We've been talking about life goals a bit, about plans for the future and what we want to happen in our lifes. The big stuff, the big picture. I make happy fairy tale plans for the future all the time, with Mistress humouring me and humming along, without making any commitment either way. That's just how we do it, because we have different needs when it comes to planning.
But now Mistress is the one initiating it, and it feels great. When it's just me, it's just dreaming. I can dream all I want, but I can't make anything happen. The wheels doesn't start to turn until she is onboard.
My job contract ends in June 2015. It's very likely I'll be offered another position then, with better pay, at the same place. I could go on doing what I'm doing in the same office with the same colleagues. If I want to.
Mistress has a deal with her employer about working from home for the duration of my job contract, but whether or not she could prolong that is uncertain. It might be okay, it might not, it's hard to say. And I'm not sure she wants to, either, she'll get new assignments at work around that time that might mean she needs to be more on sight anyway.
And in June I'm going to get my license, provided I keep working like I've been for the last six months, and that means the job offers available to me will increase drastically. There's a lot more job offers out there for licensed psychologists than for those just out of school.
In August 2015, little S starts school. That's absolutely crazy, I have a very hard time wrapping my head around that one. But that means wherever we are at that time will be her first year in school, and if we move after that, she's going to have to change schools, and that's a hassle I'd like to spare her. If we can - it might not be possible.
And... the trickiest part. I'm 34. We've been talking about having another baby since little S was born, five years ago. And if we're going to do that, we need to do it sometime soon. It's not to late, not at all, but it's not something that we're comfortable postponing for say another ten years or so either. We could, but the risks increases, and we can't just have sex without protection and hope for the best. If we want a baby, we need to take active steps to make it happen.
Mistress is ten years my senior, and she says she's starting to feel old (mind you, she threatend to whack me in the head with an iron saucepan when I was complaining about feeling old at 18, and she was 28 and had "about to be 30"-angst. So her feeling to old isn't really a new phenomena.)
All this means that the coming year we have to make some big decisions. Where are we going to live, and how are we going to make a living? Are we going to try to have another baby, or are we happy and content with having an only child? We need seclusion and hate having neighbours, but we want good communications and a well stocked grocery store. I dream about dogs and horses, and we both crave nature - woods and water and a view.
How do we reconcile those dreams with our needs to live in a culture rich environment where we feel safe and don't have to deal with prejudice against same-sex couples? Where will little S thrive the most? How do we balance our needs against the need to be close to our respective parents? And jobs - we need jobs that's stimulating and fun and reasonably well paid, and not to far from wherever we choose to live.
Yesterday we were cuddling on the sofa, hashing all this out, pondering this and that and the other, and circled around the question of another baby. I mentioned that when we were discussing it a time table showed up in my head. That we should keep working on being healthy and losing weight, so that I was in the shape I need to be to safely get pregnant at the end of this year, and that we should start arrangements with the relevant hospital in January 2015. If I got pregnant sometime during the spring of 2015, I would be able to finish my job contract, and be eligible for paid parental leave when the baby arrives.
And do you know what Mistress said? She said "I think that sounds reasonable. I feel the same way."
And that means it's on. It's on! It's the best gift I've gotten for a long time. She said yes!
We're going to have another baby!
(We just need to take care of some things first. Like me losing 10% of my current body weight. And oh, actually get pregnant. But apart from that, it's all settled!)
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 7, 2014
Control
For a while now, we've been letting things slide. She hasn't controlled me, I haven't submitted all that much. The love is there, the respect and tenderness is there. But somethings been missing, and we've just recently figured it out.
I told her there wasn't enough money on my account to pay for something I wanted. She asked where the money had gone, and I had no idea. She asked me to change a plan regarding work a couple of weeks back, and I freaked because it messed with something super important job wise - that I'd never mentioned to her. I've bought and eaten sweets and not even considered "bothering" her with asking about it.
There's been no intentional disobedience about this, just a slippery slope of me assuming she doesn't care, and her assuming (I guess) that I resent her interfering. I haven't told, she hasn't asked, and we've both tried to accept the situation and hide our resentment, because it seemed necessary and good for the other one.
And there is the simple reason why we haven't had a meaningful sex life for a month or so. Because... because her knowing about my bank account, isn't very sexy in it self, but her knowing about my life most definitely is.
We'll fix this.
I told her there wasn't enough money on my account to pay for something I wanted. She asked where the money had gone, and I had no idea. She asked me to change a plan regarding work a couple of weeks back, and I freaked because it messed with something super important job wise - that I'd never mentioned to her. I've bought and eaten sweets and not even considered "bothering" her with asking about it.
There's been no intentional disobedience about this, just a slippery slope of me assuming she doesn't care, and her assuming (I guess) that I resent her interfering. I haven't told, she hasn't asked, and we've both tried to accept the situation and hide our resentment, because it seemed necessary and good for the other one.
And there is the simple reason why we haven't had a meaningful sex life for a month or so. Because... because her knowing about my bank account, isn't very sexy in it self, but her knowing about my life most definitely is.
We'll fix this.
Oct 2, 2014
Mistress says it's time to brush my teeth now.
We have a very comfortable evening routine were we cuddle on the sofa with some tea and sandwiches and watch something more or less mindless for an hour. The only downside with this is that I'm starting to think that we've forgotten how to have sex. But then again, sex late in week nights never was our thing.
Something about moving, or maybe more about me going to work, has really screwed with out mojo. We're not unhappy or in a bad place, we feel rock solid actually. We just seem... not all that horny. Sometimes I think it's my fault, because I've always been the one with the more loud and obnoxious libido, and maybe now when I'm not pushing for it (or at least not as hard or as often) we're going to slide on to lesbian bed death and realise in a year that we haven't had sex since last summer.
And then I think "meh!" and feel secure in the fact that our love life tends to wax and wane in general, but the love doesn't. It's still there. It's just the "getting it on" factor that's missing a bit.
Something about moving, or maybe more about me going to work, has really screwed with out mojo. We're not unhappy or in a bad place, we feel rock solid actually. We just seem... not all that horny. Sometimes I think it's my fault, because I've always been the one with the more loud and obnoxious libido, and maybe now when I'm not pushing for it (or at least not as hard or as often) we're going to slide on to lesbian bed death and realise in a year that we haven't had sex since last summer.
And then I think "meh!" and feel secure in the fact that our love life tends to wax and wane in general, but the love doesn't. It's still there. It's just the "getting it on" factor that's missing a bit.
Sep 29, 2014
Everyday life
Did you know that working full time makes it a lot harder to keep up with blogging? I've just noticed...
We're pretty much settled in our new home now, all three of us (four counting the hamster, but I'm not sure he really qualifies as a person. And the fishes totally don't count.) Mistress is working from her office at home or travelling - both to her office at work for hours from here, and all over Europe for meetings, workshops and stuff. She's been gone quite a lot lately, and it's a bit of a hassle. But I'm surprisingly okay with being alone with the kid. I'm exhausted when she's finally back again, and it's very obvious who it is that does the laundry and cleaning in this home (a clue: it's not me), but we get by.
But that working full time thing? So not my thing. I recently re-negotiated to 6 hours/day instead, and it feels a lot better. I earn less, and I wont get my license until June (instead of April) but I won't go bonkers or run straight into a wall again, and that's important too.
The apartment feels like home, and little S seems to like her new pre-school. But... this part of the country isn't our home. We don't have roots here. We don't identify with this place. It might be and adjustment thing, or it might simply be that we're a couple of academic lesbians in a working class town.
We're pretty much settled in our new home now, all three of us (four counting the hamster, but I'm not sure he really qualifies as a person. And the fishes totally don't count.) Mistress is working from her office at home or travelling - both to her office at work for hours from here, and all over Europe for meetings, workshops and stuff. She's been gone quite a lot lately, and it's a bit of a hassle. But I'm surprisingly okay with being alone with the kid. I'm exhausted when she's finally back again, and it's very obvious who it is that does the laundry and cleaning in this home (a clue: it's not me), but we get by.
But that working full time thing? So not my thing. I recently re-negotiated to 6 hours/day instead, and it feels a lot better. I earn less, and I wont get my license until June (instead of April) but I won't go bonkers or run straight into a wall again, and that's important too.
The apartment feels like home, and little S seems to like her new pre-school. But... this part of the country isn't our home. We don't have roots here. We don't identify with this place. It might be and adjustment thing, or it might simply be that we're a couple of academic lesbians in a working class town.
Jun 15, 2014
I'm submissive, but I'm rather good at defending myself
I'm not really comfortable at work right now, which bugs me since it has nothing to do with my actual job or anything I'm hired to do. As far as I can tell, I'm performing perfectly adequately, possibly a bit over expectations, as far as my actual job goes.
Unfortunately, that's not all that it takes to be a good enough employee, and this... this place doesn't really mesh with me. At least not in all aspects.
Last week I had an unfortunate run-in with an arrogant, 70-year old male doctor, who didn't think I provided him with enough service and maintenance when we had a joint assignment with a patient. And I didn't, since I figured he was a colleague and a fellow person whom I supposed I would be cooperating with - not cater to and serve. He didn't appreciate that, and I didn't appreciate him telling me so much.
So. Yeah.
It's the third time someone over the age of sixty kindly but sternly has attempted to tell me how I'm supposed to act and how things are actually done here. I'm getting a bit sick and tired of it.
In the moment, I seem to always find my feet. So far I have an exemplary record of answering calmly and with poise something along the lines of "that's not part of my job description" or "I'm sorry that [this thing I do] makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to keep doing it for [this and that work-related reason]."
But. That's in the moment. I know I come off as sure of myself, as confident and tough and able to take care of myself. But in the long run, I'm none of those things. I don't want to pick fights with people. I don't want to be critisized or corrected or told I'm doing things wrong, no matter if I agree or not. I don't want to have to defend myself.
Because at the core of me, I'm submissive. I don't want to stand up for myself against arrogant, spoiled old doctors. I want to please and be liked and accomodate. And when I don't, and get called on it, it hurts and rattles me, and now I'm all afraid and unsure of myself and worried and have this angsty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
So why do I do it? Why do I enter a strictly hierarchical system like the public health care system, with ancient traditions of strict ranks and expected obedience, and then refuse to conform? Isn't that kind of stupid, especially if I don't actually like being a rebel, and the consequences of acting like a rebel?
I do it because I really really want to be a psychologist, and because I'm good at it. It's a job I can actually do, and do well, as far as the job goes. The things I've been defending myself against are the demands from the work place that interfers with my ability to do my actual tasks, because the demands interferes with my disability.
I can have ADHD and be an excellent psychologist and therapist. Those roles plays to all my strengths, and barely touches on my weaknesses. That's what I want to do, and something I can do, despite being a scatterbrain with low attention span and a distinct lack in stamina. Under the circumstances offered by this position, I can actually succeed, and perform well above par for the course at this very specialised task.
But. I can only do it if I'm allowed to do precisely that, and not a thousand other things that female employees who's not a doctor routinely are expected to do. I'm not a nurse, or a medical secretary or an orderly, and I'm not any of those things for very good reason - one of them is that I suck at that kind of work. It's not that I think I'm to good to be doing it, it's that I know I'm to bad at it. Very much the same issue I have with being a stay-at-home-mom, incidentally. It's not that I don't want to do it, it's just that my disability covers exactly the skills that kind of serviceoriented, multitasking job requires.
I can barely administer my own patients, I'm not going to take over those tasks for some doctor too. I can sit in for hours and hours on meaningless meetings where my input isn't asked for - but it takes ridicolous amounts of energy from me, and to preserve some for, you know, my actual job, I've taken up knitting. Straight up scarves, no patterns, and wooden knits that doesn't make any sounds. And still someone felt she had to come and tell me "we don't do that here". Ah well, yes we do. I do - because without it I'm not going to be able to do my job, and I'm not willing to compromise with that. And so on, ad infinutim. It feels like I'm constantly surprising people or disturbing people, just by trying to exist in the workplace and create a space where I can do my job.
So basically - I have a job with tasks I love doing and that I'm good at. I want to please and accomodate and be a good employee, in accordance with my submissive, labradoresque soul. But, unfortunately, other sources at work gets in the way, and my tactics for trying to do my job crashes against unwritten rules and expectations in the workplace. And since I'm very very anxious to do my job, I'm unwilling to compromise with the groups informal rules and the informal leaders display of status.
And of course, I have a life long experience of never fitting in, of never being good enough, of never getting the social codes anyway, and of always feeling slightly like an alien. If I was good at conforming and listening to what other people expect of me, I wouldn't have my family right now, because me and Mistress wouldn't have been together. So, on the whole, it works in my favour, I would say.
