I started a thread in a FetLife-group about service, and feel like I should write something in it, but every time I try it turns out way to long in my head. And if it's to long in my head, it will most probably be very much to long as a post in a discussion. It will have to be a blog post instead. Maybe I can distil some of it into something coherent later.
The thing is, I don't like service. I don't like the word, but it's not on a phonetic level, much like with responsibility I'm perfectly aware of what it means, and just plain don't like it. Actually, responsibility and service touch upon much of the same issues for me.
One of the posts in the discussion mentioned service as being "available for action" and that struck a chord. I can't do that. I can't be "available" for an unclear period of time. I can't wait on anyone, in either sense of the word. I can barely keep my focus in a conversation, and if my fellow conversationalist take to long a breathing pause between sentences, I'm likely to wander off and do something else in the meantime. I have a very short working memory and attention span, and honestly, waiting exhausts me.
So I can't sit by Mistress' feet and wait for a hand gesture or the right time to do something. I can't keep track of the water level in her drinking glass - I mean, I can barely keep track of my own head, and that's screwed on tight. I can't take responsibility for her comfort level, period. She'll have to do that herself. Not because I don't want to, but because I'm extremely bad at it, and get sick from stress and exhaustion when I try. And also, before I get sick, I get really really irritable and snarky.
What I can do is sit by her feet and rest. Not on stand by, not waiting, just sitting. I can be turned off and not do anything. That works perfectly fine. But I can't do that and also remember a steak in the oven, hanging the laundry when the cycle is done, or checking whether Mistress would like a refill on her coffee. If I'm off I'm off, and want get started again without some kind of cue.
That cue might very well be an order, there's no problems there, but it has to be a distinct order, something that is loud enough to get my attention, and a discreet hand signal or an empty coffee mug isn't enough. The cue might be an egg timer telling me to check the steak or the silence when the washing machine stops (actually, we have a community laundromat, and no machine of our own, but if we did have one) or something as internal as me needing to pee or getting a leg cramp. But there has to be something, something tangible and clear. Then I get going again, and do all those things I need to do, for a while, until I rest again. There's no middle ground. There's no waiting. There's no "being available".
Of course, this has to do with ADHD. I don't think this is true for everybody with the diagnosis, it can manifest in a thousand ways, but I do think that for me the deficit in working memory and attention span, as well as the tendency to only have two energy levels, full speed or full stop, makes "service" a difficult concept. It seems to require a kind of constant, low grade attention directed at the Owner and that persons needs and possible future needs, and I can't give anything that kind of attention. Not that I don't want to, but it takes a ridiculous amount of effort when I try, and I still do it badly.
I do better at obedience. Some people in the discussion implied that all kinds of obedience was a form of service, but for me it's easier to see it as two different things. I can be obedient. I might have trouble remembering rules, and sometimes my lack of inhibition and impulse control (ADHD again) gets the better of me, but I never intend to disobey. And a clear order face to face I always obey.
It's the forethought I can't do. Foreseeing needs and trying to fulfil them.Or doing something extra good, or whatever. I always do everything as good as I can - trying to increase that in the name of service makes me cry from performance anxiety.
I need to learn not to over-achieve, not to take responsibility for others needs, not to think my worth lies solely in performance. The concept of "service" seems to do nothing for me in that regard, it's more a hindrance than a help. Obedience and control, however, makes me peaceful and content and happy, and thus a much better slut and property and person to be around.
The funny thing though is that I love fetching stuff for Mistress. I love doing things that makes her happy, or more comfortable, or makes something she wants to achieve easier. I love helping her and I love it when she's happy with me. But it's better for both of us if I can do that when the opportunities presents themselves to me, or when she orders me to it, and not having me walking around with constant anxiety over whether or not I provide a high enough level of service. Because that's just draining.
I think it might matter that I'm naturally inclined to always do my best even if it kills me, to always take responsibility for everything including things I have no way of controlling, and to immediately be acutely aware of anyone else's discomfort and feel driven to make everything better. That fire really doesn't need any more fuel on it, such as me thinking I need to deliver "service". That fire needs some water and a good stomping, nothing else.
So I think I'll keep on feeling controlled and knowing I obey, and trust that Mistress will guide me where she wants me to go, without me going out of my way in making things more complicated then they already are. She wont get a service-slut this year either. Maybe some other year, if I can pick one up for her on any local fetish party. But it wont me.
Nov 25, 2012
Surrendering
We role-played yesterday. It's kind of funny, that it's the same word, but I'm really not meaning in the bedroom-sexy variety. We actually do very little role-play in the bedroom. Instead it was table-top role-playing, a rather new game called "Heroic Role-Playing", depicting the X-men 'verse.
All the characters are teenage mutants (though not ninja turtles) and have recently discovered their abilities and are now training at the "Xaviers' Institute of Higher Learning". In short, we play superhero wannabees, sitting around our friends living room table, eating big amounts of candy and laughing a lot. A role-playing fan fiction, one might say.
My character is a stereotypical cheerleader from North Cal, blonde with big boobs who likes skinny dipping and sleeping in peoples laps. She also turns in to a feral cat-like creature whenever she gets upset or angry.
This time the game actually did touch upon one of my kinks, though. My character, like all the others for that matter, struggles with controlling her power, and hers is mostly troublesome when in the same room as Wolverine. That character is a teacher at the school, so breaking out in claws and snarling every time he entered a room was becoming a problem. Also, she almost ripped the head off a random guy who was groping her at a night club.
The game master decided to resolve the issue by letting Wolvering lock himself in a room together with my character Cas, and attack her. Cas flew at him, and well, one can say we tried out the gaming system and practised the fighting-by-rolling-dices. Of course, my character got her butt royally kicked, not the least because Wolverine has rejuvenating powers and healed every injury immediately while Cas has a very human tendency to bruise and get exhausted. Eventually she was laying panting on the floor, gave up and her claws retracted. Problem solved by fisticuffs.
