Archive for the 'mental illness' Category

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Published on May 10, 2010 in Uncategorized, anxiety, assault, blog, depression, emotions, mental illness, recovery and trauma. 7 Comments

I wrote the first draft of this on Saturday morning, when I was heavily in the midst of a post-traumatic stress disorder crisis. Sorry to say you don’t get any hot stories from the weekend as there pretty much weren’t any. This post is a bit meandering as it’s more about expressing my feelings than writing a well-written blog post.

Mental illness is something that you can’t just wish away. I’m as able to wish away bouts of post traumatic stress as much as I’m able to wish away a bout of diarrhea from ingesting dairy without lactaid. It’s frustrating. My rational brain can grasp the fact that I’m not in danger like I was during the trauma that gave me PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). It can grasp the fact that MasterDoc takes care of me now, and the same scenario wouldn’t happen again as he would never let it. But the primal brain, the part that was traumatized, can’t be reasoned with and so I go into a bout of panic, anxiety and helplessness as if I’m re-living the the trauma all over again. And again. And again.

Various things can trigger a bout of PTSD and it’s not always (or even often) possible to determine ahead of time what might set me off. I read stories about sexual violence regularly in feminist blogs; I think it’s vital to discuss it and that silence will only perpetuate the problem. But sometimes something hits me just the wrong way, or just on the wrong day, and I find myself struggling with the same feelings I had right after the assault.

What set me off this time was a combination of things: reading comments on a post about outing sexual predators was the big thing. People were telling the survivors that they should always go to the police and that if they didn’t report the incident then they were somehow responsible for the sexual predator attacking the next person (and yet they shouldn’t publicly name and shame the person). This of course is utter bullshit as the only person responsible for the inappropriate behavior of the attacker is the attacker. But it struck me deeply as I agonized for a long time over pursuing legal repercussions after I was sexually assaulted 5 years ago. I worried about the women who could be affected in future by this asshole who was incapable of empathy or taking responsibility for his actions. I ultimately decided not to file a report because in talking to the NYPD I found out that unless they were sure they could convict they wouldn’t even prosecute. At the time people who were there that night were making all sorts of excuses for the guy who traumatized me. (He hosted fun sex parties, no one wanted to be uninvited. From what I hear he still hosts parties. Yes, New York sluts, you may in fact attend the parties of someone who committed sexual assault without remorse.) I felt like I would be completely alone in my accusations, and considering I was barely keeping my head together at that point I knew that pursuing legal action would only serve to damage me more. I also worried about harassment from his friends if I spoke up. (I did receive a little harassment just from speaking up within the circle.) Now, it’s past the statute of limitations (I can’t tell you the agony I went through that year the statute was going to be up. Do I report? Do I not?) but in the past two years a few people have come forward from that night to tell me that, indeed, what that guy did was wrong and they have felt terrible about what I went through. It’s comforting, but I wish they could have spoken up when I could have gone to the police.

As for the guy who did it, well he’s still a part of the sex blogger community. He’s on twitter. He’s on Fetlife. Part of my trigger was thinking about how many of my blogger friends believe his facade of “nice guy” and don’t realize what he did to me. I feel like the world should know, but in this society we protect the perpetrators of sex crimes. Had he hit me, or mugged me, I wouldn’t hesitate to name him. But since it was sexual and I know that being at a sex party when it happened would be enough for the slut shaming to begin, I don’t feel safe hollering his name from the rooftops. Oh privately I have told many, but publicly I’ve been mostly circumspect. I’m sure if anyone questioned him about the incident, he would deftly turn things around and make me look like the bad one. (Just as he did after the assault. Nice guy, huh?)

