I was giving up.

It was summer 2007, and it was August.

I had spent the summer meeting men off of craigslist, and I was tired of it, and I was giving up on finding someone to fuck regularly. I was getting ready to go back to a college I hated and to work at a job that bored me.

Yes, Mark and I met on craigslist. I almost didn’t post the ad that led me to meet Mark.

But at the time, I figured that one last post, one last hurrah, wouldn’t hurt.

I know that craigslist, that virtual meat market, is slammed by a lot of people in the BDSM community. It’s full of posers, full of crazies, full of psychopaths, people wail. Who needs craigslist? I won’t deny that I haven’t met weird people off of craigslist. However, I still love craigslist. I think it’s a very honest place, in some sense. Where you could post the most fucked up things that you want, because no one will know it’s you. Your posts are not connected to an image or a composite of yourself. It’s just out there. There’s no worrying that people will recognize you. You are just an anonymous, automated e-mail address.

Mark uses it when he’s looking to bottom to a man. It’s just easier to use CL because there’s no profile to maintain and no worry that people will recognize him.

That’s the oddly comforting thing about CL, that anonymous aspect. It’s why I used it to satiate my desire to fuck around with a lot of different men during a hot, muggy summer in NY. I spent my days working retail and working for a non-profit organization. I spent my nights in NYC meeting men and getting into trouble.

It’s also weirdly gratifying to put up a post on CL in the morning and to fuck some stranger that night. I’m not saying it’s the healthiest thing or the safest thing in the world to do, but by summer 2007, I was tired of doing the healthy and safe things.

I was stressed, angry, cynical and eager to explore my sexuality. I was starving myself, too apathetic to eat anything. I was smoking cigarettes. I was too young to drink in bars, or I would have started doing that instead. I smoked a lot that summer. I even fucked a guy who smoked, who let me smoke in his bed after we fucked. We both chain smoked during our vanilla meeting in a park. (He smoked Camels, I smoked Marlboro Lights.) He liked dressing me in different types of pantyhose, and slathering bright red lipstick on my lips, just to wipe it away with his cock. I pranced around in his apartment on teetering high heels. He owned a shoe store on Park Avenue. I chain smoked on the way to the subway, after he kicked me out of his apartment, after our third session. “You’re not submissive enough. Come back and see me in ten years.” He said as I got dressed, stuffing my feet into my battered Chuck Taylors. He told strange stories about his time in California being a submissive. He was just a strange man.

Another strange man was the high school teacher that I met. We fucked in an hourly hotel that had one channel of cartoons and four channels of porn. I stopped seeing him because he wouldn’t stop showing me pictures of his students.

There are a lot of strange people on craigslist. There are also a lot of normal people on craigslist, just searching for something. Normal people searching for love, for their lost iPhone on the subway, for an apartment, for a submissive, for a bike, for a dominant man or for a free bookcase.

When I told him I was writing this post, Mark wondered out loud, “Are freaky people attracted to craigslist? Or are normal people just freakier when they use craigslist?” Good question. It’s both, probably. I’ll be damned if I know.

For women, it’s just so fucking EASY. It’s so easy to find men on there. Illustrative example; I received 65 replies to the post I made when I met Mark.

I fucked my way through the summer solely off of craigslist. I didn’t even GET an alt.com or collarme.com account until I met Mark.

I used craigslist because it just seemed less intimidating than actually registering for other websites.

I honestly did not think anything would come out of the post I made. Something about my post must have touched a nerve with people, because I received quite a few decent responses from people. I “flagged” the ones that were interesting. I was actually surprised at the range of men that replied. Teachers, businessmen, journalists, writers, artists. Most of them over 35 and expressing gratitude that I liked older men. A lot of them were well-spoken. Some of them were creeps.

Yes, I did spend a week talking to another man before I messaged Mark. I feel stupid for it now, since Mark is so perfect for me. A week after I figured out the other guy wasn’t for me, I started talking to Mark over Yahoo Messenger. I saw him on webcam! (I didn’t have a webcam at the time.) Then it came time for the all-important in person meeting at Starbucks. (So much love for Starbucks for craigslist meetings, by the way. It was so useful when I wasn’t old enough to have drinks in a bar. That “third place” atmosphere really helped me feel less nervous. I can’t help but wonder how many people use Starbucks to meet their internet hook-ups. Heh.)

I’m a shallow slut; I chose Mark because his pictures were cute. But he also seemed smart, sane and like he knew what he was doing. Plus, he was older. Everyone knows I adore older men.

