I've become a bit wary lately, afraid of wanting her. Afraid of wanting to much, of being a burden and in the way. I've drawn back in order to not be pushy. Unfortunately, that's not a very positive strategy. We've drifted apart, in ways, and I think this wariness of mine is one of the reasons. Among the other reasons are the cause of my wariness, of course. But that's not my point right now.
My point right now is that I've more or less on purpose stopped thinking about how good we can be, how wonderful it can feel. I've stopped fantasizing and remembering, I've stopped lusting and hoping. I've tried to go day by day, happy for what I get, not yearning or craving or imagining anything more or else.
Doesn't it sound like a good, mindful, properly submissive attitude? The calm, accepting property only taking what is given and expecting nothing more. Very zen. And, for us, very much bullshit.
It hasn't shown as much because I've always been very willing when she has reached out to me. When she has taken initiative and done things to me, I've been enjoying it and appreciated it. But... I haven't let it get my hopes up, I haven't been willing to expose myself to the vulnerability of hope and longing and need. I've been shut down.
And even though it hasn't shown all that much when we've had sex, it has shown a lot in other ways. This blog, for instance. There's a reason I haven't written in it. I've tried not to want the things I write about here, and so I haven't been writing nor reading. I've avoided the feelings, because I've wanted to be a good wife, a good partner, a reliable person to my wife. And remembering how it feels to be owned, how it feels to be safe, how it feels to be wanted and lusted for and dominated - it has made me upset, and sad, and bitter, and longing and filled with emotions of all kinds. Emotions that makes me demanding and dramatic and not at all stable and reliable. So I've avoided it.
Ah well. That was a bit cowardly and rather pointless.
I'm going to try to dare to come back to this place, and to all those feelings. I'm no good to anyone shut down and distant.
I remember when we where at an event for pony play and she harnessed me and we played in a sanded fenced in area. I was her horse and obeyed her commands, she was my trainer. I was completely present and aware, and safe, and I felt her pride over me deep down in my heart.
I don't want to not remember things like that. I want to be aware of them, and long for more of them. Even if it hurts sometimes.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Jul 10, 2016
Oct 30, 2015
Hurtful memories
I read through some of my earlier posts yesterday, the perks of being home alone all day. I also get why I don't write stuff when I'm busy - I need to wind down and rest before I can access that part of me, the writing and thinking part. Obviously, work takes up huge amount of my focus and energy (that might be why 1) it's called work and 2) I get paid to do it...).
I had assumed I wouldn't have been writing all that much during 2012, the year I got sick and exhausted. But I did actually, I think that might have been the year I wrote most frequently. And I think it's all there, hidden between the lines. I didn't see what was going on, I didn't yet know what was coming. But I knew I was suffering and I was working so hard to get by, to solve problems, to make things work. Now, in hind sight, I can almost feel the desperation and the self blame radiating off the computer when I read the entries.
I started to cry when I'd gotten to around March or something, and stopped reading. Honestly, I don't want to know. At least not right now, not yet. I'm sure I'll be glad to have it written down in the future. For now, it still hurts.
Dec 9, 2013
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.
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.
Oct 30, 2013
Darker days approaching
Autumn is in high swing, and more or less over night (more, since it has to do with the clocks being set back one hour for winter) my yearly winter depression started looming.
Last year and even more so the year before that, I had it bad, but that's no wonder since I was exhausted. Stress accounted for a lot of it, but the fact is that I've been down during the winter for most of my life, and so has my mother. It's probably hereditary in one way or another, either by learning history and conditioning or more biologically, a vulnerability to lack of sunlight. Either way, here it comes, depression train approaching station.
I made a poster yesterday, when I was contemplating what I could do to lessen this. What approach was needed, what can I do? And I came up with three words that encompasses the things I need to get through the coming four month with sanity, relationship and self respect intact:
Acceptance.
Patience.
Trust.
I need to accept that this is how it is right now, that even though I can do some things to make it better I can't make the problem go away, nor does wishing it so or being angry at it make anything better. It is as it is. My brain works this way, and I'm not to blame for that, no more than I should blame myself for my brown hair or being 5"5. The more I fight against reality, the deeper I sink in the quicksand. This is how it is.
And I need to let it take time. It's going to be like this for awhile. That too is as it is.
And I need to trust in the sun coming out eventually. It's all going to be okay in the end. Even though it might take awhile, and even though it might not be precisely as I wish it would be in the meantime.
Right now, I'm going to drink coffee with Mistress who's working from home. And I think I'll enjoy it, and there's a good chance I'll actually feel what the coffee tastes like. I'm not going onboard the depression train just yet.
Last year and even more so the year before that, I had it bad, but that's no wonder since I was exhausted. Stress accounted for a lot of it, but the fact is that I've been down during the winter for most of my life, and so has my mother. It's probably hereditary in one way or another, either by learning history and conditioning or more biologically, a vulnerability to lack of sunlight. Either way, here it comes, depression train approaching station.
I made a poster yesterday, when I was contemplating what I could do to lessen this. What approach was needed, what can I do? And I came up with three words that encompasses the things I need to get through the coming four month with sanity, relationship and self respect intact:
Acceptance.
Patience.
Trust.
I need to accept that this is how it is right now, that even though I can do some things to make it better I can't make the problem go away, nor does wishing it so or being angry at it make anything better. It is as it is. My brain works this way, and I'm not to blame for that, no more than I should blame myself for my brown hair or being 5"5. The more I fight against reality, the deeper I sink in the quicksand. This is how it is.
And I need to let it take time. It's going to be like this for awhile. That too is as it is.
And I need to trust in the sun coming out eventually. It's all going to be okay in the end. Even though it might take awhile, and even though it might not be precisely as I wish it would be in the meantime.
Right now, I'm going to drink coffee with Mistress who's working from home. And I think I'll enjoy it, and there's a good chance I'll actually feel what the coffee tastes like. I'm not going onboard the depression train just yet.
Oct 19, 2013
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.
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.
Oct 15, 2013
The tough and the weak
I miss her. Insanely. I cried today when I finally got to see her on the webcam. I can't remember if I've ever acutally cried from missing her before. And in a way it made it easier. It's not as hard and difficult when I don't have to be strong and brave and tough it out.
This time I don't have to. I don't have to be as strong, because the work isn't as hard. I don't have to go to school or be at home all day alone with the kid, and I'm not even half as tired as I used to be just a little while ago. For the first time in a long while it's not unusual for me to get through a normal day and not be crushed by fatigue and despair some time after dinner.
And I don't have to be as brave, because finally (finally!) both me and the people around me have a realistic view of what I can and can't do (okay, everyone except for my mom, but I'll leave her out of this...). No one is expecting me to not be a wreck when Mistress finally gets home. It's part of the equation. I don't have to feel guilty, and I don't have to hide it. It's okay, it can be what it is.
I'm not normal. I wish I was, or at least that the things that makes my life difficult could be toned down a little, but I'm not. What's new and exciting and uplifting is that I no longer have to act as if I'm normal, and I'm no longer expected to react as if I was. How I'm in fact wired, what really happens with me and my brain, is taken into account now. There's no longer this glaring mismatch between the map (how everybody else works) and reality (how I react in real life).
