Compass Rose

It’s still the same I suppose. Every spring as Easter approaches. I drive past the various Churches, with their steeples acting like beacons, sending their Celestial signal up towards the heavens. I pass there aching to go inside.

The ache rises in my chest as I pass, and then my heart sinks as I sit glued in my seat. My blood runs cold as I nervously think that ‘maybe I am unforgivable’.  How dirty I feel. Less than. Not quite good enough to stand next to any of the people donning their Sunday best.

I ache for closeness with Him like I once had. The only One who ever deserved my whole heart, who ever deserved my obedience and love.   He was the only One who would never betray me.

I can’t remember when I had stopped talking to Him.   Some call it praying.  But it was more than that to me.  It wasn’t rattling off a bunch of rote prayers, though that was how I had begun.  We were close back then.  It was like a friend that was sitting at the foot of my bed, just as real as you are reading this now.  I’d talk about everything.  Then listen.   Oh yes, He would answer.   He spoke through my intuition, I believe.  Sometimes I would ask for a sign.  Sometimes He would give me one:  a gentle cool breeze on a hot night or a small butterfly dancing at my window just as I would ask.

I had stopped going to church.  No one particular reason really and not in anger either.  Then a few years later I had stopped praying.   Other things had seemed to take precedence.  It was like one day He was just gone.  You see, it wasn’t an event, rather it was more of a process. Like most good things in life that slip away.

When I tried praying again?  it felt empty and perfunctory like I was running through mathematical computations.  Something was severed.   And I knew it hadn’t been severed by Him.   That pain of knowing what I lost has been unbearable.  The emptiness, nothing thus far can fill.

A thousand miles I have strayed off that chosen path on which I should have tread, maybe more.  It is easy to get lost out there in the darkness. Still easier to stay lost.

I don’t know how I will get back to Him.   I’m so far off course and a compass rose made only of hope in my grip.   I hope that He finds it in His heart, to forgive me.   Hope that this prodigal daughter can come home.   Hope that lost Faith will be found.

 

 

Butterfly

butterfly

I’ve got a new man in my life, “B”.

He’s different from my ex,  the sadist that captured my heart (and still does) and drew me to him like a moth to a flame.

B seems so nice and kind.  He possesses a temperate demeanor.  He continues to dote on me which I am NOT used to.  He listens when I speak.  NOT used to that either.

He buys me small gifts,  takes me out to dinner, lavishes me with affection and attention.  NOT handling that well AT all.  can’t.  Makes me feel like I will end up”owing” him somehow.   I don’t like to “owe” men shit.

****

All of this frightens me and makes me recoil inside, outside I keep up appearances and maintain my usual pleasant demeanor.

****

I feel great trepidation.  You see, men historically have kept hidden agendas with me.  There is always a “quid pro quo” thing at play.   There are always strings attached.  Sexual strings.  And I am ever wondering what B wants from me.  What price I will have to pay? What will I have to “do” in the end?  Is it real?  Is this just another illusion, mirage? another wolf in sheep’s clothing?  It’s like I am flying in a plane with faulty radar that is ill-equipped at detecting incoming missiles.   I went over B’s house and found a home-made sadistic bondage device in his basement right next to his nautilus equipment….yet he says, that he doesn’t feel the need to do BDSM things with me.   I saw his bag of tricks.  The usual stock any Dominant carries.  Basic shit:  ball gags, suspension stuff, crops, floggers, rope, chains, et cetera.

*****

I’ve done BDSM and kink.  I find it more and more difficult not to want to re-engage with him on that level sexually.  There’s this incredible passion and chemistry we have.  But what he didn’t know, is that I am NOT a submissive.   I listed that on my alt.com profile for years, because that was partly true.  There wasn’t a box that could even define what I am.  Switch, no domme/dominatrix? No.  Oh no,  I am his equal and a worthy adversary at that.      I think he thinks, that I am going to kneel before him and whatever.  Pffft.  don’t think so.   He best pray he doesn’t engage with me.   He will get the surprise of his life.  It may well be the end of me and B.    He has major control issues like all dominant’s do.  So do I.  There’s only room for one to drive this ship and it aint gonna be him LOL.