I’ve heard from someone else that they heard the story of that incident from him and his telling is completely different. In his mind, I was a woman who decided to try to “destroy him online.” I find this rich considering I didn’t name who did it or hint at who did it in the aftermath (for at least 2 years). I merely blogged about the hell I was going through and from this dickhead I got things like emails telling me to stop using him as “blog fodder.” Most readers of the blog I had at that time didn’t know who had done it, so I don’t see how he was persecuted by my trying to process my feelings. (He sure didn’t like the comments people left about what an asshole he was. But these people didn’t know he, specifically, was the asshole.) He refused to take any sort of responsibility for his behavior, and one or two people close to him made excuses (“He was drunk.”) or one even went so far as to call me crazy. I’m not crazy. And this man who did this to me is clearly incapable of empathy. I’m not the only person to observe him and come to the conclusion that he likely has some sort of personality disorder. So while a part of me wants to hear an apology (5 years later and one still hasn’t appeared) I don’t really expect to ever get one, because he is so focused on how this incident affected him. (Isn’t that simply amazing? He traumatized and assaulted me and he feels that he’s the wronged party.) I’ve seen him concoct huge, involved, false stories about people I know because he imagines that they are persecuting him in some way. I’ve heard about others who have spoken out about him who have been incessantly harassed by his minions. Intellectually I know this man will never feel remorse for what he did to me. And this is supremely frustrating because his actions can still affect me deeply 5 years later. When will it stop? I don’t know that the flashbacks will ever stop. I don’t know that the self-blaming will ever stop. I don’t know that my fears of him hurting other women will ever stop. A few years back a woman I was dating turned out to go to his parties. I felt panicked for her because I was afraid if he knew I knew her then he’d do something to her too. That incident was a total trigger for me. I went home and cried.

I’ve spent the past three and a half days trying to distract myself from the feeling of being re-traumatized. But it’s not something that can be simply ignored. I keep going through endless cycles of panic coming on, followed by extreme frustration that I could be happy and having hot sex right about now, but instead I’m feeling violated and fearful. When I’m triggered, I live the trauma all over again. Over the weekend I was psychically in the space where I was during/after the assault: scared, helpless, panicked, angry. I find myself questioning if going to a sex party makes it somehow okay for someone to put a speculum inside you without having negotiated it (or ANY play) with you beforehand. I find myself angry that I didn’t stop him before he put it in my cunt and jabbed me with it. (I had a tender spot inside my vagina for about a year after the event.) But at the time I firmly believed that if I said stop he would stop. He didn’t. And you can’t just jump up and run out of a room with an open speculum inside you. I had to rely on this asshole taking it out of me. With enough panic coursing through me I decided to end things there and then by drawing all attention to what was going on. And while I’m proud of the strength it took for me to do that, I was already traumatized at that point.

It’s been a long trip back from there to where I am now (on most days). It’s taken a long time for me to trust my dark fantasies to MasterDoc. I often fear that someone will use these fantasies against me, like how after the assault someone commented on my blog and cited my talking about using a speculum to see my cervix as an indication that I consented to this guy, who I had never played with before, to use one with me sexually. (Keep in mind any discussion of speculums on my blog were related to viewing my cervix and not at all sexual fantasy-related.) I find myself often afraid to admit to things especially without putting in the caveat that I want to do them “with MasterDoc.” He’s the only person I feel safe enough with to indulge the dark, kinky fantasies I’ve always had.

Simply talking about something does not equal consenting to doing it.

I’d name this asshole right here, right now and link to his blog, only I fear the harassment that would ensue. I’ve dealt with enough hell from this person. Right now about the only thing I can do is hope he dies a slow, painful death. And I hope that I can move past this anger that plunges me into depression whenever I’m triggered.

I write this for me. I write this because I feel better having gotten it out. Douchebag, this ultimately has nothing to do with you. If I wanted to persecute you I’d be going about it in an entirely different way.

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.