I'll just hang in there, be myself, keep on not letting people bully my or push me around, defending my position as psychologist and my right to do the job I'm actually paid to do, and to not be burdened down with a thousand other tasks that's not part of the job description (because I'm to handicapped to deal with that - I don't have the resources), and if it all goes to hell in a handbasket, let the bosses fire me, if that's what they want to do. I'm not backing down, and I'm not quitting. I'm goint to keep going straight ahead in my valued direction, in being as good as I can be at my job, and not take responsibility for the myriad of things that aren't working in the organisation and that I don't have any power over.
But I long for the move. And for vacation. In to weeks time I have three weeks off, and when I return to work, I'll be living with Mistress again. I need her. I need her to tell me what's really important, who it is I'm really supposed to be pleasing, and who I belong to. And it's not the public health service organisation, nor it's elderly employees.
Unfortunately, that's not all that it takes to be a good enough employee, and this... this place doesn't really mesh with me. At least not in all aspects.
Last week I had an unfortunate run-in with an arrogant, 70-year old male doctor, who didn't think I provided him with enough service and maintenance when we had a joint assignment with a patient. And I didn't, since I figured he was a colleague and a fellow person whom I supposed I would be cooperating with - not cater to and serve. He didn't appreciate that, and I didn't appreciate him telling me so much.
So. Yeah.
It's the third time someone over the age of sixty kindly but sternly has attempted to tell me how I'm supposed to act and how things are actually done here. I'm getting a bit sick and tired of it.
In the moment, I seem to always find my feet. So far I have an exemplary record of answering calmly and with poise something along the lines of "that's not part of my job description" or "I'm sorry that [this thing I do] makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to keep doing it for [this and that work-related reason]."
But. That's in the moment. I know I come off as sure of myself, as confident and tough and able to take care of myself. But in the long run, I'm none of those things. I don't want to pick fights with people. I don't want to be critisized or corrected or told I'm doing things wrong, no matter if I agree or not. I don't want to have to defend myself.
Because at the core of me, I'm submissive. I don't want to stand up for myself against arrogant, spoiled old doctors. I want to please and be liked and accomodate. And when I don't, and get called on it, it hurts and rattles me, and now I'm all afraid and unsure of myself and worried and have this angsty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
So why do I do it? Why do I enter a strictly hierarchical system like the public health care system, with ancient traditions of strict ranks and expected obedience, and then refuse to conform? Isn't that kind of stupid, especially if I don't actually like being a rebel, and the consequences of acting like a rebel?
I do it because I really really want to be a psychologist, and because I'm good at it. It's a job I can actually do, and do well, as far as the job goes. The things I've been defending myself against are the demands from the work place that interfers with my ability to do my actual tasks, because the demands interferes with my disability.
I can have ADHD and be an excellent psychologist and therapist. Those roles plays to all my strengths, and barely touches on my weaknesses. That's what I want to do, and something I can do, despite being a scatterbrain with low attention span and a distinct lack in stamina. Under the circumstances offered by this position, I can actually succeed, and perform well above par for the course at this very specialised task.
But. I can only do it if I'm allowed to do precisely that, and not a thousand other things that female employees who's not a doctor routinely are expected to do. I'm not a nurse, or a medical secretary or an orderly, and I'm not any of those things for very good reason - one of them is that I suck at that kind of work. It's not that I think I'm to good to be doing it, it's that I know I'm to bad at it. Very much the same issue I have with being a stay-at-home-mom, incidentally. It's not that I don't want to do it, it's just that my disability covers exactly the skills that kind of serviceoriented, multitasking job requires.
I can barely administer my own patients, I'm not going to take over those tasks for some doctor too. I can sit in for hours and hours on meaningless meetings where my input isn't asked for - but it takes ridicolous amounts of energy from me, and to preserve some for, you know, my actual job, I've taken up knitting. Straight up scarves, no patterns, and wooden knits that doesn't make any sounds. And still someone felt she had to come and tell me "we don't do that here". Ah well, yes we do. I do - because without it I'm not going to be able to do my job, and I'm not willing to compromise with that. And so on, ad infinutim. It feels like I'm constantly surprising people or disturbing people, just by trying to exist in the workplace and create a space where I can do my job.
So basically - I have a job with tasks I love doing and that I'm good at. I want to please and accomodate and be a good employee, in accordance with my submissive, labradoresque soul. But, unfortunately, other sources at work gets in the way, and my tactics for trying to do my job crashes against unwritten rules and expectations in the workplace. And since I'm very very anxious to do my job, I'm unwilling to compromise with the groups informal rules and the informal leaders display of status.
And of course, I have a life long experience of never fitting in, of never being good enough, of never getting the social codes anyway, and of always feeling slightly like an alien. If I was good at conforming and listening to what other people expect of me, I wouldn't have my family right now, because me and Mistress wouldn't have been together. So, on the whole, it works in my favour, I would say.
I'll just hang in there, be myself, keep on not letting people bully my or push me around, defending my position as psychologist and my right to do the job I'm actually paid to do, and to not be burdened down with a thousand other tasks that's not part of the job description (because I'm to handicapped to deal with that - I don't have the resources), and if it all goes to hell in a handbasket, let the bosses fire me, if that's what they want to do. I'm not backing down, and I'm not quitting. I'm goint to keep going straight ahead in my valued direction, in being as good as I can be at my job, and not take responsibility for the myriad of things that aren't working in the organisation and that I don't have any power over.
But I long for the move. And for vacation. In to weeks time I have three weeks off, and when I return to work, I'll be living with Mistress again. I need her. I need her to tell me what's really important, who it is I'm really supposed to be pleasing, and who I belong to. And it's not the public health service organisation, nor it's elderly employees.
Jun 1, 2014
Moving, and different strategies
Moving is hard. We got into an argument yesterday over trying to plan things out. Suddenly we couldn't talk to each other, we just got mad and desperate and nothing she said made sense to me, and she looked at me as if I was talking a foreign language. At one point I declared "well, if you're going to be like that, you can plan it all by yourself!" and stalked off to a different room to sulk.
Slave of the year, that's me.
Anyway, ten minutes later she ordered me back, showed me a chair and said I wasn't allowed to leave again until she said I could, and that we would resume our planning, with her using any tone of voice she damned well choose and I just had to stand it. And that, of course, made everything much better.
Later on we talked about it some more. What went wrong, why we seemd to bump heads all the time. And one of the things that came up was that I'm really really afraid that she'll change her mind. Either that she would decide that it's to much hassle to move, and I'll have to quit the job and move back home, which would be a bummer, but I could live with it. Or, worse, that she would say it's to much hassle to move and I should keep commuting to my job for another ten months, since I've been pulling it off so far. And that I couldn't live with. Not with my sanity intact.
And since that's what I'm secretly afraid of, every change of plans or possible delay freaks me out. When Mistress said she'd rather not celebrate Midsummer at our new apartment but rather at her parents cabin, I freaked. Likewise when she worried that we won't be able to afford movers.
Add to that that we have radically different ways of processing difficult situations, it gets really interesting. I get through hard times by ignoring as much as possible, focus on the end goal, and muddle through. Mistress worry and fret and complain and plan everything in detail, and borrows a lot of trouble in my opinion, but she always manages things in the end. For her, things mostly turns out to not be as bad as she thought they would be. For me, there's always disaster in the wings, unforeseen troubles attacking me without notice.
The point isn't whether the strategies are good or bad, they're both and neither, but that they tend to counter act each other. When Mistress worry and fret and complains, she wants me to be her sounding board, to hear her out and listen while she solves the problem, by coming at it again and again from different angles. Reasonable and effective and something I'm good at when the problem in question isn't something that matters to me, like her work or things like that.
But for me, I either do or I do not. If I'm ever at the point that I'm saying or thinking all the negative things Mistress gives voice to when planning something difficult, I'm already out of there. When I start worrying about something, I'm ready to give it up. If I'm going to do something, I do it, and after the decision is made, I can't go back and ponder it again, because if I do, I quit. But Mistress needs me to listen to her pondering about it, and well... it freaks me out.
Especially when I forget that she's a different person than I am, and interpret her behaviour as if it was me doing it. Then her problem solving to me means she's given up and isn't going to go through with it. Which, in my deepest fears, leaves me stranded and alone in a strange town, hours from my family, abandoned and dispensable.
That's not what's going on, of course. First she gave me a solemn promise that as from the 1st of July, we're all going to be living in the same apartment again. And then, she ordered me naked, used candle wax on me, beat me and fucked me. And then all was right in the world again.
But moving is a hassle.
Slave of the year, that's me.
Anyway, ten minutes later she ordered me back, showed me a chair and said I wasn't allowed to leave again until she said I could, and that we would resume our planning, with her using any tone of voice she damned well choose and I just had to stand it. And that, of course, made everything much better.
Later on we talked about it some more. What went wrong, why we seemd to bump heads all the time. And one of the things that came up was that I'm really really afraid that she'll change her mind. Either that she would decide that it's to much hassle to move, and I'll have to quit the job and move back home, which would be a bummer, but I could live with it. Or, worse, that she would say it's to much hassle to move and I should keep commuting to my job for another ten months, since I've been pulling it off so far. And that I couldn't live with. Not with my sanity intact.
And since that's what I'm secretly afraid of, every change of plans or possible delay freaks me out. When Mistress said she'd rather not celebrate Midsummer at our new apartment but rather at her parents cabin, I freaked. Likewise when she worried that we won't be able to afford movers.
Add to that that we have radically different ways of processing difficult situations, it gets really interesting. I get through hard times by ignoring as much as possible, focus on the end goal, and muddle through. Mistress worry and fret and complain and plan everything in detail, and borrows a lot of trouble in my opinion, but she always manages things in the end. For her, things mostly turns out to not be as bad as she thought they would be. For me, there's always disaster in the wings, unforeseen troubles attacking me without notice.
The point isn't whether the strategies are good or bad, they're both and neither, but that they tend to counter act each other. When Mistress worry and fret and complains, she wants me to be her sounding board, to hear her out and listen while she solves the problem, by coming at it again and again from different angles. Reasonable and effective and something I'm good at when the problem in question isn't something that matters to me, like her work or things like that.
But for me, I either do or I do not. If I'm ever at the point that I'm saying or thinking all the negative things Mistress gives voice to when planning something difficult, I'm already out of there. When I start worrying about something, I'm ready to give it up. If I'm going to do something, I do it, and after the decision is made, I can't go back and ponder it again, because if I do, I quit. But Mistress needs me to listen to her pondering about it, and well... it freaks me out.
Especially when I forget that she's a different person than I am, and interpret her behaviour as if it was me doing it. Then her problem solving to me means she's given up and isn't going to go through with it. Which, in my deepest fears, leaves me stranded and alone in a strange town, hours from my family, abandoned and dispensable.
That's not what's going on, of course. First she gave me a solemn promise that as from the 1st of July, we're all going to be living in the same apartment again. And then, she ordered me naked, used candle wax on me, beat me and fucked me. And then all was right in the world again.
But moving is a hassle.
May 25, 2014
The important things
I'm still owned. Actually, being away from Mistress this much, having to make do on my own on a level I haven't experienced for quite a few years, have underscored how much I belong to her, more then anything else. I was afraid we would drift further and further apart, but we haven't.
I miss her knowing exactly what I do all the time every day. She knows in general now, in the same way I know about her days. She's seen my office at work, she's seen the room I sleep in at my friends house, she knows more or less what it is that I do. But it's not things she has ever done, and I sleep in a bed she has never slept in. She doesn't know what I have for lunch or dinner, she doesn't know what clothes I wear (though she knows exactly what clothes I have to choose from, of course), she doesn't know if I slept well or if I had nightmares.
Some of it I manage to tell her, we share as much as we can, but all those details aren't that interesting to talk about the precious moments we have on the phone each day. I'd rather tell her how I feel or what I think, than what I'm wearing or had for lunch, and she's more interested in hearing that too. But this separation, this dividing of our everyday life, it's strange. I'm still hers, but... it's on a really long leash.
I've been working since the 7th of April, so almost two months by now. The first week I left on Monday and came home Friday afternoon, but that's the only week I've been away four nights in a row. There's been a lot of red-letter-days, thankfully, and I've taken out vacation days for the rest. Last week I worked half day on Wednesday and came in an hour late on Thursday, so that I could take the train home and pick up little S from pre-school and sleep a night in my own bed. I can't go four nights without checking in on my baby. It hurts to much. It's like a low level stress, that intensifies as time goes on.