Now, let's not analyse this scene from a feminist perspective, because from that point of view, it's horrible. The woman who can't control herself, and need a stronger man to control her? Yeah, we've heard it before. But I can't help it. I like this scenario. It might even be called a theme of mine.
I love the idea of being forced to surrender. I love the insecurity in a power struggle, the idea of trying to hold my own and failing, and especially to someone who is "good", someone who doesn't really want to injure, just conquer. Having someone else take control, and keep control, by force of will or physical strength is... a good feeling.
I like submitting too. I like giving myself over. I like the real deal of a mutual relationship were every ones' needs are met and I'm respected as a person. I think I need that in real life. But in Fantasyland? I'm being held captive and wrestled to the ground, or stared down by a will stronger than my own. In Fantasyland, I'm freed from responsibility and choice, and I don't have to defeat my own inner turmoil and ambivalence, because someone stronger than me does it for me.
Of course, the problem is that most people who can do that is not people I really want should do that, because it's not safe. Nor does most people care to do it, because it's a hell of a lot of work. I like the idea of being forced to surrender to authority. The problem is that "authority" usually doesn't give a damn about me, and wouldn't want me afterwards.
One of the reasons I live a happier life now than ten years ago or so, is the security that comes with being owned. I've already been conquered. Our relationship isn't in the unsure, power-struggle phase of conquering and surrender, we're way past that. And while it would be nice to experience that excitement again, it was also a lot of angst and drama and arguing and crying and doubts, out here in real life with real people, and that I don't miss. What we have now, though, gives me a security and safety that means I don't have to defend myself all the time from authority. Also, it's a lot easier for other people to show me who's boss and let me know I'm not in charge, when I'm not fighting tooth and nail, with every available mean, to prove them wrong.
But that scenario, that little peace of interaction, always resonates within me. I seek it out when I can, and I enjoy it, even if it's just a game and a fantasy. It's not sexual as such, it's more... intriguing. It feels good, and fun, and a little tingly. It's not masturbation fodder, but I keep going over it in my mind, and it makes me feel good.
I don't think the tension and the dynamic went by unnoticed by the rest of the gang either. It was quite obvious that there was going to be a showdown, and I got the impression that everybody wanted that played out. And in the middle of the scene, while I and the game-master was story-telling what our respective characters was doing, one of my friends shoves her phone in my face and says. "Remember that it's this guy we're talking about!"
Yeah. Well... maybe a little masturbation fodder. Just a little bit. Hot damn!
All the characters are teenage mutants (though not ninja turtles) and have recently discovered their abilities and are now training at the "Xaviers' Institute of Higher Learning". In short, we play superhero wannabees, sitting around our friends living room table, eating big amounts of candy and laughing a lot. A role-playing fan fiction, one might say.
My character is a stereotypical cheerleader from North Cal, blonde with big boobs who likes skinny dipping and sleeping in peoples laps. She also turns in to a feral cat-like creature whenever she gets upset or angry.
This time the game actually did touch upon one of my kinks, though. My character, like all the others for that matter, struggles with controlling her power, and hers is mostly troublesome when in the same room as Wolverine. That character is a teacher at the school, so breaking out in claws and snarling every time he entered a room was becoming a problem. Also, she almost ripped the head off a random guy who was groping her at a night club.
The game master decided to resolve the issue by letting Wolvering lock himself in a room together with my character Cas, and attack her. Cas flew at him, and well, one can say we tried out the gaming system and practised the fighting-by-rolling-dices. Of course, my character got her butt royally kicked, not the least because Wolverine has rejuvenating powers and healed every injury immediately while Cas has a very human tendency to bruise and get exhausted. Eventually she was laying panting on the floor, gave up and her claws retracted. Problem solved by fisticuffs.
Now, let's not analyse this scene from a feminist perspective, because from that point of view, it's horrible. The woman who can't control herself, and need a stronger man to control her? Yeah, we've heard it before. But I can't help it. I like this scenario. It might even be called a theme of mine.
I love the idea of being forced to surrender. I love the insecurity in a power struggle, the idea of trying to hold my own and failing, and especially to someone who is "good", someone who doesn't really want to injure, just conquer. Having someone else take control, and keep control, by force of will or physical strength is... a good feeling.
I like submitting too. I like giving myself over. I like the real deal of a mutual relationship were every ones' needs are met and I'm respected as a person. I think I need that in real life. But in Fantasyland? I'm being held captive and wrestled to the ground, or stared down by a will stronger than my own. In Fantasyland, I'm freed from responsibility and choice, and I don't have to defeat my own inner turmoil and ambivalence, because someone stronger than me does it for me.
Of course, the problem is that most people who can do that is not people I really want should do that, because it's not safe. Nor does most people care to do it, because it's a hell of a lot of work. I like the idea of being forced to surrender to authority. The problem is that "authority" usually doesn't give a damn about me, and wouldn't want me afterwards.
One of the reasons I live a happier life now than ten years ago or so, is the security that comes with being owned. I've already been conquered. Our relationship isn't in the unsure, power-struggle phase of conquering and surrender, we're way past that. And while it would be nice to experience that excitement again, it was also a lot of angst and drama and arguing and crying and doubts, out here in real life with real people, and that I don't miss. What we have now, though, gives me a security and safety that means I don't have to defend myself all the time from authority. Also, it's a lot easier for other people to show me who's boss and let me know I'm not in charge, when I'm not fighting tooth and nail, with every available mean, to prove them wrong.
But that scenario, that little peace of interaction, always resonates within me. I seek it out when I can, and I enjoy it, even if it's just a game and a fantasy. It's not sexual as such, it's more... intriguing. It feels good, and fun, and a little tingly. It's not masturbation fodder, but I keep going over it in my mind, and it makes me feel good.
