Yesterday when I was snot-crying into my pillow my mind was filled with very real thoughts about our relationship being over. I didn't see any way forward at that moment, and even though part of me knew I was being very much overly dramatic another part was very very sincere in the idea of "this is it - I can't go forward from here".
When we were arguing, or rather trying to solve things instead of arguing, I hugged Mistress, rested my head against her chest and asked "Can I trust you?". Meaning "I want to trust you, no matter what, I don't care what just happened, I don't care about our problems - if you say you'll be there, I'll believe you, and everything else will take care of itself. Just tell me I can trust you, and I will."
That's what I meant, and that's what I was expecting an answer to. That was, however, not how she interpreted the question, and she answered, calmly and with sincerity: "No".
So there. For me, that was kind of it. I tore lose, told her she made me panic and that I couldn't believe she just said that. She changed the subject and went to check on some practicality. I told her to go to Hell, ran upstairs, slammed the door, threw myself on the bed and cried.
For me, her answer was practically the same as thrusting a divorce paper under my nose. If she herself says I can't trust her - how can I? And if I can't trust her, if she doesn't even bother about trying to behave in a way that I can trust, if she just disregard that as something unimportant, how can I submit to her? And I know, by now, that any other type relationship will dry up and go stale very fast for me. But the thing is that I have absolutely nowhere to go.
It doesn't matter how mad or sad or frustrated or heartbroken she makes me. I can't imagine a life without her, either emotionally or in a practical sense. All my dreams, all my hopes and plans and ideas, are tied to her. Everything I want to do, I want to do together with her. The idea of doing anything without her felt lika a vast, black gulf opening before me.
But on the other hand there were those words: "Can I trust you?" "No."
Well, she followed me after a few minutes, laid herself literary atop of me, like a rather heavy duvet (heavy for a duvet, that is - she's not that heavy for a human). She hugged me and said she wanted to make things better, and that whatever I had heard or interpreted was wrong and that I could trust that she loved me and wanted me and would always do her best to take her of me. That made it kind of better.
And right around when I had stopped bawling my eyes out our time was up and little S was tired of waiting and came upstairs. Like any jealous and possessive six-year-old she did her very best to not only lay on top of us but also slide herself down between us, so that the mommy-hug became two mommies hugging her, instead of two adults hugging eachother. Ah well.
The crux of the matter is I guess what it was Mistress answered to. I asked a very broad question, concerning our whole relationship, my whole existance almost. She answered a very narrow specific question regarding the immediate situation.
When we came home the water was frozen. This is our first winter in this house, and it has so far been a very mild one. We've been gone for a week, and during this week it has suddenly gotten cold. There's a cable that needs to be plugged in so that the water in the pipes doesn't freeze, and we hadn't done that, and so their was no water in the house.
This was quite easily resolved by plugging in the cable and waiting a while, but before we figured it all out and solved it, Mistress got really tense. It had been bad winter weather on the drive home too, and she really doesn't like that either. In the end she had a fit, she talked to little S in an angry voice, hit herself in the head with her fist, and stormed off. I freaked out and got very angry (also pouty and moody) and it was when we tried to resolve this everything went from bad to worse.
So when I asked can I trust you, Mistress heard: "Can I trust you to never be stressed out over a crisis again? Can I trust you to never lose your temper, have a fit an storm off?". And she answered very truthfully: No. Because even she really tries, and even if she agress that it was unneccesary and wish she had kept her cool, she can't promise me it wont happen again. Honestly, it has happened on a regular basis since I've known her, so it's pretty much the other way around; no matter how hard she tries, she most probably will do it again.
The question, then, is; can I trust her? Can I trust her, even though she throws fits when she gets stresses, even though she hits herself in the head when she gets overwhelmed, even though she answers literarily to a loaded question in the middle of a relational crisis without regards to hwo that answer might be interpreted? Can I trust her, when this is who she is and how she will behave?
Yes, absolutely. Everyday, for the rest of my life. I don't care what idiotic things she says when she's lost her theory of mind due to stress. I trust her.
I belong to her, and I trust.
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Jun 15, 2014
I'm submissive, but I'm rather good at defending myself
I'm not really comfortable at work right now, which bugs me since it has nothing to do with my actual job or anything I'm hired to do. As far as I can tell, I'm performing perfectly adequately, possibly a bit over expectations, as far as my actual job goes.
Unfortunately, that's not all that it takes to be a good enough employee, and this... this place doesn't really mesh with me. At least not in all aspects.
Last week I had an unfortunate run-in with an arrogant, 70-year old male doctor, who didn't think I provided him with enough service and maintenance when we had a joint assignment with a patient. And I didn't, since I figured he was a colleague and a fellow person whom I supposed I would be cooperating with - not cater to and serve. He didn't appreciate that, and I didn't appreciate him telling me so much.
So. Yeah.
It's the third time someone over the age of sixty kindly but sternly has attempted to tell me how I'm supposed to act and how things are actually done here. I'm getting a bit sick and tired of it.
In the moment, I seem to always find my feet. So far I have an exemplary record of answering calmly and with poise something along the lines of "that's not part of my job description" or "I'm sorry that [this thing I do] makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to keep doing it for [this and that work-related reason]."
But. That's in the moment. I know I come off as sure of myself, as confident and tough and able to take care of myself. But in the long run, I'm none of those things. I don't want to pick fights with people. I don't want to be critisized or corrected or told I'm doing things wrong, no matter if I agree or not. I don't want to have to defend myself.
Because at the core of me, I'm submissive. I don't want to stand up for myself against arrogant, spoiled old doctors. I want to please and be liked and accomodate. And when I don't, and get called on it, it hurts and rattles me, and now I'm all afraid and unsure of myself and worried and have this angsty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
So why do I do it? Why do I enter a strictly hierarchical system like the public health care system, with ancient traditions of strict ranks and expected obedience, and then refuse to conform? Isn't that kind of stupid, especially if I don't actually like being a rebel, and the consequences of acting like a rebel?
I do it because I really really want to be a psychologist, and because I'm good at it. It's a job I can actually do, and do well, as far as the job goes. The things I've been defending myself against are the demands from the work place that interfers with my ability to do my actual tasks, because the demands interferes with my disability.
I can have ADHD and be an excellent psychologist and therapist. Those roles plays to all my strengths, and barely touches on my weaknesses. That's what I want to do, and something I can do, despite being a scatterbrain with low attention span and a distinct lack in stamina. Under the circumstances offered by this position, I can actually succeed, and perform well above par for the course at this very specialised task.
