Tag Archives: depression

Too Much

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It’s Christmas Eve.

When I was a child, this was my favorite day of the year. My Grammy would hold court at my Grammy and DadDad’s house and all the family would go up for Italian Christmas Eve. The cousins would receive gifts from the aunts, uncles and grandparents. We would eat the best food we would have all year, play with our new toys, and go home to quickly scamper into bed before Santa came.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s morphed into something else entirely, a grotesque mockery of the happy day it used to be. When my Grammy died, my aunt took over holding court. When she passed away… I stopped wanting to go. My cousins and I have no relationship. I don’t know my uncles at all. I went for my DadDad, because Christmas Eve was when he told the best stories. I would sit and drink coffee with Sambuca and Baileys with him and listen to him reflect. It made the Christmas Eves bearable.

The last month… the last week… has been hell for me. It started with my DadDad’s death… and then a couple weeks later I totaled my car in a stupid accident because I hadn’t been able to get my breaks done. I found myself without my income, and scrambling more than ever because that night I learned my rent was going up $200 the next month. I had nothing in savings, living day by day as I did… and I knew my parents would be no help. When I told them about the accident my dad called me stupid, and said he didn’t know what to tell me. My mom just cried. The car had been hers first, and was her first new car.. and me without income meant I couldn’t send them student loan money, which meant that they would have to cover my loans again this month because I “can’t get my life together and don’t have my priorities straight.”

I am blessed in other ways… my friends, my chosen family, and my partner have been incredibly supportive. One of my best friends, a firecracker named Annie, helped me get a gofundme together and told me over and over not to be ashamed to ask for help.. that big girl or not, life happens to the best of us. She’s kept me going, helped me with the car shopping process (my credit is shit, so I needed cheap and fast..which often means fixer uppers. She’s also a mechanic, and a lifesaver in so many ways). Another friend, Brian, came out and looked at my car after the accident and gave me options as to what to do next. The gofundme itself has raised over $1000, giving me a little bit to work with when I have no new income coming in. So many people have hugged me and told me it was going to be okay. Others have said if I’m still short when it gets closer to rent day to come to them. They will help. At home, I feel supported, and loved. Person after person has slowly been convincing me that it’s going to be okay.

My partner Chris has been incredible support, from little things like making sure I’ve been eating and that I wasn’t alone to bigger things like helping out with the gofundme. He’s kept me smiling, and I am grateful…

And then there is James… my Master, who is far too much in the same boat that I am in. He’s helped in ways that have honestly meant the most.. Giving me time he didn’t have to spare, arms to curl up in, kisses that make me feel adored and wanted. He’s held me when I needed the safety of being swallowed in his arms, and when I’ve started dropping caught me before I fell. He’s known when I needed pleasure and when I’ve needed play without me asking… without me even knowing. The man can read me like a fucking book, and I’ve been more grateful for that in the last week than I can properly express in words.

Tuesday was my last night in the Bay for two weeks. The trip to New Jersey for Christmas was pre-planned and pre-arranged by my parents. I couldn’t get out of it. I couldn’t say no when my mother was clinging to me being ‘home’ for Christmas. It was also my last day watching a child that I’ve been caring for for over a year and a half; an adorable two year old that has made a huge impact on my life. Knowing my emotional state leaving this little girl, my Master invited me along to a game night up in Napa. I love his friends, and have felt so accepted by all of them, so of course I said yes.

I’ve been using Getaround cars to..well… get around (yay smart phone apps. The Bay Area has certain advantages). I had a rental expiring that evening, and so made a plan with James to rent another car just for the time in Napa, drop the car back off in the city after the game night, and then James would drive me the rest of the way to my house. He would spend the night, we would get much-needed intimate time together before I disappeared for the holidays, and he would bring me to the airport in the morning before going into the city for BaGG that evening (which I was regrettably missing because of my flight time… The holiday flights were so expensive I didn’t have much choice in that matter).

We never made it into the city. The game night was fabulous, and brought me a lot closer to his friends. I gave each of them a tarot reading that I think did some good…and even gave one to my Master himself which revealed a few things.. I’m still not sure I’m ready to face or process. He was going to bring his best friend home and then follow me into the city.

