I spent a lot of time feeling inadequate today-just a feeling that no matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough.
Things got off to a bad start when we had unexpected house guests on the night before my big exam. I cannot stress enough how my coping mechanisms have failed and it turned out to be the first spark in my pyre of self destruction. I could feel my blood pressure rising the second I looked at the sms from Master telling me we had company for the evening. Now, I shouldn’t be upset-it’s not my house, nor my decision about who stays and when, but I felt it was so unjustifiable. Of all the nights!
I didn’t have any other outlet for my anger but silence, so Master got the silent treatment. I knew if I opened my mouth, I’d say too many things that I would regret later. He said that it wouldn’t have any sort of impact on me, that I could stay in my room all night and study, but all I could think about was the uncleaned house and how I’d explain to them that I needed the bed so I could sleep and they’d have to sleep on the floor.
I really don’t think boys understand. I know we are no longer living in an age where a woman’s worth is proven by how well her silver is polished, but I feel embarassed and so ashamed when people come and see my mess. Even if it’s not my house, or my mess, I’m still the one responsible for it and I know that people judge and talk-I know because I’m guilty of it too. I just feel so inadequate.
I don’t cope well with noise, any kind of noise. Someone breathing too heavily across the other side of the room drives me insane. It might be another one of my OCD things, I don’t really know, but I just can’t deal with it. The door to my room may as well have been paper for all its noise blocking capacity and my blood pressure just kept going up and up.
The absolute icing on the cake was the mysterious bus that didn’t stop. Here I was sitting at the bus stop two hours before my test watching the bus that I should have been on, driving off into the distance. A hurried phone call to Master followed and like a knight in shining armour he came to pick me up and take me into town.
Master was marvellous during the whole debarcle. I wouldn’t have had patience with me. I bitched and moaned, ranted and raved and gave him a stoney silence that was worthy of Marcel Marceau and he took it all in his stride. I just don’t know why things get to me so much these days. Any other time I’d be sorting out my shit and just getting on with whatever crap the universe poured into my lap. Perhaps this whole giving up of independence thing has taken away my strength to stand on my own two feet. They say that submission takes strength and guts, but I haven’t got enough of either to overpower a gnat.
So this comment was waiting for me when I logged on this afternoon (thank you Rarius!):
Have you considered the possiblity you are testing your personal limits within your relationship. You seem intellegent thus I will venture those limits are well understood and crossing the bounds is a slaves way of gaining a “reward” be that punishment and discipline or simply filliing the basic human need for attention.
There might be some aspect wherein you enjoy causing discord, even to the point of recieving the “reward” you seek on multiple levels.
That reward might just be the time spent bent over the divan and the asscociative time spent with your master, and doing…
I think a lot of the time when I’m passing smart-ass comments, I’m trying to re-discover my strength, re-empower myself, so to speak. I feel ‘equal’ and quite a bit like my old self when I’m sassy. I use it in some ways as a weapon to remind Master that I am submitting-that I’m doing this of my own volition and he’s not ‘forcing’ me to do anything. I peelback a corner and give him a glimpse of what I keep under control (most of the time!) just so he knows the extent of what I do for him. In that way I suppose it feeds the martyr fetish I have too-I need to know that other people know of my suffering.
I spend an awful lot of time ‘bent over the divan’. I don’t write about everything that happens in this journal, but suffice to say that very rarely a day goes by when there isn’t some sort of ravishing,beating or caging going on. My feeling is often that there is ‘too much’ and I’d like a day where I can just veg (but in the true slavish way, I’d bitch and moan about being ‘ignored’ or not being used ‘enough’ if that really did happen! Those poor domly ones never can win!)
There are times that I rub Master up the wrong way for different reasons-sometimes I’m re-empowering, sometimes I’m just being stubborn and sometimes I just really do want to see what he will do. I don’t crave beatings. I don’t need pain. Sometimes the ‘simplicity’ of pain is good, but I’m not a masochist and I don’t get off on it. Mostly I just want to make sure that he cares.
I tug to remind him that I’m there.
He pulls me to heel.
Then reminds me that I sealed my fate the day I asked for his collar.