But. I can only do it if I'm allowed to do precisely that, and not a thousand other things that female employees who's not a doctor routinely are expected to do. I'm not a nurse, or a medical secretary or an orderly, and I'm not any of those things for very good reason - one of them is that I suck at that kind of work. It's not that I think I'm to good to be doing it, it's that I know I'm to bad at it. Very much the same issue I have with being a stay-at-home-mom, incidentally. It's not that I don't want to do it, it's just that my disability covers exactly the skills that kind of serviceoriented, multitasking job requires.
I can barely administer my own patients, I'm not going to take over those tasks for some doctor too. I can sit in for hours and hours on meaningless meetings where my input isn't asked for - but it takes ridicolous amounts of energy from me, and to preserve some for, you know, my actual job, I've taken up knitting. Straight up scarves, no patterns, and wooden knits that doesn't make any sounds. And still someone felt she had to come and tell me "we don't do that here". Ah well, yes we do. I do - because without it I'm not going to be able to do my job, and I'm not willing to compromise with that. And so on, ad infinutim. It feels like I'm constantly surprising people or disturbing people, just by trying to exist in the workplace and create a space where I can do my job.
So basically - I have a job with tasks I love doing and that I'm good at. I want to please and accomodate and be a good employee, in accordance with my submissive, labradoresque soul. But, unfortunately, other sources at work gets in the way, and my tactics for trying to do my job crashes against unwritten rules and expectations in the workplace. And since I'm very very anxious to do my job, I'm unwilling to compromise with the groups informal rules and the informal leaders display of status.
And of course, I have a life long experience of never fitting in, of never being good enough, of never getting the social codes anyway, and of always feeling slightly like an alien. If I was good at conforming and listening to what other people expect of me, I wouldn't have my family right now, because me and Mistress wouldn't have been together. So, on the whole, it works in my favour, I would say.
I'll just hang in there, be myself, keep on not letting people bully my or push me around, defending my position as psychologist and my right to do the job I'm actually paid to do, and to not be burdened down with a thousand other tasks that's not part of the job description (because I'm to handicapped to deal with that - I don't have the resources), and if it all goes to hell in a handbasket, let the bosses fire me, if that's what they want to do. I'm not backing down, and I'm not quitting. I'm goint to keep going straight ahead in my valued direction, in being as good as I can be at my job, and not take responsibility for the myriad of things that aren't working in the organisation and that I don't have any power over.
But I long for the move. And for vacation. In to weeks time I have three weeks off, and when I return to work, I'll be living with Mistress again. I need her. I need her to tell me what's really important, who it is I'm really supposed to be pleasing, and who I belong to. And it's not the public health service organisation, nor it's elderly employees.
Unfortunately, that's not all that it takes to be a good enough employee, and this... this place doesn't really mesh with me. At least not in all aspects.
Last week I had an unfortunate run-in with an arrogant, 70-year old male doctor, who didn't think I provided him with enough service and maintenance when we had a joint assignment with a patient. And I didn't, since I figured he was a colleague and a fellow person whom I supposed I would be cooperating with - not cater to and serve. He didn't appreciate that, and I didn't appreciate him telling me so much.
So. Yeah.
It's the third time someone over the age of sixty kindly but sternly has attempted to tell me how I'm supposed to act and how things are actually done here. I'm getting a bit sick and tired of it.
In the moment, I seem to always find my feet. So far I have an exemplary record of answering calmly and with poise something along the lines of "that's not part of my job description" or "I'm sorry that [this thing I do] makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to keep doing it for [this and that work-related reason]."
But. That's in the moment. I know I come off as sure of myself, as confident and tough and able to take care of myself. But in the long run, I'm none of those things. I don't want to pick fights with people. I don't want to be critisized or corrected or told I'm doing things wrong, no matter if I agree or not. I don't want to have to defend myself.
Because at the core of me, I'm submissive. I don't want to stand up for myself against arrogant, spoiled old doctors. I want to please and be liked and accomodate. And when I don't, and get called on it, it hurts and rattles me, and now I'm all afraid and unsure of myself and worried and have this angsty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
So why do I do it? Why do I enter a strictly hierarchical system like the public health care system, with ancient traditions of strict ranks and expected obedience, and then refuse to conform? Isn't that kind of stupid, especially if I don't actually like being a rebel, and the consequences of acting like a rebel?
I do it because I really really want to be a psychologist, and because I'm good at it. It's a job I can actually do, and do well, as far as the job goes. The things I've been defending myself against are the demands from the work place that interfers with my ability to do my actual tasks, because the demands interferes with my disability.
I can have ADHD and be an excellent psychologist and therapist. Those roles plays to all my strengths, and barely touches on my weaknesses. That's what I want to do, and something I can do, despite being a scatterbrain with low attention span and a distinct lack in stamina. Under the circumstances offered by this position, I can actually succeed, and perform well above par for the course at this very specialised task.
But. I can only do it if I'm allowed to do precisely that, and not a thousand other things that female employees who's not a doctor routinely are expected to do. I'm not a nurse, or a medical secretary or an orderly, and I'm not any of those things for very good reason - one of them is that I suck at that kind of work. It's not that I think I'm to good to be doing it, it's that I know I'm to bad at it. Very much the same issue I have with being a stay-at-home-mom, incidentally. It's not that I don't want to do it, it's just that my disability covers exactly the skills that kind of serviceoriented, multitasking job requires.
I can barely administer my own patients, I'm not going to take over those tasks for some doctor too. I can sit in for hours and hours on meaningless meetings where my input isn't asked for - but it takes ridicolous amounts of energy from me, and to preserve some for, you know, my actual job, I've taken up knitting. Straight up scarves, no patterns, and wooden knits that doesn't make any sounds. And still someone felt she had to come and tell me "we don't do that here". Ah well, yes we do. I do - because without it I'm not going to be able to do my job, and I'm not willing to compromise with that. And so on, ad infinutim. It feels like I'm constantly surprising people or disturbing people, just by trying to exist in the workplace and create a space where I can do my job.
So basically - I have a job with tasks I love doing and that I'm good at. I want to please and accomodate and be a good employee, in accordance with my submissive, labradoresque soul. But, unfortunately, other sources at work gets in the way, and my tactics for trying to do my job crashes against unwritten rules and expectations in the workplace. And since I'm very very anxious to do my job, I'm unwilling to compromise with the groups informal rules and the informal leaders display of status.
And of course, I have a life long experience of never fitting in, of never being good enough, of never getting the social codes anyway, and of always feeling slightly like an alien. If I was good at conforming and listening to what other people expect of me, I wouldn't have my family right now, because me and Mistress wouldn't have been together. So, on the whole, it works in my favour, I would say.
