Pierced

Just had to let you know that I got my clit pierced today!  Squeeee!  Will post on it when I have time - flying visit.  Loved it and have begged for it for a little while.  Still processing.  This could get addictive...Oh and it was by Sir and in play.  Yeah baby!

Depression Again

 I was complete and okay and whole. 

A day thinking and I am disconnected and not quite sad but melancholic.

Then I look at him and for all of the reasons I want him to leave I don't feel I can ask.

Not now.

But when.

Soon.

But I have said that for a while.

If not aloud, in the corners of my head where I try not to look.

I woke up this morning and I knew it.

In the core of who I am I felt it.

Not in an angry or sad way, not in a terrible way.

It was just there, not even a choice.

It was just - is just the only thing I can do.

For him.

And for me.

Because I cannot look at him in his misery and not wonder if he could be happier somewhere else for one second longer.

Because I cannot keep looking at myself exasperated, sad and nasty in the face of his pathetic incapacity to be a whole person, to be in control of himself.

To own who he is.  

If it was someone else I would not see them that way.

But it is not someone else.

He is him.

And I do love him.

And I want him to be happy.

And I want me to be happy

And I know that here.

We cannot have that.

So I will think about what I have to do for me and for my kids.

And I will move deliberately

And surely

To protect us all from each other.

Because he can't.

That is why it has to be this way.

Want

I want him so badly it burns in my chest.

I want him so badly that when I walk I feel my cunt brushing against my panties.

I want him so badly I feel my nipples tingle and swell when I think of him.

I want him so badly it is blinding. 

It suffocates me.

It wraps me up, cocoons me, keeps me safe.

It exposes me.

It makes me open, vulnerable and exposed.

I want him so badly I only think of him when my heart beats.

And when I think of him my heart beats because I want him so badly.

I blinked

So who would have guessed....I blinked first.

I sent him a text.  I sent him a text apologizing.  I sent him a text saying I had a tantrum.  I sent him a text saying I needed him and couldn't tell him.  I sent him a text saying I was scared to see him.  I sent him a text asking to talk tomorrow.

Nervously I waited holding the phone.  A minute passes.  Maybe two.  I think he is not going to reply.  Reasonably I think maybe he has gone to bed.  Then I think he is not going to talk to me.  Then I think he is not going to talk to me ever.  Then I think well fuck him.  Then I think what the hell will I do. Then my phone blips.  The message is "sure".

Fuck him.  I hate that I know he was just sitting waiting for me to come to him.  I hate that we both knew I would.  I hate him for not checking on me.  I hate his short little response, "sure".  I see it and I read: it's no big deal, whatever, we're cool, its cool, I hardly noticed...I guess in my sub-ly brain I read it as you don't matter.  No matter how much I know he was waiting me out I can't squash that shard of tiny little girl wanting for someone to notice, to care, to come looking and make everything better...

The little girl (when she really was little) decided "fuck the rest of the world I am not asking you for a goddamn thing'.  That is why Mr waits.  He waits for her to stop wishing and state what it is she needs, then he is there not making a fuss, just accepting and calm - but only when she has both the strength and weakness to come to him.  When she stamps her foot and crosses her arms, frowning, tears burning but not falling, lips tight, needing to be seen but not admitting it, it is not enough - can never be enough.  That little girl runs to him because he pulls out of her that need and lets it shine.  He polishes it, tends it, cares for it, nurtures it until she can own it.  When she needs him he cannot come to her because what she needs is to go to him.

The thing I hate most is that after my one really bad day I slipped into this space.  I feel...well I feel so damn subbie.  I am scared to see him because I know I have dropped to a new level of submission.  I don't want to see him because I don't know what that will look like.  I am scared to see him because I don't want to need to see him.  I don't want to want to see him because I feel like my world will collapse if I don't.  I want to go because I choose it, not because I need to breathe the air from his lungs so that I can live.

But I do.

Get Fucked (a little swearing)

So I am withdrawn.

I am not contacting him.  It isn't permanent.  It is just what I am doing now in this moment.  It isn't deliberate.  It is just what I feel like I need to do right now.  Okay so yeah, maybe there is some element of deliberate, conscious thought in there....

The thing is, he should be contacting me.  He should be checking up on me.  He should be asking of me, requiring of me, taking care of his property and he isn't.  So now I am pissed off and I am not contacting him more (so there).  That'll show him.  No I am not trying to get him to take particular actions, topping from the bottom or whatever...not really...

I have done this before and I know it takes a bit of time.  Sometimes longer than others and then I cave and crawl to him, beg of him.  I know he is waiting for me to do it.

I am not going to this time, though.  He should be caring for me, making sure I am okay.  In our last session he pushed me so much further than he should have.  Well maybe not because when I look back I want to re-live it (seriously - how fucked up is ttwd) but he should still be making sure I am okay so he can go GET FUCKED because I am not contacting him.

You would think that when your sub is there, pleading, bleeding, being held down, screaming, you would think that after she takes it, a little more after care would be extended - regardless of how "okay" she seems after.  I had a fucking handprint in bruises on my back from being held down and pushed...well anyway, lets just say fisting has a whole new meaning for me now and where once it meant pure, unadulterated, giant, screaming, squirting orgasms now it also means FUCK YOU MR - I can't believe you would make someone fist my arse you mother fucker.

I can't explain how pissed off I am that I was genuinely withdrawn for one day (yesterday) not sad or anything just blank and then overnight I am morphed into wanting to see him, contemplating how and when and if I will message him.  I wonder how long I can hold out.  I wonder if I will get in trouble if it is a long time or not.  I hate it.  I can't believe I am even thinking about thinking about wanting to see him.

