Trust (and crying and misunderstandings and a water crisis).

Yesterday when I was snot-crying into my pillow my mind was filled with very real thoughts about our relationship being over. I didn't see any way forward at that moment, and even though part of me knew I was being very much overly dramatic another part was very very sincere in the idea of "this is it - I can't go forward from here".

When we were arguing, or rather trying to solve things instead of arguing, I hugged Mistress, rested my head against her chest and asked "Can I trust you?". Meaning "I want to trust you, no matter what, I don't care what just happened, I don't care about our problems - if you say you'll be there, I'll believe you, and everything else will take care of itself. Just tell me I can trust you, and I will."

That's what I meant, and that's what I was expecting an answer to. That was, however, not how she interpreted the question, and she answered, calmly and with sincerity: "No".

So there. For me, that was kind of it. I tore lose, told her she made me panic and that I couldn't believe she just said that. She changed the subject and went to check on some practicality. I told her to go to Hell, ran upstairs, slammed the door, threw myself on the bed and cried.

For me, her answer was practically the same as thrusting a divorce paper under my nose. If she herself says I can't trust her - how can I? And if I can't trust her, if she doesn't even bother about trying to behave in a way that I can trust, if she just disregard that as something unimportant, how can I submit to her? And I know, by now, that any other type relationship will dry up and go stale very fast for me. But the thing is that I have absolutely nowhere to go.

It doesn't matter how mad or sad or frustrated or heartbroken she makes me. I can't imagine a life without her, either emotionally or in a practical sense. All my dreams, all my hopes and plans and ideas, are tied to her. Everything I want to do, I want to do together with her. The idea of doing anything without her felt lika a vast, black gulf opening before me.

But on the other hand there were those words: "Can I trust you?" "No."

Well, she followed me after a few minutes, laid herself literary atop of me, like a rather heavy duvet (heavy for a duvet, that is - she's not that heavy for a human). She hugged me and said she wanted to make things better, and that whatever I had heard or interpreted was wrong and that I could trust that she loved me and wanted me and would always do her best to take her of me. That made it kind of better.

And right around when I had stopped bawling my eyes out our time was up and little S was tired of waiting and came upstairs. Like any jealous and possessive six-year-old she did her very best to not only lay on top of us but also slide herself down between us, so that the mommy-hug became two mommies hugging her, instead of two adults hugging eachother. Ah well.

The crux of the matter is I guess what it was Mistress answered to. I asked a very broad question, concerning our whole relationship, my whole existance almost. She answered a very narrow specific question regarding the immediate situation.

When we came home the water was frozen. This is our first winter in this house, and it has so far been a very mild one. We've been gone for a week, and during this week it has suddenly gotten cold. There's a cable that needs to be plugged in so that the water in the pipes doesn't freeze, and we hadn't done that, and so their was no water in the house.

This was quite easily resolved by plugging in the cable and waiting a while, but before we figured it all out and solved it, Mistress got really tense. It had been bad winter weather on the drive home too, and she really doesn't like that either. In the end she had a fit, she talked to little S in an angry voice, hit herself in the head with her fist, and stormed off. I freaked out and got very angry (also pouty and moody) and it was when we tried to resolve this everything went from bad to worse.

So when I asked can I trust you, Mistress heard: "Can I trust you to never be stressed out over a crisis again? Can I trust you to never lose your temper, have a fit an storm off?". And she answered very truthfully: No. Because even she really tries, and even if she agress that it was unneccesary and wish she had kept her cool, she can't promise me it wont happen again. Honestly, it has happened on a regular basis since I've known her, so it's pretty much the other way around; no matter how hard she tries, she most probably will do it again.

The question, then, is; can I trust her? Can I trust her, even though she throws fits when she gets stresses, even though she hits herself in the head when she gets overwhelmed, even though she answers literarily to a loaded question in the middle of a relational crisis without regards to hwo that answer might be interpreted? Can I trust her, when this is who she is and how she will behave?

Yes, absolutely. Everyday, for the rest of my life. I don't care what idiotic things she says when she's lost her theory of mind due to stress. I trust her.

I belong to her, and I trust.

Seesaw

And then we got home and within three hours I was in the fetal position in our bed, crying my eyes out and accusing Mistress of breaking up with me. I hate that we do this. It's like some weird seesaw, if we are starting to get closer and more intimate, we somehow always end up with epic fights that rip us apart. I hate that.

This is so freaking normal for us, we've been doing this song and dance since we first fell in love. We have learnt, however, to make up faster than before. It took only a few hours before we had settled down again and were cuddling on the sofa.

I slept badly though, and feel a little off today. Even though we make it better, it still hurts. Words were said that can't be unsaid, and I feel a little tender and wary. I want to be loving and trusting and open and submitting. But that also makes me vulnerable and sensitive, which means both that I notice things and care more about things, and that things that hurt me hurts much more.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Shame

Shame is one of the most destructive feelings I know. A lot of the crap that has happened to me, and most of all the crap that I have been instrumental in allowing to happen, has been caused by shame.

And I'm ashamed all the time. Or at least very often. For a very long time in my youth I didn't have any memories. Every time something would pop up in my mind, there would be something shameful associated with it, and I would immediately shut it down. That feeling, that dread coursing through the body, the wish to disappear, to cease existing, it's awful. At times, it has controlled my life.

I have two major things I'm ashamed of, and one is not being liked. I grew up knowing I wasn't loved (as an adult, I've started to think that I probably was, but that can't change my experience as a kid), and I was bullied in school on top of that. I had two best friends, both of whom betrayed me horribly, first one at twelve and the next one at fourteen, and contributed to the bullying. So that's one. The other one is not being good enough.