If you have kids, or ever babysat someone elses for that matter - you know that feeling when you're in a supermarket or similar place with a small child, and you look away for a second and then you can't see the kid anymore? You look around, feeling the panic rising, calling out in a low voice, walking around shelves and trying to see as much as possible around you, looking for that special little jacket or pixie cap or whatever it is that you remember the kid wearing? That worry, that rising panic, that focus on finding him or her and making sure everythings alright? You know that feeling?
That's how I feel after a few days when I haven't seen little S. Diluted, maybe like only a tenth of the supermarket-panic, but constant. When I haven't smelled her, touched her, made sure she's alright for a couple of days, I'm not okay anymore. I need my baby. I need to be with her, to be her mommy, to hug her and hold her hand, and talk to her and listen to her talk (incessantly...) to feel safe, to feel okay, to feel that I'm where I'm supposed to be in the world.
I don't need to be with her all day every day, quite the opposite actually. I like going to work, I'm happy that she's big enough to be at pre-school, I'm relieved that the days of constant guarding and catering to a small baby's every need 24/7 is behind us. I like that she falls asleep at seven in the evening and wakes up at 6.30 in the morning. But I need to see her twice a day, at least, or else I can't relax and enjoy my grown up life. And not only through Skype, or being told she's alright - I need to smell her. I'm thinking it's a mammal thing.
I miss Mistress as much, but in a different way. I'm more okay with not smelling her or touching her every day, but I really really miss the amount of time we used to have. Not enough time, never enough, but a lot more than now. We're back where we where a couple of years ago, getting just enough time to say the most important things, but never really spending hours and hours together.
Except for long weekends at her parents cabin, where we'll be going on Thursday, four days from now. I'm so looking forward to it.
At the end of June they're moving to me, we've fixed most of the things that needs fixing. Little S has a place at new pre-school, and we have a lease on an apartment. The current problem is that the apartment building hasn't got broadband, and we need to figure out a way to get good enough internet connection for Mistress to be able to work from home. She deals with a lot of big files and video conferences, and needs high speed connection. Ah well. We're going to fix that too.
My job is great, as far as the actual job goes. Several of the people at my job arn't as great, though. There's around 40 people at the workplace in totat, and out of those two or three annoys me no end. I guess it's called "working with other people". I take a lot of strength from being Mistress', from knowing my place in the world, from knowing I have a family and a home and an identity that has nothing to do with jerks at work, and every time I've been home I return to work feeling like myself again, feeling centered and ready for anything.
And soon soon soon that will be every afternoon. I can't wait.
I miss her knowing exactly what I do all the time every day. She knows in general now, in the same way I know about her days. She's seen my office at work, she's seen the room I sleep in at my friends house, she knows more or less what it is that I do. But it's not things she has ever done, and I sleep in a bed she has never slept in. She doesn't know what I have for lunch or dinner, she doesn't know what clothes I wear (though she knows exactly what clothes I have to choose from, of course), she doesn't know if I slept well or if I had nightmares.
Some of it I manage to tell her, we share as much as we can, but all those details aren't that interesting to talk about the precious moments we have on the phone each day. I'd rather tell her how I feel or what I think, than what I'm wearing or had for lunch, and she's more interested in hearing that too. But this separation, this dividing of our everyday life, it's strange. I'm still hers, but... it's on a really long leash.
I've been working since the 7th of April, so almost two months by now. The first week I left on Monday and came home Friday afternoon, but that's the only week I've been away four nights in a row. There's been a lot of red-letter-days, thankfully, and I've taken out vacation days for the rest. Last week I worked half day on Wednesday and came in an hour late on Thursday, so that I could take the train home and pick up little S from pre-school and sleep a night in my own bed. I can't go four nights without checking in on my baby. It hurts to much. It's like a low level stress, that intensifies as time goes on.
If you have kids, or ever babysat someone elses for that matter - you know that feeling when you're in a supermarket or similar place with a small child, and you look away for a second and then you can't see the kid anymore? You look around, feeling the panic rising, calling out in a low voice, walking around shelves and trying to see as much as possible around you, looking for that special little jacket or pixie cap or whatever it is that you remember the kid wearing? That worry, that rising panic, that focus on finding him or her and making sure everythings alright? You know that feeling?
That's how I feel after a few days when I haven't seen little S. Diluted, maybe like only a tenth of the supermarket-panic, but constant. When I haven't smelled her, touched her, made sure she's alright for a couple of days, I'm not okay anymore. I need my baby. I need to be with her, to be her mommy, to hug her and hold her hand, and talk to her and listen to her talk (incessantly...) to feel safe, to feel okay, to feel that I'm where I'm supposed to be in the world.
I don't need to be with her all day every day, quite the opposite actually. I like going to work, I'm happy that she's big enough to be at pre-school, I'm relieved that the days of constant guarding and catering to a small baby's every need 24/7 is behind us. I like that she falls asleep at seven in the evening and wakes up at 6.30 in the morning. But I need to see her twice a day, at least, or else I can't relax and enjoy my grown up life. And not only through Skype, or being told she's alright - I need to smell her. I'm thinking it's a mammal thing.
I miss Mistress as much, but in a different way. I'm more okay with not smelling her or touching her every day, but I really really miss the amount of time we used to have. Not enough time, never enough, but a lot more than now. We're back where we where a couple of years ago, getting just enough time to say the most important things, but never really spending hours and hours together.
Except for long weekends at her parents cabin, where we'll be going on Thursday, four days from now. I'm so looking forward to it.
At the end of June they're moving to me, we've fixed most of the things that needs fixing. Little S has a place at new pre-school, and we have a lease on an apartment. The current problem is that the apartment building hasn't got broadband, and we need to figure out a way to get good enough internet connection for Mistress to be able to work from home. She deals with a lot of big files and video conferences, and needs high speed connection. Ah well. We're going to fix that too.
My job is great, as far as the actual job goes. Several of the people at my job arn't as great, though. There's around 40 people at the workplace in totat, and out of those two or three annoys me no end. I guess it's called "working with other people". I take a lot of strength from being Mistress', from knowing my place in the world, from knowing I have a family and a home and an identity that has nothing to do with jerks at work, and every time I've been home I return to work feeling like myself again, feeling centered and ready for anything.
And soon soon soon that will be every afternoon. I can't wait.
Apr 29, 2014
Longing
Did you guys know that working full time means less time to write blog posts? Huh! Who'dhavethunk?
I'm very very much in two minds about the whole thing. I like the job. I love being a therapist. I hate being away from Mistress, and I feel all lost and alone and shaky because I don't have my family with me.
I'm still hers. Amazingly, that doesn't waiver. But oh my God it's hard to be separated.
I'm very very much in two minds about the whole thing. I like the job. I love being a therapist. I hate being away from Mistress, and I feel all lost and alone and shaky because I don't have my family with me.
I'm still hers. Amazingly, that doesn't waiver. But oh my God it's hard to be separated.
Apr 12, 2014
Life change
And then, all of a sudden, I got a job offer. And accepted. I started six days ago, and since the workplace is 1,5 hours from home, I've been living in a hostel all week.
We're okay. I'm okay, a lot more okay than I thought I would be actually. But everything about our day to day life has been turned upside down, and we're reeling a bit from the shock of it. And has a ton of things to do, and a lot of major decisions to make.
I thought I'd be blogging a lot about the job and the change, but I think I've been to busy living it to have time or energy to reflect all that much. That will come later, but for now, I'm pretty much in the moment. Good thing, I think.
I wont be Mistress' stay-at-home-slave anymore for a while. The plan is to work full time for a year, provided we can stand it and no one gets sick. After that, we're pretty agreed on me not working full time ever ever again. But that's then. Now is now. And I'm not really sure how I feel about it all.
We're okay. I'm okay, a lot more okay than I thought I would be actually. But everything about our day to day life has been turned upside down, and we're reeling a bit from the shock of it. And has a ton of things to do, and a lot of major decisions to make.
I thought I'd be blogging a lot about the job and the change, but I think I've been to busy living it to have time or energy to reflect all that much. That will come later, but for now, I'm pretty much in the moment. Good thing, I think.
I wont be Mistress' stay-at-home-slave anymore for a while. The plan is to work full time for a year, provided we can stand it and no one gets sick. After that, we're pretty agreed on me not working full time ever ever again. But that's then. Now is now. And I'm not really sure how I feel about it all.
Mar 11, 2014
Questions 5! Travels and politics.
How do you think we in the US can get a good health care system like Sweden and other evolved countries have?
Well, my knowledge about the US health care system stems from such reliable sources as "E.R" and "Grey's Anatomy", so it might be that I'm not really in possession of all the facts. But off the top of my head I'd say tax funded health care for everyone in the country.
Skip this insurance stuff and pay for it with tax money and agree that everybody is a person, that a society that leaves people dying from treatable illnesses because they're poor is a rather crappy society, and that everybody benefits from some basic things like school and health care being accessible to everyone.
Oh, and this "mal practice suit"-thingy where doctors and hospital administrators go around being afraid of being sued for crazy amounts of money seems really strange to me too. Again, I'm not sure if I have it right, but if I have the right idea about it, it seems really really ineffective.
In Sweden you file a complaint to the proper authorities and they investigate and if someone's been maltreated the doctor can lose his or her license and employment, and if there's something wrong with hospital procedure's they are forced to change them. But the hospital doesn't have to spend millions of tax money on insurance against being sued or paying off people who has complains. But then again, our health care are tax funded, not businesses, I guess that makes a difference.
On the other hand, the last eight years the (right wing) government has made a lot of changes to our health care system, which for one thing has led to hospitals and other health care facilities starting to act like businesses, and venture capitalists getting revenue from them, that is tax money going to off shore accounts belonging to already wealthy businessmen. I can't wrap my head around how anyone could think that would be a good idea, but obviously more than half of the Swedish population did, because they voted for them (twice, as a matter of fact).
Would you ever like to move to another country?
If I would, it would be to Scotland. I could easily imagine living in Scotland, and Mistress was actually about to apply for a job in a town called Pitlochry in the Highlands a couple of years ago. It didn't come to anything, but we could definitely move there, if the circumstances were right. But I have no drive to move abroad just for the sake of it, no. I like Sweden, and if I would want to move it would have to be because the other place has something really good to offer in terms of quality of life one way or the other. (But Mistress is where my home is - she could take me anywhere in the world and I'd gladly follow her. Not likely though, since I think she likes it just fine here.)
It pisses me off though that there's a lot of places in the world I wouldn't dare move to with my family because we wouldn't be welcome. It's not as if we could go to Russia anytime soon, for example. Not that I would want to, particularly, but it sucks that we can't.Or almost anywhere in Africa, and big parts of Asia.
My father is something of a globetrotter, and he rubs me the wrong way sometimes with making light of how easy it is to fit in and "when in Rome" and so on. It's easy for him to say, as an older white male. He belongs to the most privileged demographic on the planet - for him going to Togo, West Africa for a month isn't really the same thing as if me and Mistress would do it. But I don't think he realises that, and it bugs me at times.
Have you been to visit the US or would you like to some day?
I've never been, but I would love to. Ever since I read a blog where a thirty-something Swedish writer described how she rented an apartment in New York for a month and vacationed there with her husband and their two little kids I've been thinking we should do the same. I'd love to have a kid-friendly place to stay and then explore things in a slow pace, not running around rushing things but going into it with a kids eyes, going back to favourite places as much as we'd like, just enjoying the place and the rythm and the experience of making a everyday living somewhere else. That's a dream vacation of mine.
Another dream place to visit is San Fransisco, not the least because of it's gay history. And redwood trees. I'd love to see redwoods. I also have a cousin who lives with his wifes and two teenage girls in Alaska, and I'd love to go there. My mom went there last year, and I was insanely jealous of her. I want to see grizzly bears! Or not, as the case may be. She didn't, actually, and she described how she and my cousin had been out with the car somewhere and he'd said something about there being a risk of grizzly's being around and she'd been all "oh, a chance to see one you mean?".
Well, my knowledge about the US health care system stems from such reliable sources as "E.R" and "Grey's Anatomy", so it might be that I'm not really in possession of all the facts. But off the top of my head I'd say tax funded health care for everyone in the country.
Skip this insurance stuff and pay for it with tax money and agree that everybody is a person, that a society that leaves people dying from treatable illnesses because they're poor is a rather crappy society, and that everybody benefits from some basic things like school and health care being accessible to everyone.
Oh, and this "mal practice suit"-thingy where doctors and hospital administrators go around being afraid of being sued for crazy amounts of money seems really strange to me too. Again, I'm not sure if I have it right, but if I have the right idea about it, it seems really really ineffective.