I'll just hang in there, be myself, keep on not letting people bully my or push me around, defending my position as psychologist and my right to do the job I'm actually paid to do, and to not be burdened down with a thousand other tasks that's not part of the job description (because I'm to handicapped to deal with that - I don't have the resources), and if it all goes to hell in a handbasket, let the bosses fire me, if that's what they want to do. I'm not backing down, and I'm not quitting. I'm goint to keep going straight ahead in my valued direction, in being as good as I can be at my job, and not take responsibility for the myriad of things that aren't working in the organisation and that I don't have any power over.
But I long for the move. And for vacation. In to weeks time I have three weeks off, and when I return to work, I'll be living with Mistress again. I need her. I need her to tell me what's really important, who it is I'm really supposed to be pleasing, and who I belong to. And it's not the public health service organisation, nor it's elderly employees.
Feb 26, 2014
The trip, the babysitter and general ickyness
Okay, so we went to bed with an unresolved horrible argument over our heads. When I woke up, Mistress was with little S, and we didn't get very much time alone all day. And we had a decision to make. Should Mistress go, or should she stay?
If she went, I would be alone with our sick daughter while down with the flu. We wouldn't die of starvation, I wouldn't neglect the kid and I would be able to call for an ambulance if needed. But it was easy to envision two rather grim, taxing days, and the emotional ramifications afterwards for me would probably be rather severe (meaning I would be exhausted, depressed and pissed off for quite some time).
She could stay home, of course. If someone had said to her a month ago "oh, by the way, that meeting? Both your wife and your kid are going to be pretty sick that week, just so you know" she would have said "Hell no!" and cancelled. But this wasn't a month earlier. This was the day the meeting started, and it was a start-up thing for a project four years ahead. If she wants a face to the people she's going to be emaling for the coming four years, she better be there. She wouldn't have planned on going at all in the first place if it wasn't important.
Or we could ask her parents to babysit for us. My mom doesn't have the health for it right now, and my dad's out of town. But her parents could - if I hadn't had the flu. Because grandpa eats immune-suppressing medicine, hanging around with my viruses would be a bad idea. They're immune to chickenpox, though, so they could take little S to their place for two days. Great, I would get to rest, Mistress could go to the meeting, and little S would be taken care of. Except that little S herself cried her eyes out at the thought of it and refused to go anywhere without at least one of her mummies (preferably both). Understandable, since we went to Paris for two days without her last week, and she's itchy all over on top of that.
So we had three solutions that each one was great for two of us and really bad for the third. No compromises, no way of softening the blow. Someone would have to suffer. And we were desperately unhappy, with unresolved issues hanging over our heads, and all thinking or talking was accompanied by incessant whining from the itchy, miserable four-year-old.
As usual, grandma came through for us in our darkest moment. She telephoned and asked if she should come alone, and stay at our place 'til the day Mistress was coming home. That way grandpa wouldn't get sick, I wouldn't be left alone with the responsibility, and little S wouldn't have to leave her mommies or her home.
So in the end, Mistress went, I'm sick in bed, and little S is miserable, itchy and whiny in the living room with grandma. About every thirty minutes she makes a dash for the bedroom door crying for me, and my heart brakes. I've been up and about a few times, and even when I feel almost fine laying in bed after 30 minutes of sitting up and socialising I'm about to keel over, sweating and dizzy. Not all better yet, no.
I'm trying to console myself with that she's not really happier when I'm with her, she's miserable from the chickenpox and there's nothing I can do. Of course she prefers me from grandma, but she knows and loves grandma. She just wants me too, and I want to be with her also. But right now, I just want this horrible sick feeling to go away. I'm not to fond of anything right now, to be honest. Everything seems rather horrid.
If she went, I would be alone with our sick daughter while down with the flu. We wouldn't die of starvation, I wouldn't neglect the kid and I would be able to call for an ambulance if needed. But it was easy to envision two rather grim, taxing days, and the emotional ramifications afterwards for me would probably be rather severe (meaning I would be exhausted, depressed and pissed off for quite some time).
She could stay home, of course. If someone had said to her a month ago "oh, by the way, that meeting? Both your wife and your kid are going to be pretty sick that week, just so you know" she would have said "Hell no!" and cancelled. But this wasn't a month earlier. This was the day the meeting started, and it was a start-up thing for a project four years ahead. If she wants a face to the people she's going to be emaling for the coming four years, she better be there. She wouldn't have planned on going at all in the first place if it wasn't important.
Or we could ask her parents to babysit for us. My mom doesn't have the health for it right now, and my dad's out of town. But her parents could - if I hadn't had the flu. Because grandpa eats immune-suppressing medicine, hanging around with my viruses would be a bad idea. They're immune to chickenpox, though, so they could take little S to their place for two days. Great, I would get to rest, Mistress could go to the meeting, and little S would be taken care of. Except that little S herself cried her eyes out at the thought of it and refused to go anywhere without at least one of her mummies (preferably both). Understandable, since we went to Paris for two days without her last week, and she's itchy all over on top of that.
So we had three solutions that each one was great for two of us and really bad for the third. No compromises, no way of softening the blow. Someone would have to suffer. And we were desperately unhappy, with unresolved issues hanging over our heads, and all thinking or talking was accompanied by incessant whining from the itchy, miserable four-year-old.
As usual, grandma came through for us in our darkest moment. She telephoned and asked if she should come alone, and stay at our place 'til the day Mistress was coming home. That way grandpa wouldn't get sick, I wouldn't be left alone with the responsibility, and little S wouldn't have to leave her mommies or her home.
So in the end, Mistress went, I'm sick in bed, and little S is miserable, itchy and whiny in the living room with grandma. About every thirty minutes she makes a dash for the bedroom door crying for me, and my heart brakes. I've been up and about a few times, and even when I feel almost fine laying in bed after 30 minutes of sitting up and socialising I'm about to keel over, sweating and dizzy. Not all better yet, no.
I'm trying to console myself with that she's not really happier when I'm with her, she's miserable from the chickenpox and there's nothing I can do. Of course she prefers me from grandma, but she knows and loves grandma. She just wants me too, and I want to be with her also. But right now, I just want this horrible sick feeling to go away. I'm not to fond of anything right now, to be honest. Everything seems rather horrid.
Hurts to much to even be funny
We didn't really fix it that night. We tried, we tried getting close to eachother without causing more damage. We tried to find some common ground. But it's hard, when we're both hypersensitive and hurting.
To me, she was punishing me for being ill, she was confirming my fear that my weakness made me unworthy of her love, she was kicking me when I was on the ground, and there was nothing I could do that would make me good enough for her. She didn't love me anymore because I was sick and weak and useless, and all I should do was shut up and accept it. It broke my heart, but I couldn't find any other explanation. That was the truth as I saw it that night, and everything she said and everything she did was filtered through that view of reality.