Which means I can skip the brave face and stay vulnerable. Stay present. Stay in touch with my emotions. And that is so much less work than dealing with the side-effects of the brave-face-approach. The brave face means walls and detachments, means self-sufficiency and loneliness, means independence and distance.
I hate the brave face. I love the privilege of weakness and dependence and softness and crying after Mistress because I miss her so so much, and I need her so so much. I love the freedom that comes with the luxury of openness and vulnerability and honesty and humility. I'm allowed to miss her. I'm allowed the weakness that comes with that feeling now, when I don't have to perform to the utmost of my ability at all times any longer.
I still have to tough it out, though, because today is Tuesday and she'll be home Friday afternoon. Two days down, three more to go.
This time I don't have to. I don't have to be as strong, because the work isn't as hard. I don't have to go to school or be at home all day alone with the kid, and I'm not even half as tired as I used to be just a little while ago. For the first time in a long while it's not unusual for me to get through a normal day and not be crushed by fatigue and despair some time after dinner.
And I don't have to be as brave, because finally (finally!) both me and the people around me have a realistic view of what I can and can't do (okay, everyone except for my mom, but I'll leave her out of this...). No one is expecting me to not be a wreck when Mistress finally gets home. It's part of the equation. I don't have to feel guilty, and I don't have to hide it. It's okay, it can be what it is.
I'm not normal. I wish I was, or at least that the things that makes my life difficult could be toned down a little, but I'm not. What's new and exciting and uplifting is that I no longer have to act as if I'm normal, and I'm no longer expected to react as if I was. How I'm in fact wired, what really happens with me and my brain, is taken into account now. There's no longer this glaring mismatch between the map (how everybody else works) and reality (how I react in real life).
Which means I can skip the brave face and stay vulnerable. Stay present. Stay in touch with my emotions. And that is so much less work than dealing with the side-effects of the brave-face-approach. The brave face means walls and detachments, means self-sufficiency and loneliness, means independence and distance.
I hate the brave face. I love the privilege of weakness and dependence and softness and crying after Mistress because I miss her so so much, and I need her so so much. I love the freedom that comes with the luxury of openness and vulnerability and honesty and humility. I'm allowed to miss her. I'm allowed the weakness that comes with that feeling now, when I don't have to perform to the utmost of my ability at all times any longer.
I still have to tough it out, though, because today is Tuesday and she'll be home Friday afternoon. Two days down, three more to go.
Oct 5, 2013
A day in the life of a stay-at-home slave
I'm having trouble accepting just how good things are right now. That's a first world problem if I ever heard of one... But really, it scares me a bit, because how it is right now is something I could live with forever. And that's a bit troublesome, because right now I don't do much.
I'm a stay-at-home slave for the moment. I mean, I'm not even a stay-at-home mom, because that would require my kid to be, you know, at home. But she's not, she's almost full time at pre-school. I usually get home around nine thirty after dropping her off in the morning, and then I go pick her up after four in the afternoon. And really I'm not a housewife either, because doesn't a housewife do like all the housework?
I once read a study where a lot of couples in Sweden had filled in surveys about the amount of housework they did, each person in the household answering separately. And of course, in heterosexual relationships with kids the woman did an insane amount more of the housework, many more hours per week more than the man, unrelated to their professional workload. Except for if the woman worked full time and the man was unemployed, those couples were statistically most equal, since then the men did roughly half...
So yeah. In that scenario, I'm the guy. Mistress works full time, and she still does all the laundry, most of the grocery shopping, all the planning, always cleans up after dinner and do most of the vacuuming. I vacuum occasionally, clean the bathroom, cook dinner, sometimes empty the dishwasher, shop some groceries and do strange errands like picking up parcels at the post office or getting shoes mended and other odd things, and usually leaves off and picks up the kid, but at best one can say I do half. Which is an enormous improvement compared to last year, when I did literary nothing, since I devoted all my energy to getting through school.
But the thing is, I love this. Finally, for the fist time in my life or at least since I was five, the demands placed on me are equal to or lower than my resources. I'm not exhausted. I'm enough. What I'm capable of doing without getting sick is for the first time enough for the tasks that I need to fulfil. I've always felt like Bilbo in the Lord of the Rings when he explains the effect the Ring has on him as thinning him out, like to little butter on a to big piece of toast. I've always felt stretched, always felt that what I am and what I do and what I manage isn't enough. Naturally, since it hasn't been enough, since I have lived my whole life with an undiagnosed neurological handicap.
I love being Mistress' stay-at-home slave. I love it so much. For the first time, we have a routine that actually works. And it shows on Mistress too. She's been able to go to the gym. She had lunch with a friend the other day (they realised that they hadn't seen each other alone for two years, and they live 20 minutes apart...). Even though I regularly have depressive thoughts about not doing enough for us as a family, Mistress seems to appreciate the things I actually manage to do a lot. And that means the world to me.
I like my days. I get home in the morning, I drink coffee and rest for a while, and then I usually do something - go to the gym, or to a pony I've started to take for walks in the woods. She's young and she's much to small for me to ride, but the owner appreciates that she gets attention and exercise, and I appreciate the equestrian company. Then I have lunch, either at home or a lunch date with one of my friends, and around two I go rest. I always rest in the afternoon, and it's a really good thing for me. I usually start with a mindfulness-exercise laying on the bed, and after that I just roll over and sleep for an hour.
And then it's time to get myself ready, take a shower if I haven't done that, prepare dinner and straighten things up a little bit, and then go get little S. Mistress comes home around five, she plays with the kid and I finish dinner or the other way around, we eat at five-thirty, Mistress cleans the kitchen while little S and I watch telly and then usually they play until bedtime and I go rest again (I rest a lot). But the other day I actually went to the store and got milk and bread and stuff, that was a bit of a milestone too.
And then we have our going-to-bed routine that takes from six-thirty to seven-thirty, and after that it's time for me and Mistress to hang out, talk about our day and cuddle on the sofa.
I love this routine. I have no idea how I'm ever going to be able to stuff another full time job in to this family again. Last year we both worked more than full time. No wonder we're exhausted. That was crazy. Now, when I'm left to my own devices most of the day, I can rest, exercise and meet friends as much as I need to during the day, and have just enough energy over for my family the rest of the time. I get why I got sick, and I definitely get why I haven't been to the gym, eaten healthy or had much of a social life the last couple of year. I had, obviously, school instead.
I like this. I'm going to take a nap now.
Oh, and this was my 200th post. Yey!
I'm a stay-at-home slave for the moment. I mean, I'm not even a stay-at-home mom, because that would require my kid to be, you know, at home. But she's not, she's almost full time at pre-school. I usually get home around nine thirty after dropping her off in the morning, and then I go pick her up after four in the afternoon. And really I'm not a housewife either, because doesn't a housewife do like all the housework?
I once read a study where a lot of couples in Sweden had filled in surveys about the amount of housework they did, each person in the household answering separately. And of course, in heterosexual relationships with kids the woman did an insane amount more of the housework, many more hours per week more than the man, unrelated to their professional workload. Except for if the woman worked full time and the man was unemployed, those couples were statistically most equal, since then the men did roughly half...