In Sweden you file a complaint to the proper authorities and they investigate and if someone's been maltreated the doctor can lose his or her license and employment, and if there's something wrong with hospital procedure's they are forced to change them. But the hospital doesn't have to spend millions of tax money on insurance against being sued or paying off people who has complains. But then again, our health care are tax funded, not businesses, I guess that makes a difference.
On the other hand, the last eight years the (right wing) government has made a lot of changes to our health care system, which for one thing has led to hospitals and other health care facilities starting to act like businesses, and venture capitalists getting revenue from them, that is tax money going to off shore accounts belonging to already wealthy businessmen. I can't wrap my head around how anyone could think that would be a good idea, but obviously more than half of the Swedish population did, because they voted for them (twice, as a matter of fact).
Would you ever like to move to another country?
If I would, it would be to Scotland. I could easily imagine living in Scotland, and Mistress was actually about to apply for a job in a town called Pitlochry in the Highlands a couple of years ago. It didn't come to anything, but we could definitely move there, if the circumstances were right. But I have no drive to move abroad just for the sake of it, no. I like Sweden, and if I would want to move it would have to be because the other place has something really good to offer in terms of quality of life one way or the other. (But Mistress is where my home is - she could take me anywhere in the world and I'd gladly follow her. Not likely though, since I think she likes it just fine here.)
It pisses me off though that there's a lot of places in the world I wouldn't dare move to with my family because we wouldn't be welcome. It's not as if we could go to Russia anytime soon, for example. Not that I would want to, particularly, but it sucks that we can't.Or almost anywhere in Africa, and big parts of Asia.
My father is something of a globetrotter, and he rubs me the wrong way sometimes with making light of how easy it is to fit in and "when in Rome" and so on. It's easy for him to say, as an older white male. He belongs to the most privileged demographic on the planet - for him going to Togo, West Africa for a month isn't really the same thing as if me and Mistress would do it. But I don't think he realises that, and it bugs me at times.
Have you been to visit the US or would you like to some day?
I've never been, but I would love to. Ever since I read a blog where a thirty-something Swedish writer described how she rented an apartment in New York for a month and vacationed there with her husband and their two little kids I've been thinking we should do the same. I'd love to have a kid-friendly place to stay and then explore things in a slow pace, not running around rushing things but going into it with a kids eyes, going back to favourite places as much as we'd like, just enjoying the place and the rythm and the experience of making a everyday living somewhere else. That's a dream vacation of mine.
Another dream place to visit is San Fransisco, not the least because of it's gay history. And redwood trees. I'd love to see redwoods. I also have a cousin who lives with his wifes and two teenage girls in Alaska, and I'd love to go there. My mom went there last year, and I was insanely jealous of her. I want to see grizzly bears! Or not, as the case may be. She didn't, actually, and she described how she and my cousin had been out with the car somewhere and he'd said something about there being a risk of grizzly's being around and she'd been all "oh, a chance to see one you mean?".
Questions 4! Babymaking.
Did you have the baby and how did you get pregnant?
Yeah, I had the baby. I really wanted to be pregnant and give birth, and Mistress really really didn't. We both wanted to have kids together, but it took like three seconds for us to figure out who would do the actual baby-building.
We went to the local hospital and I got inseminated with donor sperm. The donor is anonymous, but the kid can find out who he is, and read a letter he wrote when he donated, when she's 18. Since 2006 the rules for treatment of infertility in Swedish healthcare are the same for lesbian couples as for straight couples, so it all went relatively easy. It was about a year from the first phone call to the clinic until I was pregnant.
How are lesbians treated in Sweden?
I don't know if there's an easy answer to that one. On the one hand me and Mistress could get married, and had the right to assisted insemination at the hospital. No one is making fun of our kid at pre school or other places for having two moms (as far as I know) and me and Mistress holds hands on walks without usually thinking twice about it. On the other hand, there's two major political parties in Swedish parliament that are openly homophobic and they have about 20% of the Swedish votes, so it's not like it's universally accepted. It's not as if there's no homophobia or judgement going around, and we're often thankful that we live in a urban part of the country, where we're not alone.
Better than most of the rest of the world, I'd say, but still fucked up. Something like that.
Yeah, I had the baby. I really wanted to be pregnant and give birth, and Mistress really really didn't. We both wanted to have kids together, but it took like three seconds for us to figure out who would do the actual baby-building.
We went to the local hospital and I got inseminated with donor sperm. The donor is anonymous, but the kid can find out who he is, and read a letter he wrote when he donated, when she's 18. Since 2006 the rules for treatment of infertility in Swedish healthcare are the same for lesbian couples as for straight couples, so it all went relatively easy. It was about a year from the first phone call to the clinic until I was pregnant.
How are lesbians treated in Sweden?
I don't know if there's an easy answer to that one. On the one hand me and Mistress could get married, and had the right to assisted insemination at the hospital. No one is making fun of our kid at pre school or other places for having two moms (as far as I know) and me and Mistress holds hands on walks without usually thinking twice about it. On the other hand, there's two major political parties in Swedish parliament that are openly homophobic and they have about 20% of the Swedish votes, so it's not like it's universally accepted. It's not as if there's no homophobia or judgement going around, and we're often thankful that we live in a urban part of the country, where we're not alone.
Better than most of the rest of the world, I'd say, but still fucked up. Something like that.
Mar 10, 2014
Questions 3! Sex life.
How often you have a scene and what do you usually do? You mentioned in a
past post you life anal. Do you do it much? What is your sex life like?
Do you go down on each other, use strapons?
For us, sex function as a glue that keeps our relationship working. We need to connect that way, to reinforce our love and our dynamic. It's very much about her owning me, about me belonging to her, and about us being together. Unfortunately life has a nasty tendency to get in the way of our sex life. I tend to blame it all on us being parents, but the fact is that before the kid came along we had a lot of other stuff getting in the way. So not as often as we'd like tends to be the constant answer. But I know that if it's been a week and we haven't had sex and/or a S/M-scene, I start to feel crappy and get obnoxious. So somewhere between a couple of times a week and every forthnight, depending on health and stress levels mostly.
I'm all for fucking the stress away but Mistress needs to decompress and feel comfortable with herself and her home and her world before her libido gets going, and she's the one who gets to say when.
We don't have vanilla sex, I don't think we could even if we for some reason would want to. It doesn't necessarily involve toys or pain or orders, but she's always in charge. I'm receptive and present and willing and communicating, but she's the one deciding what we're going to do. I don't touch her without permission (it doesn't have to be verbal though) or change position or things like that. It's very much her fucking me, not the other way around.
She uses a strap on or her hands, and I'm often encouraged to use my hands too. We're not into oral sex, either of us, so we don't do that. When it's more scene-like, with more sadism and toys and perhaps planned a little in advanced it's usually very calm and slow and serene. She has trained me to lie perfectly still, and she's very methodic and focused. She never tells me in advance what she's going to do, and I'm pretty sure she makes it up as she goes along, but it feels almost ritualistic, very ordered, very centered.
I like anal, very much, but Mistress seem to be rather indifferent to it. If she just want to fuck me my pussy is more convenient, and that's usually what she uses. I always want more anal sex (like I always want more orgasms, and fucking, and beating, and hugging and attention and just generally more of everything because I'm a glutton) but it's not something I obsesse about. She fucks me that way sometimes and when she do I love it. That's about it.
For us, sex function as a glue that keeps our relationship working. We need to connect that way, to reinforce our love and our dynamic. It's very much about her owning me, about me belonging to her, and about us being together. Unfortunately life has a nasty tendency to get in the way of our sex life. I tend to blame it all on us being parents, but the fact is that before the kid came along we had a lot of other stuff getting in the way. So not as often as we'd like tends to be the constant answer. But I know that if it's been a week and we haven't had sex and/or a S/M-scene, I start to feel crappy and get obnoxious. So somewhere between a couple of times a week and every forthnight, depending on health and stress levels mostly.
I'm all for fucking the stress away but Mistress needs to decompress and feel comfortable with herself and her home and her world before her libido gets going, and she's the one who gets to say when.
We don't have vanilla sex, I don't think we could even if we for some reason would want to. It doesn't necessarily involve toys or pain or orders, but she's always in charge. I'm receptive and present and willing and communicating, but she's the one deciding what we're going to do. I don't touch her without permission (it doesn't have to be verbal though) or change position or things like that. It's very much her fucking me, not the other way around.
She uses a strap on or her hands, and I'm often encouraged to use my hands too. We're not into oral sex, either of us, so we don't do that. When it's more scene-like, with more sadism and toys and perhaps planned a little in advanced it's usually very calm and slow and serene. She has trained me to lie perfectly still, and she's very methodic and focused. She never tells me in advance what she's going to do, and I'm pretty sure she makes it up as she goes along, but it feels almost ritualistic, very ordered, very centered.
I like anal, very much, but Mistress seem to be rather indifferent to it. If she just want to fuck me my pussy is more convenient, and that's usually what she uses. I always want more anal sex (like I always want more orgasms, and fucking, and beating, and hugging and attention and just generally more of everything because I'm a glutton) but it's not something I obsesse about. She fucks me that way sometimes and when she do I love it. That's about it.
Questions 2!
Were you submissive before?
I've been a submissive masochist since I was five, that's as early as I can remember. I know it's crazy young, but that was when I started fantasizing about getting spanked and punished. I had no idea why, or what it was I was feeling, or why it was so damn embarassaing, but I knew enough to never ever mention it to anyone.
It was incredibly lonely, in fact. I grew up knowing I was a freak. That I wanted crazy things and that I could never tell anyone. My fantasies and urges evolved as I became an adult, of course, but the dominating theme was always me being controlled, dominated, taken over by someone stronger than me.
It wasn't until around 18 or something when I got internet connection and realised that I wasn't alone and that there was a name for it, that I started to make peace with my own strange urges. At that time I was in a committed vanilla relationship and when that relationship had run it's course, so to speak, and I was single again I promised myself to never again lie or hide anything for a potential partner. And I haven't.
I've been a submissive masochist since I was five, that's as early as I can remember. I know it's crazy young, but that was when I started fantasizing about getting spanked and punished. I had no idea why, or what it was I was feeling, or why it was so damn embarassaing, but I knew enough to never ever mention it to anyone.
It was incredibly lonely, in fact. I grew up knowing I was a freak. That I wanted crazy things and that I could never tell anyone. My fantasies and urges evolved as I became an adult, of course, but the dominating theme was always me being controlled, dominated, taken over by someone stronger than me.
It wasn't until around 18 or something when I got internet connection and realised that I wasn't alone and that there was a name for it, that I started to make peace with my own strange urges. At that time I was in a committed vanilla relationship and when that relationship had run it's course, so to speak, and I was single again I promised myself to never again lie or hide anything for a potential partner. And I haven't.
Questions!
Thanks Florida Dom for the questions! I'll take them a few at a time.
How long you been together? How did you meet?
We met in 1997 when I was seventeen, Mistress was 26. I had just found LARPing (see http://nordiclarp.org/wiki/Main_Page for more info, it's a weird hobby), and was blown away with how amazing it was. Mistress was one of three other women who were planning on going to an event as a group of soldiers in a 17th century setting, and they were one person short and asked me to join them. We were a tight group after that, for a couple of years on. Eventually the group fell apart, but me and Mistress stayed friends.
She was working towards her PhD, while I hadn't even finished the Swedish equivalent of High School when we met. I graduated eventually and the years after that was a bit chaotic for me. I enrolled at the University but never got a degree, I broke up with one boyfriend, slept around a little bit (very little, actually) and fell in love with a couple of other guys. Mistress on the other hand got her PhD, got a job as a scientist and lived an ordered, albeit perhaps a bit empty life.
We started organising LARP-events together, and we were good at it. We didn't really talk all that much, mostly about the current project, and it took us a long while before we realised that we had begun to come up with things to do just so that we could meet and do them together...
When at long last we both realised that we were in love, I was already living with my then-Master. We had a D/s-relationship since a couple of years back, and I was invested and loyal and in love with him. And head-over-heels in love with Mistress.
It was a recipe for disaster, and in time it was quite disastrous. In the beginning it wasn't though, because both Mistress and my ex was brave and open minded and generous persons, and decided to enter into a poly dynamic together. The dream was a family of three, with them being if not in love so at least infatuated with each other, and me belonging to them both.
It all fell apart in couple of months, and since we were all stubborn and deeply invested in the idea, we strived and tried and fought for it for two years after that. None of us was ready to call it quits, but we were increasingly unhappy. At long last I couldn't take it anymore an moved in with my mom for a week to think. After two days I missed Mistress like crazy, but not my ex, and there was my answer.
I broke up with my ex and moved in with Mistress, and we've been together ever since. That was January 2006, so we've been living together for eight years now, and known each other for 17 years (oh my God! Haven't thought about that before. That's a long time. Ah well.)
