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 to… spill my guts. Not to be formal and correct and perfect. But now I’m scared to do that because… people come here and read this and it’s scary.

DJ says to face it head on. To write about the fear. But this is an infinite loop because… I can’t write about being imperfect without doing it perfectly but then it isn’t about being imperfect and then I have to pet myself and rock because… I can’t… I can’t…

We were off of our dynamic for a while, again, because… I’m broken. I’m too broken. But then he got mad at me the other night and decided we’re back on. LOL I was cleaning the bathroom in the middle of the night. We were on the phone, on video, on… D was helping me because I was panicking because the bedroom was a mess because it was Christmas so I dumped all my shit on the bed so I could have company over, but then I couldn’t go to bed because there was shit all over the bed and my mom said just put it on the floor and sleep, but SHE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND!

Sir and D are in his home town right now, they are far away, but I called and D talked to me about how to get the bed organized. Sir was busy, but D helped. He told me to put all the dirty clothes in one pile and all the clean clothes in another pile. Then put the dirty clothes in the hamper, and put the clean clothes in the basket. He had to give each of these one at a time because I couldn’t focus long enough if he gave me too many instructions.

But that went really well, because, he knows how to help me. He is my executive function. But then I was excited to make everything have order, so I tried to make order in the bathroom and D got worried so he got Sir on the phone and Sir said I couldn’t clean the whole bathroom because it was midnight and I had to sleep, but I was already halfway through cleaning the sink and I was all panicky about leaving it half done. So he said I could finish that then go to bed… NOTHING ELSE… not the mirror, not the toilet, not the shower, not the floor.

But then… the mirror would be really easy to clean… and Sir said no, but I said… what if I just really quickly… and he said no, and I said, okay, if I can’t find the glass cleaner, I won’t clean the mirror. Sir said, “No, go to bed, don’t look for the glass cleaner.”

I said, “Okay,” but then I looked a little longer and I found it…

Sir said, “Do not clean the mirror. Go to bed. This is an order. Do it, now.”

I said, “You said we are suspended, no orders.”

He said, “Yeah, well, I’m unsuspending us. Go. To. Bed.”

I cleaned the mirror.

Sir is mad at me.

M would have called me a bad submissive, but Sir didn’t.

M would have said I must not want to belong to him, but Sir didn’t.

M would have said I was undermining his authority and didn’t deserve my collar, but Sir didn’t.

Sir said, “Fine. You’ll be punished when I get home.”

Sir is better than M.

I’m scared that I made Sir angry with me. I’m scared of being punished. He won’t spank me because my PTSD has been too bad. He might make me face a wall… But my PTSD might be too bad, I don’t know. If it is, he’ll make me do dishes for a week or cook all the meals or something… It won’t kill me. It won’t hurt me. It will be frustrating or annoying or boring… it will make me sad because I let him down. But he won’t break me.

He isn’t M.

I miss Sir being Sir. I don’t like us being suspended. But I haven’t been able to handle him being Sir, he’s had to be only DJ, not Sir and DJ, only DJ because I couldn’t handle Sir… even though they’re the same person… in fact, without Sir, he isn’t all the way DJ, and everything feels broken all the time. But he said that I needed that space to heal. That space and that time to heal.

My brain is really disorganized and speedy lately.

My doctor says I maybe don’t have bipolar at all… after all… maybe I have other things, or something else, like ADHD or OCD or something…

I got really stupid for a little while and started to have hope. But that’s so stupid because hope just lifts you up so you can drop from a higher height.

Things are messed up in my brain and my writing is terrible and not real and not formal for a blog that people visit thinking that I’m a decent writer who will write about interesting, organized things.

But I don’t want to make Sir more angry, and he said to write, so… I wrote.