So yeah. In that scenario, I'm the guy. Mistress works full time, and she still does all the laundry, most of the grocery shopping, all the planning, always cleans up after dinner and do most of the vacuuming. I vacuum occasionally, clean the bathroom, cook dinner, sometimes empty the dishwasher, shop some groceries and do strange errands like picking up parcels at the post office or getting shoes mended and other odd things, and usually leaves off and picks up the kid, but at best one can say I do half. Which is an enormous improvement compared to last year, when I did literary nothing, since I devoted all my energy to getting through school.
But the thing is, I love this. Finally, for the fist time in my life or at least since I was five, the demands placed on me are equal to or lower than my resources. I'm not exhausted. I'm enough. What I'm capable of doing without getting sick is for the first time enough for the tasks that I need to fulfil. I've always felt like Bilbo in the Lord of the Rings when he explains the effect the Ring has on him as thinning him out, like to little butter on a to big piece of toast. I've always felt stretched, always felt that what I am and what I do and what I manage isn't enough. Naturally, since it hasn't been enough, since I have lived my whole life with an undiagnosed neurological handicap.
I love being Mistress' stay-at-home slave. I love it so much. For the first time, we have a routine that actually works. And it shows on Mistress too. She's been able to go to the gym. She had lunch with a friend the other day (they realised that they hadn't seen each other alone for two years, and they live 20 minutes apart...). Even though I regularly have depressive thoughts about not doing enough for us as a family, Mistress seems to appreciate the things I actually manage to do a lot. And that means the world to me.
I like my days. I get home in the morning, I drink coffee and rest for a while, and then I usually do something - go to the gym, or to a pony I've started to take for walks in the woods. She's young and she's much to small for me to ride, but the owner appreciates that she gets attention and exercise, and I appreciate the equestrian company. Then I have lunch, either at home or a lunch date with one of my friends, and around two I go rest. I always rest in the afternoon, and it's a really good thing for me. I usually start with a mindfulness-exercise laying on the bed, and after that I just roll over and sleep for an hour.
And then it's time to get myself ready, take a shower if I haven't done that, prepare dinner and straighten things up a little bit, and then go get little S. Mistress comes home around five, she plays with the kid and I finish dinner or the other way around, we eat at five-thirty, Mistress cleans the kitchen while little S and I watch telly and then usually they play until bedtime and I go rest again (I rest a lot). But the other day I actually went to the store and got milk and bread and stuff, that was a bit of a milestone too.
And then we have our going-to-bed routine that takes from six-thirty to seven-thirty, and after that it's time for me and Mistress to hang out, talk about our day and cuddle on the sofa.
I love this routine. I have no idea how I'm ever going to be able to stuff another full time job in to this family again. Last year we both worked more than full time. No wonder we're exhausted. That was crazy. Now, when I'm left to my own devices most of the day, I can rest, exercise and meet friends as much as I need to during the day, and have just enough energy over for my family the rest of the time. I get why I got sick, and I definitely get why I haven't been to the gym, eaten healthy or had much of a social life the last couple of year. I had, obviously, school instead.
I like this. I'm going to take a nap now.
Oh, and this was my 200th post. Yey!
Sep 13, 2013
General weirdness
We actually do have sex and stuff. Kinky sex to. And we're good, relationship-wise. Everythings good(ish). "As well as can be expected under the circumstances" have been my standard reply for the last five years, and it's still true. The circumstances at this particular time being my fucked up brain and it's inability to get better at the rate I want it to.
I've applied for a job I really want, and they haven't gotten back to me, and I lay awake some nights before going to sleep and worry about never getting an employment. But that's nothing new.
All is well, the kid thrive and Mistress isn't hating her job at the moment. She's even getting home earlier today and picks up little S on her way home, yey!
I've been feeling weird all week, and finally realised it's because I upped my dosage of methylfenidat (ADHD-meds) and that caused some weird sensations. Like all the hair standing up all over my body. Some sort of itchy feeling under the skin, all over. And an inability to relax but at the same time extreme exhaustion. Also, I've been doing some funny thing with my teeth, pressing the lower jaw forward so that the lower front teeth are constantly pushing at the upper front teeth. As if I've been going around all week trying to create an under bite by shear force. It wasn't unpleasant, necessarily, not all the time, but it was extremely unsettling and annoying. I lowered the dose yesterday, and now I'm back to being normally exhausted and dim-witted.
Why can't I get to functional normally without feeling high or hyper? Meh. I was enjoying waking up in the morning with a fully awake and functioning brain. Now it's soon 10 AM, and I still feel like a zombie. A sleepy, dazed zombie. Bleergh. I want it all. I want to wake up and being awake, I want to have the energy to go to the gym, make lunch, fill the dishwasher and still be able to form coherent sentences over dinner. But I don't want to go around gnashing my teeth and feeling high all the time.
And I must admit all these weird feelings and health issues makes the O/p-part of things fall into the background a bit. Mistress is my rock, my best friend, my sanity in all this. She owns me, sure, but I know that. It's not something I spend a lot of time thinking about right now. It's just there, thankfully, making me feel connected and present and as a real person even when I have a lot of reasons to feel like I'm a figment of imagination, drifting alone in the darkness of space. I'm real and I'm here, 'cause I'm hers.
And tonight we're having tacos in front of the telly with the kid spilling salsa over the sofa and me and Mistress cuddling a little behind her back. Just because stuff feels weird inside my brain it doesn't mean that's what the world actually looks like.
I've applied for a job I really want, and they haven't gotten back to me, and I lay awake some nights before going to sleep and worry about never getting an employment. But that's nothing new.
All is well, the kid thrive and Mistress isn't hating her job at the moment. She's even getting home earlier today and picks up little S on her way home, yey!
I've been feeling weird all week, and finally realised it's because I upped my dosage of methylfenidat (ADHD-meds) and that caused some weird sensations. Like all the hair standing up all over my body. Some sort of itchy feeling under the skin, all over. And an inability to relax but at the same time extreme exhaustion. Also, I've been doing some funny thing with my teeth, pressing the lower jaw forward so that the lower front teeth are constantly pushing at the upper front teeth. As if I've been going around all week trying to create an under bite by shear force. It wasn't unpleasant, necessarily, not all the time, but it was extremely unsettling and annoying. I lowered the dose yesterday, and now I'm back to being normally exhausted and dim-witted.
Why can't I get to functional normally without feeling high or hyper? Meh. I was enjoying waking up in the morning with a fully awake and functioning brain. Now it's soon 10 AM, and I still feel like a zombie. A sleepy, dazed zombie. Bleergh. I want it all. I want to wake up and being awake, I want to have the energy to go to the gym, make lunch, fill the dishwasher and still be able to form coherent sentences over dinner. But I don't want to go around gnashing my teeth and feeling high all the time.
And I must admit all these weird feelings and health issues makes the O/p-part of things fall into the background a bit. Mistress is my rock, my best friend, my sanity in all this. She owns me, sure, but I know that. It's not something I spend a lot of time thinking about right now. It's just there, thankfully, making me feel connected and present and as a real person even when I have a lot of reasons to feel like I'm a figment of imagination, drifting alone in the darkness of space. I'm real and I'm here, 'cause I'm hers.