What did she see? I don't know, exactly, but when we talked about it on the phone yesterday I got the feeling it was something eerily similar to what I saw, but turned the other way around. That I was punishing her, drawing my love from her, for going away. That I only said that it was okay that she went, but if she did I would not love her anymore. Or something. And of course, that there was a set of magic "right questions" that she had to ask to make me alright again, and I wouldn't tell her what they were but if she didn't ask them I would leave her.
When we're both deadly afraid of losing the other's love, when we're both feeling ashamed and not good enough, we both want the others' love and assurance. But we're not capable of giving it, and so it ends in despair and heartache and martyrdom. We both love eachother to death, and we're sitting a metre away from eachother, grieving the loss of the others' love.
To me, she was punishing me for being ill, she was confirming my fear that my weakness made me unworthy of her love, she was kicking me when I was on the ground, and there was nothing I could do that would make me good enough for her. She didn't love me anymore because I was sick and weak and useless, and all I should do was shut up and accept it. It broke my heart, but I couldn't find any other explanation. That was the truth as I saw it that night, and everything she said and everything she did was filtered through that view of reality.
What did she see? I don't know, exactly, but when we talked about it on the phone yesterday I got the feeling it was something eerily similar to what I saw, but turned the other way around. That I was punishing her, drawing my love from her, for going away. That I only said that it was okay that she went, but if she did I would not love her anymore. Or something. And of course, that there was a set of magic "right questions" that she had to ask to make me alright again, and I wouldn't tell her what they were but if she didn't ask them I would leave her.
When we're both deadly afraid of losing the other's love, when we're both feeling ashamed and not good enough, we both want the others' love and assurance. But we're not capable of giving it, and so it ends in despair and heartache and martyrdom. We both love eachother to death, and we're sitting a metre away from eachother, grieving the loss of the others' love.
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.
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.
Jun 3, 2013
No worries
I don't know if me and Mistress has ever been in some sense so far apart from each other as we have been this last month. I've been working working working, and she has too, and we've more or less just passed each other by on our way between different chores. Every night we cuddle up together and fall asleep - but that's not enough, not by a long shot.
And now, when it's been several days, a whole week end, since I handed in my thesis, and Mistress for once hasn't got any pressing deadlines at work, we've still hadn't had sex. I'm not sure it's even been this long for us not having sex.
Well yes it has because the end part of pregnancy and the time after delivery weren't not all that sexy, but that was different. And also, we did have sex something like two weeks before delivery and three weeks after, so it was really a minimum of abstaining, considering the circumstances. Now it's like it's the same thing, only it's not a baby, it's a university graduation.
The amazing thing, though, is the lack of angst we're having over it. It's like I can for once completely put it down to limitations in time and energy, and I feel confident that it's neither anything to do with lack of love, or something that is going to last forever. Give us a couple of weeks of reasonable amount of work and some time spent together just the two of us, and I bet we'll be at it like rabbits again...
I'm looking forward to this summer so much that I can almost taste it.
And now, when it's been several days, a whole week end, since I handed in my thesis, and Mistress for once hasn't got any pressing deadlines at work, we've still hadn't had sex. I'm not sure it's even been this long for us not having sex.
Well yes it has because the end part of pregnancy and the time after delivery weren't not all that sexy, but that was different. And also, we did have sex something like two weeks before delivery and three weeks after, so it was really a minimum of abstaining, considering the circumstances. Now it's like it's the same thing, only it's not a baby, it's a university graduation.
The amazing thing, though, is the lack of angst we're having over it. It's like I can for once completely put it down to limitations in time and energy, and I feel confident that it's neither anything to do with lack of love, or something that is going to last forever. Give us a couple of weeks of reasonable amount of work and some time spent together just the two of us, and I bet we'll be at it like rabbits again...
I'm looking forward to this summer so much that I can almost taste it.
May 28, 2013
Final stages of school
Right now, I hate my Master thesis. It's 61 pages I never ever ever want to read again. Ever.
Tomorrow afternoon is it due. We're still waiting for the tutors comments for half of it - which he promised us he would give Monday morning. Aaargh.
And another person who commented filled up the result-section with happy suggestions along the lines of "here I would like a graph showing this and that in this way". I'm like, yeah, and I want a pony...
Soon soon soon. Mistress declared that I would "get so much ass-whopping when this is over!" and I'm... looking forward to it. I think.
I'm definitely looking forward to giving my poor brain a chance to recuperate. It's starting to smell burnt and there's smoke coming out of the ears.
Tomorrow afternoon is it due. We're still waiting for the tutors comments for half of it - which he promised us he would give Monday morning. Aaargh.
And another person who commented filled up the result-section with happy suggestions along the lines of "here I would like a graph showing this and that in this way". I'm like, yeah, and I want a pony...
Soon soon soon. Mistress declared that I would "get so much ass-whopping when this is over!" and I'm... looking forward to it. I think.
I'm definitely looking forward to giving my poor brain a chance to recuperate. It's starting to smell burnt and there's smoke coming out of the ears.
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!
Apr 19, 2013
Taking a break
I have only a few tasks today. I'm going to apply for a few jobs, I haven't decided how many yet. Not more than three, but only if I find three that I really want. We're not desperate yet, I can hold off applying for anything with a salary till after the summer.
And then I'm going to go out jogging for a bit. And pick up my meds from the pharmacy. That's it.
Okay, job applying is quite a chore, but I don't have to go anywhere. I don't have things interrupting me. I can call friends if I like, but I'm not seeing anyone or doing anything today.
Oh my God how I need this!
I actually had an exam today. But I haven't had time to study, and my brain is in such a bad state right now Mistress decided my time was better spent at home, recuperating and job hunting. There's another go at the exam in the end of May, I'll take it then instead.
Right now, it's quiet around me. Bliss.
(And little S didn't wake Mistress up at all during the night, we actually woke up before she called for Mommy! I got to snuggle with my wife before breakfast! Best morning ever!)
And then I'm going to go out jogging for a bit. And pick up my meds from the pharmacy. That's it.
Okay, job applying is quite a chore, but I don't have to go anywhere. I don't have things interrupting me. I can call friends if I like, but I'm not seeing anyone or doing anything today.
Oh my God how I need this!
I actually had an exam today. But I haven't had time to study, and my brain is in such a bad state right now Mistress decided my time was better spent at home, recuperating and job hunting. There's another go at the exam in the end of May, I'll take it then instead.
Right now, it's quiet around me. Bliss.
(And little S didn't wake Mistress up at all during the night, we actually woke up before she called for Mommy! I got to snuggle with my wife before breakfast! Best morning ever!)
