Archive for the 'crazy' Category

Mood Swings

Published on February 16, 2010 in anxiety, bdsm, crazy, depression, derangement, edge play, emotions, kink, masochism, mental illness, sex, sex toys and stress. 5 Comments

It’s hard dealing with mental illness. I suffer from depression and when it hits it makes everything seem terrible and insurmountable. When it passes, I think, “How silly that I was THAT worked up.” In the meantime, I’ve quite possibly put MasterDoc or Davey through hell. Thankfully, they both love me and understand that I can’t really control the depression. Doesn’t make it any easier for them to deal with it though. It’s also not fun for me either.

Yesterday was one of those days. I seem to be having more of them than usual lately. I plan to talk to my shrink about medication, because perhaps the regimen I’ve been on for a few years now isn’t working as well.

In a fit of pique, I declared on twitter that I was giving up sex. I’m sure people reading that knew it wouldn’t stick. By the time the day was over I had sex with MasterDoc (entirely of my choosing) and orgasms helped settle me. We’re working on ways to help head off these bouts via beatings (endorphins help), medication, orgasms, and anything else that might help level off or lift my mood. Unfortunately I was a teary, angry mess yesterday before things could be headed off. When I started to gain perspective on the situation (“Oh, I see! This is depression speaking and making everything seem so irreparably terrible!”) cuddles helped a great deal. I cried a lot, started getting depressed about having been depressed (not to mention having been so harsh to MasterDoc). MasterDoc and I laughed about that a bit – the whole getting depressed because I get depressed. It’s silly I know, but I do feel terrible guilt for being difficult when I’m depressed.

I appreciate all the support from my twitter and facebook friends as I rode through the turmoil yesterday. It’s wonderful that people I don’t even really know will offer words of encouragement and support.

That’s why I didn’t get around to blogging about my Sunday evening in with MasterDoc. It was a bumpy night in a way – there was sex, a break, MasterDoc not really feeling like doing a lot but meanwhile I was craving a long night of hard, rough sex. (Been watching too much rough sex porn lately.) He decided that he wanted to come, and we played with ourselves while watching porn. He was going to come on me but the spurts didn’t quite make it to my hip that was laying beside him. I used the magic wand on myself and thankfully MasterDoc gave me a little of what I was craving then. Hand on throat, slapped thighs, I begged him to hurt me. The roughness made me come so much harder than I would have with the magic wand alone.

I can’t wait to try more rough stuff with him.

The Depression and Insecurity Struggle

Published on January 1, 2010 in D/s, Uncategorized, anal, anger, anxiety, caning, crazy, depression, derangement, dom, emotions, mental illness, neurosis and sex. 1 Comment

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.

Mid-30′s Crisis

Published on November 17, 2009 in Uncategorized, anxiety, crazy, depression, derangement, embarrassment, emotions, happy, impulses, mental illness, monogamy, musings, neurosis, non-monogamy, poly, stress and venting. 3 Comments

I had a meltdown today. It was a combination of factors. I turn 37 tomorrow. Like other women my age who have not had children I’m starting to get scared about the fact that every passing year my ability to have a child lessens. I’m not even sure I want a child. I get these little fantasies about having a little girl (yup, typical!) and teaching her things, taking her to her first day of school. But when I give it more considered thought I realize that I would have to drastically change my lifestyle. Obviously whoever I had the baby with would be the person I spent the most time with as we would be raising a child together. What would happen with my other relationships? It would be much harder to get away to spend time with MasterDoc, or go to a swing party, or get a good beating. Up until a couple of years ago, I was dead set on NOT having a child. And I figured if I changed my mind late in life I could adopt – because ultimately I don’t have the feeling that I have to give birth to a child to love it. I realized that I didn’t want to sacrifice my life enough to do so, and that knowing that and living childless would be the smartest option for myself and any child I could potentially have. If I’m going to parent I want to be committed to it 100%. But the question is, do I want to commit to it 100%? Or even 60%?
So I’m going through this “baby” crisis I’m sure other women my age have gone through. I worry – will I get to old age and feel like I missed out on an important life experience? Who will take care of me when I’m old? But on the other hand I’ve long had worries that I’d be like my mother and have a rough relationship with the child and I really am NOT close to my mother. Having a child doesn’t guarantee having someone around to take care of you when you’re old. I think this has also hit now because over the past three years or so suddenly my friends went from being all unmarried and without children (with rare exceptions) to some of them being married, having kids, settling down. Or being a bit older and having done the family thing and now moved on to enjoying the time they have now that their kids are grown.
There’s also the fact that I could see myself co-parenting with MasterDoc, but as he’s in his mid 50′s he’s not interested in starting over again. He has a kid in college. He has a lifestyle he’s presently happy with. While there have been men in their 50s (or even older) who have fathered children, it’s understandable that most people in their 50s (and up) don’t want to start all over again. And while Davey adores me and would do the family thing if I really wanted one, he doesn’t really want it himself and I think that we have enough similar weaknesses that perhaps he’s not the best one to parent with. And again, do I actually want to do that anyway? Is the desire to have a child based on reality or based on hormones or a sense that time is closing its window for me?
So today I was in crisis. I’ve also been realizing that probably I won’t be as important as I’d like to be to MasterDoc (and that I’ve been terrible in taking Davey for granted). I wondered if I should break up with MasterDoc and go find another Dom who wants more closely what I do. We spent a very teary afternoon talking, and I made him feel terrible. AND I made myself feel terrible. I don’t really want to leave him. I have a wonderful time with him. My life is enhanced having him in it. So it’s not perfect, but you know, it’s really asking a hell of a lot for a relationship to be perfect. I have two wonderful, imperfect relationships with two good men who love me. Maybe I need to spend a little more time appreciating how happy I am much of the time.
I think part of the problem is that I suffer from depression – and so if I feel at all sad or dissatisfied I go off the deep end. I pull away. I bottle things up. I think in black and white. Negative thoughts spiral out of control in my head. And then like a volcano eventually I explode. It’s perfectly reasonable that I’m sad that things with MasterDoc will probably never be the intensity I’d like. But it’s not reasonable that I think it means I have to pull the plug on something that makes us happy.