Birthday

Published on November 20, 2009 in D/s, Uncategorized, depression, dom, emotions, happy, mental illness, orgasm on command, sex and trust. 1 Comment

Despite my depression the day before, my birthday was pretty good. (And Friday morning I woke up with a bit of a migraine aura. I haven’t had a migraine in a few years since I started taking magnesium, and this didn’t turn into a full-blown migraine, but to get to the point, when in the prodromal phase of a migraine I have often had severe mood issues a few days before the actual migraine. Alas, I only realize why when the migraine would eventually come on. But boy, does this help explain Tuesday! Thankfully, I only experienced the aura and postdrome today and avoided the pain, I guess through my regular taking of magnesium.)

So, while I still felt a bit emotionally fragile, my work day wasn’t too bad and that evening I got to have sushi with MasterDoc. He gave me a bracelet that I’ve been pining for for quite a while (first when I saw the grossly overpriced Tiffany model, then the pining became more realistic when Divasub pointed me to Eve’s Addiction.) It’s a chain with a lock (non-locking) so it’s an acceptable piece of jewelry to wear daily, but has enough bdsm symbolism to give me the warm fuzzies when I see it and think about being MasterDoc’s sub.

And I should point out here that I’m fortunate that my Dom is a doctor and the type of person to understand that things like clinical depression and migraine prodromes are somewhat out of my control. I am thankful that he understands. Of course in return I’ll do my best to understand and control my moods before they get out of control.

I fell back into sub mode on Wednesday. I was happy to do stuff even though it was my birthday. I scrubbed the kitchen counters (something that I try to keep on top of). I exercised without complaint. And consequently my evening was much nicer than the previous afternoon. When I’m happy, I’m so glad to serve. Service is much harder when I feel depressed or irritable.

We climbed into bed at one point and there was some erotic foreplay. I kissed his chest, rubbed “the spot.” (“The spot” is this particular place in the center of his upper chest that I and one of his friends [she named it] find soothing to stroke.) He directed my hand downward and I stroked his cock, then massaged around the base as he stroked it. He had me wet his fingers and he stroked my clit. We put the axis under my ass and he fucked me. It was wonderful. I only squirted a little when I came (he pointed out that he had drained me the day before) but I had delicious, hard orgasms.
I was very happy and so the second round of fucking was a total bonus. He took me from behind, and fucked me until I was frantically moaning. I could feel the mushroom head of his cock sliding along the inside of my vagina. It was as if I could feel every stroke of his cock in minute detail. The build up lead to terrific orgasms when he gave me permission to come. He’s gotten better at managing my vagina of steel and not getting his cock pushed out when I come. (I also try a bit to control the clamping down.) I came for quite a while as he continued to push his cock into my spasming cunt. I was euphoric. I cuddled up after and let him know that I was so very sorry for my outburst the day before. I felt so happy to be in his arms and to remember that I’m loved.

Sex and Tea

Published on November 17, 2009 in Uncategorized, anal, depression, dom, happy, humor, masochism, mental illness, orgasm on command, sex, sex toys, shio, spanking, squirting and trust. 4 Comments

So MasterDoc knew that orgasms and/or a beating would help improve my mood. After we had talked quite a bit, we were able to sit and relax and reconnect. I made myself a cup of tea and we had this exchange:

“What type of tea did you make?”

“Regular black tea.”

“No, no, I know that but you usually make something good, you’re a bit of a connoisseur of teas.”

“Oh I made PG Tips. I’d say it’s the best bagged tea I can get.”

“PG what?”

“PG Tips. It’s big in England.”

“Oh an Anglo thing, of course. I should have known with you.”

“Well the English know quite a bit about making tea. What do Americans know? We threw it in the bay. That’s not how you make a pot of tea!”

We thought it was funny at the time. I hope it translates here.

Relaxation and cuddling led to porn watching and sex. I rode his cock for a while until he decided to spank my ass – hard. In the fragile mental state I was in today I couldn’t process the pain. He smacked me a few times and I burst into tears. Yup, even wonderful MasterDoc miscalculates sometimes. We stopped, cuddled and he acknowledged that probably just now I need support and love rather than pain.