I don't think the tension and the dynamic went by unnoticed by the rest of the gang either. It was quite obvious that there was going to be a showdown, and I got the impression that everybody wanted that played out. And in the middle of the scene, while I and the game-master was story-telling what our respective characters was doing, one of my friends shoves her phone in my face and says. "Remember that it's this guy we're talking about!"
Yeah. Well... maybe a little masturbation fodder. Just a little bit. Hot damn!
Nov 23, 2012
Being a bitch
I hurt Mistress today, I was snarky and bitchy and said an offhand comment to her that made her really hurt and angry. It takes her awhile to process it, I noticed that she was pissed off about something but I didn't make the connection to what I had said, and ended up hurt and pissed off all on my own instead.
Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.
And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.
I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.
I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?
I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:
"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."
And then she did.
She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".
And then all was right in the world.
I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.
Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.
Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.
And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.
I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.
I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?
I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:
"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."
And then she did.
She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".
And then all was right in the world.
I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.
Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.
Nov 22, 2012
A real dominant?
Mistress took a test on OKCupid to see if she's really dominant. She was. The result read "You scored 95% on Dominance, higher than 100% of your peers." Yeah. I could've told her.
(Well, actually, I asked her to take it. It was fun.)
Playing hairdresser
I realised one more thing I do that I'm good at. I cut Mistress' and little S' hair. I've been training on Mistress since little S was an infant and the last time she was at the hairdresser resulted in her feeling hurt and upset. They never get how she wants it, and they always try to turn her into a girly girl. No matter how many times she says "classic mens look". Even when she brought me along for extra support could we manage to explain to the girl with the scissors that no, she did not want girly sideburns. Or hairspray. Or a nice feminine touch to her bangs.
So I've been practising, and shortening it gradually. Every time she reacts with an "Oh my God! What have you done!" and after an hour or so, she's used to it and likes it. Now I'm done to a 5mm buzz cut, and it's suits her perfectly.
Little S just gets her shortened at the neck and straight bangs at the front, so that the hair doesn't fall in her eyes. She's not overly found of combing, and her hair is kind of thin and flying all over the place, so it looks best a little shorter.
I guess cutting hair is a service, of sorts. I think that if I want to look for things I could be said to do specifically for Mistress, it makes much more sense to look at the specialised, once in a while-things, that takes guts and creativity. Those I'm good at. Routine stuff? Naaah. Not my thing.
So I've been practising, and shortening it gradually. Every time she reacts with an "Oh my God! What have you done!" and after an hour or so, she's used to it and likes it. Now I'm done to a 5mm buzz cut, and it's suits her perfectly.
Little S just gets her shortened at the neck and straight bangs at the front, so that the hair doesn't fall in her eyes. She's not overly found of combing, and her hair is kind of thin and flying all over the place, so it looks best a little shorter.
I guess cutting hair is a service, of sorts. I think that if I want to look for things I could be said to do specifically for Mistress, it makes much more sense to look at the specialised, once in a while-things, that takes guts and creativity. Those I'm good at. Routine stuff? Naaah. Not my thing.
Nov 16, 2012
Waiting game
When it's Friday night. And we have beer and cheese doodles, and the kid is asleep downstairs with grandma. And Mistress decides she wants to work for a little while, and we agree to quit working at eight and then cuddle on the sofa and have our beers.
And she works and works and works and I go take a shower. And wait. And turn on the telly. And it's eight thirty and she says "I'm almost done". Is this when I'm supposed to be a submissive, obedient, humble slave-type and meekly say "Yes Mistress" and be nice about it when she finally arrives, and not make a fuss and be grumpy all evening? It is, isn't it? Damn.
And she works and works and works and I go take a shower. And wait. And turn on the telly. And it's eight thirty and she says "I'm almost done". Is this when I'm supposed to be a submissive, obedient, humble slave-type and meekly say "Yes Mistress" and be nice about it when she finally arrives, and not make a fuss and be grumpy all evening? It is, isn't it? Damn.
Different perspectives
Mistress went away over night in the beginning of the week, she had a job meeting in another town. Neither of us likes it. We do separate sometimes, either because life demands it of us, or because one of us want to do things the other doesn't. But if there is any way, we stay together.
I hated having her gone. When she's not around, my world gets... insecure. Shaky. Everything feels a little bit dangerous. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. When she's here I'm just walking around, nothing special, and the minute she leaves town, the road is a thin rope and under it is a gaping chasm, incredibly deep and filled with crocodiles. Nothing bad happens to me as long as I walk carefully, but the fear factor is way bigger.
My mother came over and had dinner with us and cleared the table and played with little S while I walked the dog. Clearing the table is one of those tasks I get really exhausted doing, it's way to many choices and clutter and stuff, so it meant a big deal that she did that.
But then we ended up on the sofa after little S had fallen asleep, and talked and talked and talked. Good talk, in many ways, but also heart wrenching. We talked about stuff we've never talked about before. The divorce when I was nine. Why she moved away then, why we didn't live full time with her. Why they separated. My childhood. If there was things that could have been done differently. If they should have been done differently. (Hell yeah.)
And about now. About how we keep walking in to each other, hurting each other. About why she's tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying things. And about little S. About why she tries so hard to convince me that our struggles, our pain, is common and natural and nothing not everybody with small children experiences. And she actually listened when I tried to tell her why I don't think that is so.
Apparently, when I try to evoke sympathy from her, when I want her comfort and her pity and her understanding, she things I blaim little S. She doesn't separate the experience of being a parent, and our experience of lacking basic necessities like sleep and sanity, from the love for the child. And from that point of view, of course she doesn't want to pity me. Because she said she would feel like she pitied me for having little S.