And tonight we're having tacos in front of the telly with the kid spilling salsa over the sofa and me and Mistress cuddling a little behind her back. Just because stuff feels weird inside my brain it doesn't mean that's what the world actually looks like.
Jun 27, 2013
Setback
For different reasons my brain problems got worse this week, I had a little setback plain and simple. It's very hard not to panic and despair, but when my rational mind takes the lead, I can convince myself that it's perfectly normal. There's ups and downs in everything, and it would be naïve to think my recovery would be a straight line upwards, with me fully functioning and prancing around all day long in August. It's more likely going to be like a mountain climb - a little up, a little down, and every time you reach the crest of one hill you see another rising before you. It's just how it is.
I have ADHD and recurring depressions, and I'm suffering from a burn out that started developing at least since the summer of 2010, and it's not even my first one. It's not going to go away in a puff of smoke in a couple of weeks. Some of it will never go away, and some of it will get better, in it's own time. I have to trust that I'm doing the right things, that my medication is helping, and that rest and time and love and patience will bring healing and recovery eventually.
Also, my worst days now is better than my average days last summer, or even this winter. It's definitely an improvement. I'm just not the super human I think I should be. Accepting that and loving me all the same is, I think, one of the most important parts of the journey I'm doing so far.
Right now I'm eating chips and surfing the web on the couch besides Mistress who's working. I'm counting this as constructive actions in regards to getting better...
I have ADHD and recurring depressions, and I'm suffering from a burn out that started developing at least since the summer of 2010, and it's not even my first one. It's not going to go away in a puff of smoke in a couple of weeks. Some of it will never go away, and some of it will get better, in it's own time. I have to trust that I'm doing the right things, that my medication is helping, and that rest and time and love and patience will bring healing and recovery eventually.
Also, my worst days now is better than my average days last summer, or even this winter. It's definitely an improvement. I'm just not the super human I think I should be. Accepting that and loving me all the same is, I think, one of the most important parts of the journey I'm doing so far.
Right now I'm eating chips and surfing the web on the couch besides Mistress who's working. I'm counting this as constructive actions in regards to getting better...
Jun 9, 2013
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.
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.
May 15, 2013
All work and no play
May 28th me and my partner are handing in the finalized draft of our Master thesis. We've been working on it all this semester, and we're in the final stages now. It's a lot of statistics, a lot of text, and a lot of work.
I'm exhausted.
That's about it.
I'm exhausted.
That's about it.
May 3, 2013
Getting what I need
I have a sleeping dog beside me. That always make sitting on the couch with the laptop even nicer than usual. I'm hungry and need coffee, however, so in a short while I'm going to disturb the peace.
I should be heading out by now, to see my thesis-colleague. But some things are much easier now than say a year ago. I got migraine or something similar yesterday, and gritted my teeth through the afternoon. When I finally got home, feeling sick and shaking with cold and with a headache that felt like something was trying to get out of my skull by sheer force, I could finally take some pills and go lay down. The pills helped quite nicely, but I felt weird all evening.
And when we were, eventually, curled up on the sofa together after little S had fallen asleep, I asked Mistress if I could meet a friend in the afternoon, after seeing with my colleague. And she looked at me with utter astonishment and said that I hadn't mention having made any dates, and that she had taken for granted that I would be at home resting after the migraine.
And do you know what I did? I said "yes, Mistress, you're right. I didn't think about that. I probably shouldn't go anywhere or do anything hard tomorrow. I'll text M. and tell her our meeting is cancelled." And then I did.
No angst. No anger. No drama. No "but I really really have to! We'll never make it otherwise! I'm sure I'm fine tomorrow and then I'll feel bad for ditching school when I feel okay!". None of that.
But now Mistress texted me with the word: "Coffee!" which means I should stop this and go take a cup and a sandwich.
-----------
Well, that was about the whole story. I'm lounging about at home after having dropped litte S off later than usual at the pre-school. I have a small task to do for school, and nothing else. And I even get to go see my friend I. and have a latte with her down town, since luckily Mistress agreed with me that taking a bike ride in the sun down to the river and chatting with a friend probably does more good than harm when it comes to stress and stress symptoms.
There's no point in itself in sitting at home - the important thing for me is to no be exposed to situations that demands more concentration or executive functioning of me than I have the capacity to give.No noise, no crowd, no waiting, no decisions. Everything has to be calm and ordered and not demand anything in particular of me.
It feels so damn good to be allowed, and to allow myself, to listen to my body and my brain and take care of myself and not overdo it. To not force ahead at full speed no matter what and assume that it's perfectly normal to feel like shit all the time. It's not normal, it's not expected of me, and I don't have to do it. I can just sit her, on my couch, with my dog, and let my attention wander as it wants. It's exactly what I need right now.
Oh, and coffee of course!
I should be heading out by now, to see my thesis-colleague. But some things are much easier now than say a year ago. I got migraine or something similar yesterday, and gritted my teeth through the afternoon. When I finally got home, feeling sick and shaking with cold and with a headache that felt like something was trying to get out of my skull by sheer force, I could finally take some pills and go lay down. The pills helped quite nicely, but I felt weird all evening.
And when we were, eventually, curled up on the sofa together after little S had fallen asleep, I asked Mistress if I could meet a friend in the afternoon, after seeing with my colleague. And she looked at me with utter astonishment and said that I hadn't mention having made any dates, and that she had taken for granted that I would be at home resting after the migraine.
And do you know what I did? I said "yes, Mistress, you're right. I didn't think about that. I probably shouldn't go anywhere or do anything hard tomorrow. I'll text M. and tell her our meeting is cancelled." And then I did.
No angst. No anger. No drama. No "but I really really have to! We'll never make it otherwise! I'm sure I'm fine tomorrow and then I'll feel bad for ditching school when I feel okay!". None of that.
But now Mistress texted me with the word: "Coffee!" which means I should stop this and go take a cup and a sandwich.
-----------
Well, that was about the whole story. I'm lounging about at home after having dropped litte S off later than usual at the pre-school. I have a small task to do for school, and nothing else. And I even get to go see my friend I. and have a latte with her down town, since luckily Mistress agreed with me that taking a bike ride in the sun down to the river and chatting with a friend probably does more good than harm when it comes to stress and stress symptoms.
There's no point in itself in sitting at home - the important thing for me is to no be exposed to situations that demands more concentration or executive functioning of me than I have the capacity to give.No noise, no crowd, no waiting, no decisions. Everything has to be calm and ordered and not demand anything in particular of me.
It feels so damn good to be allowed, and to allow myself, to listen to my body and my brain and take care of myself and not overdo it. To not force ahead at full speed no matter what and assume that it's perfectly normal to feel like shit all the time. It's not normal, it's not expected of me, and I don't have to do it. I can just sit her, on my couch, with my dog, and let my attention wander as it wants. It's exactly what I need right now.
Oh, and coffee of course!
May 1, 2013
Back and forth
A few days ago Mistress finally took advantage of me, after a weeks hiatus. It started out with a notion from her that she wanted to cut me again, but when she unpacked the playthings I had put in the bag her plans developed a little. We were at her parents place, and I had packed an assortment of things, this and that which fit in the bag.