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 10, 2013
Jan 15, 2013
Busy little bee
Today I have:
1) Had an emotionally taxing meeting with one of the teachers at my daughters pre-school early in the morning, trying to convey the message that something's wrong and that even if the symtoms only manifests at home that doesn't mean the problem can't be present at the pre-school too. And trying to handle the frustration that comes from being treated as someone who doesn't know anything about kid's normal development, when I do. Bleergh.
2) Gone home and studied for exam on Thursday.
3) Gotten on a bus to get to a lunch meeting
4) Had a lunch meeting in a noisy and crowded café (bad choice, wont go there again) and discussed the thesis (or paper? or exam paper? I have no idea.) me and a colleague are going to spend the whole of next term writing.
5) Had to hurry away from there to go to a mandatory seminar, that went on for an hour (during which time I knitted frenetically because I was so tense and worked up).
6) Only to take the bus home, fetch the stroller, walk the kilometre to the pre-school, dress the little squirrel and drive her home in half a metre of snow and more coming all the time, and eat dinner.
7) Collapsed.
8) Oh, and had my mother over for said dinner, and for playtime with the happy little squirrel, who choose to top it all off with parting advice about us not getting any more babies, since "you seemed to think it was so much hard work the last time". Yeah. Thank you. Not a dilemma I'm planning on solving this very minute, thank you very much.
And in a way I know this day on the one hand would have been a bit much for anyone, but also that on the other hand most people with jobs and kids do these kinds of things on a regular basis. But that has really no bearing on what this means to me.
For me, this is... amazing. Unheard of. I haven't been this active and productive in about a year, and even then it was under duress and with a feeling of dread and exhaustion. Now I'm tired, and a bit high-strung, but I don't feel like killing myself (or anyone else) and I'm not falling asleep on the couch.
I am getting better.
My only worry right now is that I will be a walking corpse tomorrow, cognitive-wise, not to mention Thursday, when the exam is. But I'll deal with that then.
I'm guessing my chance of making Mistress hurt me in any nice way is pretty slim - she didn't sleep well last night, and she's still at her computer working now, even though it's soon past eight. But I'll give it a shot. The thing I long for most of all right now is being tied down and floating away on happy pain-endorphins.
Or maybe I'll just have to go to sleep like a normal person.
1) Had an emotionally taxing meeting with one of the teachers at my daughters pre-school early in the morning, trying to convey the message that something's wrong and that even if the symtoms only manifests at home that doesn't mean the problem can't be present at the pre-school too. And trying to handle the frustration that comes from being treated as someone who doesn't know anything about kid's normal development, when I do. Bleergh.
2) Gone home and studied for exam on Thursday.
3) Gotten on a bus to get to a lunch meeting
4) Had a lunch meeting in a noisy and crowded café (bad choice, wont go there again) and discussed the thesis (or paper? or exam paper? I have no idea.) me and a colleague are going to spend the whole of next term writing.
5) Had to hurry away from there to go to a mandatory seminar, that went on for an hour (during which time I knitted frenetically because I was so tense and worked up).
6) Only to take the bus home, fetch the stroller, walk the kilometre to the pre-school, dress the little squirrel and drive her home in half a metre of snow and more coming all the time, and eat dinner.
7) Collapsed.
8) Oh, and had my mother over for said dinner, and for playtime with the happy little squirrel, who choose to top it all off with parting advice about us not getting any more babies, since "you seemed to think it was so much hard work the last time". Yeah. Thank you. Not a dilemma I'm planning on solving this very minute, thank you very much.
And in a way I know this day on the one hand would have been a bit much for anyone, but also that on the other hand most people with jobs and kids do these kinds of things on a regular basis. But that has really no bearing on what this means to me.
For me, this is... amazing. Unheard of. I haven't been this active and productive in about a year, and even then it was under duress and with a feeling of dread and exhaustion. Now I'm tired, and a bit high-strung, but I don't feel like killing myself (or anyone else) and I'm not falling asleep on the couch.
I am getting better.
My only worry right now is that I will be a walking corpse tomorrow, cognitive-wise, not to mention Thursday, when the exam is. But I'll deal with that then.
I'm guessing my chance of making Mistress hurt me in any nice way is pretty slim - she didn't sleep well last night, and she's still at her computer working now, even though it's soon past eight. But I'll give it a shot. The thing I long for most of all right now is being tied down and floating away on happy pain-endorphins.
Or maybe I'll just have to go to sleep like a normal person.
Jan 12, 2013
A snowy walk
We were going out for a walk after breakfast this morning, Mistress and me, with the dog and with little S in her plastic sledge. But when we were trying to get dressed, something went wrong. Suddenly, Mistress was pissed off and hectic, oozing irritation and frustration all over the place. I had no idea what had happened, and honestly hid upstairs with a happily playing little S for a while. The I poked my head down the stairs and tentatively asked if it was "safe to come down". Mistress' answer was definitely contra-indicating, but somehow, we all managed to get our warm clothes on. When Mistress and little S was outside, Mistress offered me the alternative to stay at home, and I said something grumpily that I wanted to come but that I wanted her to behave herself. She made no promises.
And so it continued. Mistress was seriously pissed off, I got more and more anxious, and the heavy weight in my stomach grew. Little S kept up a one person-choir for a while, but when she was met with stony silence, she lost her good temper too. After a while I couldn't take it any more, and when Mistress in an effort to sing with little S instead growled the words, I stopped dead in my tracks and said "This is not okay! Please stop being like this." I tried to hand her the rope to the sledge and said."I don't want to keep going. This is not okay. I want to go back.".
At first, Mistress didn't answer, and then she said "I know this was STUPID, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..." in that horrible, strangled voice she has when she gets like that. I refused to move and kept holding the rope out to her. "I want to go back." "No" she said, "keep going. I want us to continue." And therefore, we did.
If she hadn't said that, I would have gone home alone and she would have taken little S to the store. It would have worked out. She would have calmed down, eventually, and I would have forgiven her and gotten over it, after a while. I hate it when she gets like that, I hate that I can't predict it, that I can't protect myself, that it scares me and that I think it makes little S world more unpredictable than it should have to be. And most of all, I hate that I never have any idea what brought it on. It's like at these occasions, we live in different worlds, and I miss her.
But this time, she didn't let me leave. And we talked. Quietly, in front of the sledge, with a firm grip on the dogs leash. And she finally told me that it was little S complaining over stomach ache that set her off, that she had a catastrophic view of sickness and disease in her mind, and that it was fighting this off that made her crazy and strange. And she listened to me, and eventually came back to the here-and-now, to us walking as a happy family through the snow on a beautiful Saturday morning. She accepted the catastrophic view, somehow, and could let it be and still be with us.