He knows he pushed me too fucking far.  Seriously I came over a hundred times in 9 hours.  Lost count at 80 something.  He thinks just because he can make me cum by telling me to it is funny to watch me....and I guess it is....and I guess I enjoy it...How the fuck it is possible to cum when everything you are is screaming that you don't want to and....oh never mind....

Thanks Bitching Post - clearly I needed to vent...and Mr - a big fat FUCK YOU    (which I am sure will be far from your first or last, why?  because you are a mother fucker.)

Now someone hand me my phone, I really need to arrange to go see him....

Really guys, can someone explain this thing we do again, and why we do it?

Depression

My S/O gets depression.  I hate it.  I have lived with it, around it, through it for my whole life.  I guess it was in my blind spot when we got together and then, about a year after we had moved in together I looked.  I knew there was something not right.  I screwed up my face, furrowed my brow and shook my head....what is it...then it hit my like a baton of lead in the back of the head.  Oh yes, this.  I know what this is.  This is not so good.  FUCK. 

My mother is a chronic depressive.  I watched her, always trying to please, to make her happy and it was never ever enough.  I was never enough.  I was never enough because nothing was enough because she was not enough for herself.  Then one day I stopped and said a big FUCK YOU to everything...

I see my S/O who is a fantastic person, devoted and driven stop his usual life, not sleep.  I see the circles forming under his eyes, that he needs to sleep 20 hours a day (he doesn't - he is high functioning as was my mother).  I see his back as he sits on the computer trying to block out life.  I see his temper short, his expression vacant.  I see the desperation spilling out of him.  He walks through the house under a black cloud, raining on everything, wind whipping everyone's heels.  Some days the cloud is bigger, some days it is smaller some days I think he manages to shove the cloud in his back pocket and pretend it is not there.

After 3 years of hounding he went and saw someone.  He didn't take the medication he was recommended.  He scored 11 out of 13 (13 being the worst you can get, clinical diagnosis being over 6).  He refused to go back and see her after a while.  He promised to see someone else.  He got so bad he moved out.  He came back promising to see someone new.  He didn't.  He has managed so much better.  His bouts were about three to forth monthly, two to three weeks spiraling down, about 3 weeks at rock bottom before he would acknowledge there was something wrong and then a steep two to three weeks climbing back out, a few weeks for everyone to recover and then we would start again.

It has been about nine months this time.  I know things are getting better in terms of his coping strategies BUT every time we hit this it triggers the most massive panic in me.  I feel like I need to run faster and further every time.  I hate him for putting my kids through this, our kids I suppose.  ((I say my kids because he was so badly depressed for the first few years that I was solo parenting.  Infact when he moved out it took the children 3 days to notice - and they were 8 and 4 at the time.  So yeah, there is a bit of hurt there and yeah I do feel self righteous and yeah I do just want to curl up in a ball and cry some days but someone has to be the grown up. ))I hate him for putting me through this.  I hate him for putting him through this.  I hate looking at him and seeing such a pathetic weak piece of shit, unable to make a choice.  I hate that if he does it is a selfish choice.  I hate when he talks to me that it is to either passively sit in morose agreement or to start a fight.  I hate that he is so weak he can't admit to making a mistake.  I hate that I can't truly communicate with him because he can't hear outside his own head.  I hate that I am the only one really here.

I know that it passes, as is the nature of the beast in this case.  My mother was slightly different - she lived permanently wrapped in her blanket of depression, cocooned inside, protected from the world, inflicting her pain on everyone, blaming the world for her emptiness.  He sees it as a failure, that he is faulty, deficient, wrong.  He inflicts his wallowing but it ebbs and flows, goes and comes back.  I am not sure which I hate more, the uncertainty and the pathos or the certainty and the venomous anger.

I look at both my husband and my mother and I understand the rupture.  I see the pain that echos outward, reverberating back, reinforcing itself as THE self, radiating different textures but the same feelings of helpless loss of self.  None of it matters.  In those moments where I hurt I don't care anymore why they feel sad I only wish I didn't have to live it and then I feel bad.  Really bad.  Like I am abandoning a baby because in those moments I know that they aren't there, can't be there for themselves.  I see my husband is getting better but every single bout is hard, almost worse than the previous.  Just when I think I have him there, a real person who I can deal with, talk with and build with, he is gone.

I look to Mr and I see someone who has a big lot of stuff going on.  He talks but from strength - no matter how tough his situation.  He does not anger with me.  He does not blame me.  He does not mope.  He does not goad me into a fight to release his tension.  He talks.  We talk.  He listens still. Importantly, through all of it, I still exist to him as a person.  Most importantly he still exists to me.  He is the same man.  Clearly stressed but present.

That is the thing I think that makes me feel like I am suffocating with both s/o and my mother, like they are gone and I am gone to them. 

That is why I can't keep running to Mr because he breathes for me when for the whole of my life I have been breathing for everyone else.  I can't fix my relationship by outsourcing my coping - that is why I tried to call it off (it was wholly unsuccessful).

That is why I can't stop running to him too.

Plus, truth be told, I care for him far more than I ever ever intended.  That to me smells like danger.

once
pain flowed out of me
in spurts
like water gushing from my
grandmother's
black
water
pump


it flowed
drawing
sorrow
from my bones


now I
return to the pump
piston the lever
and find
the well
has dried