In the end, she tied me securely to the bed, blindfolded and gagged me, inserted a butt plug, and used both the tawse and the whip on me before creating a small piece of art on my shoulder blade with her knife. Or maybe she whipped me afterwards, I don't recall it exactly. I was mostly floating away.
Or rather, in the end I was floating. In the beginning I was scared, and stiff and a little apprehensive. We've had busy weeks for a while, not very much time for each other, and in order to not nag at her, I've stifled my own needs. And withdrawn. With withdrawal comes walls, and tearing them down, opening up again, hurts. It's scary and it hurts.
She commented on that afterwards too, that she felt something big was needed this time. It was. It was very much needed.
It's not until today, more or less, that I've fully realised how withdrawn I have become. I don't like it.
In the end, she tied me securely to the bed, blindfolded and gagged me, inserted a butt plug, and used both the tawse and the whip on me before creating a small piece of art on my shoulder blade with her knife. Or maybe she whipped me afterwards, I don't recall it exactly. I was mostly floating away.
Or rather, in the end I was floating. In the beginning I was scared, and stiff and a little apprehensive. We've had busy weeks for a while, not very much time for each other, and in order to not nag at her, I've stifled my own needs. And withdrawn. With withdrawal comes walls, and tearing them down, opening up again, hurts. It's scary and it hurts.
She commented on that afterwards too, that she felt something big was needed this time. It was. It was very much needed.
It's not until today, more or less, that I've fully realised how withdrawn I have become. I don't like it.
Apr 19, 2013
A ray of sunshine
And after a day of staying at home, doing things at my own pace, taking a much needed nap before lunch and in general lounging about, I take a shower and when I look at myself in the mirror, I look pretty. Imagine that!
Apr 18, 2013
Brainy
It's mostly just work and stress around here. There's some good bits tucked in here and there too, but I'm usually to tired to write about them.
Or tired or something. I say "tired" but it's not in the usual sense. It's not sleepiness, nor is it physical exhaustion. It's... it's like the check engine light in the car has started to blink and all of a sudden there's a weird burnt smell and some kind of funny noise is coming from under the hood. If, that is, my brain was a car.
I stop functioning. It was like that all the time a year or so ago, especially in the summer and fall, but it's getting progressively better. But even if the amount of cognitive tasks I can perform each day without the whole system going hay-wire has increased, it's still limited. The combination of a lot of school work and Mistress working like a crazy person the last couple of weeks has emptied out any and all reserves. Again, my brain is broken.
I broke my brain!! Aaaaahhhhh!!
But of course I didn't. The brain is a splendid thing, and it's both plastic and repairable. But right now, it needs repairing. It needs calm and quite and an absence of pressure or demands, and not to much stress in the executive functioning area.
Mistress talked to her mother yesterday and mentioned the stress we're under, and she answered "well, you'll have to relax during the weekend."
Yeah. I think that very much highlights the problem. Relax during the weekend? How?
Little S still wakes Mistress up at six o'clock. At weekends we don't have pre-school, which means we take turns taking care of the kid all day - a job that is far more nerve-wracking, exhausting and stressful than anything we do during week days. If we want to see each other at all we also have to both be out and about at play grounds or play dates or doing Play-Dooh in the kitchen, since that's where the kid is. It might be fun, and I love our kid, but relaxing? Not so much.
And since even with working at evenings can't get what we need done, we usually spend the time not taking care of kid working. Or at least Mistress does. I tend to just veg out, but that time is not nearly enough for any real recuperation, and also, it's not filled with anything.
It's rest, but if my life only revolves around hard work that destroys my brain, or empty rest, devoid of amusement, social life or meaningful activity, then I get depressed. It's not rocket science. The surest way to make you feel like there's nothing fun in your life is to lead a life without anything fun in it.
But okay, that's unfair, I do have fun things in my life. I'm just a little too tired or brain-fucked right now. I love playing with little S. I love doing fun stuff with her, going places with her, I love reading to her and playing games with her, and cuddling and tickling her. It's not all stress and a burden - it's a lot of fun and love and happiness too. It's just more so when my brain isn't fried.
And me and Mistress do get time together every day, we usually hangs out in front of the television an hour or so every night. And we have nice family breakfasts every morning, and sometimes we even get to talk to each other during those...
And I actually like my school work right now. I like doing a project, and I like writing this thesis. But it's hard work, and at the same time that I like doing it, it scares me. There's a lot of stress just around the idea that we might somehow fail. I don't think we will, but there's still this feeling of fear and apprehension, of performance anxiety.
I'm going to rest my head now. Obviously, blogging is hard work too, says my brain.
Or tired or something. I say "tired" but it's not in the usual sense. It's not sleepiness, nor is it physical exhaustion. It's... it's like the check engine light in the car has started to blink and all of a sudden there's a weird burnt smell and some kind of funny noise is coming from under the hood. If, that is, my brain was a car.
I stop functioning. It was like that all the time a year or so ago, especially in the summer and fall, but it's getting progressively better. But even if the amount of cognitive tasks I can perform each day without the whole system going hay-wire has increased, it's still limited. The combination of a lot of school work and Mistress working like a crazy person the last couple of weeks has emptied out any and all reserves. Again, my brain is broken.
I broke my brain!! Aaaaahhhhh!!
But of course I didn't. The brain is a splendid thing, and it's both plastic and repairable. But right now, it needs repairing. It needs calm and quite and an absence of pressure or demands, and not to much stress in the executive functioning area.
Mistress talked to her mother yesterday and mentioned the stress we're under, and she answered "well, you'll have to relax during the weekend."
Yeah. I think that very much highlights the problem. Relax during the weekend? How?
Little S still wakes Mistress up at six o'clock. At weekends we don't have pre-school, which means we take turns taking care of the kid all day - a job that is far more nerve-wracking, exhausting and stressful than anything we do during week days. If we want to see each other at all we also have to both be out and about at play grounds or play dates or doing Play-Dooh in the kitchen, since that's where the kid is. It might be fun, and I love our kid, but relaxing? Not so much.
And since even with working at evenings can't get what we need done, we usually spend the time not taking care of kid working. Or at least Mistress does. I tend to just veg out, but that time is not nearly enough for any real recuperation, and also, it's not filled with anything.
It's rest, but if my life only revolves around hard work that destroys my brain, or empty rest, devoid of amusement, social life or meaningful activity, then I get depressed. It's not rocket science. The surest way to make you feel like there's nothing fun in your life is to lead a life without anything fun in it.
But okay, that's unfair, I do have fun things in my life. I'm just a little too tired or brain-fucked right now. I love playing with little S. I love doing fun stuff with her, going places with her, I love reading to her and playing games with her, and cuddling and tickling her. It's not all stress and a burden - it's a lot of fun and love and happiness too. It's just more so when my brain isn't fried.
And me and Mistress do get time together every day, we usually hangs out in front of the television an hour or so every night. And we have nice family breakfasts every morning, and sometimes we even get to talk to each other during those...
And I actually like my school work right now. I like doing a project, and I like writing this thesis. But it's hard work, and at the same time that I like doing it, it scares me. There's a lot of stress just around the idea that we might somehow fail. I don't think we will, but there's still this feeling of fear and apprehension, of performance anxiety.