That hurt me. It hurt me that she obviously doesn't see how I feel for my kid. That the love I hold for her doesn't shine through. Two things comfort me though. One is that I do think little S sees it. I hold her, I hug her, I comfort her, I play with her, I tell her I love her and that she's the finest person there is, and most importantly I don't tell her a lot of other stuff. I don't take my irritation or fatigue or frustration out on her. I really don't. But I do show it to my own mother, and I do get hurt when she shuts me down or tell me my experience isn't valid.
The other comforting thing is that I think she lets her own experience get in the way when she interprets mine. She and dad got two kids very close together, and they lived far from their own parents, in a house in bad condition, working hard and having very little money, and my big brother was hyper allergic. I don't think she remembers much from that time, but I do think it's important for her to think that they made it al right. And from that follows that if they managed that situation, of course me and Mistress can manage our situation, and there's no need for her to pity us, or sympathise, or help out.
The ironic part is that she does help out. Quite a lot. It's not really the practical side of things that's my problem. It's the attitude. The snide comments. The clearly stated idea that we could make it easier and practical for ourselves, without asking if her solutions have been tried already or if we have any particular reasons we're not trying them (they always have and we always have reasons). And the absolutely adamant attitude that our kid is like everybody else's kids, that all kids are the same and that we don't have it any more difficult than anybody else, and therefore have nothing to complain about.
That I have a problem with.
All this talk was inspired by me getting an ADHD-diagnosis, of course. Somehow, it made it possible to talk about. And to me, it's an opening to say "hey, look, we do have it harder than many others. Could you stop moralising and brushing me off and just feel for me for a moment?". I wish I wouldn't have to have a diagnosis of a life long cognitive impairment just to get sympathy. I wish she would have seen me as I am, in the situation I am in, without the glasses provided by the diagnosis. I wish me suffering would have been enough. But somehow, it wasn't. Now she can't deny it any more at least, and that does make it feel better.
I don't know what her problem is about the diagnosis. For me, it explains a lot. It makes things make sense that before didn't. But for her... I think she now has to go back and change her whole impression of me. Or maybe I just hope she will?
Every time she criticised me, every time she yelled at me, every time I went without lunch or warm clothes and she scoffed at me and made it into my own fault for forgetting, every time she gave me to much responsibility and then scolded me for not living up to it, she now has to re-interpret. I was never lazy. I was never un-ambitious. I did care, a lot. I just couldn't do it. And I think realising that has made her change her point of view a little, or at least starting to change it.
Her main issue however is our suspicion that little S might have something similar that I have. Every time we hint at little S being more energetic, having more temper, or being more sensitive than the average child, she shoot it down. She just doesn't want to hear it. And now, when we talked, I realised she thinks we're blaming the kid. That we're angry or resentful or something at her for being how she is.
We're not. In our eyes, she's perfect. But the things demanded from us in taking care of her often exceeds our resources. To the point of me finally breaking down and becoming really sick. We simply can't do it. That doesn't mean we love her one iota less, it just means we're sometimes very frustrated and tired, and often angry at society and the people around us for not helping us out. For letting us drown and standing by watching, shrugging. That frustrates us. That makes us angry. Not the kid. She's who she is, and she deserves the best. But when we can't give her what she needs, even when we literary work ourself into the ground, being told "well, being a parent is hard" and "you're no worse off than anyone else" is not what we need to hear.
"I'm so sorry for you, I hope it gets better soon" is what I want to hear. "Poor you, I know it must be hard, I feel for you". Not "poor you for having such a bad child" which I think is what my mom think I mean, but "poor you for not being allowed to sleep nearly as much as you need" or something similar. The love for a child doesn't take away basic needs like sleep or food.
I don't know if it's any harder to take care of little S than of any three-year old. I do know that kids are different from each other, because I know a bunch of them. And I do know that parenting can be very different experiences. I also do know that for us, it has been really really challenging. And that some of the things that we have had to do and live through has been suffering, for real. And I want that to be mirrored by those I'm close to.
Mom and I stayed up to eleven talking, and then I slept lousy, waiting for little S to call to me in the night. We went up early, and when I'd finally dropped little S off at pre-school I went to the University and had a therapy session with a patient. When the patient left the room after an hour, I shut the door and just sat there. My brain couldn't take anymore.
And it's interesting to see how it works. All our sessions is on camera, and on the recording nothing shows of my fatigue, I'm doing a good session. But I can't keep that up. Afterwards, my brain just shut down. I had to sit for a long while before I could go get coffee, and then I had to go lie down for almost and hour in a completely dark room before I could muster enough energy to go write my rapport about the session.
I have been shaky ever since. I got through a busy Wednesday on coffee and calming pills, suffering through repeated panic attacks all day brought on by the fatigue, and then I slept and went around like a zombie all Thursday. Today I'm still affected, but I'm getting better. I'm counting on being back up on my usual base-line around Monday, but it gets very obvious that even if the immediate effect of getting exhausted as I did on Tuesday goes away after a few hours, the lingering effects last for days. I can't afford it. I can fake it in the moment, it doesn't effect patients or my performance, but I suffer from it.
I'm glad I know to rest now. I don't try to force myself forward anymore, I don't get angry with myself. I just have to accept that this is how I function. I can stretch my resources a great deal, but if I don't stop in time, I will take a long time afterwards to recover. And if I don't the end result is the state I was in this summer, something I would very much prefer never to experience again.
Today I'm going to eat lunch, and fill the car with our pre-packed bags for a weekend with my in-laws. And walk the dog. That's about it. And that's perfect.
I hated having her gone. When she's not around, my world gets... insecure. Shaky. Everything feels a little bit dangerous. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. When she's here I'm just walking around, nothing special, and the minute she leaves town, the road is a thin rope and under it is a gaping chasm, incredibly deep and filled with crocodiles. Nothing bad happens to me as long as I walk carefully, but the fear factor is way bigger.