Mistress proposed in March 2006, and we got married in church in 2007, the happiest day of my life so far.
How long you been together? How did you meet?
We met in 1997 when I was seventeen, Mistress was 26. I had just found LARPing (see http://nordiclarp.org/wiki/Main_Page for more info, it's a weird hobby), and was blown away with how amazing it was. Mistress was one of three other women who were planning on going to an event as a group of soldiers in a 17th century setting, and they were one person short and asked me to join them. We were a tight group after that, for a couple of years on. Eventually the group fell apart, but me and Mistress stayed friends.
She was working towards her PhD, while I hadn't even finished the Swedish equivalent of High School when we met. I graduated eventually and the years after that was a bit chaotic for me. I enrolled at the University but never got a degree, I broke up with one boyfriend, slept around a little bit (very little, actually) and fell in love with a couple of other guys. Mistress on the other hand got her PhD, got a job as a scientist and lived an ordered, albeit perhaps a bit empty life.
We started organising LARP-events together, and we were good at it. We didn't really talk all that much, mostly about the current project, and it took us a long while before we realised that we had begun to come up with things to do just so that we could meet and do them together...
When at long last we both realised that we were in love, I was already living with my then-Master. We had a D/s-relationship since a couple of years back, and I was invested and loyal and in love with him. And head-over-heels in love with Mistress.
It was a recipe for disaster, and in time it was quite disastrous. In the beginning it wasn't though, because both Mistress and my ex was brave and open minded and generous persons, and decided to enter into a poly dynamic together. The dream was a family of three, with them being if not in love so at least infatuated with each other, and me belonging to them both.
It all fell apart in couple of months, and since we were all stubborn and deeply invested in the idea, we strived and tried and fought for it for two years after that. None of us was ready to call it quits, but we were increasingly unhappy. At long last I couldn't take it anymore an moved in with my mom for a week to think. After two days I missed Mistress like crazy, but not my ex, and there was my answer.
I broke up with my ex and moved in with Mistress, and we've been together ever since. That was January 2006, so we've been living together for eight years now, and known each other for 17 years (oh my God! Haven't thought about that before. That's a long time. Ah well.)
Mistress proposed in March 2006, and we got married in church in 2007, the happiest day of my life so far.
Mar 9, 2014
Getting through the days
March is question-month, and I want in on it. That is, I'd love to get questions since I usually have no idea who reads this and I'd love to getting hints of things to blog about. So if anyone want to know anything about me, just post a question in the comments, and I'll answer it.
More than question-month, March for us have been sickness month. When we got home from Paris, little S got chickenpox and I got the flu. Yesterday was the first day in two weeks I could take a bike ride without wanting to puke or cough up my lungs. Little S is still covered in scabs from the 'pox but at least she was virus-free and her old happy self again.
Except that she spent all day complaining about tummy ache, and half an hour before bedtime she throw up. She kept throwing up every halv hour the rest of the evening, and Mistress who slept in her room said that she was sick the last time at 2.30. Yey.
And I just shut down a bit for the time being. I don't want to play this game, but there's nowhere else to go. We'll just live through it and believe that we will get healthy again, despite the evidence to the contrary.
I was at a job interview last Thursday, and I will be going to another one next Thursday (unless I'm puking my guts out at the time). There's some kind of low level anxiety humming in the background all the time, and it contributes to me freaking out. What if no one wants me? What if they do want me? What if both jobs want me? And then again, what if they don't? What if no one will want to hire me ever? What if there's something wrong with me? And so on and so forth.
If I do get a job offer, I'll start fretting over whether or not I can do the job, and about the fact that it means we'll have to move and all the hassle that entails. But that's next on my fret list. For now, I'm stuck on "no one will ever want to employ me". Oh, and "we'll never have sex again, 'cause we'll be sick forever". Happy fun time all around.
More than question-month, March for us have been sickness month. When we got home from Paris, little S got chickenpox and I got the flu. Yesterday was the first day in two weeks I could take a bike ride without wanting to puke or cough up my lungs. Little S is still covered in scabs from the 'pox but at least she was virus-free and her old happy self again.
Except that she spent all day complaining about tummy ache, and half an hour before bedtime she throw up. She kept throwing up every halv hour the rest of the evening, and Mistress who slept in her room said that she was sick the last time at 2.30. Yey.
And I just shut down a bit for the time being. I don't want to play this game, but there's nowhere else to go. We'll just live through it and believe that we will get healthy again, despite the evidence to the contrary.
I was at a job interview last Thursday, and I will be going to another one next Thursday (unless I'm puking my guts out at the time). There's some kind of low level anxiety humming in the background all the time, and it contributes to me freaking out. What if no one wants me? What if they do want me? What if both jobs want me? And then again, what if they don't? What if no one will want to hire me ever? What if there's something wrong with me? And so on and so forth.
If I do get a job offer, I'll start fretting over whether or not I can do the job, and about the fact that it means we'll have to move and all the hassle that entails. But that's next on my fret list. For now, I'm stuck on "no one will ever want to employ me". Oh, and "we'll never have sex again, 'cause we'll be sick forever". Happy fun time all around.
Feb 26, 2014
Dysfunction
I know that she doesn't think anything bad about me for being sick. I know she doesn't love me less, or gets angry at me for that. She doesn't consciously ask me to do stuff that will make me sick, she doesn't want to break me, and if she do want me to hurt or give me a hard time, she will tell me it's on purpose.
But we tend to misread each other when I feel her wishes or demands overreach my capabilities.
How does other people do this? Vanilla people? Or other people in power exchange? How come this isn't a recurring problem for everyone else? Because it doesn't seem to be. Just for us.
One reason for this is of course my overwhelming sense of shame, and general lack of connection between experience and actions. Me being hungry doesn't mean I'm going to eat. If I'm sleepy it doesn't necessarily leads me towards a bed, and shivering from cold haven't got a very strong correlation to me putting on more clothes. I think there's something missing for me, honestly. I'm not saying it's all my fault or that there's something wrong with me, but I do have ADHD, and this is one of the things it leads to.
There's a disconnect. What I feel in my body doesn't show up in my behaviour in the same way it does for other people. Part of it is a trained respons I think; since I grew up undiagnosed and misunderstood, I was constantly expected to perform above my ability and was ignored or ridiculed when I showed signs of exhaustion or fatigue because of this. My feelings and experiences weren't acknowledged or mirrored by the people around me, because they were not expected. So there's that, and that explains a good deal of the shame and defensiveness I feel when I can't do what Mistress wants me to without suffering.
But there's also a more biological side of it I think, that's more about how my nervous system functions. It's like there's something wrong with the flow of information. I can on the one hand be aware of that say I have great pains somewhere in the body, or that I'm very hungry or something. But it's as if that information doesn't permeat the system. It doesn't reach all the places it should. And because of that, it doesn't influence my behaviour or show up in my demeanor. I don't stop to remove the pebble from my shoe, nor do I limp or make faces. But then suddenly something shakes loss and all the sensations arrive at once and in a moment I'm screaming with pain. There's no middle ground, no warnings. Not for me, and therefore not for anyone else either.
In regards to Mistress I do try to tell her everything I know and everything I can tell. But that doesn't cover everything there is to know, unfortunately, and sometimes the disconnect between what I tell her in words and what my face and actions tell her muddy the water. I might tell her "I'm really tired" or "I really should have eaten a while ago, I need to get a snack" and for me, that means "red alert red alert, the "check enginge"-lamp is lit". It doesn't come across like that, though, and I'm not even aware of it. I've given her the information. I'm ashamed of my weakness, I have no real connection to what I'm feeling and experiencing, and I don't realise that what I tell her doesn't really translate to the actual state of things.
And then I get pain cramps from hunger or start crying from exhaustion because she didn't decide to put me to bed or feed me, and I didn't try to tell her again or ask for what I needed or express my needs in any other ways. I had already told her. She knew. If she wanted to make a decision about it, she would have.
And I'm not even a martyr here, I'm not playing it up for pity-points or being passive-agressive. This is for real the way I function (or dysfunction). There's some pieces missing, I think. And this, I also think, is the reason she freaked out on me when I answered her question about how I really felt about things. Because just as I have had bad experiences from telling her or other people how I feel if it's not good, she's had bad experiences from asking me those kind of questions. It's not the first time there's a nasty revelation behind my humming and hawwing, it usually means there's something wrong and she's missed it. And right then and right there, I think she just couldn't take that.
She didn't read the angst in my voice as fear or shame. She heard it as an accusation. When I was distraught and panicking, for her that meant that not only shouldn't she go to the meeting, she couldnt' because if she did she was a bad bad person, and she already was a bad bad person just for suggesting it. I didn't get that, of course, because it wasn't even on my radar, but I get it now.
But we tend to misread each other when I feel her wishes or demands overreach my capabilities.
How does other people do this? Vanilla people? Or other people in power exchange? How come this isn't a recurring problem for everyone else? Because it doesn't seem to be. Just for us.
One reason for this is of course my overwhelming sense of shame, and general lack of connection between experience and actions. Me being hungry doesn't mean I'm going to eat. If I'm sleepy it doesn't necessarily leads me towards a bed, and shivering from cold haven't got a very strong correlation to me putting on more clothes. I think there's something missing for me, honestly. I'm not saying it's all my fault or that there's something wrong with me, but I do have ADHD, and this is one of the things it leads to.
There's a disconnect. What I feel in my body doesn't show up in my behaviour in the same way it does for other people. Part of it is a trained respons I think; since I grew up undiagnosed and misunderstood, I was constantly expected to perform above my ability and was ignored or ridiculed when I showed signs of exhaustion or fatigue because of this. My feelings and experiences weren't acknowledged or mirrored by the people around me, because they were not expected. So there's that, and that explains a good deal of the shame and defensiveness I feel when I can't do what Mistress wants me to without suffering.
But there's also a more biological side of it I think, that's more about how my nervous system functions. It's like there's something wrong with the flow of information. I can on the one hand be aware of that say I have great pains somewhere in the body, or that I'm very hungry or something. But it's as if that information doesn't permeat the system. It doesn't reach all the places it should. And because of that, it doesn't influence my behaviour or show up in my demeanor. I don't stop to remove the pebble from my shoe, nor do I limp or make faces. But then suddenly something shakes loss and all the sensations arrive at once and in a moment I'm screaming with pain. There's no middle ground, no warnings. Not for me, and therefore not for anyone else either.
In regards to Mistress I do try to tell her everything I know and everything I can tell. But that doesn't cover everything there is to know, unfortunately, and sometimes the disconnect between what I tell her in words and what my face and actions tell her muddy the water. I might tell her "I'm really tired" or "I really should have eaten a while ago, I need to get a snack" and for me, that means "red alert red alert, the "check enginge"-lamp is lit". It doesn't come across like that, though, and I'm not even aware of it. I've given her the information. I'm ashamed of my weakness, I have no real connection to what I'm feeling and experiencing, and I don't realise that what I tell her doesn't really translate to the actual state of things.
And then I get pain cramps from hunger or start crying from exhaustion because she didn't decide to put me to bed or feed me, and I didn't try to tell her again or ask for what I needed or express my needs in any other ways. I had already told her. She knew. If she wanted to make a decision about it, she would have.
And I'm not even a martyr here, I'm not playing it up for pity-points or being passive-agressive. This is for real the way I function (or dysfunction). There's some pieces missing, I think. And this, I also think, is the reason she freaked out on me when I answered her question about how I really felt about things. Because just as I have had bad experiences from telling her or other people how I feel if it's not good, she's had bad experiences from asking me those kind of questions. It's not the first time there's a nasty revelation behind my humming and hawwing, it usually means there's something wrong and she's missed it. And right then and right there, I think she just couldn't take that.
She didn't read the angst in my voice as fear or shame. She heard it as an accusation. When I was distraught and panicking, for her that meant that not only shouldn't she go to the meeting, she couldnt' because if she did she was a bad bad person, and she already was a bad bad person just for suggesting it. I didn't get that, of course, because it wasn't even on my radar, but I get it now.
The trip, the babysitter and general ickyness
Okay, so we went to bed with an unresolved horrible argument over our heads. When I woke up, Mistress was with little S, and we didn't get very much time alone all day. And we had a decision to make. Should Mistress go, or should she stay?
If she went, I would be alone with our sick daughter while down with the flu. We wouldn't die of starvation, I wouldn't neglect the kid and I would be able to call for an ambulance if needed. But it was easy to envision two rather grim, taxing days, and the emotional ramifications afterwards for me would probably be rather severe (meaning I would be exhausted, depressed and pissed off for quite some time).