He was actually LATE for our meeting! He was stuck in traffic. I wandered around waiting for him to show up. Then I tucked myself in the back of a Starbucks and cracked open the book I was reading. When he did show up, we talked for two and a half hours. We talked about sex, about television, about everything. We just had this very real connection. (We often use this particular Starbucks as a meeting point when he comes to NYC now, since we both know where it is. Sometimes he even sits at the same time we sat at the first time.)

I actually had a connection with some guy I met off of a craigslist ad. A genuine connection that did not seem dirty or sketchy. We stood around outside the Starbucks afterward, both of us lingering, not really wanting to leave. I didn’t smoke around him. (I waited until I walked away.)

I’m going to probably totally humiliate myself doing this. . .

This is the actual text of the ad I posted. You can tell that it was the end of the summer, because I was tired of being shy and cajoling and coy. I knew what the fuck I wanted.

- – - -

girl next door seeks something more sinister – w4m

——————————————————————————–
Reply to: pers-xxxxxxxxxx@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-08-16, 3:22PM EDT

I’ll be blunt.

College student looking for a dirty old man to:

-act out her long suppressed older man/younger girl roleplay fantasies (take your pick: daddy/daughter, teacher/student, etc.)
-act out rape fantasies
-generally revel in the fact you’re helping to corrupt a younger woman (oh, the horror)

Said dirty old man must be:

-YOUNGER than 45 (older than my father is a little -too- old and quite frankly a little creepy) [this girl next door happens to love the suit-wearing business set]
-willing to host, either at your place or a hotel
-safe, sane and have a little experience with this
-in Manhattan or Brooklyn

I don’t care what goes on in your personal life, married, divorced, whatever- I’ll be just as discreet as you are.

ONE LINERS and dick shots get you deleted.
PICTURES and detailed responses get you to the front of the line.

I’ve done this before, I know what I’m looking for and I can smell bullshit from a mile away. Let’s not play games now.

My university classes are starting up again soon, let’s end summer with a bang.

- – - -

Hahahaha. It’s kind of funny to read it now.

I just can’t hate on something that allowed me to meet so many interesting and sane people. I still have email correspondence with some of the people I chatted with online that summer. (I never met any of them in person for one reason or another.) And I just can’t hate something that brought me to Mark.

People don’t hide their surprise when we casually reveal that we met on craigslist. Mark and I were kind of embarrassed about it in the beginning. As if meeting on craigslist makes us any less legitimate, pffft.

“I found, like, a really awesome couch on craigslist once. But never a girl!” – Direct quote from someone that we met at a BDSM club.

So yes, we used craigslist to meet. We used craigslist to meet and both of us thought that we would just be each other’s friend-with-BDSM-benefits.

I like craigslist. I know that there’s a lot of weirdness on craigslist, and that it was sheer fate that I found Mark. But I still dig craigslist. Because if I never met Mark, I would be a completely different person right now. I kind of shudder when I think about where I would be if I never met him. It’s a little freaky.

Of course, we didn’t expect to fall in love and actually, you know, have a relationship. We just thought we’d fuck.

I wouldn’t have my first scene with Mark until a few weeks later.

But that’s for another post. . .

I’ve decided to start over.

A new blog layout (nice and minimalist and not all black or all pink), a new outlook, and a renewed relationship with Master.

I could go back and recount all of the drama of the last few months.

But there’s no reason to.

I don’t feel a need anymore to go back and wring my hands over the angst and drama of the last few months. I learned a few things about trust, relationships, D/s and communication. I can let all of it go now.

I want to look forward. Turning 21 was amazing. Master gave me a much better celebration than my own parents did. (My parents kind of made me cry on my own birthday. That’s not unusual for them, however.)

Maybe it’s the three glasses of homemade iced coffee talking, but I have new goals for myself. New academic goals, new personal goals and new things I want to explore within my own sexuality.

Particularly, I want to learn how to top. I get this kind of giddy glee when I switch with Master and I hurt him. I’m totally open to learning new skills relating to topping.

I’ve been twittering. I have a ton of blog post drafts backlogged. I want to start blogging and I want to start participating in HNT again.

All of the instability and drama between Master and I has kind of affirmed something for me. It affirmed that for now, at least, I’m not polyamorous. I’m totally supportive of other people who are poly, but it’s just not me. At least not right now.

Hooray for spring and for new beginnings. I’m ready to jump back into all of it again.

