• The Center Cannot Hold

    It was a three-doctor week, this week. Trauma therapy, psychotherapy, psychiatry… I had flashbacks for six hours on Monday night. They would stop then start again within 5 – 10 minutes. For six hours. I literally begged Sir to kill me. My psychiatrist suggested I don’t process as much trauma during trauma therapy. I explained to him that my trauma therapy consists of resting my hand on a pillow, squeezing play-dough, and imaginging walking on a beach… I’m not sure how much less trauma processing I can do in trauma therapy. I feel like my mind is unraveling. I’ve developed a stutter. It’s been getting worse for weeks, but this…

  • Third Try…

    Sir wants me to try this again. It’s evening now. I talked to my best friend, S, for a long time this morning and it helped for a while. But, ultimately, what’s wrong with me can’t be talked through or reasoned through or… anythinged through. I am perfectly aware that my feelings are irrational, illogical, not based in reality… at least not in the reality anyone else around me experiences. In spite of that knowledge, they have complete power over me. And I’m tired of feeling like a failure for not being able to reason my way out of them. I feel like I’m under assault, under attack, in a…

  • The Lies

    Sir didn’t like my writing. He said to “be honest this time.” I was honest. Fuck everyone. Now he says to write the lies. Write the lies that are in my head, even if I know they’re lies. He says to write them down. He’s trying to trick me. He’ll go send this to my doctors and then they’ll know. It’s a trick. He thinks I’m stupid. Fine. You want lies? Here are yours… People like me. I’m a capable person. I’m a good teacher. I’m a good patient. I’m responsible. I have good social skills. I know when to shut up. My principal likes me. I’m a good friend.…

  • Sinking

    Sir says, “Write about it.” He doesn’t understand. Everything is too hard. He gave me all my pills this morning and waited an hour, and now he says to write about it. And if I do what he says I’m just proving that I can and when I say I can’t he won’t believe me next time because… I can. I can do everything. Nothing matters because I’m fine. I can write. I can take my pills. I can eat when he tells me to. I can go to work. I can do my job. I can do everything. So nothing matters. I can write. I’m writing. Sir wants me…

  • Well shit…

    I just realized my last post was in February. At the beginning of February. Shit. I feel like a failure at writing. Definitely a failure at blogging. Just a failure in general right now. Our dynamic is in really difficult straits right now. We try to push into it in small ways and sometimes it works and other times it results in horrible things. I feel like my own mind is a minefield. I’ve started somatic trauma therapy. On top of psychotherapy. On top of psychiatric drug therapy. I see doctors three days a week nowdays. Mondays are trauma therapy days, and the shit really and truly hits the fan…

  • Update

    We’re trying something new and radical. Going back to our dynamic. I know, right? Madness! I’m supposed to write on both blogs tonight. The other one took too long and I have to go to bed. But… I have to meet expectations, so… My ass is sore and itchy (no one ever talks about how fucking itchy it is when a spanking heals! Not sexy enough, huh?) And I hate… most everything right now. It’s been a rough week. Update complete. Goodnight!

  • Against the Walls – Moments with Sir

    Sir and Sub Brother have been home for a few days. It’s been nice to have them back. But it is also lonely because it feels as if my issues are walls that keep us all separated from each other. Tonight, I took my meds early, took several deep breaths, and then asked Sir to play. I expected him to say, “no.” He’s relaxed the “no touching” rule since they’ve come back, but… play is a whole other level of… potential landmines. Instead he asked me to sit and had me explain my feelings and thinking to him. I squirmed and stammered and blushed a lot. It was uncomfortable to…

  • Poorly Forward

    Sir is Sir again for the moment. We’re not sure what we’re doing… none of us. I feel stupid and childish, but I have this deep sense of upset that no one has… answers. Maybe that’s what religion is for, because, deep down, the majority of us are children who need a grown up to look to… to have the answers… to be… in charge. There’s some comfort in that. But Sir is just Sir, and I don’t believe in deities, so I’m stuck with the child in the darkness syndrome, wanting someone to know everything, protect me from everything, have the answers to everything… I am struggling terribly with…

  • Hopeless Coward

    I have a psychiatrist again, he’s a psychiatric NP, but the same basic idea. I first went to see him because my PTSD got triggered badly from the biopsy and the procedures I had and I had to have surgery and I thought I just needed some meds to make it through the surgery and then everything would calm down. I thought he was just going to be able to give me some meds to make it through the surgery and then everything would calm down. Some of the meds helped. The meds he gave me helped. It took a few tries, it always takes a few tries with me,…

  • Facing Fears

    A while back, I had an article published on a friend’s professional blog. It was popular, apparently. He told me a month or so ago that it was the top three for that month. Now it is in the hall of fame, or something like that. So people will continue to see it. Forever. This is good. This should be good. I’m a real writer. Right? But then I feel like this should be a good blog. A real blog. Not bullshit anymore. I should actually write real articles and edit them and be focused and have a topic for each post and well constructed… But I started writing this…