And then, after we kissed, we knelt by little S in the sledge, were she sat and looked at us with tired, sad eyes. And I asked it it felt bad for her when her moms argued, and she nodded her head, and we kissed her face and said that it was over now, we had made up, and everybody was okay again. And then we all started singing.
We had a great walk, actually. We ran with little S in the sledge, and after a while we tied the dog to it, since we had him in a harness anyway. And before long we were shopping candy in the store and walking all the way back again, singing and running and playing.
I wish Mistress never got like that. But since that ain't happening (at least anytime soon) I'm glad we're getting better at dealing with it. I'm glad I didn't explode, and I'm glad she didn't let me go, and I'm glad she talked to me and came back to me. And I'm very glad we could make it a nice morning walk for little S.
And so it continued. Mistress was seriously pissed off, I got more and more anxious, and the heavy weight in my stomach grew. Little S kept up a one person-choir for a while, but when she was met with stony silence, she lost her good temper too. After a while I couldn't take it any more, and when Mistress in an effort to sing with little S instead growled the words, I stopped dead in my tracks and said "This is not okay! Please stop being like this." I tried to hand her the rope to the sledge and said."I don't want to keep going. This is not okay. I want to go back.".
At first, Mistress didn't answer, and then she said "I know this was STUPID, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..." in that horrible, strangled voice she has when she gets like that. I refused to move and kept holding the rope out to her. "I want to go back." "No" she said, "keep going. I want us to continue." And therefore, we did.
If she hadn't said that, I would have gone home alone and she would have taken little S to the store. It would have worked out. She would have calmed down, eventually, and I would have forgiven her and gotten over it, after a while. I hate it when she gets like that, I hate that I can't predict it, that I can't protect myself, that it scares me and that I think it makes little S world more unpredictable than it should have to be. And most of all, I hate that I never have any idea what brought it on. It's like at these occasions, we live in different worlds, and I miss her.
But this time, she didn't let me leave. And we talked. Quietly, in front of the sledge, with a firm grip on the dogs leash. And she finally told me that it was little S complaining over stomach ache that set her off, that she had a catastrophic view of sickness and disease in her mind, and that it was fighting this off that made her crazy and strange. And she listened to me, and eventually came back to the here-and-now, to us walking as a happy family through the snow on a beautiful Saturday morning. She accepted the catastrophic view, somehow, and could let it be and still be with us.
And then, after we kissed, we knelt by little S in the sledge, were she sat and looked at us with tired, sad eyes. And I asked it it felt bad for her when her moms argued, and she nodded her head, and we kissed her face and said that it was over now, we had made up, and everybody was okay again. And then we all started singing.
We had a great walk, actually. We ran with little S in the sledge, and after a while we tied the dog to it, since we had him in a harness anyway. And before long we were shopping candy in the store and walking all the way back again, singing and running and playing.
I wish Mistress never got like that. But since that ain't happening (at least anytime soon) I'm glad we're getting better at dealing with it. I'm glad I didn't explode, and I'm glad she didn't let me go, and I'm glad she talked to me and came back to me. And I'm very glad we could make it a nice morning walk for little S.
Nov 25, 2012
The concept of service
I started a thread in a FetLife-group about service, and feel like I should write something in it, but every time I try it turns out way to long in my head. And if it's to long in my head, it will most probably be very much to long as a post in a discussion. It will have to be a blog post instead. Maybe I can distil some of it into something coherent later.
The thing is, I don't like service. I don't like the word, but it's not on a phonetic level, much like with responsibility I'm perfectly aware of what it means, and just plain don't like it. Actually, responsibility and service touch upon much of the same issues for me.
One of the posts in the discussion mentioned service as being "available for action" and that struck a chord. I can't do that. I can't be "available" for an unclear period of time. I can't wait on anyone, in either sense of the word. I can barely keep my focus in a conversation, and if my fellow conversationalist take to long a breathing pause between sentences, I'm likely to wander off and do something else in the meantime. I have a very short working memory and attention span, and honestly, waiting exhausts me.
So I can't sit by Mistress' feet and wait for a hand gesture or the right time to do something. I can't keep track of the water level in her drinking glass - I mean, I can barely keep track of my own head, and that's screwed on tight. I can't take responsibility for her comfort level, period. She'll have to do that herself. Not because I don't want to, but because I'm extremely bad at it, and get sick from stress and exhaustion when I try. And also, before I get sick, I get really really irritable and snarky.
What I can do is sit by her feet and rest. Not on stand by, not waiting, just sitting. I can be turned off and not do anything. That works perfectly fine. But I can't do that and also remember a steak in the oven, hanging the laundry when the cycle is done, or checking whether Mistress would like a refill on her coffee. If I'm off I'm off, and want get started again without some kind of cue.
That cue might very well be an order, there's no problems there, but it has to be a distinct order, something that is loud enough to get my attention, and a discreet hand signal or an empty coffee mug isn't enough. The cue might be an egg timer telling me to check the steak or the silence when the washing machine stops (actually, we have a community laundromat, and no machine of our own, but if we did have one) or something as internal as me needing to pee or getting a leg cramp. But there has to be something, something tangible and clear. Then I get going again, and do all those things I need to do, for a while, until I rest again. There's no middle ground. There's no waiting. There's no "being available".
Of course, this has to do with ADHD. I don't think this is true for everybody with the diagnosis, it can manifest in a thousand ways, but I do think that for me the deficit in working memory and attention span, as well as the tendency to only have two energy levels, full speed or full stop, makes "service" a difficult concept. It seems to require a kind of constant, low grade attention directed at the Owner and that persons needs and possible future needs, and I can't give anything that kind of attention. Not that I don't want to, but it takes a ridiculous amount of effort when I try, and I still do it badly.
I do better at obedience. Some people in the discussion implied that all kinds of obedience was a form of service, but for me it's easier to see it as two different things. I can be obedient. I might have trouble remembering rules, and sometimes my lack of inhibition and impulse control (ADHD again) gets the better of me, but I never intend to disobey. And a clear order face to face I always obey.
It's the forethought I can't do. Foreseeing needs and trying to fulfil them.Or doing something extra good, or whatever. I always do everything as good as I can - trying to increase that in the name of service makes me cry from performance anxiety.
I need to learn not to over-achieve, not to take responsibility for others needs, not to think my worth lies solely in performance. The concept of "service" seems to do nothing for me in that regard, it's more a hindrance than a help. Obedience and control, however, makes me peaceful and content and happy, and thus a much better slut and property and person to be around.
The funny thing though is that I love fetching stuff for Mistress. I love doing things that makes her happy, or more comfortable, or makes something she wants to achieve easier. I love helping her and I love it when she's happy with me. But it's better for both of us if I can do that when the opportunities presents themselves to me, or when she orders me to it, and not having me walking around with constant anxiety over whether or not I provide a high enough level of service. Because that's just draining.
