Hi everybody. I’m back! I’m more or less whole, despite going through the WORST finals week I’ve ever gone through. I pulled multiple all nighters, I broke down into several crying fits and bouts of absolute despair. Ugh.
But now, I am home. I’m home, and I’m relaxed, and I’m also. . . uncollared.
Our contract expired. And I don’t know if we’re signing one again. And that absolutely fucking terrifies me.
Keeping to my promise, this is a post I wrote in November about the end of our contract, but never posted. I want to try to clean out as many old posts as I can. I’ve been taking care of myself, relaxing, eating, sleeping in and doing a lot of thinking.
I also got a MacBook for Christmas, and I’m thinking of doing some podcast posts.
This is part one of that night. I’m writing another post to finish it; it was a very eventful night.
- – -
I grew up in a very stoic household. I’m Asian. Culturally, we do not seek help for our problems because we are ashamed. Shame drives us to hide things, to hide our emotions, to uphold the honor of the family and ourselves.
I was very precocious as a child, and my parents demanded nothing less than perfection, even though I was already very high functioning. I was identified gifted in second grade. All of my spelling tests that came back as A- would be questioned as to why I only got an A-, not an A. My parents are emotionally distant towards each other and it bled over to me. My mother said that being overweight was shameful. They also refused to take me to counseling because they were ashamed that I needed counseling in the first place. They laughed off my very real anxiety problems and ignored the fact that I really needed help.
Shame is a very powerful and debilitating emotion for me.
This still haunts me now, as an adult and a submissive. I am very quick to feel ashamed of myself, and as Sir puts it, it paralyzes me. I emotionally shut down. Sir can see it on my face. I judge myself over every little thing wrong. Every thing I do wrong is another reason for someone to judge me, hate me, leave me.
My parents made me feel ashamed because they thought I would work harder, be better, make them prouder if I felt ashamed.
C made me feel ashamed because it made himself feel better. He made me feel ashamed of my body, my sexual desires, everything about me. He felt stronger, I felt weaker and I faded away.
At the end of the contract, I felt very, very ashamed.
I was ashamed of how much I had failed Sir, how many times I had slipped up. All the slave tasks gone undone, emails unsent, food eaten. I felt horrible.
After cleaning His bedroom and operating under speech restriction (no speaking), He forced me onto my knees and chained my collar to the radiator. Then He threw a pad of paper and a pen on the floor and told me to write about all the ways I had failed Him. I was balancing on my knees, on a small white pillow.
I was floored. I was absolutely devastated. I didn’t know why this was happening. I felt my heart close up, I felt myself shutting down. I started staring at the floor. I wouldn’t look Him in the eye. I tipped my head over so my hair fell into my fave. Even when He grabbed my head or my hair to force me to look at Him, I would look away.
Then I started crying. I started crying, sobbing, begging to not have to do this. I fell from on my knees to a sitting position on the floor. I told Him all the ways I felt I had failed Him. I wouldn’t stop crying.
Then He pulled me up onto the bed and I kept crying. I started screaming. I started screaming at Him. I started screaming about how I didn’t want to do this, how I wanted to be unchained. I was too tired to fight, too emotionally distant. I felt like I was on the outside looking in.
“I hate myself so much right now!” I was screaming. “I HATE YOU!”
“You -hate- me?” Sir said, with deliberate emphasis.
“I HATE YOU AND I HATE THE WAY YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL! I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH RIGHT NOW! I WISH I COULD DIE!” I was hysterical.
He held onto me and I fought Him. He started whispering to me. Trying to console me. “You want to know what would be on my list? Nothing. You’re the one who is torturing yourself, pet. You never failed me. You could have done everything wrong all the time and I would still love you. I love you more for being imperfect.”
But I had already pulled away. I was already gone. I had already dissociated out of the moment. I felt numb.
Even now, I’m emotionally distant just writing this. Sir hadn’t meant to push me that far, didn’t expect that I would react the way I did.
I felt absolutely blank. No anger, no emotions at all. I pulled away from Him and started shivering. I felt cold.
Sir could see the blank look in my eyes, across my face. We talked about what had happened, how I had felt. Tears would drip down my face, big fat tears.
I really, honestly, felt absolutely devastated on the floor of His bedroom. I felt like I was being forced to admit that I was a horrible person to His face.
It was just a total breakdown of communication at the wrong time. He thought it would go much simpler than that; He thought I would write out a list of things, He would look at them, and THEN tell me that I never did anything wrong. We never got to that last part, because I started breaking down. He didn’t expect my reaction.
I felt totally disconnected to everything, including Him. I stared at the ceiling. For a long time, I didn’t know what I needed.
I needed to reconnect. I needed to feel safe. I needed to feel loved.
“What do you need, pet?” He whispered, softly, tenderly. He was kissing my neck.
I looked Him in the eye. “I need you to hurt me.”