She could stay home, of course. If someone had said to her a month ago "oh, by the way, that meeting? Both your wife and your kid are going to be pretty sick that week, just so you know" she would have said "Hell no!" and cancelled. But this wasn't a month earlier. This was the day the meeting started, and it was a start-up thing for a project four years ahead. If she wants a face to the people she's going to be emaling for the coming four years, she better be there. She wouldn't have planned on going at all in the first place if it wasn't important.
Or we could ask her parents to babysit for us. My mom doesn't have the health for it right now, and my dad's out of town. But her parents could - if I hadn't had the flu. Because grandpa eats immune-suppressing medicine, hanging around with my viruses would be a bad idea. They're immune to chickenpox, though, so they could take little S to their place for two days. Great, I would get to rest, Mistress could go to the meeting, and little S would be taken care of. Except that little S herself cried her eyes out at the thought of it and refused to go anywhere without at least one of her mummies (preferably both). Understandable, since we went to Paris for two days without her last week, and she's itchy all over on top of that.
So we had three solutions that each one was great for two of us and really bad for the third. No compromises, no way of softening the blow. Someone would have to suffer. And we were desperately unhappy, with unresolved issues hanging over our heads, and all thinking or talking was accompanied by incessant whining from the itchy, miserable four-year-old.
As usual, grandma came through for us in our darkest moment. She telephoned and asked if she should come alone, and stay at our place 'til the day Mistress was coming home. That way grandpa wouldn't get sick, I wouldn't be left alone with the responsibility, and little S wouldn't have to leave her mommies or her home.
So in the end, Mistress went, I'm sick in bed, and little S is miserable, itchy and whiny in the living room with grandma. About every thirty minutes she makes a dash for the bedroom door crying for me, and my heart brakes. I've been up and about a few times, and even when I feel almost fine laying in bed after 30 minutes of sitting up and socialising I'm about to keel over, sweating and dizzy. Not all better yet, no.
I'm trying to console myself with that she's not really happier when I'm with her, she's miserable from the chickenpox and there's nothing I can do. Of course she prefers me from grandma, but she knows and loves grandma. She just wants me too, and I want to be with her also. But right now, I just want this horrible sick feeling to go away. I'm not to fond of anything right now, to be honest. Everything seems rather horrid.
If she went, I would be alone with our sick daughter while down with the flu. We wouldn't die of starvation, I wouldn't neglect the kid and I would be able to call for an ambulance if needed. But it was easy to envision two rather grim, taxing days, and the emotional ramifications afterwards for me would probably be rather severe (meaning I would be exhausted, depressed and pissed off for quite some time).
She could stay home, of course. If someone had said to her a month ago "oh, by the way, that meeting? Both your wife and your kid are going to be pretty sick that week, just so you know" she would have said "Hell no!" and cancelled. But this wasn't a month earlier. This was the day the meeting started, and it was a start-up thing for a project four years ahead. If she wants a face to the people she's going to be emaling for the coming four years, she better be there. She wouldn't have planned on going at all in the first place if it wasn't important.
Or we could ask her parents to babysit for us. My mom doesn't have the health for it right now, and my dad's out of town. But her parents could - if I hadn't had the flu. Because grandpa eats immune-suppressing medicine, hanging around with my viruses would be a bad idea. They're immune to chickenpox, though, so they could take little S to their place for two days. Great, I would get to rest, Mistress could go to the meeting, and little S would be taken care of. Except that little S herself cried her eyes out at the thought of it and refused to go anywhere without at least one of her mummies (preferably both). Understandable, since we went to Paris for two days without her last week, and she's itchy all over on top of that.
So we had three solutions that each one was great for two of us and really bad for the third. No compromises, no way of softening the blow. Someone would have to suffer. And we were desperately unhappy, with unresolved issues hanging over our heads, and all thinking or talking was accompanied by incessant whining from the itchy, miserable four-year-old.
As usual, grandma came through for us in our darkest moment. She telephoned and asked if she should come alone, and stay at our place 'til the day Mistress was coming home. That way grandpa wouldn't get sick, I wouldn't be left alone with the responsibility, and little S wouldn't have to leave her mommies or her home.
So in the end, Mistress went, I'm sick in bed, and little S is miserable, itchy and whiny in the living room with grandma. About every thirty minutes she makes a dash for the bedroom door crying for me, and my heart brakes. I've been up and about a few times, and even when I feel almost fine laying in bed after 30 minutes of sitting up and socialising I'm about to keel over, sweating and dizzy. Not all better yet, no.
I'm trying to console myself with that she's not really happier when I'm with her, she's miserable from the chickenpox and there's nothing I can do. Of course she prefers me from grandma, but she knows and loves grandma. She just wants me too, and I want to be with her also. But right now, I just want this horrible sick feeling to go away. I'm not to fond of anything right now, to be honest. Everything seems rather horrid.
Hurts to much to even be funny
We didn't really fix it that night. We tried, we tried getting close to eachother without causing more damage. We tried to find some common ground. But it's hard, when we're both hypersensitive and hurting.
To me, she was punishing me for being ill, she was confirming my fear that my weakness made me unworthy of her love, she was kicking me when I was on the ground, and there was nothing I could do that would make me good enough for her. She didn't love me anymore because I was sick and weak and useless, and all I should do was shut up and accept it. It broke my heart, but I couldn't find any other explanation. That was the truth as I saw it that night, and everything she said and everything she did was filtered through that view of reality.
What did she see? I don't know, exactly, but when we talked about it on the phone yesterday I got the feeling it was something eerily similar to what I saw, but turned the other way around. That I was punishing her, drawing my love from her, for going away. That I only said that it was okay that she went, but if she did I would not love her anymore. Or something. And of course, that there was a set of magic "right questions" that she had to ask to make me alright again, and I wouldn't tell her what they were but if she didn't ask them I would leave her.
When we're both deadly afraid of losing the other's love, when we're both feeling ashamed and not good enough, we both want the others' love and assurance. But we're not capable of giving it, and so it ends in despair and heartache and martyrdom. We both love eachother to death, and we're sitting a metre away from eachother, grieving the loss of the others' love.
To me, she was punishing me for being ill, she was confirming my fear that my weakness made me unworthy of her love, she was kicking me when I was on the ground, and there was nothing I could do that would make me good enough for her. She didn't love me anymore because I was sick and weak and useless, and all I should do was shut up and accept it. It broke my heart, but I couldn't find any other explanation. That was the truth as I saw it that night, and everything she said and everything she did was filtered through that view of reality.
What did she see? I don't know, exactly, but when we talked about it on the phone yesterday I got the feeling it was something eerily similar to what I saw, but turned the other way around. That I was punishing her, drawing my love from her, for going away. That I only said that it was okay that she went, but if she did I would not love her anymore. Or something. And of course, that there was a set of magic "right questions" that she had to ask to make me alright again, and I wouldn't tell her what they were but if she didn't ask them I would leave her.
When we're both deadly afraid of losing the other's love, when we're both feeling ashamed and not good enough, we both want the others' love and assurance. But we're not capable of giving it, and so it ends in despair and heartache and martyrdom. We both love eachother to death, and we're sitting a metre away from eachother, grieving the loss of the others' love.
A really low point
I guess from her perspective the whole thing looked different. But that's just it. When I'm ashamed and tired and sick and sad and feeling unappreciated, my ability to take someone elses perspective is almost gone. And so is my ability to formulate cohesive sentences, reflect over my feelings or say anything except answering straight questions.
I wanted to tell her how I was feeling and what I was thinking. I wanted that almost more than anything. But not more than I wanted her to actually want to know those things. Since I was ashamed I couldn't stand the idea of telling her of my weakness and getting anger or rejection back. At the same time, I wanted her to know, and so I said that if she wanted to know something she could just ask me.
And, angrily and impatiently she growled "well, how do you feel about all this, then?". "It feels terrible, I feel sick and I'm really scared" I answered, filled with angst and shame and fear of rejection, a little relieved to finally get to say it, to share it, and deadly afraid I wouldn't be accepted, or loved anymore, when I couldn't live up to her demands.
And how did she react? She cursed in a loud voice, slammed the door she was holding, and stalked off, completely furious. I curled up on the sofa under a blanket, and cried. I was hyperaware of her every move, feeling like a mouse hiding in the grass, and trying to figure out what I would do if she would start yelling at me or hurt me. Nothing, I decided. There was nothing in me worth protecting anyway. There was nothing she could do that would make anything any worse.
I wanted to tell her how I was feeling and what I was thinking. I wanted that almost more than anything. But not more than I wanted her to actually want to know those things. Since I was ashamed I couldn't stand the idea of telling her of my weakness and getting anger or rejection back. At the same time, I wanted her to know, and so I said that if she wanted to know something she could just ask me.
And, angrily and impatiently she growled "well, how do you feel about all this, then?". "It feels terrible, I feel sick and I'm really scared" I answered, filled with angst and shame and fear of rejection, a little relieved to finally get to say it, to share it, and deadly afraid I wouldn't be accepted, or loved anymore, when I couldn't live up to her demands.
And how did she react? She cursed in a loud voice, slammed the door she was holding, and stalked off, completely furious. I curled up on the sofa under a blanket, and cried. I was hyperaware of her every move, feeling like a mouse hiding in the grass, and trying to figure out what I would do if she would start yelling at me or hurt me. Nothing, I decided. There was nothing in me worth protecting anyway. There was nothing she could do that would make anything any worse.
What happened?
Okay, so what the hell happened Monday night? There was a lot of swearing and slamming of doors, from Mistress, and crying, pouting, reproachful looks and going away crying in corners from me. Despair all around, and a general feeling of doom and disaster.
It was a while since we did this dance, even though we once upon a time did it quite frequently. Lately though our hearts haven't really been in it. Even while I've been stomping my foot and claiming she can't possibly love me since she did/said/didn't say/didn't do whatever, I've often realised I don't really believe it myself, and that tends to take the proper fire out of any argument. We've been to happy, to secure in our love for each other, to let temporary misunderstandings and mistakes really rattle us.
But not this time. This time, the alternative reality where our love is a sham, and we're both alone in the world, ashamed and worthless, engulfed us both completely.
I think shame is the critical part here. We often conclude that to nip a potentially horrific fight in the bud "it's enough if one of us isn't a complete idiot". Unfortunately, when we're in a situation where both of us feel inadequate and all to aware of our short-comings, we both tend to lose our grip on reality and sink down in the quagmire of idiocy that is self-loathing and shame.
She didn't want to leave me alone with a sick kid, and especially not if I was sick too. But she really really wanted to keep her promise and fulfill her responsibilities at work and go away for two days for her important meeting.Whichever she choose, stay or go, she had to let someone down, had to sacrifice something.
I didn't want her to go away, but I didn't want to make her decision harder either. The more I felt sick the more I wanted her to stay, needed her to stay, and the more I felt ashamed of myself. I wanted to be the supportive partner, I wanted to say "it's okay, I can deal with this, you go and do your thing".
But. I also wanted to feel loved and acknowledged, and if she was going to leave me with the flu and a kid with chickenpox all alone for two days, I wanted to know that she knew that that was what she was doing. That she cared, that she made conscious decision to do that, and that she would take responsibility for whatever consequences that might entail.
The prospect of it scared the shit out of me, but I was prepared to do it if that was what she wanted, because I'll do anything for her.
And here is where it all went wrong. She didn't ask how I was feeling, and I couldn't tell her. I mean, literary couldn't. I've realised with time that there are other people out there who would have no problems voicing the words "hey, my fever's gone up and I feel terrible; I don't think I'll be okay alone at home, we'll have to figure something out" to their significant other. For me, that's not possible. I can't form the words, they are blocked by shame. I'm sure I can learn to with time and patience but as it is now, it's not happening.
So that's my idiocy. Hers, of course, was not asking in the first place. After a long day where Mistress got home earlier from work to relieve me and I stumbled to bed for the rest of the day, we finally got a chance to talk to eachother when little S was down for the night. In the morning I had had a slight cold, a little snivelling but mostly fine. During the day I had felt progressively worse, and eventually realised that it wasn't a simple cold, it was more like the the flu. I had a fever, my whole body ached, and I had no energy to do anything except laying down and staring at the wall.
Now, why hadn't I told her this? The thing is, I thought I had. When she came home, she hugged me and we talked a few words, I said I felt crappy and went straight to bed. I came out for dinner, ate a few bites, and went back to bed. I _said_ I felt horrible. I sighed, I told her I was shivering, I mentioned having a fever, I told her all of those things. But... I did it evasively, in bits and pieces. I even came up to her at one point and asked for a hug and wanted to be pitied. But somehow, in some way, it didn't register in her mind as "c is feeling much worse now than she did this morning".
