Went to my shrink this morning and she told me that it’s my inner child that ‘s the addict. The broken fractured part of me that’s looking out love. I nodded in agreement. She told me she thought one way I could nurture this part of myself and not looking for my ex Dominant who floats in and out of my life between his red-light district activities to fill that need, would be to buy a baby-doll.
My jaw dropped.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“Well, she went on, “if you could get yourself a baby-doll and hold the doll everyday, and give it some love and nurturing, maybe this would be a concrete way you could nurture the younger part of you….the younger piece of Lexi, the little girl living in you, who still seeking out love so desperately. I had another client and this worked for well her.”
I stared blankly trying to hide the huge amount of uncomfortable-ness it was triggering. I do that…. I don’t know why I still reflexively hide my emotions.
“Oh, like hold this dolly in lieu of……. sitting on Daddy’s lap while he slides his cock up my ass and tells me I’m his good girl, ya mean?”
“I……I……..I……..I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Of course privately I was thinking FUCK NO! There’s no fucking way I’m sitting in a room with a fucking doll and calling it my name, and hugging it and shit, that’s totally FUBAR! That reminds me too much of some Kumbaya, artsy-craftsy-let’s-all-hold-hands-and-fart-rainbows therapy group they force you to attend, when I got locked up after my first suicide attempt. It didn’t help then and it’s probably not going to help now.
I have only gone to about ten 12 step meetings, read their book cover to cover over a fortnight, finally “get” that I am a sick cookie and now this? I’m supposed to sit down with a fucking doll and talk to it like it’s me? This is wayyyyyyyy too much to take in. I feel overwhelmed. I think I’d rather be spanked, flogged, whipped, caned, cropped and pissed on IN THAT ORDER than to sit with a doll and call it my name and hug it and shit. And that must say something for my level of dis-ease.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, after trying to white-knuckle my way through no contact (NC) with my ex-Dom because he dumped me for NSA sex with anything with a heartbeat, I “slipped” and ended up in his bed again begging him to” love me back” last weekend, which of course made me feel totally humiliated and degraded. Last night he ended up screaming at me at the top of his lungs, because I asked a question he didn’t want to answer. Told me I don’t respect him enough and threatening to never speak to me again if I don’t (fill in whatever action he wants).
When will I hit a bottom?
What if there isn’t a fucking bottom?
What if bottom is death?
The doll scares me.
I scare me.
Not getting well scares me the most.