My mother came over and had dinner with us and cleared the table and played with little S while I walked the dog. Clearing the table is one of those tasks I get really exhausted doing, it's way to many choices and clutter and stuff, so it meant a big deal that she did that.
But then we ended up on the sofa after little S had fallen asleep, and talked and talked and talked. Good talk, in many ways, but also heart wrenching. We talked about stuff we've never talked about before. The divorce when I was nine. Why she moved away then, why we didn't live full time with her. Why they separated. My childhood. If there was things that could have been done differently. If they should have been done differently. (Hell yeah.)
And about now. About how we keep walking in to each other, hurting each other. About why she's tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying things. And about little S. About why she tries so hard to convince me that our struggles, our pain, is common and natural and nothing not everybody with small children experiences. And she actually listened when I tried to tell her why I don't think that is so.
Apparently, when I try to evoke sympathy from her, when I want her comfort and her pity and her understanding, she things I blaim little S. She doesn't separate the experience of being a parent, and our experience of lacking basic necessities like sleep and sanity, from the love for the child. And from that point of view, of course she doesn't want to pity me. Because she said she would feel like she pitied me for having little S.
That hurt me. It hurt me that she obviously doesn't see how I feel for my kid. That the love I hold for her doesn't shine through. Two things comfort me though. One is that I do think little S sees it. I hold her, I hug her, I comfort her, I play with her, I tell her I love her and that she's the finest person there is, and most importantly I don't tell her a lot of other stuff. I don't take my irritation or fatigue or frustration out on her. I really don't. But I do show it to my own mother, and I do get hurt when she shuts me down or tell me my experience isn't valid.
The other comforting thing is that I think she lets her own experience get in the way when she interprets mine. She and dad got two kids very close together, and they lived far from their own parents, in a house in bad condition, working hard and having very little money, and my big brother was hyper allergic. I don't think she remembers much from that time, but I do think it's important for her to think that they made it al right. And from that follows that if they managed that situation, of course me and Mistress can manage our situation, and there's no need for her to pity us, or sympathise, or help out.
The ironic part is that she does help out. Quite a lot. It's not really the practical side of things that's my problem. It's the attitude. The snide comments. The clearly stated idea that we could make it easier and practical for ourselves, without asking if her solutions have been tried already or if we have any particular reasons we're not trying them (they always have and we always have reasons). And the absolutely adamant attitude that our kid is like everybody else's kids, that all kids are the same and that we don't have it any more difficult than anybody else, and therefore have nothing to complain about.
That I have a problem with.
All this talk was inspired by me getting an ADHD-diagnosis, of course. Somehow, it made it possible to talk about. And to me, it's an opening to say "hey, look, we do have it harder than many others. Could you stop moralising and brushing me off and just feel for me for a moment?". I wish I wouldn't have to have a diagnosis of a life long cognitive impairment just to get sympathy. I wish she would have seen me as I am, in the situation I am in, without the glasses provided by the diagnosis. I wish me suffering would have been enough. But somehow, it wasn't. Now she can't deny it any more at least, and that does make it feel better.
I don't know what her problem is about the diagnosis. For me, it explains a lot. It makes things make sense that before didn't. But for her... I think she now has to go back and change her whole impression of me. Or maybe I just hope she will?
Every time she criticised me, every time she yelled at me, every time I went without lunch or warm clothes and she scoffed at me and made it into my own fault for forgetting, every time she gave me to much responsibility and then scolded me for not living up to it, she now has to re-interpret. I was never lazy. I was never un-ambitious. I did care, a lot. I just couldn't do it. And I think realising that has made her change her point of view a little, or at least starting to change it.
Her main issue however is our suspicion that little S might have something similar that I have. Every time we hint at little S being more energetic, having more temper, or being more sensitive than the average child, she shoot it down. She just doesn't want to hear it. And now, when we talked, I realised she thinks we're blaming the kid. That we're angry or resentful or something at her for being how she is.
We're not. In our eyes, she's perfect. But the things demanded from us in taking care of her often exceeds our resources. To the point of me finally breaking down and becoming really sick. We simply can't do it. That doesn't mean we love her one iota less, it just means we're sometimes very frustrated and tired, and often angry at society and the people around us for not helping us out. For letting us drown and standing by watching, shrugging. That frustrates us. That makes us angry. Not the kid. She's who she is, and she deserves the best. But when we can't give her what she needs, even when we literary work ourself into the ground, being told "well, being a parent is hard" and "you're no worse off than anyone else" is not what we need to hear.
"I'm so sorry for you, I hope it gets better soon" is what I want to hear. "Poor you, I know it must be hard, I feel for you". Not "poor you for having such a bad child" which I think is what my mom think I mean, but "poor you for not being allowed to sleep nearly as much as you need" or something similar. The love for a child doesn't take away basic needs like sleep or food.
I don't know if it's any harder to take care of little S than of any three-year old. I do know that kids are different from each other, because I know a bunch of them. And I do know that parenting can be very different experiences. I also do know that for us, it has been really really challenging. And that some of the things that we have had to do and live through has been suffering, for real. And I want that to be mirrored by those I'm close to.
Mom and I stayed up to eleven talking, and then I slept lousy, waiting for little S to call to me in the night. We went up early, and when I'd finally dropped little S off at pre-school I went to the University and had a therapy session with a patient. When the patient left the room after an hour, I shut the door and just sat there. My brain couldn't take anymore.
And it's interesting to see how it works. All our sessions is on camera, and on the recording nothing shows of my fatigue, I'm doing a good session. But I can't keep that up. Afterwards, my brain just shut down. I had to sit for a long while before I could go get coffee, and then I had to go lie down for almost and hour in a completely dark room before I could muster enough energy to go write my rapport about the session.