I'm going to rest my head now. Obviously, blogging is hard work too, says my brain.
Apr 14, 2013
Giving things up
I just wrote a very sad email. A friend had asked, several times actually, if we wanted to come to the LARP she's organising this spring. I've been avoiding giving her an answer, but today I did. I wrote and said no thank you. We simply can't. And the moment I hit the send button, my heart felt like it was bursting.
I want to!! I want to keep my friends! I want to go to LARPs! I want to fantasize, roleplay, sleep in the woods and cook over an open fire. I want to wear the outfits I've sewn myself and for a moment, a few hours or a few days, enter a different reality, become someone else. I want that!
But I know that whatever I might fantasize about now, the last ten times we've tried it I haven't really been up for it. Sometimes I've skipped out in the last minute (a shitty thing to do) and sometimes I've gone through with it, out of duty more than enjoyment, and not gotten that much out of it.
I'm afraid that if we ever do have the time and energy again that all our friends will have forgotten us. Forgotten me. They do a hundred fun things every week (so I read on Facebook) and I don't. I'm not there. For the first few years I always thought that well, they'll be there when I get back to it, but I wonder how long that window will stay open? How long before any attempt to rejoin the ranks would be met with "who are you?"
And at the same time I simply can't work up enough enthusiasm about it. I like being home at the evening at week nights. I don't like going out after dinner, I'm tired and I want to be with Mistress the few hours we have alone together. I can go out, but the truth is I don't want to.
And our weekends are hard work taking care of little S. We've tried, numerous times, to bring her to things we enjoy, but she doesn't enjoy them and that ruins it for us. Of course we can go to a meeting and have her with us - but at least one of us will spend the entire time focusing on her, because otherwise she'll either destroy something, throw a tantrum or disappear, and that's not much of a meeting.
The truth is that the free time we do get we need to spend in a way that gives immediate satisfaction. Not planning for fun things that are going to happen in three months - we can't afford that. We need things that are fun now.
And I do get to see friends. The few I have that are 1) not super busy having a life and a hobby and not have time for me or living in a different city and 2) those that I've come close enough to actually call without anything specific in mind, those that want to go grab a coffee with me in particular, those that I can talk to about anything and nothing and simply enjoy the company of. I have those, and maybe the thing is that that is enough.
And also, the Master thesis. For once I'm doing a project at school. School takes up most of my energy not spent on little S, and that means I don't have much left. I actually enjoy what we're doing right now, but it drains me. I come home and I mostly want to sleep. Or kill things on the Playstation.
I don't know. I guess it's not the end of the world if I'm not one of the cool kids and all my acquaintances forget about me. Maybe what I'm grieving is a phase in my life that is over? LARPing saved my life (literary - it was at one of those times during my upbringing when I was a the brink of suicide) when I was seventeen, and has been my main thing in life until now. Or maybe until a couple of years ago.
Maybe I'm growing up - prioritising home life, school and job application, being a mom and having a nice home, over hobby and projects. I don't know. And I don't know whether it's a good thing or not. It is as it is, I guess, for the time being.
I want to!! I want to keep my friends! I want to go to LARPs! I want to fantasize, roleplay, sleep in the woods and cook over an open fire. I want to wear the outfits I've sewn myself and for a moment, a few hours or a few days, enter a different reality, become someone else. I want that!
But I know that whatever I might fantasize about now, the last ten times we've tried it I haven't really been up for it. Sometimes I've skipped out in the last minute (a shitty thing to do) and sometimes I've gone through with it, out of duty more than enjoyment, and not gotten that much out of it.
I'm afraid that if we ever do have the time and energy again that all our friends will have forgotten us. Forgotten me. They do a hundred fun things every week (so I read on Facebook) and I don't. I'm not there. For the first few years I always thought that well, they'll be there when I get back to it, but I wonder how long that window will stay open? How long before any attempt to rejoin the ranks would be met with "who are you?"
And at the same time I simply can't work up enough enthusiasm about it. I like being home at the evening at week nights. I don't like going out after dinner, I'm tired and I want to be with Mistress the few hours we have alone together. I can go out, but the truth is I don't want to.
And our weekends are hard work taking care of little S. We've tried, numerous times, to bring her to things we enjoy, but she doesn't enjoy them and that ruins it for us. Of course we can go to a meeting and have her with us - but at least one of us will spend the entire time focusing on her, because otherwise she'll either destroy something, throw a tantrum or disappear, and that's not much of a meeting.
The truth is that the free time we do get we need to spend in a way that gives immediate satisfaction. Not planning for fun things that are going to happen in three months - we can't afford that. We need things that are fun now.
And I do get to see friends. The few I have that are 1) not super busy having a life and a hobby and not have time for me or living in a different city and 2) those that I've come close enough to actually call without anything specific in mind, those that want to go grab a coffee with me in particular, those that I can talk to about anything and nothing and simply enjoy the company of. I have those, and maybe the thing is that that is enough.
And also, the Master thesis. For once I'm doing a project at school. School takes up most of my energy not spent on little S, and that means I don't have much left. I actually enjoy what we're doing right now, but it drains me. I come home and I mostly want to sleep. Or kill things on the Playstation.
I don't know. I guess it's not the end of the world if I'm not one of the cool kids and all my acquaintances forget about me. Maybe what I'm grieving is a phase in my life that is over? LARPing saved my life (literary - it was at one of those times during my upbringing when I was a the brink of suicide) when I was seventeen, and has been my main thing in life until now. Or maybe until a couple of years ago.
Maybe I'm growing up - prioritising home life, school and job application, being a mom and having a nice home, over hobby and projects. I don't know. And I don't know whether it's a good thing or not. It is as it is, I guess, for the time being.
Mar 31, 2013
Reflection over function
Today was a much better day than yesterday. We went on an outing, me and Mistress and little S and grandma and grandpa. We were outside almost all day, and I kept in the background and only interacted as much as I felt like, and slept in the car on the way home. I love that - to be able to come along and participate, but not have to strain myself and do more than what is really healthy for me.
A friend asked me the other day if I would always be like this, this tired and careful about noise and such. And I said that I didn't know, but that it was much better than six months ago, and that I think I'm still healing. Weird business, this brain thing. We don't have any pain receptors in the brain - unfortunately that doesn't mean it can't get hurt.
Of course I wish it would get all better. I have been in much better shape than this, I think. But I also think that the demands put upon a working/studying mother without a fortune in our society is something I'll always struggle with. There's always something to do, there's always demands, routines, people. Things that are supposed to be done at regular intervals, at an even pace. It's completely the wrong set of skills for me, and I don't think I'll eve be able to do them well.
So in a way I'll never get better. I'll never get well enough not to need special consideration, never well enough to be able to do everything people assume I'll do, to live up to this role I'm put in by giving birth to a baby and being born in this time and this place. I will, in that regard, always be a disappointment, a special case, a little less than others.
It makes me kind of sad and a bit afraid thinking about it.
But it makes me relieved to know and accept that this is so. The lifelong struggle of denial was much more agonising and frustrating. I don't have to judge myself by others yardstick any more. If I judge myself and what I can do in a more fair way, based on what I now know about my cognitive functions, then I'm both impressive and awesome.