Master’s car has needed to be serviced for a while. The poor thing has had its check engine light on for as long as I can remember.. he just hasn’t had the money to fix it. On the way into the city that night the poor car finally broke down… Smoke coming out of the engine and all. I got a call for him while I was driving ahead saying that I would need another ride to the airport tomorrow. I turned around to find him, scrambling as to how I was going to get back to my place all the way down the peninsula. Bart wasn’t running anymore and the rental had to be back by 6 a.m…

I found him finally, pulled over by the entrance to a bridge whose name I still can’t remember. He was distant… trying to think of all that needed to be done now. He had to get down to BaGG that evening. Had to figure out how to get his car up and running so that his life didn’t end up on hold. He’s a paraplegic, so it’s not so simple as it is for me of just find a cheap, running car and move on. Hand breaks are expensive. Life is expensive.

It was freezing… my cold is now back with a vengeance from waiting around for a tow truck for two hours. But it’s two more hours I got with him. There was a little cuddling… and a slightly devastating conversation with him where he told me there were similarities between his relationship with me and his relationship with his ex wife (someone I never want to be like, ever). There are ghosts I can’t shake from his past..and they are impacting my relationship in the present… Combine that with him just being so far away, me losing that night with him, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get to the airport and get home and general and worrying about him getting home, about his car when I know he’s in a worse financial state than even I am in… I was, and am still, a mess. I was of no use to my Master, my boyfriend..and only proved to add to his plate, because on top of his worries he was worrying about what I could do to get where I need to go safely.

His friends came through.. two women who are slowly beginning to feel like sisters to me. They met me in the city (when they also live in Napa) and drove me all the way back home. Last I saw my Master, he was getting into a tow truck. We’ve texted briefly…but he’s been busy…

I got home at 6 a.m… finally fell asleep around 7, only to wake up at 11 to pack. I couldn’t bring my cat with me like I’d planned, and leaving Poe for two weeks, even in the hands of people I trust, is hard for me. I left the meager gifts I was able to get together for my roommates (I haven’t Christmas shopped at all and have scrambled and scrounged instead) on the kitchen table, took a Lyft to the airport that I couldn’t afford, and boarded a plane that stayed on the tar mat for two hours before finally taking off with at least six screaming children on board.

I have not Christmased. I have had neither the energy nor the heart to. With all that has happened my mind is three thousand miles away, with my family and my Master. I didn’t know we would be doing Christmas Eve at my DadDad’s house when my parents picked me up last night… my mother sprung it on me today. We are going up to a house that has already been picked clean by spiteful siblings, a last hurrah before its sold. A house my DadDad built with his two hands, that his children and grandchildren grew up in, is an empty shell, a mockery. I will be asked over and over to explain myself. Explain my life. How I’m doing. I will be judged and picked apart by strangers I share blood with.

My parents are trying to put on this charade that they’re all excited for Christmas… but none of the traditions have happened that have happened in years passed. For the first time in my life the gifts are under the tree before Christmas morning. There is no surprise this year because my mother just doesn’t have the time to wrap and arrange them tonight. Santa Clause and the mystery around him is dead. My father is exhausted, my mother has just been going on about how much she’s been working and how she has no time off while I’m here. And I have been crying.

There is no safe place to cry in this house. I broke down in the shower and my mother came in to ask me what was wrong. How do I say everything? How do I say this Christmas is hell and I just want to go home, when she expects the house I grew up in to still be my home? How do I tell them I feel like a stranger, intruding on rituals I don’t understand.

The cherry on top of all of this is that my parents have figured out that my lifestyle isn’t a phase. My dad noticed the slave ring on my left ring finger, a gift from Master. A day collar. Both of them have problems with it, and keep asking what I lacked in my childhood to want to walk this path. I can’t be who I am anymore around them. I can’t talk about what’s bothering me. I can’t be open and honest. I can’t even cry safely, because when I cry they expect an explanation for it.

Why am I crying? Because it’s all too much. Because I feel so very broken.. so lonely. So isolated from everything that I love. Because I desperately miss my Master even though it’s only been a day. Because I haven’t heard from  him today and worry that spam texting him will only make him go further away and not want to talk to me when I need his voice, his touch, his presence.

He dropped me off at the airport when I was going back for my DadDad’s funeral… That morning, he gave me a pendant of his. A geeky, Harry Potter pendant that I love. A part of him that I could have on me, so that even when he wasn’t here, he was. I have been clinging to it like my life depends on it… that and a tee shirt of his that I’ve had for so long it no longer smells like him (I was going to get another on Tuesday night..but…).