I could go into all of the deep emotional stuff that I’ve been through for the past few months. But I won’t. Not yet, anyway.

This is a major milestone in the life of a college coed.

I turn 21 next week.

Yes, your coed will finally be able to legally drink. And now I can get into all of those mysterious BDSM/swinger parties that are 21 and over! I won’t have to worry about being carded because I will be LEGAL!

I turned 20 in Mark’s apartment. I celebrated 20 by chugging orange juice and rum in a dirty, sticky frat boy penthouse later that night.

A lot happened during my 20th year. I discovered my sexuality and re-discovered my voice. Not only my writing voice, but my own inner voice. I learned what real love is, I learned what real intimacy is, and what it is to be fearless and honest.

I learned about protocol and collars and plastic wrap bondage. I learned about TES and sex blogging and college BDSM groups. I learned about topping men. I experienced my first suspension bondage session, first session topping, first whipping, first punching scene, first long-term bondage, first session of orgasm torture and my first BDSM conferences. I signed BDSM contracts. I read lots of BDSM blog posts.

I laughed and cried and sobbed and screamed and yelled. I had freak-outs and break downs and experienced incredible joy. I forged the deepest, truest, most genuine connection I’ve ever had with someone that I probably would never have met had it not been the combination of BDSM and summer angst that led me to put up that craigslist ad in the first place.

I had the honor of being collared by the smartest, funniest, sexiest, most handsome and caring man that I’ve ever met. Ever. And even though he’s twice my age, and even though he can be a real meanie to me, I love Mark with everything I have. We’ve probably exchanged almost a thousand text messages over BlackBerry Messenger, hundreds of e-mails and lots of kisses.

And in between all of that, I went to lots of classes, drank lots of Starbucks, crammed for exams, played World of Warcraft, got drunk, fled to California three times and just generally lived a very fulfilling 20th year.

And even though things have been shitty lately, even though I have to go through the process of resurrecting this blog because I haven’t posted anything of note in so  long, I’m pretty satisfied with how 20 went.

Mark and I have been going through some intense emotional stuff. But I can talk about that later.

For now, I’m just trying to savor my last couple days of being 20. People keep telling me, “It’s all downhill from here!” but I kind of doubt that.

Here’s the real problem; do I go out and do the college thing and get absolutely smashed on my birthday? Or do I go out and go to a BDSM party with Mark and hope he doesn’t give me my birthday spanking in public?

Choices.

Hmmmm. . .

I don’t know what is heads or tails anymore.

My posts on here and my drafts in WordPress are all scattered and nonsensical. I climb into bed with Mark at night and have random hysterical crying fits. Our relationship is hitting a rough patch and we had a lot of hard discussions about our future, and about us. I don’t really know what’s going on anymore and I’m not at all secure.

I’m not collared, and we tried talking about contracts and protocol last night and I started hysterically crying.

I need to regroup. I need to fix this blog, bring it back into focus. I need to get myself back together.

I spent this New Year’s Eve being a normal college girl, eating jello shots, drinking beer and playing Halo. I’m back in University housing, which means I’m also back to sneaking away to spend time with Mark. We’ve spent the last two days together, and there’s a sweetness and a slowness to us. We’ve been cuddling on the couch, spooning each other in bed and sleeping in until 11 in the morning.

I’m really struggling. I’m really having a hard time. I get hit with random, unexpected bouts of anxiety that sap away any sort of urge to be submissive. I become anxious and I curl up into a ball on the bed, I shrink away from Mark’s hands.

I feel like I’ve fallen flat on my back and had security and stability yanked out of my hands the moment the collar left my neck. I know that’s stupid. But I feel ridiculously off-kilter.

I need to smooth out my jagged edges. I need to get myself back together. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m flailing around out here, hoping someone will find me and bring me home. I guess you could say. . . I feel lost.

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.”

The truth is, both Mark and I are kind of scattered and all over the place. Mark has had a lot of work, and I’ve been pummeled with work at school and  at Obnoxious Public Relations Firm. I register for classes next Wednesday. Our contract ends next Monday.

We’re having some contemplation time before we sign another contract. I’m trying to get my head on straight. Sometimes, college feels like one crisis after another. Mark and I love and support each other, but I feel like in this next contract, there are some things I would like to reconsider and some places where I want to grow.

