Beautiful Oblivion

I must admit, I no longer know what purpose this blog will serve.

I suppose it will become simply a place where I can discuss the things in my life relating to things that I can not speak of or post otherwise; things involving BDSM, should I ever dare venture down that road again, or things as simple as sex in general. I can tell you that I am not sure.

As I feel that the people who read this regularly are due something more than “Master left me”, here are his reasons, as near as I can quote them.

1) “I just can’t be what you need right now.”
2) “I still love you, but I can’t tell you I want to be with you.”

Honestly, that’s all I remember well enough to quote. Quite frankly I think it is all quite a lot of bullshit. You do not continue to love someone just as you have for over a year but yet suddenly decide you do not want to be with them.

I’m going to do my best to do a 60 day “he-tox” as suggested by a book on handling break ups (I read an excerpt, no, I did not go out and buy it). I’m deleting him from my phone – like I could ever forget his number anyway – hiding him on my facebook, all that fucked up shit that the technology age has made requisite when a serious relationship ends.

I’ve never had a serious relationship end. Not like this, out of the blue, from nowhere. He just disappeared for a week – wouldn’t return phone calls or texts or IMs or emails – called me exactly one week later to break up with me.

First he claimed he did not call to break up with me, then later admitted he’d spent the whole week attempting to figure out how to do so.

Fuck you, Ian Sheerer.

Fuck you. You are going to live a life that is drab and dull compared to what you could have had with me. Not for breaking up for me, but for believing I was stupid enough to not catch all your goddamn lying inconsistencies.

I have no intention of becoming romantically involved anytime soon. Although I very well may find a suitably older male to fuck with no strings attached ever now and again. Or perhaps I will even Top to a girl if I meet the right one – I have been considering it for quite some time now. If Rhiannon did not live in Canada, I would love to do so with her, and see if maybe there is some part of me attracted to women. Oh well.

Perhaps it is  time to let the slut in me out. I am not sure.

I have spent far too long living for other people and not doing the things that I want to simply because of my paralyzing fear of the world.

Today I took the first step in breaking that, and it turned out wonderfully. I would like to keep the details to myself for the moment, and I apologize if that tempts anyone with unbridled curiosity.

I do know that this blog is, obviously, going to change.

I hope that those of you who have stood by and read all my rants, raves, and ramblings will continue to find my journey worthwhile, even though I am now no longer slave, or even submissive, but simply…whatever I shall become.

Abandoned, Uncollared, and Unowned.

Master left me.

My lover left me.

Thirteen months and three days.

I am left with nothing.

I don’t know how to restart.

At all.

I am lost.

Spells and Last Minute Necessities

I have officially been spending too much time with Master!

He does everything last minute, and wouldn’t have it any other way. I, on the other hand, am a mildly OCD worry-wart who plans and replans almost everything I do. In thoery that has to do with my fear about things; in general I just try to avoid the unknown as much as possible. And lately, He has been doing things even more last minute than normal. It’s been positively infuriating – and now I’m doing it too!

I finally got my housing assignment, so that worry has passed to an extent, and my tuition bills are being paid by my scholarship soon, and now I’ve realized that there are a ton of things that I’ve wanted to do that I haven’t had time for before, and don’t really now, but am going to attempt to shove into my free time regardless.

Master gave me assignments for about three days, then got too busy to try again, so I guess maybe it’s a good thing.

So far I’ve re-cross referenced my entire BoS and designed two herb satchels for Master. Then, I spent today hiking and gathering herbs, shrubs, and different woods. I cut out wood rounds for runes out of a fallen juniper branch, and I began to remove the bark from a stout fallen oak branch for a staff. It’s been an exhausting day, but Master seems to be happy with what I’ve been doing, even though W/we haven’t talked much the past two days.

Tomorrow I need to make a run to my favorite local store for things that just don’t grow here; licorice root and the like. It will be another long day.

Even though I’ve not been with Master or talking to Him as much as I’d like recently, I’m doing my best to distract myself.