It’s too much. It’s all too much… I’m hurting so bad and I can’t cry because if I do I’ll get asked fifty thousand questions I can’t answer. I don’t want to hurt my parents more than they are already hurting. Better I be the one that hurts. At the end of all this I get to go home. They have to stay here.

I want to go home for Christmas. I want my Master and my friends… I want to feel safe, and wanted, and loved. Who gives a shit about gifts and charades.. I don’t know how much I can act tonight. How much I can pretend that I give a fuck, or don’t when they rip into me. Because they will. They always do. I said I was done with them at my DadDad’s funeral..and my mother is making me see them again. Making me pretend, for her sake, that we’re a happy fucking family.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

They say home is where the heart is. I can never tell my parents that my heart just isn’t here anymore. It’s with my Master and my family in California.

I am battered, I am bleeding, but I am still yours.

-Rene

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Day 28

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28) Has your submission ever let you down? Have you ever been criticized for your submission? Have you ever regretted being or feeling submissive in a moment or in a relationship? Have you ever looked back and realized you made a mistake and how did you handle your submission going forward from that.

We are human, submissives and Dominants. Sometimes we wish we weren’t. I know that there is a part of myself that always wants to be the BEST submissive possible, to please him more than anyone else has.

I am going to start this question off by answering the last part of it. I have never thought my decision to submit was a mistake. Never. It is as natural to me as breathing. It is a part of myself I shoved away for a very long time. I may make mistakes in that submission from time to time, but do I regret deciding to be who and what I am at any point in time? No. I am what I am. And to be honest, I love what I am. I have doubts about myself constantly…but not about my ability to submit or my skills as a submissive. It is the one place where I am completely sure of myself.

I had parts of my submission criticized, very early on. Very, VERY early on, back when Cal was still mentoring me. His girlfriend at the time decided that I was a threat to her, and my poor friend was so enthralled by the woman that he didn’t see for a long time just how much he was being manipulated. Every time I saw him, it was with her as well, so that we could never talk privately. At the time I was a little bit of a mess.. I was growing up, feeling those aches and pains of the first time you stand on your own two feet away from any outside help. I was scared, and just needed someone to tell me that it was going to be okay so that I could keep going. When we were alone, or when we talked privately, he reassured me that this was a normal part of growing up, and that this too shall pass and I would be okay. He would then list fifty thousand logical next steps that would short-circuit my panic button and make everything better. When I saw him with her, however… She noticed when I was upset and jumped at the chance to make it worse, telling me I wasn’t prepared to be in a relationship with someone of his age and experience, and that I should just move on.. She was right about the relationship, but I didn’t WANT a relationship, I wanted a teacher… She spent a good couple of months telling me I was a horrible submissive and would never learn to be one properly. Eventually I stopped talking to her and my friend, because I couldn’t fucking take it.

As for my submission letting me down.. The end with Kane. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t mine.. It was both of us stretching something out that should have been left behind and miscommunication all the while. He kept trying to tell me that he could no longer be what I needed… but he couldn’t find the words. He would try it gingerly, not fully wanting to let me go just as much as I didn’t want him to let me go.. And I misheard him time and time again. Every time he said “You deserve so much better.” I would go no no no. I don’t want better I want you… Subby mind was just too devoted to here Dominant. I loved being his. I loved wearing his collar… He gave me Disney. He gave me my first taste of feeling cherished, being someone’s princess… and I loved it. Letting go of that, even knowing that it was the right thing to do, was a heartbreaking process. Even then, it took me months to take off the collar. I felt at war with myself, pulling apart my day collar. I had to take it off myself because he didn’t have time to see me..but it felt horrible. It felt disloyal. I now understand why being properly released is so important. Because otherwise a submissive will eat themselves alive for doing something that they know is right but feels so wrong.

Phew.. Okay. That was a loaded one that brought up much emotional baggage… I’m going to go and pick out my dungeon outfit for this evening… Nothing like corsets and stilettos to make the night better.

As always, yours

-Rene

Stuck

I am struggling with the creative side of myself right now. I have been for a while.