I’d like more protocol, for one. I loved the protocol training weekend that we had over the summer. I would like to do more protocol. It wouldn’t have to be as formal. I know that for both of us, it can be hard to switch between mindsets. That is ultimately what stops us short of having protocol; the mind blocks. I have desires for those periods of protocol and restriction, but we don’t do them very often.

Particularly, I’m fascinated when I’m on speaking restriction. The silence that surrounds us is nice to experience.

If I’m being REALLY honest with myself, I LIKE Him knowing where I am all the time. Even though this strict protocol that I’m living under right now is only supposed to be temporary. . .maybe elements of it can sneak into the next contract.

I want to live joyfully in my submission. That probably sounds so cheesy, but I want to exist happily in it, instead of worrying about my submission or worrying about whether I’m submissive enough or not. I tend to worry so much about my submission, even when I’m under strict protocol. I want to worry less.

I can’t really think of anything else at the moment. I’m post very quickly because a) I have to be at work soon and b) this satisfies my requirement for the day. Yay! However, it has also given me something to think about, so that’s good.

BUT, now I can ask permission to play World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King later! YES!

I am the WoW player out of the two of us, I tried to get Him into it, but He just was not having it. Heh.

Sir makes jokes about being afraid He’s ruined me, exposing me to all of this, you know. BDSM. Heh. While I don’t think He’s ruined me, I do think I’ve reached this point in my life where I can say, I can’t go back to a vanilla relationship. I like this too much.

“This” does not signify only the activities, the sex, the munches, TESfest, meetings or the clubs. It also means the intimacy, honesty, emotional and sexual fulfillment and sense of completion it gives me. I feel, at the point I am right now, if I were to give all of this up and go into a vanilla relationship, I would be devastated. If I had to go into some sweet, boring, blah relationship, I would be so FUCKING BORED. I would feel so stifled. I feel like being a BDSM relationship allows both people to be more honest, with themselves and with their partners.

I feel like I would have to hide so much of myself, those things that I bare so openly right now. The things that Sir wants to hear, urges me to tell him; my needs, my desires, the thoughts that scare me and all of the things I’m curious about. I’m tired of hiding. I spent my high school years behind masks.

I mean, I feel safe enough to be able to say, “Yes, I liked when you were choking me while you were fucking me” or “I like it when you slap my face” or “I think about crawling on the floor in front of you.” I really don’t think I would feel anywhere near open enough with a vanilla partner to say those things.

Spending my formative sexual development years with a boy who was bloody awful in bed made me realize something. Every relationship I have after that, will need to have amazing sexual chemistry.

It’s awful to spend four months lying beneath some boy you don’t give a shit about; you might as well be a knothole in a tree. I felt no sexual attraction to my exboyfriend, C, after a while. I felt no need to initiate sex, I felt distant and I began to hate myself after having sex with him. I don’t orgasm from oral sex, because my previous long term partner didn’t care enough to make me orgasm and made me feel guilty about wanting oral sex.

Read that last sentence over.

No woman should ever feel GUILTY for wanting consensual sex. I almost can’t believe that I let that happen to me for so long.

And now I can’t orgasm from oral sex, and it makes me cry with frustration. I obsess. I feel guilty with Sir’s mouth between my legs. I feel like He’s annoyed with having to do it. I feel like I just can’t orgasm from it, so I try to close my legs and push him away. I always had to beg C to go down on me, so I didn’t believe it when Sir said that He LIKES to go down on women.

This is why I cannot be in a relationship right now where I would have to hide my sexuality. I’m already making up for lost time. I refuse to be in a relationship where my sexual needs are not being met. I can’t do that again. I can’t let it happen.

I love how BDSM is helping me grow as a person.

I haven’t blogged here for a variety of reasons.

a) Midterms. Enough said.

b) My internship at Obnoxious Public Relations Firm (disguised for obvious reasons) has suddenly dumped a lot of work on me at once. I work there three days a week.

c) The remote protocol I was under, fell apart.

Things with Sir and I went back and forth, throughout October. It was a very, very difficult month.

He’s been away on business more than He’s been here, which made it difficult to maintain protocol and feel connected.

So I pretty much dropped my protocol of emailing Him my food intake and tasklist for the day and doing slave tasks, for the latter half of October. They were causing me major anxiety and freaking me out, more than they were maintaining my ‘property’ mindspace.

These few weeks have not been the easiest. We struggle to find time to see each other, and we struggle with maintaining a connection. My stress levels have been running high, and so has Sir’s. The problem is, we both react to stress in different ways. I feel less submissive and pull away, and Sir feels MORE submissive.