I have ADHD, but no one knew that. I grew up trying harder than everyone around me, and still coming up short. I was always late, didn't do the things I was supposed to, forgot stuff, didn't clean up after myself, made a mess, broke stuff, and so on. I was constantly not living up to the expectations from people around me - people like my parents and teachers, who saw a smart, talented, charming kid who for some reason just didn't seem to care or try very hard. While, at the same time, I was working like crazy to get through each day, and not letting anyone see that I was struggling. Because of shame.

If I hadn't been ashamed, maybe someone would have known what my life was really like. Maybe I could have told an adult about the bullying. Maybe I could have explained that I did my very best and still couldn't manage to do homework - that I did care, a lot, but just couldn't make it work. If I hadn't been ashamed. But I was ashamed, and I much preferred being labelled lazy and unambitious than having people know I couldn't do it.

And that haunts me still.

I've been sick lately, on top of my ongoing issues with mental fatigue and burn out. I'm getting better, but it's a bumpy road, as always. Mistress has taken two day off of work and we've gone to her parents for a mini vacation. Today I took little S on a shopping trip so that Mistress could get some time for herself and work, and after lunch I accompanied my mother in law to the vet with one of the dogs, a big rottweiler that doesn't particularly like other dogs and last time had made a big fuss while waiting for the vet. I'm pretty proud of how I handled it, there was no wrestling matches or incessant barking this time, but after that and picking up som groceries, I was pretty much wiped. I spent the afternoon in bed, and at dinner time I was all kinds of woozy, feeling sick and dizzy and thinking I wouldn't survive the evening.

On top of that, Mistress had asked me earlier to take care of little S after dinner so that she could work some more, and it made me rather panicky, because I really didn't think I would be up for it. And again, that made me overwhelmed with shame.

Every time I'm asked, especially by Mistress, to do something that is beyond what I can do without feeling seriously ill or paying a heavy price afterwards I get terribly ashamed. I'm awashed in it.

In the end I did take care of little S while Mistress worked, we had a nice time playing a game on the iPad together, and it wasn't so difficult. It helped that little S was in a good mood and stayed focused on the game.

And then eventually the day was over with little S going to bed downstairs with grandma, and I started to relax and feel like maybe, maybe I was okay, maybe I had made it. And the first thing Mistress says to me is along the lines of "oh, we said we should work tonight, we need to do that thing with the survey job".

And at that point my head exploded. The shame got to me, the camel's back was broken by the last straw, the last drop made the glass of water overflow in a cascade of liquid anguish all over the kitchen floor, and I could feel my brain changing gears in to crazy mood.

Because in my mind her even suggesting that I would be up for anything more strenous at that point ment I must be a total failure. A let down. Not good enough. That nothing I had done, nothing I had achieved or managed or made myself do had been worth anything. No matter how hard I strain and press myself, it's not even close to being enough. I'll never be enough. I'll never do enough. I can't be good enough, I can't be loved or worthy of love, I can't achieve anything that makes me fit to even live and breath, I haven't earned my keep, neither as her wife, her property nor even as a human being. I need to work 'til I drop and die and be done with it, because nothing else will cut it.

So yeah. It wasn't a great conversation starter, as such. To my credit, all I said was that I wasn't up for it, that I was hurt and upset that she suggested it, and that I wanted to go lay down in the bedroom, alone. That might not sound like a very tempered or reasonable response but compared to what my brain was screaming at me, I was positively cheerful.

And then I did just that, went and laid down, and instead of rehashing every slight and every shameful moment and debating with myself whether I was right to be hurt or not, I did a mindfulness-exercise, a simple but thorough body scan. I can do that now, that's pretty cool actually, even with my mind on fire with anguish and panic and shame I can redirect my consious focus on something of my own choosing.

The feelings are still there, the discomfort and panic and adrenalin surge through the body, but I can still focus my attention on my left toe, my left foot, the leg, the knee and so on. It takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole body, and by then the panic has subsided, the raging fires of despair has died from lack of things to devour, and everythings a little more settled. It's a neat trick.

We talked about it, of course, afterwards, and we'll figure something out. But shame. I hate it. It's the least constructive thing ever. I'm working on it.

A good call

Uhm... And then it turned out that well, I had jumped to conclusions and she had in fact kept her promise and not done "that thing". It was a misunderstanding, completely my fault too. So yeah... It only makes me glader I sat on my ass and wrote a semi-bitter blogpost about it instead of starting a fight.

In fact, when I had posted yesterday, I sat down and breathed and meditated a bit, and after a while I decided I'd rather sit with her than all alone in the living room, so I got out to where she was working at the kitchen table and simply sat down beside her, on my knees with my head in her lap.

And yes, when she finally stopped working and we were curled up together on the sofa, she asked me what was wrong and I said that I was upset and sad from before, and it was then I found out that my freak-out was completely unnecessary. It did make me a bit relieved still, especially about that broken-promise-thing, but it wasn't this big deal it would  have been if I hadn't already decided I could live with it.

Pet peeve

I was formulating a question to one of the groups on Fetlife, maybe Master&slaves or Owner/property, silently in my head. But while I was wording it, I also imagined the potential responses, and realised I already knew them.

It's not like it's a new or unique problem.

The thing is, there's this thing Mistress does that I really really hate. I'm not going into what it is, but it's a stress relief thing, something she does when she gets overwhelmed with stress or emotions, kind of to re-boot the system or something. It could have been something like nail-chewing or smoking or shouting loud profanities. It's a sudden outburst that makes her feel a bit better in the moment.