Schedule

Last night Master set out a “working” schedule for when I get to my new apartmen (that is conveniently close to the gym).

I’m very disappointed that access wasn’t included in tuition this year, because last year it was and when I asked I was told it would be, but apparently due to California’s toile – I mean, economy – very little doesn’t cost extra anymore. It’s an extra 150 dollars a year, and this disappoints me since I also have to pay to put my car in a parking garage – lucky me, I got the only apartment building on campus.

Anyway. The first week (I move in one week before classes start, I believe) I am to go at least once. Although when W/we set this out last night I didn’t realize I moved in quite so early – it will probably end up being 3 times that first week. But there are also a lot of “get involved with campus” type things going on, and Master wants me to attend these.

Anyway, here’s the preliminary.

Each visit (at first) will consist of 5-10 minutes of cardio, and then enough weight and resistance training to fill a total of between 35-45 minutes. The order of His preference for my cardio is: elliptical, bike, stair stepper, running on the track, and avoid the treadmill (which bums me out, I love the treadmill). If I can find a partner for tennis/racquetball/hand ball I can do that and substitute it for the cardio for that day.

The first week of school, I’m to go at least once. (I also have an hour of rock climbing twice a week in addition to all this).

The second week I’m to go at least twice, and before the fifth or so week I’m to be going three days or more a week.

As I go He will up my cardio/weight training requirements.

It’s going to be crazy, paying for and working out that much while still adjusting to the campus in a healthy manner and getting as good of grades as Master expects in my 17 units of upper division, also attempting to adjust to the quarter system instead of the semester. It will be…interesting.

My uncle was murdered last night. As unfortunate and miserable as it is, it might end up being what I need to submit fully to Master again.

I…you have to understand. I am not allowed to show emotion to my family. They break down and go crazy at the slightest instigation, and since I was very young I’ve been the one keeping things together, making sure the necessities get taken care of, everything really. I’m expected not to show emotion. I’m doing all that again, now. But I do have emotions, and I want to be able to breakdown and not get berated for hours because I shed one tear at hearing the violent manner in which my uncle was brutally, premeditatedly murdered.

It would, in the least, be a good opportunity for Master to consider taking advantage of my nigh complete emotional break that’s occuring.

What a depressing way for it to come about. Still, possibly effective.

It would be a relief to have a more complete and thorough Master at the moment, I can say that.

Brat-tastic Babygirl

Master seems to think that my behaviour as of late is me being a brat.

This upsets me, because I work very very hard to be submissive to Him, even when I’m having so much trouble because He hasn’t even acted the least bit dominant in weeks. The fact that He knows He has dropped the ball in regards to acting like, and taking up the responsibilities of, Master – as well as all the difficulties I have been having due to this – and still views me as just being difficult really upsets me.

I feel that He does not fully appreciate the difficulties that He is placing me under. He has forced me to take the dominant role for quite some time now. For almost the entire first year, I was quiet and I waited and I gave Him all the time He needed – and then some! – and I kept taking control and taking responsibility and being the strong one and you know what? He waited too fucking long, and put me through too much. I was at once being the one who DID everything – both taking care of myself AND Him – and yet had to submit when He got “the itch”.

Then He makes promises about things He will do and does not carry through, and this has been going on for a year. Now He expects me to just be able to drop it all and completely trust Him and submit because He’s finally ready? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad He’s finally ready. But it’s a little too late for me to just hand it over.

With all the times He fell through on promises and dominance of any kind, with all the time He needed, I feel He has to earn His right to my submission. I’m not going to just do it because He wants it. I have been doing anything He “just wants” for a year to try and get Him to trust Himself enough to engage in this as more than just a “when it suits Him” thing. Now He’s ready, and I’m grateful and that’s awesome.

But quite frankly, He can’t just say He’s ready. He has said many things that were as good as useless. He must prove it.

I will not take it until He proves it.

It upsets Him. Rightfully so, yes. However, He does accept (at least in words) that He dropped the ball.

But He doesn’t get that He’s going to have to take control, because as much as I try to just give it to Him now, I can not.

