Because of my anxiety and depression and fatigue, I was really really afraid of what going to my summer job would mean for my mental health. Mistress made me go anyway, even though I was really sure this would make my issues way worse. She litterary made me, she looked me in the eye and said "suffer for me!" and I did. I got predictably really sick, and am now trying to recuperate, eating meds and waiting for treatment.
Whether this was a wise move or not we don't really know - I would have preferred to rest at home and hope it would pass on its own, but Mistress preferred provoking it so that the doctor would have something to examine and we would have a better shot at getting the right treatment. She made a decision in my best interest, but one that scared the shit out of me, hurt a lot, and that I wouldn't have made.
The thing is that I realised that this, for me, answers the question "But what would you do if your Owner told you to cut off an arm/jump off a cliff/murder someone?" You know, those aimed at showing that one can't really promise to obey someone in all things, because there will always be limits, there will always be things one ultimately will refuse. For me, this was one thing that showed that no, I will obey. I conciously and deliberatly did things that hurt my mind, that more or less destroyed what was left of my mental health, that put me at risk of making me unable to be a good enough mother to my child, because she told me to.
Hacking off an arm on demand? Pfft! Any day!
Not because I'm such a tough little slave that always obeys, but because I trust her judgment, and have made the choice of following her, even when I don't agree or when I don't see were we're going. I trust her. I believe she has good reasons for what she's doing. And with that, I don't think there's any one specific act that I can't imagine a scenario where she would order me and I would obey - if she told me to jump off a cliff, it would probably be for a damn good reason.
Jul 14, 2012
Depressed
So now I'm on anti-depressants. Because I need them. Bleeergh bleeeergh and double-bleeerrrrgh.
It's really really hard to be a decent mother, not to mention wife or owned slut, when all you want to do all day is sleep, and most of the things you're able to do involves weeping or sighing. Or sleeping.
Bleeerggh. If I haven't mentioned it before.
It's really really hard to be a decent mother, not to mention wife or owned slut, when all you want to do all day is sleep, and most of the things you're able to do involves weeping or sighing. Or sleeping.
Bleeerggh. If I haven't mentioned it before.
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.)
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