I have been shaky ever since. I got through a busy Wednesday on coffee and calming pills, suffering through repeated panic attacks all day brought on by the fatigue, and then I slept and went around like a zombie all Thursday. Today I'm still affected, but I'm getting better. I'm counting on being back up on my usual base-line around Monday, but it gets very obvious that even if the immediate effect of getting exhausted as I did on Tuesday goes away after a few hours, the lingering effects last for days. I can't afford it. I can fake it in the moment, it doesn't effect patients or my performance, but I suffer from it.
I'm glad I know to rest now. I don't try to force myself forward anymore, I don't get angry with myself. I just have to accept that this is how I function. I can stretch my resources a great deal, but if I don't stop in time, I will take a long time afterwards to recover. And if I don't the end result is the state I was in this summer, something I would very much prefer never to experience again.
Today I'm going to eat lunch, and fill the car with our pre-packed bags for a weekend with my in-laws. And walk the dog. That's about it. And that's perfect.
Nov 15, 2012
How it is.
Mistress worked from home today, but was away between breakfast and lunch time. When she was on her way back, she called me, and among other things she asked me to make her a cup of coffee for when she returned. I dutifully said "Yes Mistress!" and then promptly forgot about it. I finished my own coffee, changed clothes, managed to corner the dog so that I could get his little jacket on, and then went out on a run with him. Five minutes later I remembered the coffee.
I turned around, jogged all the way home (with a confused doggy jumping beside me) and made coffee. When I was finally done and had made it out of the house again, Mistress arrived. She completely agreed on my prioritising, and kissed me good bye as I went out on a second try at getting some exercise.
Anyway. The point is that this is what happens when you've bad working memory. I was officially diagnosed with ADHD a week ago. This is who I am. This is how I function. I can absolutely be meaning to do something, and then completely lose track of it for a while. And I spent the whole last year fighting this, trying my absolutely hardest to change, to do better, to straighten up and manage life like everybody else does. The only thing that got me was a complete, clinical burn-out, depression and a lot of anger and arguments.
I can't make this go away.
I can compensate. I can use things to make me remember. I can live a life where nothing catastrophic occurs if I don't remember. But most of all, the most important thing, is that I can forgive myself.
Before, I would have berated myself all the way home, I would have had a furious monologue in my head about what a terrible person I am, what a disappointment and burden for Mistress, how stupid and worthless of me to not even be able to remember a direct order for five minutes. It's a strategy of sorts - emotions help memory, fear and anger can help to motivate actions, and it probably would raise my ability to remember a similar order in a similar situation a little bit. But only a little bit. And to a monstrous cost.
It was so good to realise I don't do that any more. Now I actively try not to be ashamed, not to be angry. When the inner monologue start I identify it and ignore it. It's not true. I'm not bad. I'm not disrespectful. It's not a matter of not trying.
This is just how I'm wired. I'm impulsive. I've got a bad working memory. I have problem concentrating. I need more sleep than most people. I have strong feelings, strong impulses, fast reflexes, intense energy. This is just me. The only thing that happens if I hate myself over it is that I have less energy left to other things.
Luckily, it's me Mistress wants. She did say I was an "epic failure" at being a house wife a while ago, but added that I was a very good slut. And I guess that's how it is. If she wants someone to manage her house work, she'll have to get another slave.
(That would be kind of cute. She could get some pretty submissive boy who could walk around here half naked, help us out with little S, and keep things clean. I bet that when I've graduated and have a job we could support a third person together.)
If she sticks with me, what she'll get is a devoted mother to her child, a loving partner, a obedient slut and an understanding friend. But she wont get someone who remembers a lot of things or has any sense of order and structure. That's just how it is.
I turned around, jogged all the way home (with a confused doggy jumping beside me) and made coffee. When I was finally done and had made it out of the house again, Mistress arrived. She completely agreed on my prioritising, and kissed me good bye as I went out on a second try at getting some exercise.
Anyway. The point is that this is what happens when you've bad working memory. I was officially diagnosed with ADHD a week ago. This is who I am. This is how I function. I can absolutely be meaning to do something, and then completely lose track of it for a while. And I spent the whole last year fighting this, trying my absolutely hardest to change, to do better, to straighten up and manage life like everybody else does. The only thing that got me was a complete, clinical burn-out, depression and a lot of anger and arguments.
I can't make this go away.
I can compensate. I can use things to make me remember. I can live a life where nothing catastrophic occurs if I don't remember. But most of all, the most important thing, is that I can forgive myself.
Before, I would have berated myself all the way home, I would have had a furious monologue in my head about what a terrible person I am, what a disappointment and burden for Mistress, how stupid and worthless of me to not even be able to remember a direct order for five minutes. It's a strategy of sorts - emotions help memory, fear and anger can help to motivate actions, and it probably would raise my ability to remember a similar order in a similar situation a little bit. But only a little bit. And to a monstrous cost.
It was so good to realise I don't do that any more. Now I actively try not to be ashamed, not to be angry. When the inner monologue start I identify it and ignore it. It's not true. I'm not bad. I'm not disrespectful. It's not a matter of not trying.
This is just how I'm wired. I'm impulsive. I've got a bad working memory. I have problem concentrating. I need more sleep than most people. I have strong feelings, strong impulses, fast reflexes, intense energy. This is just me. The only thing that happens if I hate myself over it is that I have less energy left to other things.
Luckily, it's me Mistress wants. She did say I was an "epic failure" at being a house wife a while ago, but added that I was a very good slut. And I guess that's how it is. If she wants someone to manage her house work, she'll have to get another slave.
(That would be kind of cute. She could get some pretty submissive boy who could walk around here half naked, help us out with little S, and keep things clean. I bet that when I've graduated and have a job we could support a third person together.)