I think it might matter that I'm naturally inclined to always do my best even if it kills me, to always take responsibility for everything including things I have no way of controlling, and to immediately be acutely aware of anyone else's discomfort and feel driven to make everything better. That fire really doesn't need any more fuel on it, such as me thinking I need to deliver "service". That fire needs some water and a good stomping, nothing else.
So I think I'll keep on feeling controlled and knowing I obey, and trust that Mistress will guide me where she wants me to go, without me going out of my way in making things more complicated then they already are. She wont get a service-slut this year either. Maybe some other year, if I can pick one up for her on any local fetish party. But it wont me.
The thing is, I don't like service. I don't like the word, but it's not on a phonetic level, much like with responsibility I'm perfectly aware of what it means, and just plain don't like it. Actually, responsibility and service touch upon much of the same issues for me.
One of the posts in the discussion mentioned service as being "available for action" and that struck a chord. I can't do that. I can't be "available" for an unclear period of time. I can't wait on anyone, in either sense of the word. I can barely keep my focus in a conversation, and if my fellow conversationalist take to long a breathing pause between sentences, I'm likely to wander off and do something else in the meantime. I have a very short working memory and attention span, and honestly, waiting exhausts me.
So I can't sit by Mistress' feet and wait for a hand gesture or the right time to do something. I can't keep track of the water level in her drinking glass - I mean, I can barely keep track of my own head, and that's screwed on tight. I can't take responsibility for her comfort level, period. She'll have to do that herself. Not because I don't want to, but because I'm extremely bad at it, and get sick from stress and exhaustion when I try. And also, before I get sick, I get really really irritable and snarky.
What I can do is sit by her feet and rest. Not on stand by, not waiting, just sitting. I can be turned off and not do anything. That works perfectly fine. But I can't do that and also remember a steak in the oven, hanging the laundry when the cycle is done, or checking whether Mistress would like a refill on her coffee. If I'm off I'm off, and want get started again without some kind of cue.
That cue might very well be an order, there's no problems there, but it has to be a distinct order, something that is loud enough to get my attention, and a discreet hand signal or an empty coffee mug isn't enough. The cue might be an egg timer telling me to check the steak or the silence when the washing machine stops (actually, we have a community laundromat, and no machine of our own, but if we did have one) or something as internal as me needing to pee or getting a leg cramp. But there has to be something, something tangible and clear. Then I get going again, and do all those things I need to do, for a while, until I rest again. There's no middle ground. There's no waiting. There's no "being available".
Of course, this has to do with ADHD. I don't think this is true for everybody with the diagnosis, it can manifest in a thousand ways, but I do think that for me the deficit in working memory and attention span, as well as the tendency to only have two energy levels, full speed or full stop, makes "service" a difficult concept. It seems to require a kind of constant, low grade attention directed at the Owner and that persons needs and possible future needs, and I can't give anything that kind of attention. Not that I don't want to, but it takes a ridiculous amount of effort when I try, and I still do it badly.
I do better at obedience. Some people in the discussion implied that all kinds of obedience was a form of service, but for me it's easier to see it as two different things. I can be obedient. I might have trouble remembering rules, and sometimes my lack of inhibition and impulse control (ADHD again) gets the better of me, but I never intend to disobey. And a clear order face to face I always obey.
It's the forethought I can't do. Foreseeing needs and trying to fulfil them.Or doing something extra good, or whatever. I always do everything as good as I can - trying to increase that in the name of service makes me cry from performance anxiety.
I need to learn not to over-achieve, not to take responsibility for others needs, not to think my worth lies solely in performance. The concept of "service" seems to do nothing for me in that regard, it's more a hindrance than a help. Obedience and control, however, makes me peaceful and content and happy, and thus a much better slut and property and person to be around.
The funny thing though is that I love fetching stuff for Mistress. I love doing things that makes her happy, or more comfortable, or makes something she wants to achieve easier. I love helping her and I love it when she's happy with me. But it's better for both of us if I can do that when the opportunities presents themselves to me, or when she orders me to it, and not having me walking around with constant anxiety over whether or not I provide a high enough level of service. Because that's just draining.
I think it might matter that I'm naturally inclined to always do my best even if it kills me, to always take responsibility for everything including things I have no way of controlling, and to immediately be acutely aware of anyone else's discomfort and feel driven to make everything better. That fire really doesn't need any more fuel on it, such as me thinking I need to deliver "service". That fire needs some water and a good stomping, nothing else.
So I think I'll keep on feeling controlled and knowing I obey, and trust that Mistress will guide me where she wants me to go, without me going out of my way in making things more complicated then they already are. She wont get a service-slut this year either. Maybe some other year, if I can pick one up for her on any local fetish party. But it wont me.
Nov 23, 2012
Being a bitch
I hurt Mistress today, I was snarky and bitchy and said an offhand comment to her that made her really hurt and angry. It takes her awhile to process it, I noticed that she was pissed off about something but I didn't make the connection to what I had said, and ended up hurt and pissed off all on my own instead.
Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.
And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.
I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.
I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?
I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:
"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."
And then she did.
She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".
And then all was right in the world.
I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.
Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.
Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.
And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.
I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.
I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?
I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:
"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."
And then she did.
She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".
And then all was right in the world.
I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.
Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.
Sep 22, 2012
She's back
And now she's home again, and the centre of my world is returned. I love being aware of how awesome her body feels, how great she looks, how good it makes me feel to simply touch her and be near her.
Okay, then she's forced to herd and cater to and argue with little S for hours at the time, while I hide away in order to protect my poor head from the sheer racket of it all, and we hardly see each other and her voice gets curter and shriller for every minute, and I can hear the stress building up. And then I feel bad and my bad conscience rears its ugly head. I wish our lifes was a bit simpler. I so very much wish her life was a little bit simpler.
But then again, without us her life would be empty. I want to believe we both contribute to her existence, not only me but little S too. I think we do.
And it wont always be like this. I will be healthy again, and have more energy and be able to contribute more. And when I've graduated I'll be able to get a job and we'll have more money, and there's a lot to say for throwing money at problems and make them go away. And little S do gets easier the more she grows. Her personality wont change, I suspect, but her ability to control impulses and understand instructions increases, which makes everything easier.
And almost the first thing Mistress did when she got home was to take her belt out of the loops of her jeans and beat me with it. And then she fucked me. I think we're in an okay place, in the big scheme of things.
But now I'm hoping she'll do it again soon.