I have a beautiful loving family. My wife loves me and wants me in her life forever. My daughter is pretty and talented and well behaved and funny and kind and seems to have a good life, and she loves us both and I'm pretty sure she knows she's loved, which is the most important thing.
Thanks to Mistress I have my drivers license. I live in a reasonably clean and comfortable home. We have a lovely dog that is well taken care of. And I'm about to finish a very taxing university program, and graduate as a psychologist in June.
And I have a handful of wise, warm, loving friends who knows me for who I really am, and who still likes me. My life is good. I'm good enough. And having all this, having accomplished all this, despite a brain that doesn't really work like other's do - that makes me not only good enough but absolutely awesome.
A friend asked me the other day if I would always be like this, this tired and careful about noise and such. And I said that I didn't know, but that it was much better than six months ago, and that I think I'm still healing. Weird business, this brain thing. We don't have any pain receptors in the brain - unfortunately that doesn't mean it can't get hurt.
Of course I wish it would get all better. I have been in much better shape than this, I think. But I also think that the demands put upon a working/studying mother without a fortune in our society is something I'll always struggle with. There's always something to do, there's always demands, routines, people. Things that are supposed to be done at regular intervals, at an even pace. It's completely the wrong set of skills for me, and I don't think I'll eve be able to do them well.
So in a way I'll never get better. I'll never get well enough not to need special consideration, never well enough to be able to do everything people assume I'll do, to live up to this role I'm put in by giving birth to a baby and being born in this time and this place. I will, in that regard, always be a disappointment, a special case, a little less than others.
It makes me kind of sad and a bit afraid thinking about it.
But it makes me relieved to know and accept that this is so. The lifelong struggle of denial was much more agonising and frustrating. I don't have to judge myself by others yardstick any more. If I judge myself and what I can do in a more fair way, based on what I now know about my cognitive functions, then I'm both impressive and awesome.
I have a beautiful loving family. My wife loves me and wants me in her life forever. My daughter is pretty and talented and well behaved and funny and kind and seems to have a good life, and she loves us both and I'm pretty sure she knows she's loved, which is the most important thing.
Thanks to Mistress I have my drivers license. I live in a reasonably clean and comfortable home. We have a lovely dog that is well taken care of. And I'm about to finish a very taxing university program, and graduate as a psychologist in June.
And I have a handful of wise, warm, loving friends who knows me for who I really am, and who still likes me. My life is good. I'm good enough. And having all this, having accomplished all this, despite a brain that doesn't really work like other's do - that makes me not only good enough but absolutely awesome.
Mar 30, 2013
Easter breakdown
We're on vacation at my in-laws place. Four days without school nor job, with actual free time together, and not the least, with mother-in-law taking care of the kid from the time she wakes up at six until the time we venture downstairs, around nine thirty.
This morning we used the morning in bed to have glorious sex. It took us a couple of days before we had slept enough and spent enough time together before we got around to it, but it was definitely worth the wait.
And then, this morning, we had planted a surprise for little S. We bought her a bike last week, and hid it in the basement yesterday, with a string going from it and out in the yard. The plan was for her to play outside after breakfast, discovering the string, follow it and get the bike as a surprise. I had planned this for months and was looking forward to it with great excitment.
There turned out to be a snag, though. I pretty big one as far as I was concerned. Mistress and me had completely different time tables in mind, and had failed to communicate about it. Mostly, I think, because we both thought our own was so completely logical, it didn't dawn on either of us that the other one might have a different view.
Mistress wanted to spare the surprise to last. She appreciated the time spent outside, she was working on a project freeing the garage door from ice (it's still wintery around here) and was happy that little S was playing nicely with her doll and the snow and the gravel. She was oblivious to the fact that I was anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
At first it was okay. I was enjoying the sun and playing with the dog and everything was okay. But then I started to realise that things didn't go the way I had planned them. Why wasn't Mistress leading the kid towards the string? Why didn't she act?
Time went on, I got more and more fidgety and tried to ask Mistress about it, but it was hard to communicate about something that was a secret and a surprise when the kid was right next to us. Eventually little S got tired and started whining, and then I was a little bit more insistent, asking again about "when?". But I still don't think Mistress got how I was feeling or that we had strayed very far from the scenario I had envisioned.
At long last, Mistress signalled that okay, I might lead her to it, but I didn't want to lead her. I wanted her to find it, and the only way to do that was to make her play in that general area of the yard. But Mistress was busy with her project, and little S was playing by her, and when I tried to stir up some interest around the string-area, nothing happened. I asked Mistress to join me, and she answered me with a flat "no". And that was when I broke down.
I couldn't stand it anymore. My brain melted. I was overcome with despair and the only thing I could think of doing was fleeing, which I promptly did. I just left everything and walked away out on the street, and walked a 100 metres to where the postboxes were.
Eventually I calmed down, went back, Mistress and little S played around the string by then, she found it, and eventually the bicycle and everything happened as I'd planned it to. Except for me biting back sobs and blinking away tears, refusing to look at Mistress and talking to little S in a false cheerful tone of voice.
We managed to clear it up later, mostly by text. I don't think either one of us had known before how hard it is for me to wait for something. Or well, I know of course, but I'm so skilled by now at not putting myself in situations where I have to wait that it's rarely a problem. But this time I was powerless to prevent it, and what happens is total break down of my brain.
This is one of the aspects of ADHD for me. This is one of the things that makes me exhausted, why it is a disability. I can deal up to a point, like a damn filling with water, but past that point the damn brakes and there is a flood of rage and despair. I tried to hint at Mistress that I found it difficult, but I wasn't very clear, and she wasn't all that perceptive.
Now I'm more or less okay, a couple of hours later, but the tears are still about to well up every now and then and I feel exhausted and anxious. I don't know if I should take one of my anxiety-pills or if I should just hope it will pass on it's own. It's very apparent it wasn't a very beneficial exercise for my brain, that's for sure.
I wish I had a more normal brain. I wish I could wait, like most people. I wish normal everyday interaction wouldn't cause a nuclear breakdown in my head. But this is me, and this is how I function, and we'll just have to work around.
And little S loved her bike, and that makes it all a little better.
This morning we used the morning in bed to have glorious sex. It took us a couple of days before we had slept enough and spent enough time together before we got around to it, but it was definitely worth the wait.
And then, this morning, we had planted a surprise for little S. We bought her a bike last week, and hid it in the basement yesterday, with a string going from it and out in the yard. The plan was for her to play outside after breakfast, discovering the string, follow it and get the bike as a surprise. I had planned this for months and was looking forward to it with great excitment.
There turned out to be a snag, though. I pretty big one as far as I was concerned. Mistress and me had completely different time tables in mind, and had failed to communicate about it. Mostly, I think, because we both thought our own was so completely logical, it didn't dawn on either of us that the other one might have a different view.
Mistress wanted to spare the surprise to last. She appreciated the time spent outside, she was working on a project freeing the garage door from ice (it's still wintery around here) and was happy that little S was playing nicely with her doll and the snow and the gravel. She was oblivious to the fact that I was anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
At first it was okay. I was enjoying the sun and playing with the dog and everything was okay. But then I started to realise that things didn't go the way I had planned them. Why wasn't Mistress leading the kid towards the string? Why didn't she act?
