February 29, 2012

it is nearly three weeks in, and it has had an oddly reflective night at the office. The phones slowed down a lot in the last couple hours, and it was left with it's thoughts. it hates being left with it's thoughts. As someone with ADHD and a genetic pre-disposition towards depression... Having that kind of time with it's thoughts is not the most pleasant experience. That time becomes a battle to keep positive tones and not to dwell too hard on the past.

On a positive note, it has technically sold the first copy of it's book today. So that felt good. it hopes that the mass print version will be available VERY soon. it is so tired of being in the 'final touches' stage.

it has had a rough week at work, feeling like a bit of a failure regarding stats at the office. But some of these things were out of it's hands, and the calls which wind up scored are chosen at random. So there's a definite element of luck there, and this month it's luck was terrible. Which is a shame, because it could have gotten a raise if it had three months in a row of good stats -this was to be it's third. That's more than 60 days of grueling hard work down the drain.

As it said... it is *trying* to stay positive, but this can be exceedingly difficult.

it had a lot of time today, with it's thoughts, it's fears, and it's concerns. And it had to confront them more tonight, rather than living in the moment and doing what feels right. it has concerns about a number of things, which it has been pushing back, because well, it feels right and it knows it's right place is at Mistress' feet, owned, submissive, happy. The conflict that it is having comes from it's [forcefully] found independence over the last couple years. it has been trained -by life and by relationships, not to depend on anyone, not to get too attached to anyone, not to let anyone completely in. When Mistress looks at me, reads me, knows what my heart wants, it is both gratifying and terrifying. How could I have let someone in so deep? How could I have let someone so close? She could destroy me at my very core... I'm not that strong, not so strong as everybody thinks. Inside, deeper, I'm honestly a very bitter, brittle and delicate broken person. I've rebuilt myself several times now. I've had to rebuild my self esteem and my self worth too many times. I lived with one woman for more than a year... After that she said that because of me she didn't know what love was anymore. I was married to a hellish woman -a bipolar ex-drug addict who refused to take her medications, whom I remained faithful and loyal to through hell and back... She cheated on me. She found a man via WoW (Yes, there's a damn good reason I'm bitter about that game), and she told him what a wretched and abusive husband I was (I wasn't), she told him how I belittled her (Quite the opposite), and she started quietly storing money away to move out... I had to find out from her sister that my wife was cheating on me -with a 17 year old boy, still attending high school, living in his grandparents basement. They met on WoW, "It was true love" she told me. She wasn't sorry for cheating, she wouldn't pretend to be. It was my fault, I drove her to it with my horrible behavior. I believed her for a while. Her family swooped in and quickly informed me otherwise, or I might not have made it through that ordeal. I served loyally a young couple, one largely experienced, one just beginning her journey as a Domme; they were friendly, they were hip, they were geeky like myself. I offered loyalty and servitude to them, dropping everything for them to be of service. They lost interest, became more intrigued by their work and friends, and stopped calling for me altogether. I wasn't desirable to them. I served a sadist... I mean a real sadist. A hard, abrasive, no holds barred, break you down sadist. And I loved her... she never knew it but I did. The more she beat me, the more she ran her blades over my flesh, the breath-play -her hand at my throat as she kissed me, the cbt, the absolute sense of devotion I had to her... One day she yelled at me. And not a little. A lot. She told me I had betrayed her, I couldn't be trusted. All I had done was approach her trainee (as instructed in these cases) and asked for more advice on how to better serve and please her. That was all. But I was suddenly worthless, unwanted, untrusted. Valueless and despicable. Broken again, in a very real very deep way. I had given my all. But, there to pick up the pieces was another. She was not a Domme, she was a newer kinkster, she was a switch. She was playful and friendly and open and true. She had beautiful red hair and a smile that melted my heart in an instant. I opened up to her, I couldn't not do it. I let her in, I shared my secrets, my darkness and my unspoken desires one by one. And over time, she only accepted me. She did not care that I had a child, she did not care that as a minor I was nearly responsible for a large scale massacre, she did not care that I was already divorced by the age of 25, she just accepted me. And the more I shared the more we grew together. We were reluctant to title the relationship at all, she was somewhat recently out of a marriage herself, so I let her simply enjoy the moment, and I worked at my confidence to let that be enough. Going so long without hearing the words "I love you" is really quite a trial -I knew she was worth it, worth all that wait. After a year, she had a choice... and she chose to move to Denmark for a new job position. She could not invite me, and I could not come on this journey. We talked at great length, and opted for long distance. I stretched myself beyond natural limits to be there when she could talk, to keep her updated, and to make her feel like we weren't so far apart. Emails each morning, chat at least once a week. All the while asking how she was doing, and encouraging her while she was so lonely in a strange country. Her company paid for her to visit occasionally back to the states. Those weekends were treasured... When she came back after the first six months she told me that she loved me. We hugged, we cried, and when I turned around after watching her drive away for the airport I cried far more. I couldn't even hide the tears from my friends. I don't cry. Ever. Six months later, she visited again, she had been faced with another decision. Come back to the states and enjoy more than six months-worth of pay as they closed her office, or stay in a foreign country with no contacts, no grasp on the native language, and no documentation for a prospective employer. One of these choices seemed much easier, and I was eager for her to come back. She didn't choose that. She came to me, and we talked, and I knew what was coming by the look of her eyes. The smile was gone, and the curve at the corner of her mouth was nowhere to be seen. She was holding back tears as she told me that she had decided to stay in a foreign country, and she would not allow me to come with her. And all I could do was support her and try not to think that a strange life in a foreign land full of uncertainty and probably financial failure was somehow more enticing than coming back to the states to be with me. Perhaps that is an unfair way to look at it. But when one weighs out the two sides of that decision, it seems difficult not to see it as a personal statement.