I’m worn out this evening from the tears. I really do a bang up job of making myself unhappy. I was so utterly and completely miserable. I can’t believe that earlier today I was considering walking out of MasterDoc’s place and going home for good. A better indication of how this was depression rather than what I truly wanted is that I couldn’t picture doing anything other than committing suicide if I walked out of there. I pictured going home and putting my head in the oven. (Goes back to the old affinity I had for Sylvia Plath as a depressed teenager.) I felt horrible. I felt horribly unhappy. I only focused on the imperfect things and forgot the wonderful (perfect even!) facets of my relationship with him. I got extremely morbid and started figuring out that I have enough money in my bank accounts to finish off any outstanding medical bills and cover a funeral for me. I saw no future other than a dark tunnel and death.

I need to spend more time thinking about this baby issue, but thinking about how my life would change if I did it, rather than the idealized fantasy. Life is not one big idealized fantasy. I espouse polyamory virtues right and left but then I find myself thinking that I need to have one relationship meet all my needs. I have more than one relationship of value in my life. I need to start focusing on that. I think I need to deprogram society’s monogamous ideal from my head even more. I can’t see myself not being with Davey or MasterDoc. Why on earth do I feel that I need to focus on one relationship? When I was monogamous, I was never quite happy that I couldn’t explore things with other people.

The sad part is that I may be making up things to be unhappy about. I may be dwelling on things I don’t even want in reality.

Depression

Published on September 22, 2009 in Uncategorized, anxiety, crazy, depression, derangement, embarrassment, emotions, illness, mental illness, musings and neurosis. 1 Comment

Those of you who follow this blog and my twitter know that I’ve been dealing with a pretty big bout of depression the past few days. Today it’s starting to lift a bit, and hopefully will soon pass. I get to see MasterDoc today, and Shane came over last night to spend some time. Both of them are great to cuddle, as well as enjoyable to spend time with. I’ll talk about the naughty bits of my evening with Shane in another post. Davey comes home just in time for MasterDoc to go away again – so I won’t be sitting around alone for another weekend.

I want to talk today about clinical depression. There’s still enough of a stigma against it that it can be terrifying to be openly depressed (or suffer from any other mental illness). While I did have a lot of nice people send tweets of support, I still felt afraid that I’d be perceived as “crazy” and therefore undesirable. (I also worry that people like the guy who assaulted me will use it against me to dismiss my claims of being assaulted.) Granted, being depressed adds to this feeling of being lesser – it’s part of the issue in the first place. When I’m depressed I feel overwhelmingly sad, overwhelmingly bad about myself (I kept thinking that I’m too much trouble and that MasterDoc and Davey would be better off without me), and I feel guilty asking for help. MasterDoc was spending the weekend at DeeDee’s for the first time, and last thing I wanted to do was ruin his or her weekend. When depressed, I don’t have energy to do much, and I don’t get pleasure out of much either. I felt so depressed yesterday afternoon that I actually told MasterDoc that I didn’t have any interest in sex right then. (Yes, I know, can you imagine??)

But I really needed to seek help. Part of the complexity of depression is that you withdraw, you think you’re not worth helping right at the time you need help the most. And I have to say that it is definitely an illness – I couldn’t  control my dark mood any more than I could control my gall stone attack a few weeks ago. When it comes to physical ailments, we shuffle people off to the doctor or emergency room right away for treatment, even if it’s just to reduce the pain via painkillers. But with mental illness people often look the other way – they don’t want to embarrass the person who’s depressed and since curing depression isn’t as easy as a shot of painkiller (wish it was) they feel helpless. So they give the person space. But if we treated other ailments that way it would seem crazy, wouldn’t it? To ignore a gall stone attack while it’s put someone in agonizing pain seems absurd, but ignoring a bout of depression which has similarly put the subject in pain is not unusual.