If He wants me as a slave, He is going to have to prove that He is capable of being a responsible Master.

He is going to have to stop not letting me orgasm for a month simply because it doesn’t occur to Him. He is going to have to keep His promises when He makes them. He is going to have to be dominant.

Honestly, I don’t think it’s that much to ask. If He can do it, I’m His again.

If He can’t, then O/our dynamic is pointless.

It’s an incredibly depressing state of things to say it so bluntly, but those are the facts.

He used to drop me into subspace at the drop of a single word or phrase. He used to be able to dominate me without me laughing at it like it was a bloody joke.

And you know whatn another unpleasant but necessary to realize part is?

If He can’t discipline me so that I believe He means what He says and is actually a dominant personality, then it won’t work.

It’s a shame that it has fallen this far, because I am a very very good slave. But He has ignored that for so long that I no longer feel any desire to show Him; I proved it to Him a thousand times over, I did things for Him that nearly broke my soul to do simply because He requested it, I did more for Him than any other person would do for someone who is as He is.

But He has let it fall this far, and I tried so very hard, for so very long, not to give in. But even I am not invincible.

I wash my hands of the responsibility for this because I have done nothing but try, and still am, and He is the one who is not doing even the bare minimum to properly take care of me.

It gets fixed, or it ends. Those are the only options left.

What a sad state of affairs that is.

Limitbreaker.

And, specifically, why they should be set and discussed – by BOTH parties – in the beginning of the relationship!
Tonight Master decided to tell me that He was going to have me speak in third person at least some of the time. I fucking lost it, folks.

I have many, many reasons. Firstly there is the mere fact that I am a writer in the English language, and I view the subtlety and form of that language important and beautiful. I also see it, in my opinion, as a “basic human fucking right”, as I informed Master.

Additionally, it is one of my biggest pet peeves when someone speaks or types in the third person (although I appreciate that some D / O / M’s require that of their bottoms, and respect that and hold it against no one) simply because it is, to my English sensitivities, a perversion of the language.

Then of course there’s the issue that I see it as a way to disregard someones individuality.

This might not be an issue, if Master had been acting at all Masterful. As it was, I blew up on Him for suggesting that I should become less than I am at all, let alone when He had hardly been fulfilling His responsibilities as Master.

I realize all that is harsh, and even out of place. As I said, I blew up and lost it. A lot of tensions were boiling and He had not allowed me to speak of any of them, so they all poured out in this conversation.

It was generally a very bad night. He asked me if it was something I was willing to work on, and I told him, competely honestly, that I would rather not be with Him than ever be forced to speak in the third person.

Most would probably say that I am topping from the bottom, or something of the like. By some definitions maybe I was.

But the issue is deeper than just my linguistic distaste for it. Emotionally and mentally the idea makes me want to open a vein – which is, unfortunately, something I have attempted to do more than once, and as I am in a very bad place already emotionally, is not good to provoke further, even though I do my best not to breakdown. There are reasons for this; specifically, when I was raped at 11. One of the things that Troy liked ever so much to do was to force me to refer to myself not with personal pronouns. Both before, during, and after the rape I would say something with “I” or the like and he would stop me and repeat something like “You mean slut.” over and over until I said it like that – usually crying either from the hit that had already come or the fear of the one I knew might be.

I will never do it. I don’t think even in 20 years I would be able to.

The very idea breaks me, makes me cry almost unstoppably.

And as I told Master, this is the reason I tried so many times to get him to make a list of “Must haves” “Would likes” and “Won’t do’s”! But He refused, each and every time, and so it is not really my fault that He found this out the way He did. If He would have done that VERY IMPORTANT step at the beginning of O/our explorations of M/s like I asked and begged him to so many times, it wouldn’t have been an issue because He would have known. Instead, He never bothered.

Not to say I had an honest right to treat Him the way I did, because as far as M/s goes, I didn’t. However, with the addition of the difficulties W/we’ve been having and the complete and utter lack of His dominance in my life – not even sexually or with rules – I felt no restraint was deserved.