But, as mentioned, I hate it. With a vengeance. Everyt time she does it, I get an instant emotional reaction, I get furious and panicky and feel betrayed and a whole chorus of negative voices goes on in my head. I see that particular action as something destructive, bad for her and for me and a bad example for the kid, only making her feel worse in the long run and simply... simply a bad thing to do. I get an emotional reaction close to how I would feel if she hit me in anger, or destroyed something pricey. I get scared and insecure and angry.

We've talked about this. A lot. For a very very long time, ever since we first fell in love, as a matter of fact. She knows how I feel about it, and I think she agrees in theory about that particular thing being a bad example for the kid and not helping in the long run. She's even promised never to do it again. In fact, she has repeatedly said that she wont do it again, and when she still did, she finally made a serious, carefully worded promise to not do it.

And she's usually extremely good at keeping her word, extremely good. It's a corner stone of her personality. She doesn't lie, ever, and she doesn't make promises she can't keep nor does she break a promise once it's been given. Except for this one thing. Because she still does it. And I still hate it.

And when she did it again an hour ago, one of the things I started to do was whining my plight in an imaginary opening post on Fetlife. About how my Owner did this one annoying thing and wouldn't stop even though she knew it made me feel bad, and how I didn't know if I could live with it, but I can't leave her, and what shall I do to make her stop doing it!!!!

And yeah. There's only two answers to that question. It's either "suck it up, buttercup, you're owned and you can't make her do a damn thing" or "if you can't take it, leave - why are you with her if that thing is so unbearable?".

And that's it, really. I don't have to ask anyone else about this. I can't make her do squat. That's the long and the short of it. If this thing she does is so deplorable to me that I can't stand living with her and raising our kid together with her, then I have to leave. Or, on the other hand, if I'm not going to divorce her over it, if the reality is that even though it makes me feel yucky all over it's something I actually can live with, then I better just shut up and stop trying to bully her into changing.

She knows how I feel. Telling her one more time wont make any difference. It doesn't matter what I do or say or feel or think, there's not a thing I can do to make her behave in one way or another. If I could influence this, I would have by now.

So I give. I guess I'll tell her that too. I give in, I don't care anymore, I wont say another word about it. I'm still going to feel yucky, but I wont keep the illusion that if I manage to convey to her just how yucky it makes me feel that will influence her to not do it anymore. I think she knows how it makes me feel. I just think that isn't changing the situation.

I choose to be hers, her slave, her property, her wife, her best friend, hers, no matter what. If she wants to do this thing, then well, that sucks for me, but then that's the way it is. I still belong to her, I still want to belong to her, and that means accepting whatever she throws my way. I wont fake anything, but I wont badger her or argue with her or try to punish her anymore. I'm hers, and she can do whatever she want to. Including this.

(Even if I really do hate it.)

I accept it.

I accept it.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

Sometimes, I'm just stupid

And no, nothing can ever be good for longer than say five minutes. Bleergh.

I've screwed up, and it ended with us spending our night out yesterday, when we were supposed to celebrate our joint achievement and the merry times ahead, crying our eyes out as discreetly as possible over pints in a pub. Yey.

I like beer. It does not benefit from tears.

And now I just want to crawl away into some hole somewhere and bury myself in guilt and shame, but that would be stupid. I hurt Mistress, turns out I've hurt her several times over the last couple of years regarding the same issue, and I had no idea. We were so far from each other in our interpretations of the situation that it's not even funny.

We've got a dog. A five year old miniature pincher named Vilde, which is Swedish for Wild Thing. He's very aptly named, and when the kid was around a year old, we admitted defeat and left him at my in-laws place. He's been there ever since, even though we've made numerous attempts at bringing him home again. We go visit about every fortnight or so for a number of reasons, so it's not as if we've dumped him and forgotten about him, but still. He's not living at home.

And since I have no common sense and no impulse control (and have the papers to prove it, I might ad(h)d) I choose yesterday to bring this sore subject up again, declaring that I didn't think we would ever be able to take him home and that maybe it would be better to give up and start thinking about getting another dog. A nice one, one who doesn't bark incessantly and nips small kids in the face.

Which led to Mistress silently crying, staring out at the window and me feeling totally confused without any idea of what part of what I said was so horrible. I was even feeling kind of righteous - I was only trying to solve a problem that was obviously my responsibility, and I wanted to tell her that I gave up, that I admitted defeat and had failed. Why that would make her break down in tears was beyond me.

Did I mention the different interpretation thing? And how it so not funny? Not even a little bit, actually.

From Mistress point of view, I'm owned and collared. I've pledged allegiance to her countless times, and she's declared her intention to lead me and own me and take responsibility for our life together just as often. That should, one would think, mean that I would trust her to do that, and expect her to do that. That major problems in our life, for example who is and who isn't a part of our family, is up to her to figure out. 

I on the other hand, has the default setting of "Much Fix All the Things!". The dog was her gift to me, I was the one convincing her that we should get him, I was the one calling breeders and arranging visits, I was the one who was at home with him for three months, who made him house broken and taught him to be home alone without barking or biting on stuff. I was the one who went to obedience classes with him. It was my responsibility. I was also the one who first said "this isn't working, we can't keep him, his not happy with us" - because it was my responsibility to make him happy with us, and I was the one failing at it.

