This entry was started last weekend – twice. I fell into a deep depression on Saturday and I’ve taken my time figuring out how much about it I want to share.
I’m leaving out the many bits that added up and led to this but I ended up crying hysterically (yes, truly hysterically. I was gasping for air because I was crying so hard) at MasterDoc’s and being totally contrary, depressed and angry for the better part of the day. Bless MasterDoc’s patience. He did all he could to try to shake me out of it but I was unshakable for much of the day. He tried caning, which just pissed me off. *chuckle* He tried a firm hand, taking control, telling me to get my collar and get up and do some chores. That didn’t work. I was so weighted down with depression that I couldn’t move. I really couldn’t move. And when I finally got up to go use the bathroom I struggled to get to my feet and amble down the hall. It was a feeling much like when you’re heavily sick with flu and you feel like you’re moving through molasses.
But he kept at it, kept talking to me. Kept trying to reason with me through my tears. (He’s nothing if not a reasonable, rational man.) Eventually the core was reached – I don’t think I’m worthy of being loved. All the rest is window dressing for this one core truth. Sure there are times when I’m not depressed when I feel worthwhile, but depression makes me feel utterly useless and unlovable. I’ve struggled with this since late childhood.
Sometimes via writing this blog I get people telling me I’m sexy, exciting, wonderful, attractive, etc. At those times the little low self-esteem voice in my head quotes the following bit from a Neil Finn song, Truth:
“They have showered me with riches /and they say that I am worthy of their love and their attention/ but they still don’t know the truth.”
I figure why believe someone who only knows me through the blog? Even though I am extremely candid here someone still can’t know me entirely with all my foibles and full-on flaws. I can’t accept compliments. Not really. I grew up thinking that if I felt good about myself then I was being egotistical and that I should always know my flaws and work on them. (Maybe this is a residual Catholic thing?) When I started coming out of the depression on Saturday, started being more reasonable at least, MasterDoc listed a bunch of things he likes about me; and I didn’t recognize the person he described. I didn’t think it could be me. But at the same time it felt so good to be told I’m loved and wanted.
As I was slowly recovering emotionally, I had a revelation. I finally understood age play. I had always been among the camp of “that makes me really uncomfortable but I won’t interfere with two consenting adults playing how they want to play.” But jeez, Saturday night I wanted nothing more than to be taken care of like a little child. I wanted to abdicate all responsibility. I wanted to be told when to brush my teeth and go to bed. I wanted to be held and petted and told I’m loved. It was a struggle for me to do tasks MasterDoc asked me to do, having any responsibility felt like too much for me to handle. I really felt like I needed to be taken care of. I did get petting from MasterDoc and told that I’m loved, but I didn’t get the full level of being controlled and taken care of. Oh well. That’s not what our relationship is like.
By the next day I was feeling calmer and no longer suicidal. I’ve struggled with dips into depression this week but have ultimately ended the week on a stable note. Wednesday night, while MasterDoc caned me, he made me repeat after him, “I am incredibly lovable.” He made me say it a few times and made me promise that I would remember that. We talked a little about how I came to feel this way when I was young, and having a mother who was moody and wildly unpredictable had a lot to do with it – i.e., one day I’d say “good morning” and she’d be loving and we’d bake cookies, but another morning I’d say the same exact thing in the same exact way and she’d bite my head off. As MasterDoc and I talked, he asked if I had ever tried to diagnose my mother. (I have an educational background in psychology.) I haven’t really, but immediately I said that she must suffer from depression like I do. And MasterDoc wondered aloud if I ever realized that these issues were my mother’s own or if I internalized them and blamed myself. And you know, until last night, at age 37, I never had the thought that these issues were my mother’s, and not my fault. I blamed myself from a young age. I thought that I made her mad or sad.
Somehow, I forget how, he came up with the idea of a time out next time I snap at him – time facing the corner to cool down and think. I think it’s interesting how a lot of what I’m getting out of our relationship in recent weeks is sorta parenting my inner child on things I missed out on when I actually was a child. I don’t doubt that my submission has some roots in wanting to be loved and pleasing. I think it could be really healing to try to please someone who is capable of being pleased for a change.
MasterDoc continued to say wonderful things to me all evening, working on bolstering my self-esteem. I’m trying to figure out how to accept the compliments. He feels a little offended that, in a way, I should think so little of his opinion of me as to not believe it. But it’s not that his opinion is off, it’s that I just can’t think about myself rationally sometimes.
We did eventually have sex, and while I came hard as always (rowr!) I was slow to warm up by that time as he bounced between watching porn on the computer and watching basketball on tv. I had been ready for fooling around after the caning but the sex didn’t come til much later. I didn’t complain, and he pointed out that I’m patient. He fucked me, and the ensuing hard orgasm helped my already improving mood. As we watched an assfucking porn afterward, I told him that it made me want to be fucked up the ass. And yes, he fucked me up the ass then. Very hot. I lay back after each fucking and felt utterly content.
He jerked off to come, and came in my mouth again. I sucked his cock while holding the come in my mouth and gleefully dribbled it out when he told me to. I think this is my current fetish. I hope that he’ll have me rub it over my breasts or something next time.
So as I head into the new year, I seem to be dealing with a bout of depression. Hopefully I will manage to work through it like I always have in the past. Having a loving Dom will certainly help. Having a loving Davey will help too, but I think part of me needs a bit of a challenge when it comes to being loved. I feel like I need to earn it, and Davey loves me virtually unconditionally. Not that MasterDoc doesn’t, but he criticizes constructively and gets me working on improving. I think I need to prove to myself that I have earned the love I receive.
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