Or it did but she didn't want to know. I don't know which it is, and I don't get it. Anyway, when we did get a chance to talk to eachother, she described the schedule for her trip to me, without asking me anything. I said "yes" and "okay" and "I understand".
For me, it's inconceivable that she didn't start out the conversation (the first real one we had been able to have all day) with asking about me, how I was. For her, I guess, she didn't because she figured if anything had happened or changed, I would have told her. Only, I wouldn't, because I can't. I need a question, and a sympathetic, non-judgmental ear, to be able to talk about stuff like that.
She said I seemed strange, or angry, and that it was obvious that there was something I wanted to say to her. I thought about it and said that no, there wasn't. There wasn't anytjning I wanted to say to her, if there was I would have done it already, and if there was anything she wanted to know she only had to ask, and I would answer.
I think that if I had poked a bees nest with a stick, I might have gotten a calmer, more level-headed reaction out of it then that response provoced from her.
It was a while since we did this dance, even though we once upon a time did it quite frequently. Lately though our hearts haven't really been in it. Even while I've been stomping my foot and claiming she can't possibly love me since she did/said/didn't say/didn't do whatever, I've often realised I don't really believe it myself, and that tends to take the proper fire out of any argument. We've been to happy, to secure in our love for each other, to let temporary misunderstandings and mistakes really rattle us.
But not this time. This time, the alternative reality where our love is a sham, and we're both alone in the world, ashamed and worthless, engulfed us both completely.
I think shame is the critical part here. We often conclude that to nip a potentially horrific fight in the bud "it's enough if one of us isn't a complete idiot". Unfortunately, when we're in a situation where both of us feel inadequate and all to aware of our short-comings, we both tend to lose our grip on reality and sink down in the quagmire of idiocy that is self-loathing and shame.
She didn't want to leave me alone with a sick kid, and especially not if I was sick too. But she really really wanted to keep her promise and fulfill her responsibilities at work and go away for two days for her important meeting.Whichever she choose, stay or go, she had to let someone down, had to sacrifice something.
I didn't want her to go away, but I didn't want to make her decision harder either. The more I felt sick the more I wanted her to stay, needed her to stay, and the more I felt ashamed of myself. I wanted to be the supportive partner, I wanted to say "it's okay, I can deal with this, you go and do your thing".
But. I also wanted to feel loved and acknowledged, and if she was going to leave me with the flu and a kid with chickenpox all alone for two days, I wanted to know that she knew that that was what she was doing. That she cared, that she made conscious decision to do that, and that she would take responsibility for whatever consequences that might entail.
The prospect of it scared the shit out of me, but I was prepared to do it if that was what she wanted, because I'll do anything for her.
And here is where it all went wrong. She didn't ask how I was feeling, and I couldn't tell her. I mean, literary couldn't. I've realised with time that there are other people out there who would have no problems voicing the words "hey, my fever's gone up and I feel terrible; I don't think I'll be okay alone at home, we'll have to figure something out" to their significant other. For me, that's not possible. I can't form the words, they are blocked by shame. I'm sure I can learn to with time and patience but as it is now, it's not happening.
So that's my idiocy. Hers, of course, was not asking in the first place. After a long day where Mistress got home earlier from work to relieve me and I stumbled to bed for the rest of the day, we finally got a chance to talk to eachother when little S was down for the night. In the morning I had had a slight cold, a little snivelling but mostly fine. During the day I had felt progressively worse, and eventually realised that it wasn't a simple cold, it was more like the the flu. I had a fever, my whole body ached, and I had no energy to do anything except laying down and staring at the wall.
Now, why hadn't I told her this? The thing is, I thought I had. When she came home, she hugged me and we talked a few words, I said I felt crappy and went straight to bed. I came out for dinner, ate a few bites, and went back to bed. I _said_ I felt horrible. I sighed, I told her I was shivering, I mentioned having a fever, I told her all of those things. But... I did it evasively, in bits and pieces. I even came up to her at one point and asked for a hug and wanted to be pitied. But somehow, in some way, it didn't register in her mind as "c is feeling much worse now than she did this morning".
Or it did but she didn't want to know. I don't know which it is, and I don't get it. Anyway, when we did get a chance to talk to eachother, she described the schedule for her trip to me, without asking me anything. I said "yes" and "okay" and "I understand".
For me, it's inconceivable that she didn't start out the conversation (the first real one we had been able to have all day) with asking about me, how I was. For her, I guess, she didn't because she figured if anything had happened or changed, I would have told her. Only, I wouldn't, because I can't. I need a question, and a sympathetic, non-judgmental ear, to be able to talk about stuff like that.
She said I seemed strange, or angry, and that it was obvious that there was something I wanted to say to her. I thought about it and said that no, there wasn't. There wasn't anytjning I wanted to say to her, if there was I would have done it already, and if there was anything she wanted to know she only had to ask, and I would answer.
I think that if I had poked a bees nest with a stick, I might have gotten a calmer, more level-headed reaction out of it then that response provoced from her.
Feb 25, 2014
General misery
Yesterday we had this huge breakdown and fight, with both of us feeling betrayed and pissed off and misunderstood and panicky. I hate when that happens.
At one point, just before I went to bed, I was on the toilet, trying to pee, but instead rocking back and forth in despair, crying soundlessly and hardly able to breath from heartache. It was the most miserable I have been in years, my brain was in some sort of panicky, primal state where everything is gone except misery.
Right now Mistress is in Tallinn, Estonia. Little S is in bed covered in chickenpox. I have the flu. The state of our little family is rather pitiful at the moment.
But we skyped just now, and talked for almost an hour about what went wrong yesterday. Apparently, Mistress assumes I will tell her without prompting if my cold develops into the flu with high fever, even if she's to busy to actually ask how I'm feeling. The fact that I assumes that if she wanted to know how I was she would ask doesn't exactly help, though. There might have been a slight misunderstanding regarding this, yesterday.
Right now, I'm going to obey orders and go to bed. I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
At one point, just before I went to bed, I was on the toilet, trying to pee, but instead rocking back and forth in despair, crying soundlessly and hardly able to breath from heartache. It was the most miserable I have been in years, my brain was in some sort of panicky, primal state where everything is gone except misery.
Right now Mistress is in Tallinn, Estonia. Little S is in bed covered in chickenpox. I have the flu. The state of our little family is rather pitiful at the moment.
But we skyped just now, and talked for almost an hour about what went wrong yesterday. Apparently, Mistress assumes I will tell her without prompting if my cold develops into the flu with high fever, even if she's to busy to actually ask how I'm feeling. The fact that I assumes that if she wanted to know how I was she would ask doesn't exactly help, though. There might have been a slight misunderstanding regarding this, yesterday.
Right now, I'm going to obey orders and go to bed. I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
Feb 22, 2014
A trip to Paris
We went to Paris. Can you imagine? I got to see Paris.
We haven't been there all of Febuary, there's no neat excuse for me not updating for three weeks. It's just like that sometimes, I get quite and can't form words. And then I snap out of it and start writing again.
But anyway, we went to Paris. Mistress had a meeting, and I got to tag along. We flew there from Stockholm Wednesday, and home again yesterday, and stayed two nights at a hotel, while Mistress' parents babysat. Two nights is not a long time to spend in a big city, but it's a rather long time for little S to be without her mommies, so it felt like an okay compromise. Anyway, Mistress is travelling again on Tuesday, so if we had stayed any longer she would barely gotten through the door before it was time to leave again.
I like tagging along to Mistresss work-functions. I get to play the role of acconmpanying wife, and I'm rather good at it, for short bursts of time. I'm good at mingling and making acquaintances, and I actually enjoy meeting her colleagues and chatting about work and travels and all kinds of things.
But mostly, I just like beeing with her. I don't want to be left at home, I want to be where she is. She is my home. Anywhere in the world is okay, as long as we're there together. (Well, except maybe Helsinki. We had a terrible time when she had a meeting in Helsinki and I went along. But I could probably be happy there too, just as long as I could be with her, and we could cook our own food and didn't have to rely on Finnish restaurants...)
This trip, I got to see the Louvre. And Notre Dame. And the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes. And I got to walk along the Seines and drink red wine to lunch (and get tsked at by the waiter for answering "oui" when he asked if I wanted ketchup to my fries). I liked Paris. I want to go back there, someday.
I also like being home again, with our own bed and our kitchen and most of all, our adorable four-year-old. It's good to have a family. It's good to be missed when away.
We haven't been there all of Febuary, there's no neat excuse for me not updating for three weeks. It's just like that sometimes, I get quite and can't form words. And then I snap out of it and start writing again.
But anyway, we went to Paris. Mistress had a meeting, and I got to tag along. We flew there from Stockholm Wednesday, and home again yesterday, and stayed two nights at a hotel, while Mistress' parents babysat. Two nights is not a long time to spend in a big city, but it's a rather long time for little S to be without her mommies, so it felt like an okay compromise. Anyway, Mistress is travelling again on Tuesday, so if we had stayed any longer she would barely gotten through the door before it was time to leave again.
I like tagging along to Mistresss work-functions. I get to play the role of acconmpanying wife, and I'm rather good at it, for short bursts of time. I'm good at mingling and making acquaintances, and I actually enjoy meeting her colleagues and chatting about work and travels and all kinds of things.
But mostly, I just like beeing with her. I don't want to be left at home, I want to be where she is. She is my home. Anywhere in the world is okay, as long as we're there together. (Well, except maybe Helsinki. We had a terrible time when she had a meeting in Helsinki and I went along. But I could probably be happy there too, just as long as I could be with her, and we could cook our own food and didn't have to rely on Finnish restaurants...)
This trip, I got to see the Louvre. And Notre Dame. And the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes. And I got to walk along the Seines and drink red wine to lunch (and get tsked at by the waiter for answering "oui" when he asked if I wanted ketchup to my fries). I liked Paris. I want to go back there, someday.
I also like being home again, with our own bed and our kitchen and most of all, our adorable four-year-old. It's good to have a family. It's good to be missed when away.
Jan 30, 2014
Vulnerable and submissive
I've been thinking about vulnerability lately. About me and the fact that I'm extremely vulnerable, and how I've worked my whole adult life towards letting go of the shame over that. And about how I need Mistress to function and feel safe.
I'm raised in a culture that promotes individualism and self-reliance. Being dependent is a bad thing, even in families or children towards adults. There's no room for weakness or being less than a productive, self-motivated, self-reliant adult. Everybody is not only equal in worth, but equal in responsibility and agency.
In a lot of ways, that's great. It's result of a society with a long democratic tradition, without war or slavery, where people of all classes can have an education, a vote, and a voice. A society which strives toward equality, both between the sexes and regarding class and heritage. Everybody is a free agent, everybody should be able to act in society on equal terms, and everybody is expected to do that.
Only, I don't want to.
And that's a problem for me. There's no safe guards for a person who tends to bend over backwards to please, who wants to be led, who wants to follow orders and let go of responsibility. There's no role in the society I live in where that's okay.
Except, of course, this one; property of my partner. Not that it's accepted in society at large, but at least I've got it. We can make our own world, here in our family, where me and Mistress knows I'm hers and nothing else. No one around us will confirm that, even know it exists, but we will, and that's enough.
Or, not no one - there are people out there who knows and accepts and confirm. We don't see them as much as we'd like, but they exist and that makes a big difference.
Still. Vulnerability. I've protected myself for as long as I can remember. Being inclined to obey every person with a certain aura, a certain way of speaking and acting, is dangerous. Both insofar that if that person isn't a very good one, you might get hurt. But also simply because it's embarassing. It's out of the norm. It's interpreted as weakness by others, and even ridiculed. So I don't do it.
I've avoided that kind of person the best I've could, or rather been circling around them, going away and coming back, going away and coming back. I've developed a whole host of deflecting strategies, quipping jokes and always having a snappy reply. Never give in, never lose face, never let anyone see your weakness.
Yeah. It's a bother.
And then Mistress came along, and I don't have to do it anymore. I can submit and lose prestige and be weak and malleable and submissive to my hearts content, 'cause no one can hurt me. No one is going to take advantage of me or lead me to something I don't want, because I'm hers. She'll protect me. I'll never betray her or disappoint her or leave her or break her trust, which mean no one will be able to make me do anything that would lead to that - and so I'm safe.
But no, I'm not okay without her. I'm not a fully functioning adult on my own. I'm only that because I'm hers. Not so much for what she does, but for what it means to me. With her, as hers, I'm safe. Without it, I'm not.
And I'm okay with that.
