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Behind the Mask

I am ALWAYS afraid. Afraid of making the wrong choices, of being alone/being left, of the future, of myself.

That strong willed/bitchy/angry/in-charge/always right woman that the world sees? You know, the one who has NO PROBLEM making decisions and then forcing them on everyone else? Yeah, HER. She’s an act. A mask. A character I play. The REAL me? She’s that vulnerable girl you met one summer many years ago.

She’s paralyzed by too many choices, by the fear that she’ll make the wrong one. She flinched when people yell at her. It embarrasses her, so she yells back, trying to cover the fear so you can’t use it against her.


She’s the one who both craves attention and shuns the spotlight be used you just MIGHT see behind the mask she’s worn for so long that even SHE doesn’t know what’s real anymore.

She’s a mess of contradiction and chaos. With her head in the clouds and her feet on a crumbling foundation of lies.

She always puts herself last. Not because she doesn’t think she’s important enough, but because she’s been told so many times to “stop being selfish”.

She’s afraid to ask for help. Not because she thinks you’ll say “No”, but because she doesn’t want to take your attention away from something she’s sure is much more important. 

New Year, new me. Er, better me? Let’s go with different me. I’m back to my roots. My redhead ones that is. I started the process of going from black to red back before Thanksgiving.  Usually when I end up in a bad place emotionally,  I go all self-destructo girl. Generally my hair pays the price.

This time, I put myself out there, as soon as I could. I wasn’t ready to actually go out, but I talked to people (guys) online. Messaging back & forth. All completely anonymous, unless I chose to change that.

I’ve met a few of the guys I’ve been talking to. But I have some rules.

-Don’t like meeting me in public? Too bad, I’m horny not stupid.

-Start the conversation with a picture of your “pride & joy”? Buh-bye

-Expect to get my body or my submission just because your profile says Daddy/Dom/Master? Yeah, NO!

I’m not a 20-something with no self esteem who jumped into relationships that were guaranteed to damage me body & soul. 

40-something me knows that I might be difficult, I might have demons, but I’m damn well worth the wait.

And when I get down on myself, I’ve got the one, the only Harley Quinn to remind me who I am.

New Year. New Me?

Last year was full of ups, downs & total clusterfucks.

Music has been my constant.  For every mood there’s a song. Even when I can’t put my feels into words, somebody can.

I haven’t been around much this last month or so. After my relationships broke up,  I fell into a deep black hole. 

I crawled into my head & blamed myself. I got drunk, I screamed & I decided to “show him”.

Somewhere in all that I did something good for me.

I know it sounds crazy, but the best thing I did was change my profile on Fetlife & post an ad.

Yes, I’m wading through the requisite assholes & pervy guys. But there ARE some nice ones too.

I’m not giving up just because of one rotten relationship. 

The hardest thing

Probably the hardest thing to deal with in life is endings.

The ending of a relationship you thought would last forever is probably second only to death.

A relationship that has lasted (in one form or another) for half of your life? 

How do you move on after that? 

You cry, you grieve, you tell yourself that you’re better off. Then something reminds you and you fall apart all over again.

That’s what I’ve been going through since the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  When Daddy decided he didn’t want me after all.

The other person in our triad took every opportunity to twist my words & actions. Turning into Iago and turning me into a villain.  

I’m not trying to paint myself as the innocent victim. But my sins were mostly committed a lifetime ago, by a person I no longer am.

It all goes to prove that you can never right the sins of the past. You can forgive, but some things, you can’t forget.

And the past…will usually bite you in the ass when you least expect it.

Can you really live a 24/7 lifestyle  in a long-distance relationship?

Daddy & I are usually no closer than 700 miles away from each other.  And it will probably be a year or so before we are together on a regular basis.  Does this mean that I can’t be HIS 24/7?

No.

My Submission is a state of  mind. There are places and times where I have to be dominant in my life right now. But I ALWAYS keep one thing in mind WWDS (What Would Daddy Say).