*****

Once upon a time, long ago, I was a butterfly.

In my last relationship with my ex , he tore off part of my wing, so he could keep me in his glass case and look at me anytime he wanted.   Sure it hurt, the sting of his crop and cane, his flogger, his teeth on my flesh.   All the profane things he did.  But I got used to it, because I truly believed that if I did all that, he would love me in the end.   The pain was also lessened too, because I loved him and I loved how he looked at me, how I felt like I was the center of his universe.    Time passed though, and eventually,  he saw something shiny and forgot I was in that case.  Over time, I began to wither.   Then one day he opened the jar and threw me on the grass.  My wing although injured, functioned enough for me to make it off that lawn.

*****

To be with B I feel I’ve let go of how I really am.  I keep it all inside.  He doesn’t know the authentic me.   I am just going through the motions.  Performing perfunctory actions of life as I must because I am so fucking depressed.  Allowing him to shape and mold me into whatever he wants me to become.  Just yesterday he came over and bought me shampoo and conditioner because he felt that I deserve “the best.”  I felt insulted.  “fuck you” I thought to myself, “my hair isn’t good enough for you.”   but that’s not what came out.  “thanks, thanks so much B.”  I feel choked, smothered, suffocated at times.   I feel like a trained pet for his amusement and if I slip up with the script, if I deviate a fucking millimeter, all bets are off.  Oh yeah, and he wants me to call him Daddy.   And the shit kicker is that like a well-trained chimp, I do.

*****

Falling from grace with my shrink and having her see me as…………feeling so ashamed around her.    I can’t tolerate it.  I fucking hate that feeling of burning shame.    Then also, feeling that at any given moment B is about to throw me away if I don’t do things according to his specs; people wonder why I want to run back to my ex LOL.  Sure he’s a sadist asshole, but a predictable asshole.

*****

Step right up and throw your coins down folks and she’ll dance for you…….she’ll dance the night away~

Just drink the Kool-aid

Today’s session with the shrink was rough.  Nothing fun about sitting and  have them stare at you while you try to cough up your feelings that are too painful and shameful to utter aloud.  So instead you put on a good personae and artfully try to dodge the elephant sitting on your heart that you wish you had the balls to say, but your too much of a pussy to.  For if you do, you can risk looking like an asshole or worse getting hurt.

It took me awhile to get the courage up to spit out what I was hemming and hawing about saying for 40 minutes.  Nearly the entire session.

It has taken me weeks to get to the point of even mustering that up.  The emotions carry that much shame for me to say.

The thing I said well, it makes me feel weak, embarrassed, vulnerable, powerless.   All feelings I HATE.  All feelings I don’t have skills to tolerate very well.

But I did finally spit it out, because I want to get well and I think that puking up what’s hard to do, will get me there.

*****

I guess I’m blindsided by her response.

She was like, “no, you don’t really feel that way do you?” and she kinda laughed.

Then I felt humiliated on top of the existing shame…..  Mother fucker.   I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and die.

She has no fucking idea.   And that’s largely my fault.  For the better of thirty fucking years I have learned to “present well,” so that no one knows what’s really going on.

I do it so well, I can mostly turn it off and on like a light switch…..mostly.

*****

Sitting there in that chair in her office feeling ashamed, it flooded my brain with similar events that I tried to bury a long time ago.

Especially the young, impish, fractured, splintered off part of myself I thought I could seal behind a wall and bury alive.

But that girl’s muffled voice broke through from behind the bricks today choking back her pitiful fucking tears.

*****

There she is again, from behind the woman veneer.

Stirring somewhere from latent consciousness.

Crystallized….and I’m still paralyzed.