All this time, all these years, I've taken my responsibility for the dog, and his place in our family, completely for granted. At the same time, Mistress has taken her responsibility for the situation equally for granted, and my attempts at "solving" or making decisions regarding it as usurping her. Every time I've said "nah, let's not do this, let's do this instead" or "maybe next month we could try again" or whatever, in her mind I've been telling her I don't trust her. That I don't trust her judgement, that I don't believe in her ability to make good decisions and make this right, and that her time is up - I'm done waiting for her and I'm taking it in my own hands.

That's what she's been thinking. And I had no idea. It didn't even occur to me that it would be possible that she didn't think that this was my mess and my job to solve it.

The fact that this is the same damn hole I keep falling in to, the Pit of Responsibility for Things that isn't Mine, doesn't make it feel even a little bit better.

She was right. I've screwed up. I've hurt her, I've hurt us, and it doesn't matter how sorry I am. What's done is done. I can't go back in time and make it right. I'm just sad, and have a hard time dealing with it.

Solving a conflict

I made a mistake the other day.

I had a meeting yesterday with my thesis colleague and the person who's going to grade it in the end, to see if he would allow us to go forward with our idea for the study. He had expressed some doubts, we'd tried to rectify it, and then he had answered "this is so complicated I think I need to see you before I can agree to this". That scared us, badly - I had visions of not being allowed to continue, of being grilled about the statistics of the study (of which I know almost nothing) and about having to come up with a whole different concept.

In the end it turned out that he had misunderstood us, which says very bad things about our ability to convey our aim and methodology in text, but fortunately nothing about the design of our study or statistics, so we got a go-ahead and are finally approved for that part of the course. Yey!

But. We decided to hook up before the meeting, have lunch together and go through his comments and try to think of some answers. And I didn't tell Mistress.

To me, a meeting at one o'clock and deciding to have lunch before kind of equates. It means I'm booked for the lunch and the afternoon that day, and that I'll be away from home, and somehow I figured that was all Mistress needed to know. She, on the other hand, checked on the calendar that I had a meeting at one and thought that good, then I could go to the local vet and buy special kidney-friendly dog food, because they opened at twelve. And she declared that to me over breakfast, I panicked and spluttered and stammered and said that I already had a meeting at that time and couldn't do it, she got pissed off and glared at me - and here's where the interesting thing happened.

I mean, all of the above is just our normal day to day thing. She wants to keep track of me all the time, I try to oblige but routinely fails because... well, honestly, because of ADHD. Because I'm a scatterbrain. Because I make plans and then promptly forgets about them. This is nothing new, and not all that exciting.

But. When she gets pissed off like that, I have for years decided that she doesn't get pissed off in the right way. Yeah. I'm bright like that. She doesn't go all domly-dom on me, she doesn't correct me or yell at me, a lot of the time she doesn't event tell me what I've done wrong (okay, that part I think will always bother me, since I'm not telepathic). She gets mad, for real, and hurt, for real, and she shows it by withdrawing and disengaging. Not to punish me, simply because that's her genuine reaction when she's hurt and angry.

And it used to piss me off so bad. Because it makes me feel like my innards falls to the floor and someone electrocuted my brain - it's an instant break down of the whole system. Massive pain. And, naturally, feeling like that makes me panic, and when I panic I attack. So the process is usually like this: I fail at something she wants me to do - Mistress gets angry and hurt - I interpret that as a catastrophe, and lashes out at her - she gets defensive and withdraws - I get defensive and feel sorry for myself - we both feel miserable.

This time, when she said (! Not using not-working-telepathy!!) that she didn't like me not telling her about my plans, I simply said "you're right, I'm sorry." And then I said it a couple of more times, and eventually, I think she got that I really meant it and that it wasn't a preface to "...but really, it was your fault because you...!". It was my fault. It's not unfair of her to be displeased with me when I don't follow orders. She doesn't have a duty to show that displeasure in any certain way in order to make it less uncomfortable to me. It's my fault, and any aversive feelings her displeasure causes me is both inside me, not coming from her, and  well-deserved rather than unfair.

Before she left, she gave me an slap and forgave me, and before she got home from work I'd managed to get to the vet before closing time and get the dog food. And we didn't fight and I again learned that it isn't the end of the world if I screw up and everything is so much easier if I just own up to my mistakes and don't fight it.

A snowy walk

We were going out for a walk after breakfast this morning, Mistress and me, with the dog and with little S in her plastic sledge. But when we were trying to get dressed, something went wrong. Suddenly, Mistress was pissed off and hectic, oozing irritation and frustration all over the place. I had no idea what had happened, and honestly hid upstairs with a happily playing little S for a while. The I poked my head down the stairs and tentatively asked if it was "safe to come down". Mistress' answer was definitely contra-indicating, but somehow, we all managed to get our warm clothes on. When Mistress and little S was outside, Mistress offered me the alternative to stay at home, and I said something grumpily that I wanted to come but that I wanted her to behave herself. She made no promises.

And so it continued. Mistress was seriously pissed off, I got more and more anxious, and the heavy weight in my stomach grew. Little S kept up a one person-choir for a while, but when she was met with stony silence, she lost her good temper too. After a while I couldn't take it any more, and when Mistress in an effort to sing with little S instead growled the words, I stopped dead in my tracks and said "This is not okay! Please stop being like this." I tried to hand her the rope to the sledge and said."I don't want to keep going. This is not okay. I want to go back.".

At first, Mistress didn't answer, and then she said "I know this was STUPID, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..." in that horrible, strangled voice she has when she gets like that. I refused to move and kept holding the rope out to her. "I want to go back." "No" she said, "keep going. I want us to continue." And therefore, we did.