Whether I’m washing the dishes or talking to my parents, this sticks in my head.

One problem though is that while I have changed, I’m still in the same place. Dealing every day with people who say they like the changes I’ve made. But they expect me to act the same way I always have. And when I don’t, they get upset and try to force it.

But it’s not my job to make them happy. My job, as I see it, is to make Daddy happy. To do what HE tells me to do. To follow HIS directions and rules for me.

The rest of the world can like me or hate me. As long as Daddy’s happy, the world can wait.

The Difference Between Hurt and Harm

I never thought anybody would read what I write, much less take the time to comment.

In the last few days a few comments have made me take an objective look at one particular thing I wrote. 

In Fallen Angel I talked about pain being cathartic for me. 

Certain types of pain really are. I live in pain every day. I have a number of chronic illnesses that include pain. I’ve had arthritis since I was a teenager.

In addition to the physical pain, I have dealt with and lived with Bipolar disorder, Cluster B and Anxiety for most of my life. When I was younger, I allowed them to control EVERYTHING I did, and I left a LOT of wreckage behind me.

In learning how to deal with the emotional and physical pain in my life, I have used a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms. You name the vice and I’ve used it. 

In my teens it was cutting & eating disorders. Twenties was alcohol & weed. Thirties brought with them opiates. 

When Daddy came back into my life, He brought some things into focus for me.

I was utterly amazed that He was willing to give me another chance after everything I did to Him. But being with Him meant that I had to confront pieces of me that I didn’t want to think about. Pieces I’d been told I should be ashamed of. 

First, I let my Little out of the box I’d kept her locked in.

But Daddy didn’t just want the happy, cute parts of me. It’s all or nothing with Him. He wanted my darkest desires and my most ridiculous wishes.

In figuring out & separating what I WANT from what I NEED, I’ve discovered that pain is one of those essentials for me. It calms the chaos in my head and feeds my demons in ways that nothing else does. 

Chapter 4: Pain? Really? 

Do you have to like pain to be a submissive? Short answer: no. Though many submissives do practice some form of sadomasochistic activity, like everything else, it is negotiable between you and whomever you decide to serve. How can anyone like to experience pain? Some people are just wired differently; for them, pain is directly erotic. Some people have orgasms from being flogged; others are highly aroused by nipple clamps. Keep in mind that pain is very subjective. What feels like pain to you may feel very different to me. It’s also about context. If you’ve ever experienced a hickey before, or found mysterious bruises the day after some strenuous sex, you already know how something that can feel like pain in one setting, can feel like pleasure when it’s part of something else. That’s why we say something “hurts so good.”

“How to Be a Happy & Healthy Submissive” by Kate Kinsey
My brain does not naturally make enough endorphins to boost my mood. Physical pain helps me to bring that level back up.

Because pain is a NEED for me as well as a want, it’s something Daddy is willing to do for me. But it’s also something (whether punishment or pleasure) that I can use my safeword at any time and He will stop.

Control, Illusions & Vices

con·trol

noun
1.the power to influence or direct people’s behavior or the course of events

verb
1.determine the behavior or supervise the running of.

il·lu·sion
noun
1. a thing that is or is likely to be wrongly perceived or interpreted by the senses.

2. a deceptive appearance or impression.

3. a false idea or belief.


vice
noun

1.immoral or wicked behavior.

2. an immoral or wicked personal characteristic.

In my life I’ve held tight to all 3. I spent a great deal of time and effort to change myself. My attitudes and my actions. And I did change on the outside. I was quiet, thought before I spoke. Walked away without needing the last word.

But on the inside I was a volcano waiting to erupt. I held myself so tightly that one tiny spark was enough to ignite an inferno.

When I started down this road with Daddy. I was still holding tight to that control. Thinking I could give Him some of me, but still hold back. In the last few days I’ve discovered that we can’t work like that. It’s all or nothing. And where He’s concerned I can NEVER do nothing. So all it is.

