One of the hardest parts for me about being a slave is having my programme re-written. It’s hard to unlearn years of second-nature behaviours and have them replaced with things so different to my norm that they only used to exist in the realm of my fantasies. Having me let go of the old me and embrace the new kitten seems to be Master’s new theme for interrogation times and this weekend really was a *learning* experience.
In the two years we’ve been together Master has asked me a bazillion times, ‘What are you?’ Now, my brain knows the answer to this question. My mouth knows the answer to this question. But my heart has never really *known* the answer to this question. To all extents and purposes, in my heart I still am the same person that I was two years ago, but through Master’s eyes I am a very different person. In fact, through his eyes I’m not even a person at all; I’m his piece of slavemeat and nothing more.
When do you really *know* the answer to a question? And when can you accept something so completely different to what you know that it’s the same as calling day, ‘night’ or black, ‘white’. When exactly is it that you can overcome what you have learned and accept what you know?
In retrospect, ‘What are you?’ has turned into a very tough question for me to answer. I guess more than anything because it requires me to accept the new me. It requires me to break down the walls that I’ve erected around the last vestiges of ‘me’ , allowing the tide to come in and wash the slate clean and start from scratch again. But this time, I will not be something of my making, I will be something of his making.
Funnily enough, I’ve said to Master many, many times that I am ‘your slave’, but I guess I haven’t really meant it. I’ve said it as the ‘correct answer’ to his question, but I’ve never really felt it in my heart. I’ve held that last little tight ball of me so very close, with my hand curled around it in a death-grip. I don’t want to let it go because it’s me, it’s all I have left. It’s a bit like my slave pride that rears its ugly head every now and then- the one that puts out the challenge that I’ll be damned to lose.
Master says that he can see very clearly the two personalities inside me- the old and the new. He often says to me, ‘That’s not kitten talking’ when I’m not being very ‘slavey’. My knee-jerk reaction to everything that scares me or puts me out of my comfort zone is to bring the old me to the foreground. I use her to deal with everything that I don’t like, and among other things she’s my self-flaggellation post and my shame cushion. In fact, she’s there for so much bad stuff that she has come to epitomize everything that I hate. As a result she’s something that I don’t like and don’t want to be….but she’s still my refuge in times of need.
I don’t want to be a slave. I need to be a slave. Only by being a slave can I get the security and the infinitely close bond that I crave. Now, I can’t be the old me, but I’m not comfortable enough in the skin of my new me either. So I continue with the process of learning to be the new me.
But who’s to say that the new me will be someone I will be able to live with?
I can hear Master now…’That’s not kitten talking’.
But it’s me, kitten. Both old and new. Learning to live who I am.