If she sticks with me, what she'll get is a devoted mother to her child, a loving partner, a obedient slut and an understanding friend. But she wont get someone who remembers a lot of things or has any sense of order and structure. That's just how it is.
The best laid plans...
Last Sunday we were going to rope-thing, people meeting and playing around with tying each other up. We've gone once before, but haven't been able to since, so I was looking forward to it. The meeting was moved from day time to night time, so we asked my dad to babysit after little S had fallen asleep, all he had to do was watch the whodunit on our TV instead of his own. He was all for it, and eventually little S was sleeping quietly in her bed in her room, Mistress had done the ten minutes of last minute work she suddenly decided she had to do, and we were off.
And then we drove through town and around in a suburb looking for the right address. Both yawning desperately. When we realised we had parked the car in the wrong area and decided to move it, Mistress commented on how tired she was and how she really only was doing this so that I could meet some people. For a second I was furious, and when I looked closer at the anger I realised that I was absolutely exhausted too, and more or less did this because I wanted Mistress to get out and meet some people. And the anger fell away and I confessed that well, I wasn't really feeling like it either.
So we drove home again. And surprised my dad in front of the TV, shared some candy and a cup of tea with him, and then spent the rest of the evening cuddled on the sofa just the two of us. I don't remember what we said to dad, probably something resembling the truth. I think we only left out that bit about tying people up...
There's no way around it, we really don't have the energy to have an active social life. Maybe we never will. Hopefully people will have patience with us, and appreciate the rare occasions when we actually do turn up. They do happen, from time to time.
And then we drove through town and around in a suburb looking for the right address. Both yawning desperately. When we realised we had parked the car in the wrong area and decided to move it, Mistress commented on how tired she was and how she really only was doing this so that I could meet some people. For a second I was furious, and when I looked closer at the anger I realised that I was absolutely exhausted too, and more or less did this because I wanted Mistress to get out and meet some people. And the anger fell away and I confessed that well, I wasn't really feeling like it either.
So we drove home again. And surprised my dad in front of the TV, shared some candy and a cup of tea with him, and then spent the rest of the evening cuddled on the sofa just the two of us. I don't remember what we said to dad, probably something resembling the truth. I think we only left out that bit about tying people up...
There's no way around it, we really don't have the energy to have an active social life. Maybe we never will. Hopefully people will have patience with us, and appreciate the rare occasions when we actually do turn up. They do happen, from time to time.
Nov 6, 2012
A night out
Yesterday, I took my collar for a walk. That is, there was a meeting of poly folks at a nice pub down town and Mistress gave me permission to attend. I think she would very much have liked to come too, but someone had to stay home with little S, and in regards to who of us will most enjoy an outing mingling alone in a new social context, it's not even a competition. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have want to go alone, but I missed here there with me.
Mistress is an introvert, in that she needs to have energy to have any fun meeting people. When she does, she's funny and outgoing and a good conversationalist. But if she's not feeling her best, she doesn't want to meet people. I on the other hand need to meet people to feel my best. I get energy from things like yesterday. If I don't get to do it, I wilt.
The problem is that neither of us likes to be separated. I like to meet new people, but I prefer to have Mistress there with me. And Mistress likes me to meet new people, but want to be there with me or have me stay at home and keep her company if she doesn't feel like it. This wouldn't really be a problem if it wasn't for the fact that we're parents and more or less work shifts and rarely can do stuff together outside of the home. And that we're constantly exhausted, which makes the conditions needed for Mistress to feel sociable very rare.
So I'm glad I was allowed to go alone. Because I need things like this to feel happy and stay healthy. Depression is a bitch, and one of the ways for me to fight it is to laugh among friends and talk with other people. If I feel lonely or cut off or isolated, the dark and heavy thoughts take over.
I had a really good time. My friend I. was there, and well, basically all the people she has sex with, wants to have sex with or have had sex with. And around 25 other people, but I didn't talk to them. A good friend from my program at the university was there too, with her boyfriend and their two year old. I felt safe and appreciated and accepted. It was great to be able to meet people and really feel like myself.
Anyone who noticed my collar said something nice about it. My friend I. and another friend who I've known for ten years or so, D., got to read the back side of the tablet too, that felt special and a bit embarrassing, but not in a bad way. I declared that I would never ever read it out loud, after which D. claimed to be unable to read it at all and tried to cajole me into reading it out loud.
It turned out that even though I feel secure and safe and liked, I still get mouthy and uppity if anyone tries to dominate me or order me around. It's not that I don't like it. I do like it, actually. But I'm not sure if anyone would think I do, because I can't seem to help myself, I always have a witty comeback and a way of getting the upper hand. Or at least not allowing anyone else to get the upper hand. But at least it's nice when I don't feel threatened or afraid, when it's done in humour and when I know that it's not impossible that I would yield and that nothing bad would happen if I did.
I told I. and D. about the ceremony Mistress and me would like to have, to formally collar me in front of witnesses, and both seemed to understand the idea and said that they would be honoured to attend. That warmed my heart. I feel much more secure now in actually going through with it. It has felt a little daunting trying to explain to people what it is we're doing, and of course some part of me always worry that either no one will want to come, or that we'll be laughed at or misunderstood. But those fears are pretty much laid to rest now.
Before we always thought that we would do it at a kink-event, most probably at the girls only BDSM-club we go to sometimes. But now when I feel bolder, I've been thinking that maybe we should just do it here in our apartment. That has the advantage of us being able to set the date more freely, and also not have to hassle about our male friends. That's the biggest drawback to the club plan - that there's a handful of guys that we would probably want to have on the guest list.
Aaaah! Guest list! Now I'm getting all nervous....
Mistress is an introvert, in that she needs to have energy to have any fun meeting people. When she does, she's funny and outgoing and a good conversationalist. But if she's not feeling her best, she doesn't want to meet people. I on the other hand need to meet people to feel my best. I get energy from things like yesterday. If I don't get to do it, I wilt.