I feel like I’m stuck in a fog whenever I try to work.. on anything. Getting myself up and motivated is a struggle. I’ll wake up early and watch the hours pass by in bed until I absolutely HAVE to go to work.

I hate this.. and the thing is? My life isn’t half bad.

I still have adventures to write about from Fusion. I’ve started six or seven drafts and haven’t manage to finish a single one. Even now when I’m writing my fingers feel like lead..  The temptation to close the computer screen and just walk away from the entry again is great.

I don’t know what caused this. But I am trying to fix it.

The people around me are driven creatively. They work hard for all they are able to do. They continually have projects to fiddle and tinker with. I’m trying to figure out where all of my projects went. Where this fog came from..and how I didn’t notice it until it was this bad.

Whenever I’ve been bothered by the Sleeping Man in the past it’s been with good reason. I’ve been going through a rough patch, in an unhappy relationship, stressed about money and making it by, etc.. And I’m not dealing with that right now. My relationship is good. My life is pretty good.

It could be better… it’s just getting myself moving again. Pulling myself out of the fog.

I have an idea.. the first for a sculpture in a long time.. Hopefully I will work on it tonight after work.. And I PROMISE I will get back to writing in here more frequently.

Because the thing is, while other parts of my life are okay the kinky side of things is GREAT. And I want to squee and spew about it.. But every time I try lead fingers happen.

I’ve got to get myself out of this fog.

Yours, as always,

Rena

The Shrinking Man

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I love the Dominant men I’m involved with, in their different ways for the different relationships I have with them. I’ve gotten the closest to three; the man that found me, the man that owns me, and the man that pushes me. Each relationship is radically different from the last, with different levels of closeness.

Despite all the differences between the men and the relationships I’ve had with them they, along with most Dominant men I’ve met, have had a common trait; one that often clashes with the submissives in their care.

Submissives, by nature, are made to share. To be emotionally honest. To share every last detail, last thought, with the Dominant men in their lives so that the Dominants can be assured that their submissive is healthy, physically and emotionally, and that this relationship is still okay for both of them. In essence, we talk a lot. We share a lot. We can yammer until we’re blue in the face, especially if we’re nervous (just ask Kane…).

Dominants, from my experience, tend to do the opposite. They take any emotional burdens in on themselves. They want to process through emotional stuff on their own. Smith gave me the term “shrinking man”. He’s admitted to shrinking when he’s upset, or going through a hard time. He pulls away, gets quiet. Trying to balance and talk to submissives turns into another emotional burden, making the situation worse.

There’s nothing wrong with not being an emotional talker, with not wanting to express every last emotion and empty out what’s going on in your head. It’s just such a different approach than most submissives take on communication and processing emotions. This can be a bit of a mental mindfuck for subs, especially inexperienced ones.

This journal entry hits close to home for me.. it’s something I personally struggle with, seeing those I care about in emotional turmoil but being unable to help as they help me. A Dominant’s job is to be able to put together all the pieces of their submissive. To know what makes them tick. Know what their triggers are. In that knowledge, they ease their submissive during tough times more so than anyone else. Kane is the first man to see me at my worst, my most depressed, and know exactly how to bring me back from the emo ball of doom that I was in. He did it so easily, so effortlessly, that I hadn’t even noticed what he was doing until after, when I was curled up in his arms and my mood was 20 times lighter.

As a submissive, it’s hard not to feel like a failure when you can’t do the same for your Dominant, or a Dominant in your life. We want to make everything better, to please, it’s a need for us. We need to make it better… or we’re not doing our job, right?

Wrong. This can be the HARDEST thing for a submissive to process. Submissives, who are groomed to be emotionally open and pleasing and cause pleasure for those they care for and trust.

Sometimes you just can’t make it better, and that’s okay.

You, as a submissive, are not a failure if you can’t pull a Dominant in your life out of his funk or mood. It’s hard, because your focus is on them, You get pleasure from their pleasure..and if there is no pleasure for them… falling into their spiral of unhappiness is all too easy. “Why should you be happy” the bad voices say “if they aren’t? Why should you do well, take care of yourself, when you can’t take care of them?”