If she hadn't said that, I would have gone home alone and she would have taken little S to the store. It would have worked out. She would have calmed down, eventually, and I would have forgiven her and gotten over it, after a while. I hate it when she gets like that, I hate that I can't predict it, that I can't protect myself, that it scares me and that I think it makes little S world more unpredictable than it should have to be. And most of all, I hate that I never have any idea what brought it on. It's like at these occasions, we live in different worlds, and I miss her.

But this time, she didn't let me leave. And we talked. Quietly, in front of the sledge, with a firm grip on the dogs leash. And she finally told me that it was little S complaining over stomach ache that set her off, that she had a catastrophic view of sickness and disease in her mind, and that it was fighting this off that made her crazy and strange. And she listened to me, and eventually came back to the here-and-now, to us walking as a happy family through the snow on a beautiful Saturday morning. She accepted the catastrophic view, somehow, and could let it be and still be with us.

And then, after we kissed, we knelt by little S in the sledge, were she sat and looked at us with tired, sad eyes. And I asked it it felt bad for her when her moms argued, and she nodded her head, and we kissed her face and said that it was over now, we had made up, and everybody was okay again. And then we all started singing.

We had a great walk, actually. We ran with little S in the sledge, and after a while we tied the dog to it, since we had him in a harness anyway. And before long we were shopping candy in the store and  walking all the way back again, singing and running and playing.

I wish Mistress never got like that. But since that ain't happening (at least anytime soon) I'm glad we're getting better at dealing with it. I'm glad I didn't explode, and I'm glad she didn't let me go, and I'm glad she talked to me and came back to me. And I'm very glad we could make it a nice morning walk for little S.

Fighting - not fighting

We had a fight, or almost a fight, this morning. A very typical situation, Mistress were going to take little S to the supermarket, little S refused to put any clothes on and ran around the living room naked, we aborted the mission and had some coffee and donuts instead, and afterwards we semi-tricked her into clothes by offering her the too big Pippi Longstrump-t-shirt we got her this summer.

I was deftly and sneakily pulling a pair of underwear on her legs while distracting her with small talk when Mistress interrupted me and wanted me to wait while she got the pair little S started the day wearing, instead of putting on a new pair.

And I flipped. Because... I was doing my best. Because I was almost succeeding. Because I was pretty sure that the delay would mean little S would go back to dancing naked around the living room, and I frankly didn't have the energy or focus to manage to lure her in once more. Because I had been so proud in knowing I was helping, that I was contributing, that I could feel like a competent mom and an asset to the family, and because it hurt me that 1) it wasn't good enough and 2) I wouldn't be allowed to succeed.

Mistress was forcing me to failure, and then, in my minds eye, I was sure she would be angry and irritated with both me and little S, and I would feel guilty for not being able to fix it. And also, the pressure of the thought of having to once again run around chasing a little naked someone and trying to dress her (like putting a hysterical octopus down a net with big holes in it without any arms sticking out...) felt like it was crushing me. In an instant I was convinced that it would end with Mistress angry and me crushed, broken down, laying on the living room floor crying, a failure both as a mother, a wife and her property.

So I snarked at her that couldn't she pleeease not bother just this once and let me do my thing? Or something to that effect. And Mistress got angry and pointed out "all the things I haven't said anything about!" which made me feel like a complete failure at everything, and sent me spiralling down an emotional chasm of raging fury and despair. Mistress jumped down her own dark well in the same instant, and well... here we go again.

Only, we didn't. We didn't yell or accuse or acted out. We tried talking, in intervals between getting little S ready and prepared to go out the door, and in the end I stalked off to go sulk on the bed. Before she left, Mistress came in and looked at me and said: "I know your feelings are hurt and that you're angry. But I'm going to give you an order now. I want you to get dressed and put your running shoes on and go out for a jog, and when you get inside again I want you to take a shower. And I want you to start now."

And I did. It was possible, even if my hurt feelings felt like a lead weight in my chest. And after running a while I sent Mistress a text, and she texted me back. And all is right in the world again. And soon they'll be coming home, so I'll go make pancakes now. And we're so frikkin awesome to save this, to not destroy the whole day, to actually keep our heads even when the hearts are screaming in terror.

She's my Mistress. And I'm so incredibly proud of her, and of being allowed to be hers.

Being a bitch

I hurt Mistress today, I was snarky and bitchy and said an offhand comment to her that made her really hurt and angry. It takes her awhile to process it, I noticed that she was pissed off about something but I didn't make the connection to what I had said, and ended up hurt and pissed off all on my own instead.

Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.

And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.

I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.

I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?

I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:

"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."

And then she did.

She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".

And then all was right in the world.

I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.

Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.

Fighting again.

I just went off the phone with Mistress, she hung up on me. Right after I declared that I didn't want to talk with her anymore, because everything felt wrong and bad and unfair. I'm crying and I have been for awhile.

Turns out that she refuses to share things with me because she claims that leads to catastrophe and negative consequences she can't deal with, and that she's sorry she ever showed me that she was unhappy.

And I feel that if she can't share things with me, if I can't support her and be allowed to be there for her when she's in trouble, what kind of relationship is this? What good am I, if I'm so horrible at supporting her that she'd rather lie than tell me things?

And what kind of relationship can we have when she's deliberately lying to me, and claims that is the responsible choice? I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with her being unhappy, knowing full well that she is unhappy, and having her tell me to my face that it's not the case? All the while seeing her unhappiness manifesting itself in a thousand ways.

Most of all I'm pissed off that she thinks she can hide things from me. She can't. She's a terrible lier. I know when something is wrong, and knowing it and not being told about it turns me in to a nervous wreck. I can't understand how she thinks that is better for me or would be less harmful to my health than her simply telling me straight out.