The problem is that neither of us likes to be separated. I like to meet new people, but I prefer to have Mistress there with me. And Mistress likes me to meet new people, but want to be there with me or have me stay at home and keep her company if she doesn't feel like it. This wouldn't really be a problem if it wasn't for the fact that we're parents and more or less work shifts and rarely can do stuff together outside of the home. And that we're constantly exhausted, which makes the conditions needed for Mistress to feel sociable very rare.
So I'm glad I was allowed to go alone. Because I need things like this to feel happy and stay healthy. Depression is a bitch, and one of the ways for me to fight it is to laugh among friends and talk with other people. If I feel lonely or cut off or isolated, the dark and heavy thoughts take over.
I had a really good time. My friend I. was there, and well, basically all the people she has sex with, wants to have sex with or have had sex with. And around 25 other people, but I didn't talk to them. A good friend from my program at the university was there too, with her boyfriend and their two year old. I felt safe and appreciated and accepted. It was great to be able to meet people and really feel like myself.
Anyone who noticed my collar said something nice about it. My friend I. and another friend who I've known for ten years or so, D., got to read the back side of the tablet too, that felt special and a bit embarrassing, but not in a bad way. I declared that I would never ever read it out loud, after which D. claimed to be unable to read it at all and tried to cajole me into reading it out loud.
It turned out that even though I feel secure and safe and liked, I still get mouthy and uppity if anyone tries to dominate me or order me around. It's not that I don't like it. I do like it, actually. But I'm not sure if anyone would think I do, because I can't seem to help myself, I always have a witty comeback and a way of getting the upper hand. Or at least not allowing anyone else to get the upper hand. But at least it's nice when I don't feel threatened or afraid, when it's done in humour and when I know that it's not impossible that I would yield and that nothing bad would happen if I did.
I told I. and D. about the ceremony Mistress and me would like to have, to formally collar me in front of witnesses, and both seemed to understand the idea and said that they would be honoured to attend. That warmed my heart. I feel much more secure now in actually going through with it. It has felt a little daunting trying to explain to people what it is we're doing, and of course some part of me always worry that either no one will want to come, or that we'll be laughed at or misunderstood. But those fears are pretty much laid to rest now.
Before we always thought that we would do it at a kink-event, most probably at the girls only BDSM-club we go to sometimes. But now when I feel bolder, I've been thinking that maybe we should just do it here in our apartment. That has the advantage of us being able to set the date more freely, and also not have to hassle about our male friends. That's the biggest drawback to the club plan - that there's a handful of guys that we would probably want to have on the guest list.
Aaaah! Guest list! Now I'm getting all nervous....
Nov 3, 2012
Being collared?
Mistress got me a collar a few months ago. A permanent collar, from http://wyredslave.com/. It's shiny and pretty and has a beautiful tablet with an inscription on it reading "Amor vincit omnia" on one side and "This slut is the property of X X" on the other. (Well, not XX - but Mistress' initials and last name.)
She got it meaning she ordered it and paid for it and tried it on me and then put it in a box awaiting... something.
Well, first awaiting a good opportunity to hold a small ceremony with us exchanging vows in the presence of a few of our friends. But then, when the opportunities went by without us doing anything about it, it turned out to be a wait for my mood to stabilise. Depression and starting up life long commitments doesn't really mesh, in Mistress opinion, and I found it hard to disagree. (Or at least to disagree on any reasonable grounds.)
But as my mood has lightened this waiting thing has gotten old. I want a date! I want something, something to hang on to, something to make me believe that it's really going to happen.
We talked about it, and Mistress took out the box and looked at the pretty, shiny necklace, and we realised that one reason for the waiting game is the collar itself. It's shiny. And big. And stiff. And not even remotely discreet. I think both me and Mistress feels a little bit hesitant about the comments and looks I'll get, especially from our parents.
But now she has tried it on me. We skipped the part of keeping it secret and sacred until the ceremony, and decided that a more gradual approach works better for us. She put it on me yesterday in front of the TV in the evening, and it was wonderful. I slept in it, which worked just fine, and now she's put it on me again and spanked and fucked me while I was wearing it - non-surprisingly, it didn't interfere with either.
And most of all, I think we both get a chance to get used to the look of it, the feel of it. Once we're sure that we like it, I don't think others comments will affect us at all. But it takes a little bit of getting used to.
She got it meaning she ordered it and paid for it and tried it on me and then put it in a box awaiting... something.
Well, first awaiting a good opportunity to hold a small ceremony with us exchanging vows in the presence of a few of our friends. But then, when the opportunities went by without us doing anything about it, it turned out to be a wait for my mood to stabilise. Depression and starting up life long commitments doesn't really mesh, in Mistress opinion, and I found it hard to disagree. (Or at least to disagree on any reasonable grounds.)
But as my mood has lightened this waiting thing has gotten old. I want a date! I want something, something to hang on to, something to make me believe that it's really going to happen.
We talked about it, and Mistress took out the box and looked at the pretty, shiny necklace, and we realised that one reason for the waiting game is the collar itself. It's shiny. And big. And stiff. And not even remotely discreet. I think both me and Mistress feels a little bit hesitant about the comments and looks I'll get, especially from our parents.
But now she has tried it on me. We skipped the part of keeping it secret and sacred until the ceremony, and decided that a more gradual approach works better for us. She put it on me yesterday in front of the TV in the evening, and it was wonderful. I slept in it, which worked just fine, and now she's put it on me again and spanked and fucked me while I was wearing it - non-surprisingly, it didn't interfere with either.
And most of all, I think we both get a chance to get used to the look of it, the feel of it. Once we're sure that we like it, I don't think others comments will affect us at all. But it takes a little bit of getting used to.
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