MasterDoc knew that orgasms would improve my mood even if a beating wasn’t quite right. He teased me with the magic wand until I was rolling my hips trying to keep the vibration directly on my clit. I started to moan and he added the archer wand (glass dildo) and fucked me with it. He had me take over using the Hitachi on myself, and he proceeded to fuck me with the glass toy. When he told me to come, I had incredible rolling orgasms. I squirted massively, multiple times. The archer wand is curved just right to hit my g-spot so I suppose the rain shower that issued forth from me wasn’t a big surprise. Thankfully I had put the throe on the bed or the mattress would have been soaked. When he cuddled me after, I put down a towel on the puddle and pretty much immediately the towel was soaked through.

This was pretty appropriate considering the porn I had selected was “lesbian bukkake.” Yes, women squirting all over each other. It’s kinda hot.

I truly am blessed with multiple orgasms. I had just kept coming over and over again. I was entirely unaware of anything other than my orgasms. I did feel better after (how could I not!?), and I cuddled MasterDoc tight. I love being in his arms. I would have been totally miserable if I had stormed out earlier in the afternoon.

Next, I played with his ass to help him come. We watched more porn (and I had to resist making commentary on it… the theme was two best friends get it on and have a male escort join them. Yes, women fuck their best friends all the time. I’m sure men do that too. What, you don’t? Oh that’s right, we don’t either.) and I massaged his ass. I think I keep getting better with practice and have learned to take my time, massage his thighs and then his ass, then very slowly work lubed hands into the area by his asshole. Stroke and press against there for a while and then when he asks I slide a finger in. I followed his direction when he told me to press forward or massage inside his ass. It really is satisfying to help him reach a fantastic orgasm. Watching someone shudder and pant a little with pleasure as they come, and knowing you helped, is a great feeling.

He offered to make me come again, and I was really happy. I hadn’t expected more. (The orgasms earlier were phenomenal. Really, what more could a woman want?) I lay the throe back down and put a towel over it. It was the towel he had just jerked off onto. When I lay down I got a cold wet feeling on my arm all of a  sudden. Yup, his come this time, not mine. He just used his fingers to bring me to orgasm the second time around. And again, I came over and over. The man doesn’t need toys. He has talent. And again I felt overwhelmed with happiness that I hadn’t stupidly walked out. I cuddled up to him and didn’t want to move. The depression from earlier was replaced with a bit of chagrin over how irrationally I had been thinking earlier. MasterDoc has vowed to pay closer attention to my mental state and not let me get to the crazy part of things. When I’m rational, I can see that he’s been the best person ever to watch my moods and help me get depression under control.

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.

Emotional Scars

Published on September 19, 2009 in D/s, Uncategorized, anxiety, bdsm, depression, emotions, masochism, mental illness, mother, neurosis, submissive and trauma. 2 Comments

A few days ago, Always Aroused Girl tweeted this link. I starred the tweet, curious to read what had hit home for her when I had the opportunity at home. This article hit home for me too. I waver back and forth between thinking I was emotionally abused as a child – am I making a big deal out of nothing? Maybe I’m too sensitive. Ah, but am I just saying that because I’ve been beat down emotionally and I don’t have faith in myself? Too many questions.

Although I suppose the most glaring example I can remember does shed light on my mother’s behavior being emotionally abusive. I was suicidal from a young age (8 or so, probably very telling in and of itself) and when I was 13 I actually attempted it. It was a lame-ass attempt – I drank twice the maximum dosage of Act fluoride rinse that it said on the bottle. Something like 4 or 6 metered doses. I told my mother shortly after, and she dragged me to the car to drive me to the emergency room. And the thing she said on the way to the hospital, which I have never forgiven her for and probably never will, is: “Why are you doing this to me?” I had attempted to end my own life, and through it all she just thought about herself.  I had to go through drinking syrup of ipecac, vomiting up the entire contents of my stomach, and sleeping the night in the hospital with an IV stuck in the bend in my arm, feeling more and more foolish when I had to tell hospital staff that I drank the fluoride rinse as an attempt to kill myself. And yet this was something being done to her – not a desperate cry for attention and help from me.