I get that she's in a tight spot. I know, I know very well, that she does a lot more than her share around here, and that time and resources are limited. I know that our decision that I should continue in school despite being sick and instead leave off responsibility for home and kid has left a big burden on her, and now that I'm starting to feel better it is gnawing on me that I get to do things; rest, be creative, exercise, meet friends, that she rarely gets to do.

But the thing is, the infuriating things is, that I know this! It's no secret. She's not protecting me or her pretending that all is fine, especially when no one buys the act. There is nothing I want more in this world than for her to be happy, and I would gnaw off my left foot if that could make it happen. I want to support her, help her, be there for her in any way I can, and I could do that a lot more and a lot easier if only she would talk to me.

But she doesn't. She lies and hides. And when something slips, like it did yesterday, she actually apologised to me for letting it slip. I think that classifies as around top ten of least wanted apology in the history of apologies.

I don't want to be open and honest and vulnerable and straightforward to someone who isn't the same to me. The idea makes me frantic.


---

We skipped that whole talking-in-the-phone-part and went to emails instead. Actually a good medium for us - we're so damn emotional and reactive that a IRL-conversation very easily spins out of hand.

No, she didn't mean she would or should lie to me. Yes there are things I can do for her. Yes, I'm a valuable part of her life and having me is a lot more on the pro-side than on the con-side. Yes, I shall back off and give her space and we'll talk about it in good time, together and unstressed.

Crisis averted. Or well, the actual problem of us having much to small resources and her being exhausted and me being sick and our support-network totally bailing on us still exists. Those wont go away by writing emails about it. But now it feels like we're on the same side again, and that's the most important part. The rest of life will sort itself out, one way or another. 

Responsibility

As I mentioned earlier, I was involved in a discussion about responsibility, were I most of all realised that I was rather alone in my view of it. "Slaves must be responsible!" and "I get punished if I don't do what I'm supposed to, so I'm definitely responsible" was the gist of the answers.

For me, that's not how it works. I was also told several times that I meant something else than I did, that I meant authority maybe, or something else, not responsibility. But I meant exactly what I wrote (I honestly don't think the Swedish word "ansvar" and the English word "responsibility" is that far apart, the translation is rather straight forward).

The point, for me, is that Mistress stands between me and the rest of reality in a lot of cases. She has not only the power and the authority but the direct control. If I'm bad at something or isn't performing as I'm supposed to, she doesn't let me fail. She steps in and handles it, gives me whatever help and guidance I need, or rearrange the situation so that I don't have to deal with it. In either way the end result is that the real life consequences doesn't happen.

I might very well get a painful correction. But that's not the same thing as me being responsible, because that is not the real life consequences of the action. If I don't water the flowers and that's important to her, she will talk to me, motivate me, control me, correct me, punish me, remind me or whatever else she needs to do to get me to water them. She will not watch me fail and let me live with the consequence of her flowers being dead and her being disappointed.

Yesterday I wanted an egg to my coffee, put it on the stove, forgot about it and left the home. When I returned home my egg was a black mess and the apartment stank of burnt egg. When Mistress heard about it, she didn't say much, but the next morning she boiled me an egg. So that I wouldn't have to do it again.

When I forgot my meds the other morning, for the first time since I started taking them a couple of months ago, her reaction was pity, and then saying "it was a really stressfull morning - I'm sorry I didn't remind you to take them!".

And so on and so forth. I don't usually run the risk of failure, and that is what makes me feel not responsible. She will not let me fail - she will help me and make sure I can do what she wants me to do, because that's how she is. 

I don't have to worry about failing, not in life and not to her, because I'm hers and she wont let me. I might have to worry about a slap or a spanking, or stricter rules, but that's something completely different. In my situation being accountable to her is exactly why I'm not responsible for most things in my life.

(I used to be. I've let go of one thing at a time, the last bits I think was my relationship with my parents, my school work and parenting. Not until I could stand the idea of failing, of that belonging to her was more important to me than doing the right things, could I give those up. When I finally did, it was with a feeling of great relief. I have setbacks sometimes, and that always starts an argument and gets me in trouble. But usually I'm a good girl and doesn't make a fuss about it.)

She nipped it in the bud - ha!

I'm sick. Again, and well, still. I haven't really recovered the last months, and this weekend it hit with full force for the umpteenth time this spring. One of the symtoms is sinusitis, I can breathe through the nose ok, but I've lost my sense of smell and when I blow my nose, there's blood. And that's actually what I'm going to write about, blowing my nose...

Because Mistress said I was blowing my nose too hard. We were in the bathroom, she was in the shower, I was trying to stop that irritating itching at the back of my nose and we were discussing the bleeding and if I should call the doctors again (bleeeergh! Don't wanna!) and then she comments on me blowing my nose to hard, that she was afraid I was causing it to bleed. And suddenly I'm furious, and more or less growls at her: "I do not blow my nose too hard! We've talked about this! It just isn't so!"

I think that "we've talked about this" was somehow the worst bit. Or maybe my tone - I don't think I'm supposed to growl. Or glare. Whether I made things better or worse by stomping out without looking at her I don't really know, but that's what I did anyway.

I stomped into the bedroom and sat there sulking, feeling worse by the minute. Eventually, Mistress came in and stared at me. I stared back. And then I looked down. And cast a glance at her again, and she was still staring at me. Slowly, I was actually feeling a bit more embarrassed and aware of my own behaviour, and a little less obsessed about the complete ridiculousness of her commenting on the way I blow my nose. After en eternity or so, I glanced up again and mumbled "sorry...".

