About my submission, I can say this:

…I don’t always get it.

 

Today I came face-to-face face-first with my Dark, dragged by the scruff of my neck, grasped tightly in the teeth of my own personal demon, who was tired of my whining. Well, Bubbles calls it whining. I’ll call it feeling a bit depressed. Or as I like to put it, emotionally recessed. Depression is another few miles walk from what I’m feeling. I think the blues is a term that best encapsulates my situation.

 

Yeah. Bluesy.

 

Lots of reasons for that. My life has an unfamiliar shape. I’m recovering from being abruptly shoved off of the roller-coaster of spending over three weeks living with The Dominant Guy and Mrs. The Dominant Guy, and being in service. Lots happening there, most of which was surprisingly…good…culminating in attending a big-ass con, doing some big-ass play, which itself culminated in my getting my tiny-ass nipples pierced.

 

Go big or stay the fuck home, right?

Then? I hit a nasty, nasty drop. It wasn’t con drop..I don’t do that. At first I thought it was just “Aw, sad widdle subpanda misses TDG. Suck it up, buttercup. And don’t be silly, you’ll see him in 5 weeks or so.”  But then it got weirder and tougher. It didn’t help that I was illin’ and fighting something off. But after I finally found myself in bed for an entire day I thought “OK, this isn’t all-right.” After being in service, and just hanging around with TDG, re-entry for me was fraught, and TDG was swamped in his life. And I am horrible at piping up if the D-type in my life is busy. I have this ironclad “Do Not Bother The Dominant!” thing in my head. Which is hard to overcome despite his saying that I should let him know if I’m having a rough time.

 

Hey, I’m working on it.

 

Days went by with emails and texts being our base-touching and that wasn’t enough, really, because I was still spiraling and that fucking Bad Voice demon was working every possible nerve, angle and loose end. We finally caught up a bit last night and I was able to say “No, I’m not doing well.” and so today, we were talking about that. I was having a hard time with my words…fucking Mercury Retrograde…and was doubly frustrated because I am usually quite adept at communicating verbally. Whammy. I was talking and he was listening and thank goodness we are both excellent communicators because today wasn’t the most excellent of communication days. Both of us could get that it just wasn’t coming together…and not push things. Frustrating, but not an epic derailment.

 

The rest of the day went by and I was going back and forth with my thoughts until I realized that part of my issue…my battle…was that I was fighting the thought of revealing myself when it came to what I needed in terms of submission. I was fighting it because…because it aggrieves me. Because I have a strange shamefulness about some facets of my submission.

 

Part of my being submissive means permitting myself to establish an emotional interdependency with someone else. A symbiosis of power and energy. And on the slave side? On my side? A relinquishing of controls.

 

I don’t want it, even though I need it. I need to need.

 

The place I see myself going if  (If? Foolishness. When.)  when that interdependence is established is, frankly, a bit unnerving. I can see where emotional masochism would be unleashed. I can see where I genuinely would place someone else’s needs before my own, and I know that it gets even murkier than that. And even though it feels like a kind of obliteration, it sings with such sweetness to the gorgeous darkness in my soul that it seems a small price to pay to be in that place where I am actually at peace.

 

And the thing is? Most dominant people absolutely don’t want that degree of  responsibility. And I can’t blame them. I certainly wouldn’t want it. That’s why there is so much pressure, when playing, for the bottom to remain responsible and to NOT give up that sensation of control. That is why there are safewords in scenes. In order to mitigate and even out the responsibility to all involved parties when we play. And, rightfully so.

 

But I. Don’t. Want it.

 

Because I’m not fucking playing.

 

I took a good hard look into my abyss and…how does the quote go?

 

 

 

 When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

Friedrich knew about some shit, yo.

 

My abyss…I remember it. I don’t all the way grok it, but I do know I can’t go there alone. And I know I needed to tell him.

 

I coughed up this rather tangled hairball and some other bits and pieces and sent them off to The Dominant Guy, just so that I could keep my end of the “OK, here’s all the shit in my head.” bargain. I told him some stuff I’ve never told anyone, and though it seemed to me to be a messy bit of business, he found my expression of it…lovely.  His word.

 

I’m not sure what the outcome will be. But today I can say I survived telling someone a secret, one of the precious few I have, and they didn’t push me away.

 

So fuck you, Bubbles. And thank you, sir.