I'm raised in a culture that promotes individualism and self-reliance. Being dependent is a bad thing, even in families or children towards adults. There's no room for weakness or being less than a productive, self-motivated, self-reliant adult. Everybody is not only equal in worth, but equal in responsibility and agency.
In a lot of ways, that's great. It's result of a society with a long democratic tradition, without war or slavery, where people of all classes can have an education, a vote, and a voice. A society which strives toward equality, both between the sexes and regarding class and heritage. Everybody is a free agent, everybody should be able to act in society on equal terms, and everybody is expected to do that.
Only, I don't want to.
And that's a problem for me. There's no safe guards for a person who tends to bend over backwards to please, who wants to be led, who wants to follow orders and let go of responsibility. There's no role in the society I live in where that's okay.
Except, of course, this one; property of my partner. Not that it's accepted in society at large, but at least I've got it. We can make our own world, here in our family, where me and Mistress knows I'm hers and nothing else. No one around us will confirm that, even know it exists, but we will, and that's enough.
Or, not no one - there are people out there who knows and accepts and confirm. We don't see them as much as we'd like, but they exist and that makes a big difference.
Still. Vulnerability. I've protected myself for as long as I can remember. Being inclined to obey every person with a certain aura, a certain way of speaking and acting, is dangerous. Both insofar that if that person isn't a very good one, you might get hurt. But also simply because it's embarassing. It's out of the norm. It's interpreted as weakness by others, and even ridiculed. So I don't do it.
I've avoided that kind of person the best I've could, or rather been circling around them, going away and coming back, going away and coming back. I've developed a whole host of deflecting strategies, quipping jokes and always having a snappy reply. Never give in, never lose face, never let anyone see your weakness.
Yeah. It's a bother.
And then Mistress came along, and I don't have to do it anymore. I can submit and lose prestige and be weak and malleable and submissive to my hearts content, 'cause no one can hurt me. No one is going to take advantage of me or lead me to something I don't want, because I'm hers. She'll protect me. I'll never betray her or disappoint her or leave her or break her trust, which mean no one will be able to make me do anything that would lead to that - and so I'm safe.
But no, I'm not okay without her. I'm not a fully functioning adult on my own. I'm only that because I'm hers. Not so much for what she does, but for what it means to me. With her, as hers, I'm safe. Without it, I'm not.
And I'm okay with that.
Spanking new and shiny
She's home now, and the moment I saw her it was like a weight lifted from my shoulders, and as if someone clubbed me in the head at the same time. Intense relief and killing fatigue. She's home. I'm not alone anymore.
I tend to liken myself to dogs occasionally, and when she's away that's even more apt than usual. Because I really act like a dog whose owner went out and the dog walks from window to window, restlessly checking everything, not settling down, not eating, just walking and waiting and checking everything out incessantly. Until the owner comes home and the dog collapses in an exhausted pile of fur on the carpet and sleeps for twelve hours straight.
To lessen my anxiety I actually made something for her while she was away. That speaks volumes of my increased health, that I don't have to use all my energy just to manage the bare necessities, I can do a little more than that. So I got inspired and turned one of our kitchen implements, a wooden spatula, into a spanking thingy.
I drilled six holes in it, sandpapered it and then applied black shiny varnish. I screwed up and used too much varnish the first time around so I had to sandpaper it all off and re-apply it, which was a bit of a hassle since it took ten hours to dry and needed two layers. But I got it done in time, and it felt really good to do something. To create something with my hands, and to work with wood, which is my favourite material.
She tried it out a little on me yesterday, and declared that I was so going to regret making it. I think she's right, in the best way possible.
They haven't called me back about the job, and I'm thinking that means they picked someone else. Part of me feel horrible about that, but I think I'll manage. It's a bit unsettling having no idea what my immediate future will look like, but it's okay. I'm in a good spot - I would love to be able to move forward with our plans and our lifes, but it's okay to just be here too.
Even though I almost started to cry this morning when little S and I played house and she made me the mommy of two dolls, stating they where her little twin sisters. I want babies! I want her to have siblings for real. Or sibling, since I don't imagine I'm going to be pregnant more than one more time in life. But I want that time, I want another baby. (Twins would be good, though. I'd love twins. Too bad Nature doesn't take requests.)
And the job is connected to the having babies-thing, because it would make a lot of sense economically and career-wise for me to work for a while so that I can become a licensed psychologist before I take time off to be a mom again. I'll probably be in an even worse spot looking for work if there's three or four years between getting the exam and my first job. I've heard employers frown upon that kind of gap in one's resumé. Also, I'm a bit afraid that if I don't get that done now, maybe I never will, and then I will never be a psychologist, not really, and would have worked my butt (and my sanity) off for seven years for nothing. That would sting a bit.
I want to do this. I want to get a job and work as a psychologist. If I don't get a position anytime soon, though, we might have to move for me to be able to do that, and meh. That's not something I'm looking forward to.
I tend to liken myself to dogs occasionally, and when she's away that's even more apt than usual. Because I really act like a dog whose owner went out and the dog walks from window to window, restlessly checking everything, not settling down, not eating, just walking and waiting and checking everything out incessantly. Until the owner comes home and the dog collapses in an exhausted pile of fur on the carpet and sleeps for twelve hours straight.
To lessen my anxiety I actually made something for her while she was away. That speaks volumes of my increased health, that I don't have to use all my energy just to manage the bare necessities, I can do a little more than that. So I got inspired and turned one of our kitchen implements, a wooden spatula, into a spanking thingy.
I drilled six holes in it, sandpapered it and then applied black shiny varnish. I screwed up and used too much varnish the first time around so I had to sandpaper it all off and re-apply it, which was a bit of a hassle since it took ten hours to dry and needed two layers. But I got it done in time, and it felt really good to do something. To create something with my hands, and to work with wood, which is my favourite material.
She tried it out a little on me yesterday, and declared that I was so going to regret making it. I think she's right, in the best way possible.
They haven't called me back about the job, and I'm thinking that means they picked someone else. Part of me feel horrible about that, but I think I'll manage. It's a bit unsettling having no idea what my immediate future will look like, but it's okay. I'm in a good spot - I would love to be able to move forward with our plans and our lifes, but it's okay to just be here too.
Even though I almost started to cry this morning when little S and I played house and she made me the mommy of two dolls, stating they where her little twin sisters. I want babies! I want her to have siblings for real. Or sibling, since I don't imagine I'm going to be pregnant more than one more time in life. But I want that time, I want another baby. (Twins would be good, though. I'd love twins. Too bad Nature doesn't take requests.)
And the job is connected to the having babies-thing, because it would make a lot of sense economically and career-wise for me to work for a while so that I can become a licensed psychologist before I take time off to be a mom again. I'll probably be in an even worse spot looking for work if there's three or four years between getting the exam and my first job. I've heard employers frown upon that kind of gap in one's resumé. Also, I'm a bit afraid that if I don't get that done now, maybe I never will, and then I will never be a psychologist, not really, and would have worked my butt (and my sanity) off for seven years for nothing. That would sting a bit.
I want to do this. I want to get a job and work as a psychologist. If I don't get a position anytime soon, though, we might have to move for me to be able to do that, and meh. That's not something I'm looking forward to.
Jan 27, 2014
Life in general
I kind of fell off the interwebz during the Holidays. And a bit longer. I need silence to order my thoughts, and there's been a lot going on. Mostly just that Mistress was on vacation from work and little S was home, so I didn't need my computer to keep me company.
Today Mistress flew to Copenhagen for work, she'll be back Wednesday. I'm lost and confused as usual when she's away, but not as angsty as I used to be. I'm healthier now, I have more energy and recuperate a lot faster than before when I do get exhausted, so I'm not as scared to be alone. It still sucks, though.
In general my life is awesome. I might get a job offer this week, I was interviewed for a position last week. If I get it, my awesome life will change tremendously. If I don't get it, it will go on as before with the important difference that I'll be more aware of how awesome it really is and how much I'll appreciate it. Whether I get this job or not, being home like I am now and having this much time to myself is a short interlude in my life, a rare treat, and I'll savour it while it lasts.
Today Mistress flew to Copenhagen for work, she'll be back Wednesday. I'm lost and confused as usual when she's away, but not as angsty as I used to be. I'm healthier now, I have more energy and recuperate a lot faster than before when I do get exhausted, so I'm not as scared to be alone. It still sucks, though.
In general my life is awesome. I might get a job offer this week, I was interviewed for a position last week. If I get it, my awesome life will change tremendously. If I don't get it, it will go on as before with the important difference that I'll be more aware of how awesome it really is and how much I'll appreciate it. Whether I get this job or not, being home like I am now and having this much time to myself is a short interlude in my life, a rare treat, and I'll savour it while it lasts.
Jan 4, 2014
Everyday bleergh.
After Christmas I was in a really bad shape. I was holding myself together by sheer willpower, the threat of depression hanging over my head. My main strategy when everyday life gets taxing is to contain emotions and negative thoughts, deal with the everyday things that has to be dealt with, and try to focus on the positive when there is any of that. Good tactics, more or less, for a short time period. Bad though if it goes on for more than a week or so. After way to many weeks of continuous chaos and sickness and worry, it started to be a very bad strategy indeed.
Just in time though we went to my in-laws for Christmas holiday, and we stayed for a week. Yesterday we came home, and already the stress and angst and depressive thoughts and listlessness are creeping up on me again. I found myself snapping at Mistress, and she told me it seemed like I had become a totally different person when we got back home. All I wanted to say was "I could say the same to you".
For me, it's so easy to see how she is different. With the responsibility and the endless chores at home, she gets tense. Grumpy, with a kind of accusing tone in her voice. It seems to me that everything she says to me is some sort of critique or accusation.
But. I also know that when I start to feel stressed or too tired, everything sounds like accusations. I get prickly, off balance, hyper-sensitive and prone to feeling like a misunderstood victim.
The truth, I think, is that we both felt worse once we got home. At my in-laws we're spoiled. Grandma makes all the food, and takes care of the kid during the night and the morning. We only have to take care of ourselves and of course little S, but all the burdens and cares of our normal lifes are gone and not missed. I get to rest enough so I don't feel overwhelmed, and that means I have patience when I'm actually with my family. And Mistress lights up, she doesn't fret as much, she relaxes and feels more present. She's there, in the here-and-now, in a way that I often miss when we're at home.
And there, we had sex. I felt like hers again, like I belonged to her. Before we left, we hadn't connected like that in what felt like forever - sickness and stress and job and lack of sleep prevented it, and the more stressed out I become the more I detach. I try to function without her, and I hate it but I can do it. Now I was starting to relax and trust and rely on her again, and now it seems like she's gone. It's like she, or us, or whatever it is I'm talking about, drifted away the moment we got into the hallway of our apartment.
I miss her. I miss me, the way I am when I feel safe and dependant and close to her. I miss us.
And the worse thing is almost that all those feelings make me bitter and angry and grumpy and acts like a wedge between us, making the problem even worse. Bleergh.
Just in time though we went to my in-laws for Christmas holiday, and we stayed for a week. Yesterday we came home, and already the stress and angst and depressive thoughts and listlessness are creeping up on me again. I found myself snapping at Mistress, and she told me it seemed like I had become a totally different person when we got back home. All I wanted to say was "I could say the same to you".
For me, it's so easy to see how she is different. With the responsibility and the endless chores at home, she gets tense. Grumpy, with a kind of accusing tone in her voice. It seems to me that everything she says to me is some sort of critique or accusation.
But. I also know that when I start to feel stressed or too tired, everything sounds like accusations. I get prickly, off balance, hyper-sensitive and prone to feeling like a misunderstood victim.
The truth, I think, is that we both felt worse once we got home. At my in-laws we're spoiled. Grandma makes all the food, and takes care of the kid during the night and the morning. We only have to take care of ourselves and of course little S, but all the burdens and cares of our normal lifes are gone and not missed. I get to rest enough so I don't feel overwhelmed, and that means I have patience when I'm actually with my family. And Mistress lights up, she doesn't fret as much, she relaxes and feels more present. She's there, in the here-and-now, in a way that I often miss when we're at home.
And there, we had sex. I felt like hers again, like I belonged to her. Before we left, we hadn't connected like that in what felt like forever - sickness and stress and job and lack of sleep prevented it, and the more stressed out I become the more I detach. I try to function without her, and I hate it but I can do it. Now I was starting to relax and trust and rely on her again, and now it seems like she's gone. It's like she, or us, or whatever it is I'm talking about, drifted away the moment we got into the hallway of our apartment.
I miss her. I miss me, the way I am when I feel safe and dependant and close to her. I miss us.
And the worse thing is almost that all those feelings make me bitter and angry and grumpy and acts like a wedge between us, making the problem even worse. Bleergh.
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