She grabbed my ear between thumb and forefinger and started to ask questions; "who do you belong to?", "who controls you?", "who is it that makes the decisions around her?". My part of the conversations was restricted to mumbling "you do, Mistress" and eventually I asked humbly for forgiveness. She told me to put my hand out, I did, and she slapped me lightly with her own hand three time, and then forgave me.

And I thanked her, a lot. I didn't say it out loud, because I didn't have to, we both knew I thanked her for this time remembering that I am her little slut. Even when my behaviour is atrocious. I belong to her, even when at first glance I seem to act the complete opposite. Usually, a situation like this would have been the prelude to a long, long, bitter fight, with both of us convinced the other one had withdrawn all love and affection and the power dynamic laying in broken heaps around us. This time, only one of us acted like an idiot (that would be me) and she choose to do something different. Something that worked.

She's my hero. She's my hero for so many different reasons, but being able and willing to change, to try new things, to see situations in different lights and figure out what works, is one of the bravest of all the many brave things she does every day. Now I'll try to be even half as brave, and everything will work out just fine.

Believe it or not, I am doing what she wants me to. Sort of.

A question on Fetlife again, leading to introspection. Reading the answers to a post in the O/p-group about arguing, it turns out that no, noone else seems to do it. Everyone else is much too respectful and submissive and so on to do that - they trust their Owner, you see, so why argue? And yeah, that is the question.

It wasn't all that encouraging to realise that my answer along the lines of "we fight like angry cats" definitely stood out of the crowd. If everyone else is much too obedient and submissive and owned to argue, not to mention know eachother and love eachother too much, and we are at eachothers throats three times a week, that does imply certain things. Like that we're doing it wrong. And that I'm not submissive enough. And other cheerful, uplifting concepts.

I used to think that there would be no arguments, no fighting, in a power exchange relationship. I mean, if one party can decide everything, then how could you possibly fight? I had a discussion ones with an owned submissive, this was back in 2001 or something, and I had never tried anything involving BDSM but was very much searching. She talked about her anorexia, and I asked how come her Master couldn't help her with that - couldn't he just tell her what to eat and not to eat? And she replied that yes, he could, but he couldn't control her angst.

I got it then, to my credit, and I get it even more now. It doesn't matter what we agree upon, we're still human, we're still ourselves. I'm still me. I have given myself to her, but I'm still me, and neither she nor me can control my feelings. My expressions of them, absolutely, but not the affects in themselves. Nor can she really control my interpretation of a situation in the moment, because that is instantaneous. We can talk about it, and we can agree about different suitable actions next time, and we can discuss the interpretations of different situations, and perhaps influence the way I see things the next time they happen. But in the moment? It is as it is.

One funny thing is is that I never used to argue, with friends or previous partners. Shouting at people is not very like me, as I was before. And I realised also, yesterday, that no, this isn't like me. This is like her. I'm modelling on her.

She didn't like how I handled stress or anxiety or anger when we first got together, because all the things I did centered on distance and self control and shutting things and people out. If I could lie through my teeth, hide everything I want, decide for myself what I want to and don't want to show, and withdraw from interaction whenever I please, then I'm fine. I wont argue, I swear. You wont even know I was hurt or disagreed with you. And you wont know what happened when I suddenly declare enough and wont take your calls anymore.

So ok, she didn't like that (go figure) and she's been drawing me out of my shell bit by bit. Unfortunately, I did what I did because I haven't been taught a better way (serious lack in my upbringing, this) and trying to do something else (when it was declared that lying in the fetal position for hours not saying a word wasn't an acceptable way to behave during an argument) I did wat she do, or my own twisted version of it.

She has a tendency to blow up, to get very angry very quickly, show it loudly and clearly, and then calming down. I, on the other hand, detest anger, gets mortally wounded if someone displays it,  rarely forgive anything and when I get mad, I stay mad. Not letting things get to me by shutting down and disengaging has been my strategy to get through life anyway, but with that strategy disabled, I flounder. Or rather, I fight.

So I think that is part of what has been happening with us. I'm not allowed to use my tried and tested methods of handling conflicts (or not handling them, as it were) and my alternatives are crude and rather violent. She hasn't stopped me because I think she wants me to express myself, she wants me to not withdraw and even though she hates what I'm doing, she likes it better than the alternative.

My job is to find a way to cope with my feelings and others, a healthy way, that my parents were supposed to teach me (if only they'd known it themselves). I'm getting there, but along the way I'm making mistakes galore. But now I'm sensing the end of the road, I see it just along the bend over there. I think this will be past us soon, and we'll take on other challenges instead. Soon! (Maybe next year, or so...)

It's actually getting better!

And the thing is, all the soulsearching and questioning and complaining I do on this blog right now, all the listing of my shortcomings and pondering of differences and arguments - it works. Things are improving, actually.

I have shifted my attention from "what is she doing wrong and how can I make her do something else?" (which leads to no change and make us both miserable) and also from "this sucks, why can't we do it right, what's wrong with our relationship?" (with similar results as the first one) to "What am I doing? Is it working? Am I getting what I need? What could I do differently?". That's what I've been doing for a couple of weeks now, and that has led to change.

This morning she said or did something that made me feel stressed out. I told her, as I ususally do, how I felt and what it was she did that made me feel that way, and why. And this time, unusually, she hugged me and explained the situation from her point of view, and made me feel all better again. And I felt good about myself, I wasn't angry with her or myself, and she didn't seem to mind me fretting a bit. That's a huge difference. Huge!

