rules.  I feel that accountability helps me to center myself.  It brings more discipline into my life and helps me make better choices.  It is not that I can't do it for myself.  A lot of the time it is more of an *I won't*  When accountability is added, I am much more likely to stick with the plan.  It is an added incentive.
Lately, I have been feeling just *out of sorts*.  Feeling a little like I am just drifting along.  Instead of calming, it is becoming more anxiety filled.  I talked to my partner about it today.  Tried to put into words what I am feeling, what I think I want and how I see it will help.  We decided that this weekend we will sit down together and write out a plan for me.  After we have agreed to it and get it down on paper, we have agreed to stick to it for 3 months.  After that we will revisit it and access how it has worked, what needs changed, or even if we wish to continue it.  We both felt that we needed to set a time frame around it.  We have always shared a D/s relationship.  This is something different that I am asking to try.  It is less service oriented and more about personal growth as well as growth in our relationship.
I am facing a challenging time right now with things from my past.  They are creeping into my day to day life.  They are having an impact on my physical and emotional health.  I have asked for more structure.  I know I will feel safer having clear boundaries and clear expectations around me.  Knowing that I will also face consequences if I choose to disregard those, isn't pleasant to me.  I simply feel that right now it is needed.

Friendship

Friend:
1.  A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations.
2. A person whom one knows, likes and trusts.
3. Someone you love and who loves you, someone you respect and who respects you, someone whom you trust and who trusts you.
4. A person you know well and regard with affection and trust.
5. Someone who regards you with respect and affection, seeking your welfare and wishing you well.
6. An associate who provides assistance. An ally.

These are parts of definitions taken from different dictionaries.  Number three is taken from the Urban Dictionary.
 Having the friendship of another is a very precious gift.  A relationship built on respect, trust and love.  It is a mutual bonding that grows over time.  Sometimes, when you meet a new person, things just *click* and you know you have just made a new friend.  That in my opinion is very rare.  Having friends in our lives, is to me, something we need to work at.  It involves taking risks from time to time.  Stepping out of our own comfort zone.  Giving and receiving.  Understanding that friendship is a two way street.
In my life, I know that there is a need to nurture the friendships I am blessed with.  I have a couple of friends that even if we haven't spoken in months, when we meet up again or talk on the phone, it is as if no time has ever passed.  I believe we share this bond because together we laid a foundation of friendship between us.  We put the time and energy into it so that now when we are even apart for great spans of time, when we do reconnect the feelings are all still the same and blossom quickly.
I know that some people are very isolated.  Maybe there isn't even one friend in their life.  I am very aware that for some, this is a choice.  For others, they wished it wasn't like this.  Some turn to the internet and have found close friends this way.  It meets that need to *connect* emotionally with another person.  I have made friendships this way and taken it to real life.  There is a need for caution here because on the internet a person can decide to be anything they want to be, real or not.
Being a friend means to me that I give of myself to someone else.  It is about what I give, not what I get.  Sure, I get burned from time to time.  That is going to happen because that is life too.  It doesn't make me a bad friend or a bad person.  To me it doesn't necessarily make the other person *bad* in any way either.  It just wasn't meant to be.  I can accept that.  Not everyone we cross paths with is going to be a friend, nor would we want them to be.
When that connection is there though, it is a wonderful thing.  Friendships often bring out the best in us.  Why?  Because of love, respect and trust.  I can say to a friend that I am feeling crappy and that I know I have no real reason to feel this way.  I can trust that my statement will be received for what it is and know that the response I get in return is not going to be to belittle me.  We build one another up, not tear each other apart.