These aren't all the moments it has been through, but these are some of the heavier ones, there are more. And when it is alone with it's thoughts, these and more haunt it. it can't let these things go, and it does not know how to trust. it has built up a barrier around itself, a barrier it must sustain. it knows only how to ask Mistress not to pass that barrier, it worries that it cannot keep her out. But what is inside that barrier is an ugly, battered, broken and unhappy thing. it does not like what is at it's core anymore. But it needs to ignore that to continue on. Otherwise it must face the truths that can't be dealt with, can't be worked through. And it can not go down that path.

it's father passed on December 18th, 2007. He was never a happy man, he was angry and unwilling to accept the life he had created for himself, yet unwilling to institute change or improvement. Instead, he made everyone around him miserable. As it entered high school, it saw his first suicide attempt. He had swallowed pills, a lot of them. He then had second thoughts and called the paramedics. He had left notes all over the house for it's mother. A well thought out plan. it remembers sitting by his side in the hospital. Breathing tubes in his nose, and that awful, numbing white apron with the little blue diamonds all over it. He looked at me, and he carefully took my hand, he was still weak, the pills had started taking their toll before his stomach could be pumped. He looked me in the eye, and he apologized to me, for never being there and never taking interest in my life. He gave me his word that he was going to change that, and that he wanted to get to know me. Mom came back, the doctors needed to change his IV and they wanted him to rest more, it was time for me to go. A week later, he was back at his desk, browsing online auctions and ignoring me as much as he could. When I asked him if he wanted to ride bikes, or do something else, he simply said "Not now" and "I'm busy". I gave up after three weeks of trying. A few years later, he tried again, it was my senior year of high school. That's supposed to be the good one, the last year before you become a responsible adult. The school year started off with my mom discovering him on the floor. He'd cut himself clean across the wrist. I didn't see the blood, but I wasn't allowed back into the house until it had been professionally bleach and steam cleaned. Seeing the size of that lighter toned circle in the carpet where the cleaners had done their best to inconspicuously clean it, with a hint of darker tones around the edges only confirmed how big the blood spot had been on the floor. I still see that when I visit. I don't know if it's visible, but I see it. When he came back, he vowed to fix things. He wrote me a letter, before and after he had made the attempt. Begging for my forgiveness, begging my mom for hers. And afterwards, he promised to get more involved, he told me that I was now a man, and he'd missed out on my childhood, but he refused to miss the rest of my life. How can you miss the childhood of your offspring when they sleep right across the hall from you? it's like you'd nearly have to be there for it on accident. Needless to say he never followed through. My mom later conjured up a surprise divorce process to finish out the second half of senior year -ensuring that I would have wonderfully traumatic occurrences on each side. She told me ahead of time, and then told me not to tell him. She told me that she was planning to stay with her mom. I couldn't come, her mom only had room for one. I knew I couldn't stay with my dad. I was barely 18 and not yet out of high school and I was hearing that my folks were leaving me with no place to stay. For the next few weeks, life felt like a blur of unpleasant conversation. Dad told me about their sex life, mom told me about the wedding, they told me about all the promises both broken and kept. I heard everything. Every bit of it, all the things that a child shouldn't hear. Ever. And through all of this, I was somehow a mediator, steadfast and determined and somehow stronger than both of them combined. They stayed together... And my old man left his promises to stop taking me for granted by the wayside. My role was complete, I was no longer of interest or value. This seems to be a life theme.