Even now, reading this and knowing I will probably gain the disdain of M-types and s-types alike for my behaviour, I do not feel any guilt, just sadness at how it played out.

The simple fact of it is, however, that if He would have agreed to do one of the things  I – and I’m sure other people as well – told Him so many times were SO important, then it would never have happened.

The Calm.

Nothing really very new on the Master and I front, I’m sad to say.

Weeks ago He promised that after He named me He had “a plan” that involved two other facets.

Of course, He hasn’t done a damned other thing. He says He’s busy.

That’s fine. He’s getting ready for school, so am I. Just forget it, right? Like all the other times W/we tried this. Oh well, W/we’ll see what happens; I’m trying to stay optimistic.

Honestly I’m probably too stressed out trying to keep my life from falling apart to be a proper slave anyway. At least, I have to believe that because once again He has pushed me off to the side and let O/our dynamic disappear. Even for a few days, a week, that’s damaging. I’ll adjust eventually I suppose.

I really am freaking out a bit about my preperation for Uni. Testing into German, figuring out where I’m living, how/when I’m moving down…oh, and not to mention that I was told to “get the fuck out” of my grandparents where I was staying for the summer, and all my stuff is still there. And what for, you ask? I made myself lunch – out of ingredients I had purchased myself – and did not make any for my grandmother. She didn’t ask. So she threw me out.

I freaking LOVE my life.

Not.

Not to mention that I’m also like four days late. Which is not my normal amount of irregular, and has me on no end of edge and pissy.

The Desire To Be A “Slut”.

This is going to be a difficult entry for me to write, so forgive me if it is not as well thought out as may be desired.

I have demons. Obviously, right? Everyone has their own, and being in the BDSM lifestyle means absolutely nothing when it comes to the presence of demons. I will say, that from the people I know and/or read about, it seems to be more common for sub-types in the lifestyle to cope with/overcome their demons.

I don’t know if I ever will.

Since I don’t know where to start, I’ll begin where it started last night with Master.

I feel dirty about some of the things I want. In the bad way. I feel evil. Worthless. All those good phrases.

Master began inquiring about my fantasies and the history thereof last night – I am upset that it took Him a year to even bother because this would have been infinitely easier for me to deal with had He not been a muppet and waited so long. But that’s His perrogative, I suppose.

I don’t lie to Master. I could, I’m a fabulous actress. I just don’t. Even when it makes me break down into hysterics and tears for hours and make me want to slip back into self-destructive behaviours.

Master sometimes – often – treats me very much like a patient of a therapist, when He plays the therapist. I HATE when He does that with something that I’ve expressed to Him makes me insecure. And my fantasies – they are demons – and they make me very insecure. The type of insecure where I’d rather die and disappoint Master than be forced to struggle through another breath.

There’s no good reason for how frightened and terrified and disgusted of my fantasies I am. It’s not particularly social, or even familial. I’m sure it has a little bit to do with my rapes. It’s based extensively on judgements I formed myself, at very young ages. My mother was definitely a contributing factor: I have viewed her as a slut since I was probably 9. Mostly because of the men who would come and go (including her best friends husbands more than once) and give her drugs or what have you. Once your powers of cognition put together what’s going on and why exactly you’re forced to raise yourself for as long as you can remember, it’s easy to become angry. And I was very angry, for a very long time.

As a result, I have a special hatred for “sluts”. If I were to put it to words, I would say that I feel they are “stupid”, “worthless”, “threatening”, “don’t contribute to society”, et cetera. The thing is, on a rather high leve, I’m aware that none of that is really true.

Some of my best friends are, in my mind, fucking sluts.

And sometimes, in the secret of my mind, I condemn them for that, and feel that I am “higher” than they.

I am not drop dead gorgeous. I am not modelesque and thin. I do not have perfect breasts, legs, or abs. I am not exotic. I do not exude self confidence. I do not believe in my own self worth. These are all qualities that I attach to the majority of my self defined “sluts”. I am jealous of these things, all are things that I desire, and have worked harder than most of the people who possess these qualities could imagine, and will probably never be any of these things.