So from a young age, I wrestled internally with a desire to be taken care of, and a defiant attitude of “I don’t need anybody. I can take care of myself. The world can go fuck itself.” This weekend, between the article linked above and spending a weekend alone with a sprained wrist, I find myself wanting to push people away. I’m feeling defiant and like I don’t need anyone, but underneath it all is a strong desire to be taken care of (but I don’t think I really know how to be taken care of anyway). I keep setting myself up to do things that show me how self-sufficient I am (I got the laundry downstairs by myself with barely using my sprained left arm) and I’m not going to sit at home feeling helpless, I’m getting out and about today. Not going to try driving until tomorrow, but today I’m reveling in the freedom my feet and public transportation afford me.

But at the same time I feel terribly lonely.

After reading that article, I also had to ask myself if my submission and masochism is partly rooted in the emotional abuse of my childhood. I crave the opportunity to work for the love and approval of an authority figure in my life (my Dom). I am hard hit when we’re spending time together and he ignores me. (Not every single time, but when we’re supposed to be focused on each other and his attention wanders, which granted, is probably more down to him having attention deficit disorder than him wanting to ignore me.)  I remain a people pleaser, trying to keep everyone happy and to withdraw when I feel like I can’t do that. I don’t want to need anyone. I don’t want to still crave my mother’s love, affection and attention. I want to push this need away and deny that it’s there. Why? Probably because in many ways I don’t think I’ll ever be worthy of the love and attention I so crave. It hurts too much to want it. So I wish I didn’t want it.

As a teen, I didn’t attempt suicide again although I hoarded old medication and razor blades so I’d be prepared if I ever “got up the courage” to do it. I began cutting myself at some point after the suicide attempt. When I was nearly 16 I ended up in a psychiatric hospital for three months because I declared to my father that I was going to kill myself that night. I never really wanted to die. I just didn’t know how to live. I was hospitalized and it got me to a semi-stable place, but I was never medicated or anything to truly help clear up the depression. My relationship with my mother continued to be complex and unsatisfactory. I could write a book about my relationship with my mother. My father was a source of stability always, but he could be a little distant emotionally as well. I put that down to his damn Germanic & WASP back ground. My family’s not particularly affectionate.

When I was a teen – 14 or so – I helped a friend with a science project and as part of it she had to take my pulse – and I remember my heart soaring to have someone, anyone, touch me. I was so starved for touch. I still have a mixed relationship with touch – I crave it, I push it away, I seek out painful touch like beatings.

I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this entry, but I can see how I became this needy yet solitary adult. I don’t want to be needy, so I push everything away. But I still feel needy underneath it all. I want to be loved and I want to be able to open myself up to really and truly feel the love that there is in my life. But I think there’s always going to be a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m lovable.

I’ve been afraid to have children, because I’m afraid I’ll be like her and have them hate me as much as I’ve hated her off and on. (“Her” being my mother of course.) I want to be a mom, but I think deep down I don’t think I’ll ever be part of a family like I so want to. When I do find love and happiness I get so scared of it going away. And how would I cope if it went away? And isn’t it inevitable that it will go away and I’ll be alone?

After writing all this I have to laugh a little at my saying above that I’m not sure if I was emotionally abused as a child. I think all signs point to yes. And I have to wonder if my desire to be dominated comes from a desire to have someone intensely focused on me for a change. If I’d rather be controlled than ignored. I think the masochism comes from a place of both needing the endorphin rush that ensues and a need to just simply be able to feel anything. I’ve spent too long numbing myself emotionally, pushing things away. Physical pain is a way to feel for a change.

Submission and Depression

Published on October 26, 2008 in depression, mental illness and submissive. 1 Comment

I’m not ashamed to talk about my struggle with depression. Not any more ashamed than I would be if it were something like diabetes I was talking about. I look at it as a chronic illness I have learned to live with. Sometimes it’s easy to deal with and I feel fine, other times it comes around again and I have to struggle.