We’ve had hard scenes dispersed throughout the month. We have hard scenes and then Sir leaves on business, for His job.

. . .I don’t know. I needed something here to break this silence that’s come over the blog.

On Sunday, we decided to change things.

He constructed a new remote protocol for me to follow, temporarily.

I swear I will blog more here in the next few days. I have Halloween, some more scenes and Folsom to talk about. And of course, my new protocol.

This feels weird. So, hi.

I really have not been doing my slave tasks or my email reports or my daily picture.

I need to remember what all of this comes down to. I’m property.

I’m still property and a slave even if I’m crampy, stressed from school, stressed from work or tired. I’m wearing a slave collar.

I signed a contract at Sir’s feet because I need this. It was my choice and my choice alone. I signed it again even after Sir broke my heart in June because I forgave Him and I trust Him enough not to break it again. I did not sign it without a lot of soul searching, deep conversation and makeup sex.

I crave this feeling of being property. I need this. I feel better with a collar around my throat. The collar Sir yanks on when He’s fucking my throat. The collar He holds onto when He slaps me. Being a slave, having no choice, gives me somewhere to just be, as Sir puts it. And that’s perfect.

If I’m really honest with myself, my collar also makes me feel safer. Safe enough to handle being slapped, punched, caned until I’m crying, cry in front of someone else in general… I had a really intense orgasm on Sunday and almost started crying from the release. I feel beautifully present and whole during a scene.

I’ve never felt so close to someone else. I’ve never been so in tune and so connected with another human being. Sir treats me very well, and even when He is hurting me… still great at it. Ha.

We had a conversation last week about where our relationship is going to go, which always scares the shit out of me. It was good to have a frank, honest conversation. I don’t want to fuck up the time we have together now, by worrying about what will happen later. Everything will work out in the end. If it’s meant to be… let’s just say everything will be okay.

I want to enjoy everything right now. Present. Present.

I’m a slave.

I’m property.

I chose this.

I will choose this again.

Today I discovered new stretch marks.

Remember that weird fearlessness I had being naked in public for my first rope suspension? Um, yeah, I think that’s gone for now. I don’t want to be naked at Folsom Fringe.

I haven’t been a very good pet. I’ve been having a terrible time doing my tasklists, eating everything I shouldn’t be, not blogging or exercising. The truth is, I’m exhausted, worn out, stressed, and I keep pushing myself forward. Rather than be angry that I have to do my slave tasks, I just don’t do them. I adopt this sort of apathy towards myself and my slave tasks.

No apathy towards Sir, though. Sir’s emails and BlackBerry messages keep me going throughout the day. I slept in the apartment twice this week, but we were both so exhausted and out of it and just weird. I didn’t sleep very well, and I admitted it to Sir over the phone last night.

I just become apathetic towards my tasks and don’t send pictures or my food emails or my tasklists. My apathy towards myself is reflected in not showering, not eating right, not exercising, not taking time for myself to blog, think, write, relax.

I intern. I intern for a media/public relations firm. I intern three days a week. I’m a full time student, four classes, four days a week. I have homework. I’m a College Democrat. I’m aiming for a high GPA in case I want to go to graduate school.

Despite my apathy, I’m ashamed of myself. Ashamed of the weight I’m obviously gaining if I have stretch marks, ashamed that I was a good little pet during the summer and that now, it’s going to shit. I don’t know how to get myself out of this. If I were to be punished for everything I haven’t done over the last two weeks, I don’t know if I would be grateful or if I’d cry and hate myself more. I’ve been worrying over my punishment and how I’m going to react.

I just don’t feel attractive, I don’t feel like a good submissive pet, I don’t want to undress in front of anyone at Folsom Fringe, and I don’t even feel uncomfortable undressing in front of Sir right now. I want to cover myself up with sweatpants and my East Coast University sweatshirt.

I’m also a little emotional and spooked because someone in one of my Communications classes called me out on my collar.

I’m depressed and moody. I feel grotesque. I feel like a bad submissive. I feel like a bad submissive because I know I should be punished for all I haven’t done, deep down, and I know that I also really don’t want it, and I feel like I’ll hate myself either way. I don’t know what to do. I also feel like I’m letting my Sir down by being this awful.

I don’t know, I don’t know. I thought I lost my laptop power cord last night and I almost had a complete meltdown.

Ugh. I should just drink myself into a stupor and pass out for the night so I can stop worrying and obsessing like this.