Time went on, I got more and more fidgety and tried to ask Mistress about it, but it was hard to communicate about something that was a secret and a surprise when the kid was right next to us. Eventually little S got tired and started whining, and then I was a little bit more insistent, asking again about "when?". But I still don't think Mistress got how I was feeling or that we had strayed very far from the scenario I had envisioned.
At long last, Mistress signalled that okay, I might lead her to it, but I didn't want to lead her. I wanted her to find it, and the only way to do that was to make her play in that general area of the yard. But Mistress was busy with her project, and little S was playing by her, and when I tried to stir up some interest around the string-area, nothing happened. I asked Mistress to join me, and she answered me with a flat "no". And that was when I broke down.
I couldn't stand it anymore. My brain melted. I was overcome with despair and the only thing I could think of doing was fleeing, which I promptly did. I just left everything and walked away out on the street, and walked a 100 metres to where the postboxes were.
Eventually I calmed down, went back, Mistress and little S played around the string by then, she found it, and eventually the bicycle and everything happened as I'd planned it to. Except for me biting back sobs and blinking away tears, refusing to look at Mistress and talking to little S in a false cheerful tone of voice.
We managed to clear it up later, mostly by text. I don't think either one of us had known before how hard it is for me to wait for something. Or well, I know of course, but I'm so skilled by now at not putting myself in situations where I have to wait that it's rarely a problem. But this time I was powerless to prevent it, and what happens is total break down of my brain.
This is one of the aspects of ADHD for me. This is one of the things that makes me exhausted, why it is a disability. I can deal up to a point, like a damn filling with water, but past that point the damn brakes and there is a flood of rage and despair. I tried to hint at Mistress that I found it difficult, but I wasn't very clear, and she wasn't all that perceptive.
Now I'm more or less okay, a couple of hours later, but the tears are still about to well up every now and then and I feel exhausted and anxious. I don't know if I should take one of my anxiety-pills or if I should just hope it will pass on it's own. It's very apparent it wasn't a very beneficial exercise for my brain, that's for sure.
I wish I had a more normal brain. I wish I could wait, like most people. I wish normal everyday interaction wouldn't cause a nuclear breakdown in my head. But this is me, and this is how I function, and we'll just have to work around.
And little S loved her bike, and that makes it all a little better.
Mar 7, 2013
Setback
One can always tell when I start to feel worse, because then I go quiet. Depression silence me.
Maybe because I know the stupid things going around and around in my head isn't real, isn't worth repeating. I don't want to ruminate on the internet. Or maybe it's the other way around - all my energy is spent on placating the inner demons, and none is left for communicating with the world outside of my brain.
Depression is a sucky, sucky disease.
Anyway, it's March now and that means that the sun has returned and is finally feeling warm again. That part at least is somewhat glorious. Also, it's Thursday, which means soon it's the week-end. I'm holding on to my belief that the week-end will be better than the week.
Now I'll go pour scolding hot coffee at the inner demons and hope that makes them shut up for a while. A shower would probably be wise too.
Maybe because I know the stupid things going around and around in my head isn't real, isn't worth repeating. I don't want to ruminate on the internet. Or maybe it's the other way around - all my energy is spent on placating the inner demons, and none is left for communicating with the world outside of my brain.
Depression is a sucky, sucky disease.
Anyway, it's March now and that means that the sun has returned and is finally feeling warm again. That part at least is somewhat glorious. Also, it's Thursday, which means soon it's the week-end. I'm holding on to my belief that the week-end will be better than the week.
Now I'll go pour scolding hot coffee at the inner demons and hope that makes them shut up for a while. A shower would probably be wise too.
Feb 6, 2013
False advertisment?
Sometimes I want to make a t-shirt were I've written down everything that's odd about me. The thing is, the cool kids, the avant-garde, the norm-breakers, they tend to advertise. They have mohawks' and piercings and tats and cool clothes and listen to music that fits with their clothes and the crowd they hang out with.
When I went to gymnasiet (think High School, 16-19 years old) I hung out with a group of left wing vegetarians and vegans. They all had long hair, like really really long, long flowy skirts, and cared a lot about the environment and organised rallys and were politically aware. I was to. I did to. But I wore my hair short and had jeans all the time. Mostly the same pair - I'm not sure I owned more than one pair.
Later, I studied at the university and worked for a while, and I never got the hang of that outfit thing then either. Now I guess my look fits part of my life, since I look more or less like a frumpy soccer mom, and I am one - more or less. My friends are usually awesome people, really cool, and they tend to present themselves that way too. Many of them have looks that screams "alternative liftestyle" a mile away.
And then there's me.
And on some level, it is annoying. I mean, I guess there's a reason why I look like I look - there's nothing stopping me from changing it up if I wanted to. Well, yes there is, Mistress would probably have strong opinions about any kind of body mod or hair changes, and clothes costs money, and make up takes skill and time and so on and so forth. And also, in the end it bothers me, but not that much. Not enough so that I want to make any wholehearted effort to change it.
Hence, the t-shirt.
It could say: "I have ADHD!". It could say "I'm still breastfeeding my three-year-old!". It could say "I once lived in a poly-tryad". It could say "I'm owned property". It could say "I get beaten bloody regularly and I love it". It could say "I'm bisexual". It could say "I live in a same-sex marriage".
Or maybe just a cloud of words: ADHD. Owned. Bi. Lesbian. Pervert. Masochist. Pro breastfeeding for toddlers. Poly. I'm strange and I know it.
Just so I wouldn't have to disappoint people all the time, just because they judge me by the cover.
When I went to gymnasiet (think High School, 16-19 years old) I hung out with a group of left wing vegetarians and vegans. They all had long hair, like really really long, long flowy skirts, and cared a lot about the environment and organised rallys and were politically aware. I was to. I did to. But I wore my hair short and had jeans all the time. Mostly the same pair - I'm not sure I owned more than one pair.
Later, I studied at the university and worked for a while, and I never got the hang of that outfit thing then either. Now I guess my look fits part of my life, since I look more or less like a frumpy soccer mom, and I am one - more or less. My friends are usually awesome people, really cool, and they tend to present themselves that way too. Many of them have looks that screams "alternative liftestyle" a mile away.
And then there's me.
And on some level, it is annoying. I mean, I guess there's a reason why I look like I look - there's nothing stopping me from changing it up if I wanted to. Well, yes there is, Mistress would probably have strong opinions about any kind of body mod or hair changes, and clothes costs money, and make up takes skill and time and so on and so forth. And also, in the end it bothers me, but not that much. Not enough so that I want to make any wholehearted effort to change it.
Hence, the t-shirt.
It could say: "I have ADHD!". It could say "I'm still breastfeeding my three-year-old!". It could say "I once lived in a poly-tryad". It could say "I'm owned property". It could say "I get beaten bloody regularly and I love it". It could say "I'm bisexual". It could say "I live in a same-sex marriage".
Or maybe just a cloud of words: ADHD. Owned. Bi. Lesbian. Pervert. Masochist. Pro breastfeeding for toddlers. Poly. I'm strange and I know it.
Just so I wouldn't have to disappoint people all the time, just because they judge me by the cover.
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