It’s not easy being a good submissive when you’re depressed. When mired in depression it’s hard to find the energy to take care of yourself, much less take care of your Dominant. I find myself in a bad headspace and I have a much harder time controlling my tongue and emotional responses. Submission requires a measure of self-control as well as the control of your Dom. As a good and obedient submissive I’m expected to be respectful and watch my tone when speaking to him, but when I’m depressed it’s much harder to do so.

I struggled with the beating on Friday because of where my head was. In the heat of it I felt angry, resentful and just terrible. I cried out more than usual and louder than usual because of how I felt. I put my hands out to cover my thighs when it hurt rather than taking it like I would have normally. I felt the urge to fight rather than submit. But despite having a hard time with it, it certainly wasn’t a traumatic event. My relationship with MasterDoc is such that even when I’m in a bad mood I know deep down that he watches out for me. He didn’t dish out anything that day that I couldn’t truly take, and as I sobbed uncontrollably he held me and gave me the aftercare I really needed. I’m sure it’s hard for someone outside the lifestyle to understand, but his beating me that day was done out of love and a desire to help me feel better. I often feel calmer and more centered after a good beating. Unfortunately I was depressed enough that it took more than that that afternoon. But I think somehow I needed to have the fight beaten out of me. I needed to be broken down so I could just cry and feel the horrible feelings inside me. I’m sure a few people would question my feminist credentials at this point, but emotions are complex things. Submitting isn’t necessarily a weakness. Being broken down can mean something bad, or it can be the opportunity for you to let go of negative feelings and then be rebuilt again, better than before. I won’t sob uncontrollably around everyone, but in the context of a scene it felt okay to let go and feel what I was feeling. It was a safe environment for me. I knew that he would take care of me.

Depression is hard on any relationship, but in the D/s dynamic it can be particularly hard. After all, MasterDoc is used to being able to control me -  and that includes making me feel better when I’m down. When I linger in a depressed state, and I can’t even explain what I’m depressed about (because I don’t know), I’m sure it makes him feel powerless. I know it makes him worry about me. I worry that the depression will cause problems between us. When depressed I feel down on myself and start thinking that my significant others would be better off without me. When I’m not depressed I realize that that judgement is up to them, not me. But depression clouds judgement and makes it hard to act maturely and rationally. On Friday night, instead of trying to be seductive when MasterDoc was focusing on my friend, or at least pulling him aside to explain that I needed attention and was having a hard time, I just curled up, withdrew and sulked. In my foggy mental state I couldn’t figure out how to constructively convey what I needed. I was afraid to speak up because I figured he would just tell me I was being whiny. But I shouldn’t underestimate him. He could tell that I really was in a bad place mentally and not being a pain in the ass intentionally. He took the time to take care of me, to pay attention and to give me orgasms to make me feel good physically and mentally. I’m really thankful I have him in my life. I’ve always needed someone who was strong enough to deal with my getting depressed and being mentally ill. It’s not an easy thing to live with – whether you’re the one who’s depressed or your lover is the one who’s depressed. But he’s strong, and because of that I feel like it’s okay for me to sometimes be weak around him.

Beating Depression

Published on October 12, 2008 in D/s, Uncategorized, anal, bdsm, depression, flogging, masochism, mental illness, orgasm denial, sex, spanking and submissive. 1 Comment

I’m prone to depression, have been since I was young. These days, I’m happy most of the time – I have the proper medication and feel on an even keel usually. But on Friday night I hit a rough patch and was severely depressed. I have no idea what brought it on but I had been feeling very anxious earlier in the day. It could be thanks to a change in medication, could just be hormonal. Whatever it was, I was seriously depressed. I spent the better part of two hours crying, not knowing why I was crying. I was a mess. MasterDoc hugged me and was wonderful to me, but he wasn’t feeling well himself so he wasn’t up to beating me. I know it sounds strange, but the two of us knew that was something that would turn my mood around. I got up the next morning and went to work, still feeling wretched.