Okay, then she's forced to herd and cater to and argue with little S for hours at the time, while I hide away in order to protect my poor head from the sheer racket of it all, and we hardly see each other and her voice gets curter and shriller for every minute, and I can hear the stress building up. And then I feel bad and my bad conscience rears its ugly head. I wish our lifes was a bit simpler. I so very much wish her life was a little bit simpler.
But then again, without us her life would be empty. I want to believe we both contribute to her existence, not only me but little S too. I think we do.
And it wont always be like this. I will be healthy again, and have more energy and be able to contribute more. And when I've graduated I'll be able to get a job and we'll have more money, and there's a lot to say for throwing money at problems and make them go away. And little S do gets easier the more she grows. Her personality wont change, I suspect, but her ability to control impulses and understand instructions increases, which makes everything easier.
And almost the first thing Mistress did when she got home was to take her belt out of the loops of her jeans and beat me with it. And then she fucked me. I think we're in an okay place, in the big scheme of things.
But now I'm hoping she'll do it again soon.
Jul 4, 2012
Stress test of the brain
My brain is broken. Or maybe in the process of breaking. Or maybe just a bit tarnished. Whether or not the damage is longlasting still remains to be seen - as it is now, we're experimenting with how much pressure it can take and what interesting things it does in the meantime.
I've started my summerjob. It's not a bad job at all, and not a lot either - this week there's only two day-shifts for me. Between them I have plenty of time to sit around recuperating. Unfortunately, that's not enough.
I have anxiety attacks. I have trouble sleeping. I'm deadly tired. My head feels constantly as if I'm stepping out from a five-hour lecture, without coffee breaks. That was about math. Sadly enough, it feels like that when I wake up. If I'm forced to make decisions, I panic, and everything I hear starts to hurt, and I can't stand looking at things, so I close my eyes.
"Don't close your eyes, mommy!" my little kid says. And I stumble like a zombie to the bed and want to be buried and never resurface, because everything hurts so much. And I'm feeling the depression taking hold again, and I'm fighting it, but I'm steadily losing.
This is pretty much what I thought would happen when I started working. I'm not sure if Mistress really believed me, but I do know it was a calculated risk from her side. "Suffer for me", she says, and makes me go anyway.
And I go, and I work, and I'm great at it (because that's not the problem) and I suffer and I feel my brain cracking up. For her. For her, I dare to do this. For her, I take this risk, with my health and my future, and my mental state. Because I trust her. Because she says this is the way forward. Because she's convinced me that she knows enough about how I feel and how I function to be able to make informed decisions, and this is her decision. And also, I do it for her because I belong to her, and I obey her, and she tells me to do it.
But getting up at six in the morning and driving to work tomorrow will probably be the single most risky, most painful and most difficult thing I've ever done for her.
(Next week, I have a doctors appointment. She wants me to do my shifts until then in order for the doc to be able to see me as I am when I actually do try to function, so that he can make a realistic diagnoses, and not only see me as I am when I get to rest all day. This make perfectly logical sense. It just hurts a lot, and scares the shit out of me. I prefer my brain functioning, thank you very much.)
I've started my summerjob. It's not a bad job at all, and not a lot either - this week there's only two day-shifts for me. Between them I have plenty of time to sit around recuperating. Unfortunately, that's not enough.
I have anxiety attacks. I have trouble sleeping. I'm deadly tired. My head feels constantly as if I'm stepping out from a five-hour lecture, without coffee breaks. That was about math. Sadly enough, it feels like that when I wake up. If I'm forced to make decisions, I panic, and everything I hear starts to hurt, and I can't stand looking at things, so I close my eyes.
"Don't close your eyes, mommy!" my little kid says. And I stumble like a zombie to the bed and want to be buried and never resurface, because everything hurts so much. And I'm feeling the depression taking hold again, and I'm fighting it, but I'm steadily losing.
This is pretty much what I thought would happen when I started working. I'm not sure if Mistress really believed me, but I do know it was a calculated risk from her side. "Suffer for me", she says, and makes me go anyway.
And I go, and I work, and I'm great at it (because that's not the problem) and I suffer and I feel my brain cracking up. For her. For her, I dare to do this. For her, I take this risk, with my health and my future, and my mental state. Because I trust her. Because she says this is the way forward. Because she's convinced me that she knows enough about how I feel and how I function to be able to make informed decisions, and this is her decision. And also, I do it for her because I belong to her, and I obey her, and she tells me to do it.
But getting up at six in the morning and driving to work tomorrow will probably be the single most risky, most painful and most difficult thing I've ever done for her.
(Next week, I have a doctors appointment. She wants me to do my shifts until then in order for the doc to be able to see me as I am when I actually do try to function, so that he can make a realistic diagnoses, and not only see me as I am when I get to rest all day. This make perfectly logical sense. It just hurts a lot, and scares the shit out of me. I prefer my brain functioning, thank you very much.)
Jun 30, 2012
Remembering a few things
"If only you could realise that your enough, as you are, even now when your sick. That's all I want from you. That you stop worrying about not being good enough for me, and keep on being yourself. I don't care if you do housework - as long as you are you, yourself, and stay here with me."
And I get that. I get what she means. And when she's talking to me, I do believe I can do it. When I'm home alone these long, lonesome days, with only my own blaming voice in my head, it's much harder.
"I want you to remember some things. Some important things. You're good. And you're enough. And you're loved. Do you think you can remember that? I'll remind you of it, every day."
In the end she wrote it on my arm, with a heart around the words. That I'm good. That I'm good enough. And that I'm loved. Especially the last bit brought tears to my eyes - but then again, I cry a lot these days.
I'll remember it. And I'll find this damn depression-monster that is sneaking up on me and infecting my brain, and I'll kill it. So there. 'Cause I belong to her, and nobody else, not my own malfunctioning brain either.
(And then she wrote her initials on one of my ass-cheeks, with a ball-point pen that tickled a lot, and she made me laugh. One of the billion things I love her for is how she can always make me laugh, no matter what.)
And I get that. I get what she means. And when she's talking to me, I do believe I can do it. When I'm home alone these long, lonesome days, with only my own blaming voice in my head, it's much harder.
"I want you to remember some things. Some important things. You're good. And you're enough. And you're loved. Do you think you can remember that? I'll remind you of it, every day."
In the end she wrote it on my arm, with a heart around the words. That I'm good. That I'm good enough. And that I'm loved. Especially the last bit brought tears to my eyes - but then again, I cry a lot these days.
I'll remember it. And I'll find this damn depression-monster that is sneaking up on me and infecting my brain, and I'll kill it. So there. 'Cause I belong to her, and nobody else, not my own malfunctioning brain either.
(And then she wrote her initials on one of my ass-cheeks, with a ball-point pen that tickled a lot, and she made me laugh. One of the billion things I love her for is how she can always make me laugh, no matter what.)
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