slave?

Okay, i’m more grounded today but WAY more hypersensitive too. i get like this. i recognize it. Master’s admonishments when i’m NOT like this can seem meaningless or, worse, even amusing to me. When i AM like this, He can just say “nou” in a remotely stern voice and i fight off tears even if i know at some level that He’s mostly joking. He teased me in a silly and contextually appropriate comparison to slimy pet shop creepy-crawlies and i couldn’t help but take it seriously.

i can handle crazy or rude, knowing damn well that they fit, but the way in which i feel physically disgusting just makes it hurt at an entirely different level. my grandafther told me over thirty years ago that he would love me more if i was thin. i’ve been sure the world was on the same page as him ever since that day, sure that he and they wouldn’t love me at ALL unless i was thin. Want to guarantee a lifelong eating disorder? Tell an insecure little girl you’ll love her more if she’s thin.

That was the day today, that heightened sensitivity, largely because it started off with Master’s whip in my face and some threats from Him that were less than appealing. It seems that after having ordered me to clean up all the stuffing that Norman had tugged from the torn pillows, He found my shredding a clump of the stuffing and scattering it into an even greater mess to be belligerent. Imagine that! That it followed my having mouthed off quite possibly didn’t help either. Some things needed to fall back into place between Him and me after last night. He needed to be Master and i needed to be slave. It’s amazing how quickly a brandished whip can bring about that state! i hate that thing. (The whip, not Master.)

But a lot has been playing in my head today (for several days actually) and some of it has a basis in how i’m legitimately feeling, beyond the depression and anxiety. The biggest is my questioning whether i am even slave. i thought i was and it used to feel as if being slave was coming home, as if i finally fit somewhere in a world where i’d never done a thing but stand out even if fitting in was what i actually wanted. Maybe fitting in was always such an impossibility for me that doing so came to take on a negative connotation in my mind. If i can’t do it then i may as well view it distastefully. i still loathe the idea and i still can’t do it. There’s got to be a correlation.

In any case, i’m not even like other slaves in the most basic of ways and maybe that means i’m not slave at all. If it does mean that, though, it also means i’m not ANYTHING at all, that there’s nowhere i’ll ever belong. It means this is all there is, that this is as good as it gets to quote the movie. It means it’s time to stop hoping and just succumb to either living in a world in which i’ll never fit or leaving it. That concept just cycles my thoughts back to the fact that on May 7th i’d lived as many days as my brother did. Why use borrowed time to remain a miserable oddity? Why not just give up?

Why keep trying to make it work anyhow? Even if i decide i really am slave, since maybe i don’t suck at it any more than i do at everything else (though no less either), there are still things that are NEVER going to work and i’m finding myself unable to forego worrying about them. i’m still going to feel isolated and repulsive and lonely and wanting someone whom i have no potential to connect with as things are. i’m still going to be unwilling to serve alongside anyone as young as willow will still be in a few years. i’m still going to feel as if any semblance of a niche i have is totally gone with v here. Yes, why worry about things which may not happen? But why wait around for them to happen? Why subject myself and others to that? Why not leave BEFORE it gets to be that bad? May 7th. Everything else is icing. Borrowed time. Time that’s not mine.

i’m not actively suicidal as much as just not wanting to be alive, not wanting to stick around for the upset that is to come, not feeling capable of the battle or worthy of the unlikely victory.