So I am jealous.

This hatred I have for the actions of “sluts”; the women who are not afraid to use their sexuality for their own purposes, whatever they may be, the women who want sex to be completely about their pleasure, the women who are worshipped by men, then makes the fact that I secretly want all of these things makes me want to vomit.

I think about the fact that I fantasize about having sex that is completely about my pleasure.

I think about the fact that I fantasize about having many pairs of hands pleasuring all of my erogenous zones.

I think about the fact that I fantasize about having multiple men driven with such desire by my presence that they can’t keep their hands off of me.

I think about the fact that I fantasize about getting off – multiple times – without having to worry about getting a man off.

Inside, to an extent, I hate men. Because I am not a slut, not modelesque, and they will never, ever do any of those things for me. The only women who get to have the things that I desire so badly are the “sluts”. I hate it. I feel like it’s not fair. I try to be sexy, and to be thin. No matter how anorexic, how exercise obsessed, how diet and diet pill following I get, I’ll never be the kind of woman who gets those things. I am simply not sexy enough, not desirable enough.

So the only protection I have from feeling like I am the lowest, least deserving creature on the face of the planet, is making myself feel like I am “better” than the women who get all those things that I desire so badly.  So I tell myself – am honestly convinced – that I think all those things are wrong.

I believe that I think being confident in your sexuality and using it to your advantage is wrong because (even if I tried I couldn’t) it’s dangerous with the diseases out there, and wrong to play with peoples emotions through their bodies.

I believe that I think that relishing in the desire you inspire in others and holding it over them is wrong because (I can’t inspire desire like that) then you’re nothing but a “slutty tease”.

I believe that I think that expecting men to concentrate on your own pleasure and orgasms is  wrong because (none ever have for me and none ever will because I’m not sexy enough, I don’t inspire that kind of desire) it’s supposed to be about the pleasure of the man.

I am at such a deeply rooted impasse that I feel I will never, ever get over it.

I hate myself.

Even though I know I’m deluding myself about SOMETHING, I don’t know which part it is.

I can’t fix it.

I can’t make it hurt any fucking less.

“I Love Me, But”

Well, overall I’m still just as happy as I have been.

However, I’m a little bit down on myself at the moment.  Even though I look better now than I have since I was anorexic, I feel terrible.

I started weighing myself every day and it did exactly what I thought it would – makes me want to cry each and every time I see it. For instance, the other day I was excited, because I was 182.8. I was excited because it’s down like 3 pounds from my very, very binge-ey visit to Masters. Then yesterday I woke up and was 183.6. I wanted to die, and I just sat down and cried. I hadn’t even eaten anything, and it made me incredibly freaking depressed.

I didn’t even weight myself today, I couldn’t take it today.

I have cut down on my eating to a very low minimum, like a single meal a day, and upped my exercises a little…but apparently not enough. I look alright, I guess, but I feel disgusting. I want Master to love my body, and to feel like He could show me off, if that was His way…but He definitely couldn’t/wouldn’t show me off right now.

I was doing very good before I went to visit him. I was 177 and losing, but the three weeks there, with all the Indian buffets and no time alone where I could exercise…I came home at like 185. I love Master, and He treated me to sooo much while I was there, I just wish I would have had the will to say no. Maybe I’d still be almost-vaguely-small-enough-to-love then. I’m usually pretty happy with my body, but since I started keeping this food diary and sharing it with Master…

It’s just been really terrible. When I see how much I eat – even when it’s not a lot – and think that Master is going to look at that, I just want to die. I feel like I shouldn’t eat ever, and do nothing with my day but exercise. I want to be pretty enough, thin enough. Desirable.

The smallest I ever was was during my extended period of anorexia – and even THEN I only got down to 162. I feel like I’m destined to be a fat ass who can’t buy clothes that fit and who’s lovers/men/Master will always eventually get tired of because I’m never going to be one of those sluts with the perfect bodies in their tiny, tiny skirts and with their huge breasts and firm abs…Bah!