I went back to MasterDoc’s that night after work and picked up some ice cream on the way. Yup, I was looking to self-medicate. Thankfully, MasterDoc felt better and he decided that we would spend the evening in and a beating would ensue since I was feeling so bad. We had ice cream, then dinner, then he had me put my collar on and get on my knees by a chair in the living room. He had me put the blindfold on and he sat in the chair in front of me. He put clothespins on my nipples and flicked the clothespins with his fingers. He had me bend over the chair. Using his hands and other implements he really beat on my ass. My pain tolerance was good and so the sensation mostly felt soothing and good. Yes, I know I’m a strange girl. It’s amazing how wonderful pain can make me feel. It’s counter-intuitive to react that way but it’s just how I am. He beat me for a while, even taking the heavy flogger to my upper back for a bit. It’s a bit like meditation to be beaten – you get into this other mental state, which is usually referred to as subspace. He was fairly rough with me, but I felt better and better as the beating went on.

He gave me the magic wand and had me use it on myself. I was so turned on from the beating. I kept pressing the vibrating wand into my clit. I asked for permission to come, but he didn’t let me right away. He kept beating me, sometimes it really hurt, but most of the time it was cathartic. My arousal grew as I continued to use the vibrator on myself. He finally gave me permission to come, and oh my god did I come hard and long. I felt like I could just keep coming forever. He gave me some lashes with the whip end of my slapper while I came – it’s really something else what I can take during orgasm. Pain that is usually too much is bearable somehow. Between the orgasm and the beating, I felt so much better afterwards. It’s like a miracle cure for my depression. I suppose it’s the endorphins that are released, but whatever it is, it works.

We hung out for a little while, watching tv and whatnot and he had me take my collar off. I felt subdued. A little while later he put some porn on we watched for a while. I felt entranced by the kinkiness going on. He told me to get myself warmed up, that he was going to fuck me. I used the little red vibrator on my clit and was hot and bothered again in no time. Despite not having the collar on, I felt like it was appropriate to call him Sir and so I did throughout the scene. We went to the bedroom and he fucked me while I lay on my back. I tried to hold off on asking for an orgasm, but eventually I gave in. He didn’t let me come then, and afterward he asked me to take even longer next time before asking permission. It’s so hard not to ask for permission, I get so incredibly worked up and on the verge of orgasm. Sometimes it feels like I won’t be able to hold back, but so far I’ve always managed to have enough self-control. I worry that someday I’ll slip. He finished fucking me and we cuddled a bit.

He had me lay on my side and he tried to enter me from behind. The angle wasn’t right so he said he guessed that he would just have to fuck me up the ass then. He had me lube up my ass to get it ready. It took some work to slide his cock in, the angle just wasn’t very good. I complained about the angle but he didn’t stop. It was uncomfortable, but his continuing on despite this got me so hot. I really do think I’m a bit wacko as pain can make me feel so good. In another context I’d have felt traumatized or violated, but with him I got wildly turned on and when he told me to come I came. Rowr. Very hot butt sex. Mind you, with someone else I might not have reacted so well. I think it makes a huge difference that I know he knows what he’s doing, and he wouldn’t truly hurt me – not in a bad way.

I snuggled up to his chest, but I was feeling really lusty so I started to caress his chest and lick it. He stroked his cock while I did this and I kept it up, feeling oh so passionate and sexual. He was breathing heavy and I did my best to make him feel good. When he came, he came all over my tummy. It was gooey. I was eager to take a shower at that point, but he said for that I would have to stay with his come on me. While it was gooey I was longing for a shower, but once it dried I kinda liked being a dirty girl with his come on me. In the end I slept with it on me and showered in the morning. Did I mention that by this point my depression was completely gone? I’m feeling much better, although I do feel like I could go for another beating. MasterDoc called me a greedy girl when I mentioned that.