On September 2nd, of 2007, my wife moved out. She gathered up everything she wanted, left the apartment a filthy disgusting mess full of her trash and unwanted junk, and I sat in my apartment feeling truly alone and abandoned. On December 15th, 2007 I got the call from my mother that my father was in the hospital. She had come home to find post it notes all over the house -notes about everything. Where to ship eBay items, how to work the thermostat, how to control the sprinklers, codes for bank accounts and financial necessities, love letters and apologies to her. I saw the stack later, there were quite easily over 100 of them scattered throughout the house. He had thought of every single thing, and once he had he stepped into the garage, wheeled his motorcycle up into the storage room and shut the door before taping a rubber hose to the exhaust, and then putting it in his mouth. She found the notes again, it must have been one truly eerie site... I do not envy her that. I went to be with her that day, we visited the hospital, he was in a coma. I held his limp hand, and spoke to him. I left with my mother, angry. She went through all the notes, and I asked her if he had left any of them for me. He hadn't. In more than 100 notes, filled with everything from 'I love you' to 'I am sorry' to 'Be sure to turn the green knob past the yellow dot for the sprinklers', he didn't feel I was worth saying so much as a goodbye to. The next day I visited him in the hospital once more, still in a coma, likely not coming out any time soon. Before I could find his room, I sat in the cafeteria a bit, my fellow submissive at the time was with me. She had no idea what to even say, she knew we weren't close. Just sitting there, I knew this was my last opportunity to say something, and the death seemed to be creeping in even from there. I found his room, took his hand one more time, and I told him "I forgive you"... I'm not a superstitious person, nor am I a religious one... I'm quite the opposite. In fact, western religion and new age tend to be somewhat offensive to me at times. But as I forgave him, I swear that just for a second, his fingers curled into my hand, and he let out a sigh. That was the last time I will see my old man. I don't hate him for what he did. His role in my life brought much pain, and most of the lessons I learned from him were in 'what NOT to do'; but on the 18th of December 2007 when the hospital called to tell me that they were pulling the plug because he was showing no signs of improvement and had no health care to foot the bill... this one was at peace with the matter.

it is not angry at him, it has genuinely forgiven him. But this one can not forget, that even from a young age, it has been worthless, ignored, and unwanted by even those who should most love it. Perhaps it has developed a complex, and clearly it has some emotional issues that it must wrestle with for some time to come... but between the damage of relationships, and the damage of it's own family's behaviors... it is terrified of opening up, and knows only how to close itself off. it has scheduled it's next appointment with it's therapist, perhaps another part of it's life that it has not yet shared with Mistress. The therapist helps it to feel safe in expressing it's concerns because it is genuinely incapable of doing so within a relationship; and based on it's history, therapists tend to say that's going to be a rather permanent wall for this one. it can not be what Mistress wants, it cannot be completely open, it cannot correctly express it's feelings. it is too worn and damaged.

it is going to bed to try and sleep off all the things that it has been confronted with. it is not affirming today, because it cannot shake the thoughts that filled this entry, and the affirmations will serve counter to their purpose. it understands that it has not maintained protocol throughout this entry, but it recalls that this is a safe place, and it was writing out of true feelings and passions... it accepts punishment if that must be had Mistress.