A wise person said once that people will do anything to make their life seem less meaningless. We collect things, build things, etch our stamp of “I wuz here” all in an effort to prove that we are here on the earth for some sort of a reason.
I think this is where slavery comes into it for a lot of people. Together with the need for safety and security by being owned by another, I think there is a need to be able to say, ‘I did something extraordinary’ and for some of us, being a slave is the extraordinary thing that we do just to give our existence a bit more meaning.
Another wise person said, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”
I believe it was Gandhi who said that one and I think this is also where slavery becomes attractive to some people. What better way is there to get around your ego than to serve another and by doing so, be able to get to the core of what makes you, you.
For me, I think my motivation was made up of 50% security and 50% meaning of life. Lacking the skills to be able to build or make anything and choosing not to pre-create has seriously hindered my mark-leaving on this world. Other than a brief stint of stamp collecting in primary school and a very unfortunate period of collecting Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle trading cards in the late 80’s, I’ve never really felt the need to surround myself with things. In fact, I’ve always enjoyed throwing things out more than keeping things. I find the de-cluttering high to be great and it’s very freeing not to be weighed down with tonnes of stuff.
Defeating my ego is something I’ve thought would be great to do, but realistically is never going to happen. I’m too much of an attention-seeking, high-achiever whore who doesn’t like to lose. I like the ribbon, medals and plaques on the wall, and I don’t think I should be afraid to toot my own horn, so I really don’t think I could ever be humble enough or focussed on another enough to lose myself.
And why am I thinking about motivations for slavery?
Well, M and I had another talk last night in which we kind of got down to the meat of my issue and I think I’ve reached that famous point known as the “crumbling point”.
You know that point where you forget what started your meltdown to begin with and you’re sitting there with the pieces of your once carefully formed wall of objections laying in your lap?
Yeah. I hate when that happens.
That’s not to say I’m ready to make some sort of a decision; I’m just saying I’m more confused than ever because now absolutely everything has come unstuck – even my moral high ground.
In a nutshell I told him that my issue with slavery at the moment is two-fold: (1) being that I don’t 100% trust him to make the right decisions about me and (2) that I’ve lost the point of being a slave.
As far as the trust issue is concerned, I can’t accept the possibility that he would want to pierce me anymore or to be more exact, I don’t trust him 100% that he would not pierce me anymore. As my owner he has a right to do what he wants to me and at the moment, I can’t accept that.
He says that he has always allowed me to ask for dispensation for things I have an issue with and that is true; I can ask and he can choose whether to give me dispensation or not. My problem is that if he gets it into his mind that he wants to pierce me, as a slave, there is nothing I can do to stop him. In order to feel completely safe, I would need a choice whether to say yes or no to piercings, but having choices does not a slave make in anyone’s book.
He says that while he might tease me and mind-fuck me with the thought of more piercings and even though it is something he would love to do, he hasn’t done it and therefore I should feel ‘safe’ because it hasn’t been done.
I suppose that is true, but when you get told on a daily basis several times about big rings going through your septum and being led around by nose chains and stuff, it kind of messes you up psychologically, and you start believing it, ya’know?
As far as the point of being a slave is concerned, I think Chloe summed it up well in her comment:
I guess I’m just saying – what’s the difference between someone who says “I’m a slave” and yet CAN deny him anything she wants because it’s all her choice, and someone like you who maintains, out of desire, “95% or more” of what he wants, and basically just doesn’t wear a metal necklace and can deny him… well… the exact same things someone with the slave label can deny him.
M has always maintained that while he has given me flexibility about things, the final decision and choice about everything has ultimately been his. Pretty much the theory goes that everything I thought I had a choice about or was doing of my own volition or ‘free-will’ was because he was allowing me to do it as his slave. So whenever I disobeyed him or did whatever the fuck I wanted, it was under his approval so to speak. He maintains that at anytime he could have put his foot down and brought me into line and as his slave, I would have had to obey regardless of what I felt.
M would say that the only ‘choice’ I’ve ever really had has been the one of to be or not to be a slave and that I’ve never had the RIGHT to deny him anything. He may have LET me deny him something, but that was done under his umbrella or approval and he could have GAINED anything he wanted at anytime.
To me, slavery has always been a bit of an endurance thing. The emotional cost and weight of the collar was balanced with a sense of purpose because I felt that doing the extraordinary task of being a slave, gave my life a meaning of sorts. In other words, I can cope with slavery and all it entails if I can have a sense of achievement out of it. If I can feel like I am ‘doing something’ (regardless of how it may appear to others) then I can understand the need for the collar. I can probably cope with the ‘living on edge’ about the piercing thing (hoping, praying that he would never do it) if I felt the collar was a plus to my life.
This is turning into what looks like a rant about lack of play and I’m trying not to turn it into that, but I guess ultimately that is what it boils down to. For me, there is no point in having something if you don’t use it. Just being part of the collection is not enough to justify the possession. If I’m at a point where I say to myself ‘WTF am I doing?’ then something is amiss.
I guess, I don’t want to play, but I have to. The collar demands it. The title of slave needs to have meaning.
Am I afraid of what that meaning involves?
But do I have a choice?