All the control I thought I had was just an illusion. I live at the mercy of a body that shuts down on some timetable of its own making. A mind that is (at times) unfamiliar to me.

Nearly dying should have shown me where I stood when it came to my precious control. But it just made me hold tighter to my illusions. The illusion that I was in charge of this crazy thing called life. Which I have realized I most certainly am NOT.

I can’t (for all my perceived power) control the weather, rotation of the earth, or gravity. I can’t control the rising or setting of the sun, or whether Pluto is a planet or not.

The ONLY thing I CAN control is MY behavior. MY thoughts. MY actions. I can’t control how others perceive those things. All I can do is keep myself grounded.

I’m still new to this whole world of TPE. Trust came easy. I’ve trusted Daddy since the moment I met Him.

But giving up the last of my illusory control has been a hard thing. Giving in to what I want. Telling someone else what I need and trusting them not to use it against me…trusting that when I do finally let go, they won’t let me fall.

Fallen Angel

I’ve been a bratty baby girl the last week or so. More Daddy’s little devil than His Angel. 

High on Daddy’s list of rules for me is Respect Daddy. Followed closely by Don’t Talk Back to Daddy. I’ve been having trouble remembering both this week. And my ass paid the price.

But here’s the thing about physical pain for me. It’s cathartic. It’s a release. It has a beginning and an end. An alpha & omega so to speak. Unlike emotional pain. There is no beginning or end to emotional pain. Especially with Anxiety. My brand doesn’t stop me from doing things, but it endlessly replays every time I misunderstood someone, or said something’s stupid or inappropriate. Every time someone looked at me with disappointment. 

It spins around in my head and I picture what I could have done better, or how to not do it the next time. I dream about it, I get lost in figuring out how to be what they want. What they need.

Daddy has been so patient with me. But He’s done being patient. He’s done being understanding when I make the same mistakes over & over again. 

If it’s pain I want, if that’s what it takes for me to remember the rules. Then that’s what He’ll do.

​Long-distance Daddy

Having a long distance relationship is difficult, no matter what the dynamic. Add in D/s, DDlg, bad cell service, poly and mental illness and it can be a recipe for disaster.

Granted, things are far easier today than they were 20 years ago when we dependence on pagers & landlines. But it’s still not for the faint of heart.

It’s difficult to tell what a person is really thinking or feeling when you can’t see or hear them. Sarcasm doesn’t translate well over text.

And it’s especially hard when you have anxiety and trust issues. Every time there’s a misunderstanding or miscommunication, I start worrying about if He’s REALLY happy with me or just going through the motions.

If He’s REALLY happy or just settling until He finds something better.

I KNOW it’s not true.  I KNOW that He loves me. The sheer number of times we’ve gotten back together. If He didn’t love me, if I wasn’t who He wanted, He would keep trying. Right?

I thought getting Daddy to give me rules would help. And knowing the expectations does make things easier. But what good are rules without punishments for breaking them?

I’m  ready for this. All of it. I’ve been wanting a D/s dynamic since we met. I’ve been waiting for Him to merge the ‘women are delicate/I can’t do that/that’s wrong’ part with the ‘if everyone involved consents & wants this it’s all good’ parts of His brain.

If life has taught me anything it’s taught me that you can’t live your life to please other people. You have to do what makes YOU happy. Being submissive, being controlled, being punished when I break Daddy’s rules, having someone to protect me (even from myself) is comforting for me. Knowing my place, having a purpose, being an essential part of someone’s life gives me peace of mind, quiets the monsters in my head.

Every time He wraps his hand around my throat & growls “MINE”. I feel a little safer. Every time He pulls me close & kisses my forehead, I feel a little more secure. Every time He touches me & asks “who do you belong to?”, my demons get a little bit weaker.

As usual, this ended up somewhere different from where it started out. But that’s life.