I know this souns a lot like whining, and maybe it is, but I don’t mean it that way. I just so, so desperately want to please Master in all the best ways, and I’m far from the best looking, being so damned chubby. I don’t feel like my appearance is what He deserves. I don’t even think at my best I looked as good as He deserved.

It certainly doesn’t help that He Himself is so damned skinny! I love Master, but He has a goddamned 28 inch waist. And those are usually big on him. He could at least be fat/chubby/built so that I could NOT be twice or more His size, and could not look even MORE huge next to Him…how could He ever be pleased with me?

If even when I was “suffering” from a “disease” that some girls effectively use to be little more than bones I couldn’t even get lower than 162 – which still put me at a fat-asses BMI of 27.8 – what hope do I have of ever being good enough for Master?

Urgh, more bad news. Apparently my “ideal health weight” is 111 – 150. I can’t imagine being that small. Ever. It’s not even that I’m fat, I’m just chunky (or at least wear my weight well-ish) and I can’t possibly even comprehend being that tiny. I work my ass off already, how much more can I do?

I am disillusioned.

Life is So Unnerving, For A Servant Who’s Not Serving!

Strangely enough, I have felt better about Master and I’s relationship since He gave me my name then, quite possibly, ever in O/our relationship.

I say it’s strange mostly because I haven’t gotten off a single time since He named me, and usually if that doesn’t happen than I get super pouty and such.

Regardless, it’s obviously a good thing.

Today was the first day in a very long time where I busied myself practically the entire day with things that made me feel subby and good.  I started the day with going grocery shopping, even though I don’t particularly have the money for it. I got lots of good stuff, including California Rolls!!! And pasta and sauce and frozen and dried fruit and sweet potatoes and all kinds of nummy good stuff. Oh, I also got the stuf to make Mozzarella, Tomato and Basil Bread Bakes like Master likes, but I think I’ll try making them with rosemary instead this time around. Mmmm, bread rounds, fresh mozza, tomato, rosemary, and olive oil all baked nice and lightly browned. I’m going to have a good dinner tomorrow night.

Then I spent the past like 6 hours working on my sweater front. I’ve knitted all but the last 20 rows now, including the entire heart design. So I whip the last part out in an hour or so tomorrow, then treat my pieces, then sew them together, and I’ll finally be done! It’s not really taken that many manhours, but I just stopped before going to visit Master and didn’t pick it back up again until…tonight.

It made me feel delightfully subby, which is fabulous. Even if Master forgot to speak to me today. He tends to do that when He works an extra shift; and today He worked like 8 hours at some cart races with the on service EMT vehicle. I’d have liked to talk to Him, but He’ll call me when He can…even though that will be quite some time, as He has a 24 hours shift starting tomorrow at noon.

Every night before I go to bed I’m supposed to get naked, present, and contemplate my slavehood for however long I feel fit. Sometimes by the time I go to bed I’m so tired that I can’t remember the next morning if I did it, because half the time I fall asleep while I’m in that position, I slip into a kind of meditation and next thing I know I’m half consciously flopping over, whining because my hip joints and shoulders are all stuck and burn-ey. It’s kind of amusing, I think.

Have I mentioned that, even though I still have issues with referring to Master with the term “Daddy”, He’s an absolutely fabulous one? While I was visitng Him, He took me to the Indianapolis Zoo. (Which, if you haven’t been, is quite a good zoo, even the dolphin show is good!) Now, the zoo is one of my favorite things; it comes from my love of primates which comes, most recently, from my being educated as an anthropologist. Anyway, their primate exhibits weren’t the best, and I was a little bummed. Because of that, Master bought me the absolutely cutest little stuffy. It’s a mommy Cotton-Topped Tamarin, as well as a baby. They have velcro hands and feet! The baby is just the right size to wrap around the mommys torso. I sleep with them.

They make me happy.

Master makes me so happy. He’s a good Master, and a good Daddy, even if I don’t call Him that.