“The time has come,” the Walrus said, “to talk of many things…”
So, here I am. All five feet five and *cough, cough* pounds of me…you’re not really expecting me to tell you how much I weigh are you???? Lol.
I just finished my last soul-draining assignment of the semester and I’m so elated that I actually felt like coming here and baring all my crap to the world. Beware! My crap is not pretty- Master even has the photos to prove it.
Well, we’d be going back about a month I guess. I had one of those can’t-seem-to-stop-crying-for-five-minutes meltdowns that occurs even now and then. I don’t know what they are, but they’re certainly phunky. I can’t even really describe it. It’s like a wall-a wall of nothing that I just walk smack into and it sends me back reeling, daring me to go past *this line*. Not that I can see the line of course, but it’s there. Some invisible line in my psyche that my brain just doesn’t want to cross.
I was about *this close* to deleting most of the stuff that I had written in here over the months. I was just feeling too raw and vulnerable. It was all the comfort I had to pull up under my chin and protect me from the hard cold of the place where I was. But I didn’t. I suppose a part of me cherishes where I’ve been and gone and I couldn’t part with what makes me, me-for all my faults and foibles.
I would describe my phunk as a total absence of self-confidence. This was the result of a string of things-my perceived failures at school, my perceived failures as a slave, and my failure to be someone that I liked and that I could be proud of. It’s hard to be told that you are crap at doing something that you’ve done as a job for more than ten years (i.e. teaching) and it’s hard when you realise that you aren’t who you think you should be. My inability to accept my pain tolerance and the yearning to want to be what Master wants me to be do gnaw away at you. If I wasn’t good at my job, then at least I could be a slave. But if I wasn’t good at being a slave either, then what the fuck good was I?
That was my headspace. Everything I did was wrong. I was wrong.
Yes, I compare myself to others. Yes, I put myself under a lot of pressure. I say it’s human nature to compare-that is afterall how we differentiate between things. How can you understand “hot” without “cold” or “dark” without “light”? We compare and compartmentalize, grading everything we do and everyone we meet. How hard you grade yourself is entirely up to you, but I’m a pretty damn hard marker. I always have been and probably always will be. I see failure or the acceptance of ‘less than my best’ as a slippery slope to damnation. I was fine when I had no-one else to disappoint except myself, but now it’s not myself that I’m worried about, it’s Master and what I can and cannot do for him.
I said to him today that I was sorry that he didn’t get me ‘in my prime’, when I was younger and had no fear and was a lot tougher both physically and mentally. Master has said that I don’t disappoint him and that he is happy. He is constantly trying to puff me up and let me know that as far as he is concerned, I’m A.O.K. But I’m getting softer as I get older-in more ways than one…lol.
Anyways, I must have reached some sort of equilibrium inside myself, because I’m no longer dreaming of quick painless deaths (see! even in my dreams I want it to be pain-free…lol) Since the end of phunk, I’ve had a use session with Mystery Shopper Number 2 (which I will have to write about in another entry), my bed now carries a chain bolted to it and Master now seems to be interested in spanking my botty- which he never really did before.
Master had always seemed to use implements of torture before but he definitely seems to be partial to inflicting the torture with his own hands recently. I sometimes get to the point that I want to scream “Give me the damn nipple clamps and the crop ’cause they hurt a whole fucking lot less than your god damn hands!!!”
Masters…can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.