And the thing I did differently? The only thing I changed, that averted all the angst, all the drama, all the argument and all my seemingly disrespectful attitude? I looked down when I talked to her. Instead of staring into her eyes, trying to convey all my unhappiness and desperation so that she would take pity on me and console me, which I've done before and which ends up in disaster and her claiming I look at her "as if I hate her", I averted my eyes and avioded eye contact while I was explaining my point of view. That's it.

It's such small things. It's about talking to the other one in a body language that can be understood, conveying a message the other one can actually recieve. Sometimes that's not the thing I would naturally do, sometimes it's something that has to be learned. I grew up forced to act very assertively. I needed to defend myself, daily, from my older brother and from bullies at school, and that still resonates from me, especially when I'm stressed out. I get big "Keep away!" signs flashing all over me, even though that's not at all what I'm intending. If I don't want that to be so, I have to consciosly do something about that.

Looking down is one thing I can do, that obviously improves things.

And today when little S took her nap after lunch, she brought me into the bedroom, cuffed me to the bed and put clover clamps on my nipples, and left me to lie like that while she was on the computer for a while, finishing off a job project. It really really hurt, and it gave me a curious satisfaction to stifle all moans or cries and lie perfectly still so that she wouldn't be disturbed in her work. It didn't really get me wet until she was finished and came over to me and touched me, but then my whole body lit up in a second, and when she started to fuck me I was on fire. Afterwards I almost fell asleep in her arms, before it was time to go wake up little S.

I love her so damn much, she's the most beautiful person I know. 

Get on your knees and apologise - how hard can it be?

Ok, new rule. (I might need to write all the rules down someday, or maybe Mistress will order me to do it before I get around to it. Or maybe rules we both forget wasn't that important to begin with?). Anyway, new rule: when Mistress criticise me, or seem to criticise me, or I think she's implying some kind of criticism in something else she's saying, or I'm afraid she's going to criticise me in her next sentence, or something she does might be construed as criticism; I'm not allowed to run away, or immediately start defending myself in ugly, disrespectful ways.

Imagine that, huh?

As might be implied from the previous paragraph, I have issues with criticism (did you notice that?). I'm deadly afraid of it. Any kind of verbal correction makes me break out in cold sweats.This isn't only with Mistress, it's in any and all situations were any kind of achievement is called for. For the longest time, I didn't get involved in any activities were my absolute success wasn't guaranteed. This whole thing about working for your goals, improving with time, failing and trying again - not my thing. Success right away, seemingly without having to make an effort, or the potential prize loses all meaning and all I get out of process is shame and humiliation. Or so I thought.

I'm better at it now - a big milestone was when Mistress made me get into the car again after failing my first try at the driving exam. I did eventually get my drivers license, thanks to her, and as a matter of fact I flunked the exam twice and only passed on the third try. That was the first time I'd tried to do something difficult that was important to me, were I ran a real risk of failing.

So ok, I can do it. But in the everyday life of small things, Mistress not being pleased with me in any way (the smaller the worse, actually) is the dread of my existence. And since I'm rather disorganised, and grew up in a very disorganised home somewhat neglected and under a bit of chaotic circumstances, and she's very keen on control and order, she in fact quite often have reasons to be displeased with me.

I lose stuff. I forget stuff. I forget to do stuff. I remember important facts (like "I have to be in school super-early tomorrow, is it ok if you take the later bus to work and drop off little S at pre-school?") at the last minute, so that she has to rearrange her schedule to suit mine. I decide things over her head with friends and family and only tells her after the fact. I, again, lose stuff. A lot. And so on and so forth. Her strengths are my weaknesses.

And I think she wouldn't mind all that much, if I could stand her showing her displeasure. But I can't. I totally freak out. The merest whisper of a hint of a suggested complaint, and I go through the roof. I'm supersuperhurt and very very offended, and make sure the conversation very soon centers around her shortcomings, rather than mine.

As if I, somehow, could avert her irritation with me by denying and diversion. As if there's some watching, judging God in the room, whom I have to convince of my innocence and infallibility, and who, if convinced, then will make her irritation go away, by divine intervention. As if I can make her forget and see everything differently by shouting at her and claiming to have done nothing wrong.

Because that always works so well...

But no more. I can't do that anymore. Because she said so. And here's the kicker. Since she said so, since it's now an order from her, I really think I can change my ways. I've been trying to avert a great disaster, the disaster of her actually realising what a terrible, hopeless person I am, by all my smokescreens and big, dramatic scenes of anxiety and anger. She's suffered from it, and of course in any rational frame of mind I realise it's not contributing to anything, but the fear has made me do it, and the mere fact that she doesn't like it hasn't made me stop. But her orders will, I think.

The next time I feel horribly accused and unjustly treated, in desperate need of vindication, I'm supposed to go on my knees, or if that's not possible or appropriate at least take a position below her, and say something along the lines of: "It feels as if you're displeased with me, Mistress? Have I done something wrong?". She promises to take care of me, even if doing this as I fear will lead to a complete mental breakdown on my part. And honestly, I can't very well break any further down than I already do, and even if I do, I will most probably not be as obnoxious as I am while trying not to break down.

From now on, I'll simply go on and break down and let the disaster happen and let the chips fall were they may. She has ordered me so, and she has said that she'll deal with it and take care of me. That makes everything alright.

(In my head, I know I've behaved idiotic before, and that this would be a big improvement. In my heart, I'm deadly afraid and convinced she'll finally see right through me and deem me unworthy, if I dispense with the defence and the smokescreens. It's not that I believe my head over my heart - it's just that on her order, I'll take any chances and risk anything. This too.)