Burden

Sometimes I think I only write here when I’m sad or depressed or otherwise dysfunctional. It skews my posts to look like my life is an endless stream of awfulness. It isn’t, but I seem to only come here when it is.

This week is going rough. And I don’t know why. But I did realize something that may also explain why I post all my angst here. I feel like my pain is a burden that I can’t unload onto the people who love me… and who I love.

This week Sir and SB have been going through a thing. It’s their business and I won’t share the details, but they’ve both been needing time with each other and there’s a lot of emotional stress going on. I don’t want to burden them.

C just worked a really long shift and they’re exhausted. I don’t want to burden them.

If Sir (and probably C, too) knew I was struggling, he’d expect me to tell him. He’d want me to share the burden and put some of it on his shoulders. He would remind me what my collar means and ask me to repeat the expectations of our dynamic. I gave up the right to keep my pain from him. I gave him the right to demand my transparency.

C punished me last week (for the first time) for repeating after many reassurances, that I didn’t want to bother him. He swears he’s not a bother.

I went downstairs to do the laundry… but actually to sit on the frozen concrete floor of the icy garage and ugly cry for half an hour until I was half drowning in tears and snot.

I pulled my face together and flashed a smile as I passed through the living room with the laundry basket. “I’m just taking it upstairs.”

I had to take an impromptu (and uncharacteristic) evening shower to escape discovery when Sir decided to come up and check on me after another half hour of sobbing, on a warmer hard floor.

I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know what the sadness is. I feel like something is wounded deep inside of me where I can’t reach it and it just pours out endless pain that I can’t comfort.

But I don’t want to be a burden.

I don’t want to be a bother.

Sir has other things going on. C has other things going on. SB has other things going on. I don’t even know what’s going on.

I feel childish.

I feel needy and stupid to want their attention when they all have more important things to deal with, so I turn here and try to pretend that my pain matters to this empty screen.

I can’t let myself burden the ones I love.

But feeling like I can’t talk to them feels like being starved again.

Choosing not to show them I’m drowning feels like anorexia.

All I ever tried to do was disappear… in every way possible.

But it hurts so much and I think I’m losing my taste for this flavor of pain.