While I’m depressed and pushing people away, I’m also hoping that someone will ignore my pushes and come in and take care of me. I want nothing more than to be reassured that I’m not worthless. As the depression lifts, I can see that my thinking has been irrational and was caused by being mentally ill but in the midst of it it’s practically impossible to see. And it hurts. Being depressed hurts. Maybe not in the same morphine-fixable way that gall stone pain does, but it’s an agonizing emotional pain.

When dealing with someone who’s mentally ill, please don’t ever tell them to just “cheer up.” My friend and I were laughing about this yesterday. “Haha, yeah I hate when people think that’s gonna help. “OMG, I hadn’t thought of that! ‘Just feel better’ – You’re a genius!” she said. I agreed that it’s just as hard to will the pain of mental illness away as it is to will the pain of my gall stones away. (Or will away cancer, or a heart attack.) “Exactly! Its miraculous! I can feel better whenever I want, and I CHOOSE to be miserable like this! -facepalm- “ It really helps to talk with someone who understands. I do not choose to be depressed. I cannot just make it go away. I do take medication for it but medication is imperfect. It feels lousy to be mentally ill – the longer I live with it the more I see it as an illness just like any physical one. It has an onset, I feel really unwell for a while, and then gradually it improves and goes away.

But even though I’ve long been open about my depression (I think we need to be open to get rid of the stupid stigma) when I’m actually depressed I stigmatize myself. I’ve been understanding that since I sprained my wrist late last week that I have to coddle it and rely more on my other arm. But I’ve been much less understanding that I need to coddle my psyche and lean on MasterDoc’s mind for a while. As a submissive, I feel it’s my job to take care and to not be any work. It’s hard for me to truly let my defenses down and let someone in to the whack-a-doodle shit going on in my brain. I wrote a blog entry offline to work on expressing my feelings. I only just showed it to MasterDoc and I doubt I’ll post it here. He didn’t think it sounds as crazy as I thought it did. It’s scary to do so though, because even in the midst of it you know it’s disordered thinking and sharing it with someone is terrifying. You become a prisoner in your own mind. Reaching out to connect with someone else is often the biggest help, but the hardest thing to do.

I’m not 100% back to normal as of yet. But the fog has lifted somewhat, and I’ve managed to open up to help and support from people around me finally.

Impulses

Published on April 23, 2007 in crazy, impulses and mental illness. 0 Comments

There must be something “off” with my meds. Today I admitted to my therapist (the only person I’ve admitted it to until now) that lately I get these random impulses/thoughts about killing myself. They’re really strange because I can easily rationalize why I don’t want to do that, but I’ll get a random thought like “Hey I could down all these pills easily.” or “I could drive my car off the road into a tree, just like that.” Or yesterday, I was in a restaurant and a cop stood near me with a thigh holster and I had the urge to just take the gun -not to hurt myself or anyone else, just to take it. It was a strong urge I had to fight. It makes no sense. It’s scary shit. Otherwise, I’m doing well. Yeah that sounds funny but in between these occasional lapses in sanity I’m doing well. Therapist and I think that it’s got to be med/chemical imbalance related because otherwise I’m really positive and things are going well (getting back to my old sexual, slutty self, but that’s another blog entry). Therapist offered to call my psychiatrist about it while I was there in therapy and I took her up on it. I just don’t want to deal with it so I’d be likely to just wait until my psych appointment next Monday rather than try to get something earlier. Now I’m trying to get a morning appointment before work sometime this week. And I’m trying to keep my head together.

I met up with the Irishman today and I was scared to wait for him at the train station because I read a story about someone jumping in front of a train nearby yesterday. I was scared I’d get that impulse again and do something rash. I did wait on the platform for him, but I made a conscious decision to sit away from the edge and keep myself ON the platform. I didn’t get the urge, but I was plenty anxious worrying that I would get the urge. This is weird shit and now that I’ve vocalized what’s going on I’m terribly anxious about it. I’m so scared I’ll feel compelled to do something rash and give in. For now I’m doing a great job of realizing how bizarre these thoughts are immediately and making a conscious decision to not act on them, but as my therapist pointed out all it takes is a matter of seconds for something bad to happen in these instances. I feel crazy. I hate feeling crazy. I had an incredible fear of going back to the mental hospital this morning in therapy (I was in for three months when I was 16, thanks to depression). I haven’t had that fear in years, but it felt possible. Scarily possible.

So now I’m going to keep it together as best I can and see my psychiatrist as soon as I can. On the outside everything looks fine. I’m sure Davey has no idea I’ve had these thoughts (although now that I’ve come out with it I plan to tell him about it tonight, although I really hate to worry him and I know he’ll worry). I’m sure the Irishman had no idea what a lunatic I feel on the inside while we hung out today. Funny thing is, sexually I’m feeling like my old self again and it makes me really happy. I got some good work-related news recently that made me very happy. And this weekend with Davey was just wonderful. So why am I having random thoughts of grabbing a cop’s gun in the midst of it?