I seem to walk through life, reflexively, a continuous loop of internal thought patterns,“I am bad.  unliked,  unwanted,  unaccepted….. I am un-lovable.”

*****

When I told my shrink how I felt about her, she replied that I must be wrong……  It stung.   Walls went up.

Usually, I reject me before anyone else can hurt me.    Well, I fucked up.

******

I am ashamed….of me.

I am realizing that shame is a bigger part of my emotional make-up than I ever knew. It’s inescapable presence envelops me like a blanket.

If I don’t deal with “it”, I will continue to live in misery.

Before today’s session I might have passed for an average girl, walking with a seeming look of purpose, unfettered by any stress. And in some ways, I guess that would have been true.

I left however, restricting my gaze downward to the cobblestone street, tears staining my cheeks, reflecting the ugliness I still hold inside.

Ugliness from which I haven’t been yet able to wriggle free.

*****

BDSM and bondage isn’t always about rope and submission.

The riskiest scenes take place on the inside, with the chains that bind our very soul.

Revenge

Gustave Doré’s Illustration in Milton’s “Paradise Lost”

“It is easy–terribly easy–to shake a man’s faith in himself.  To take advantage of that to break a man’s spirit is devil’s work”

–George Bernard Shaw

~*~      ~*~     ~*~

I am not proud to admit this but lately I am filled with bitterness and resentment.  No wait, that would be a gross fucking understatement.  Enough anger floats through my stream of consciousness, that I have fantasies and daydreams that I tell my shrink about.  Fantasies not of a happy return to my ex,  but fantasies of how to exact revenge upon him.  How to bring him to his fucking knees with the same emotional gut wrenching state of pain that he has inflicted upon me, so that he knows what it’s like.   There is a huge difference between fantasy and reality and I know that difference.  I am not stupid enough to throw my life away over a man or end up serving fifteen to life over a total narcissistic sociopath.  In the end I want to heal.

But that’s the shit kicker anyway.  Even in fantasy it’s all a moot point.   One can not exact revenge upon a narc sociopath.

My spirit is broken, he has given me immense suffering time and time again.  Thoughts of revenge bring me no solace, for revenge requires that person to have emotions.  In my particular case I don’t think this applies.  My ex just doesn’t possess emotions.  He wanders through life using women (people really) and discarding them as he sees fit.  For he does not have a conscience.  This lack of conscience is the hallmark of a true sociopath, that coupled with an appeal to one’s pity.  Seems as though some are born without one.

“Conscience is the window of our spirit, evil is the curtain.”

—-Doug Horton

~*~    ~*~    ~*~

Kubler Ross speaks of five phases of Loss and/or Grief.  These do not follow a linear path by any means.  One can weave in and out of them many times over.  One may start in anger, then move to depression, then back to denial and so forth:

1.  Denial

2.  Anger

3.  Bargaining

4.  Depression

5.   Acceptance

It would seem that I find myself at present, smack in the middle of the anger phase with the loss of this nearly 4 year relationship.  I am VERY angry about all the shit he has done to me and I am even MORE angry at myself that I allowed him to do this shit to me and didn’t have the health to shove him to tim-buck-two and send him back to hell from whence he came.

Knowing that wherever he is, he’s as happy as a pig in shit, makes me cringe even more.  While I, the one with a conscience and soul suffer.  There is no switch, where I can compartmentalize and shut my emotions off and go on my merry way.  Wouldn’t that be fucking great.  Wouldn’t it be nice to walk through life like him, only mimicking human emotion?  An actor playing the part of a human being for a day, an hour or two? and then returning to a hedonistic pleasure spree unaffected by guilt or remorse.

I’m not sure.  Because he will also never know other emotions as well.   He will never know the beauty of joy, love, warmth, or wanting to stare into a lovers eyes captivated by their very soul.  For he is an empty vessel.  Vacuous.  Vapid.  Vacant.   Through and through.

I don’t like how I feel today.

And I do feel shame when I say, that I wish for at least one day he would know and bear the pain that I feel.