Because, in the end, taking care of yourself is your job. Yes, you gain pleasure from pleasing Dominants. Yes, I’m sure you care about the Doms in your life, probably even love some of them, or all of them, or one of them. Maybe you only have one spectacular Dominant man in your life who owns you, and you completely come undone for him. Maybe you have other players in the band who don’t have quite that much power over you, but let you come undone all the same. No matter how many men you have holding the flogger in the wings, you are, in the end, your Dominant’s prized possession. If you are not in working order, not taking care of yourself, you cause so much more harm than good.

The easiest way to help a Dominant who cares about you is to care for yourself. Keep going, Don’t shrink when he does, but don’t push either. Continue with your day to day life and do things that make you happy. Keep yourself okay, so that when they’re okay again you’re emotionally healthy enough to really be in their lives. It’s okay to be supportive, to let them know that you are there if they want to talk, or lean on you.. or, you know, beat some of their frustrations out on you if that’s your thing. But it needs to be okay with you, subby sub, if they say “Thank you, but I have to get through this on my own.” It’s not personal, it’s not against you. You are not a bad submissive. Your Dominant is just human, just like you are. Humans have flaws; cracks in their armor, even humans you worship, kneel in front of, and beg to use you for their pleasure. Dominants are not gods.

Polyamory adds a whole other twist to the mental mindfuck of pleasing the Shrinking Man. My friend says often that polyamory helps make you a better you, and that each partner helps bring out different parts of yourself. That may mean that when Mr. Domly Dom goes into shrink mode he turns to another partner instead of you.

This is not a personal attack, subby sub. You are in that person’s care for a reason. They play with you, or date you, or do wonderfully wicked things to you, or snuggle with you, for a reason. If you are in their lives, you hold importance to them and you have to remember that. Polyamory is a juggling act, making sure that every partner feels special and unique and secure in their particular relationship with you. That particular relationship may mean that another partner shoulders the heavier emotions so that your particular relationship with Dommy Dom remains healthy.

I have heard it said, and have said myself, that being a Dominant is a damn hard job. Supporting your submissive, anticipating their needs, and thinking of 12 different outcomes to one event is hard work. But being a submissive can be hard as well. It takes courage to submit, and strength in knowing when to submit and when to merely support. Don’t let the shrinking scare you off from the Dommy Dom, and please don’t read this thinking that all Doms shrink. Hopefully, this will just help a couple subs navigate emotionally choppy waters if it does happen. If you support the people in your lives, and still manage to support yourself, you are a good submissive. Keep going. Things will get better.

Yours hopefully helpful,

Rena

The Sleeping Man

I wanted to write this before I forget.

-On a side note, I would love to know when I reached that age where you start forgetting things. I’m twenty-three and I feel like a damn old lady sometimes..but that is a rant for another day.

My daddy and I are extremely close. As close as we are, we rarely talk on the phone for more than a few minutes. That’s just not how we are. One of the main reasons I need to come see my parents every few months is because that’s when my dad and I have our Talks. The big, monumental, this just mentally kicked you on your ass and then slapped your mama Talks. This last trip home was no exception to this.

We were driving into the City (New York) for a Rena-Daddy day (what we’ve called it since I was little.. basically a day where it was just the two of us either going to the movies, or the mall, or for pizza, etc) when he first explained the Sleeping Man to me. My dad and I both have a form of depression, as does my older cousin, her mother, and my grandmother. It’s never been officially diagnosed, but there’s been reference to a “family disease” on more than one occasion and I know enough about psychiatry to know what I have. It’s not a constant depressive state, it spikes when things get rough and we get stuck.

My dad finally gave our stuck-ness a name. “It’s like we have a sort of form of schizophrenia” he said to me as we drove over the GW Bridge. “There is who we think of as ourselves, the person who has all these ideas and all these things we want to do, all this ambition, and then there’s what we become when the Sleeping Man takes over. He’s who makes it all stop. He’s the voice telling you ‘Oh, I’ll do it after this TV show’ or ‘Maybe I should finish that next season’. The Sleeping Man makes us into toxic people. He puts us almost into a stasis so that we can’t move forward with our lives. Our lives become a constant battle against the Sleeping Man to accomplish what we want. We constantly fight that urge to get stuck, to stop, to fall into a status where nothing can touch us, but things that don’t adapt and change are eventually destroyed.”

There was more, but you get the gist of it.

From our Sleeping Man discussion we walked to one of my favorite places on Earth, the Museum of Modern Art. Inside those walls are the oldest of my old friends, from Starry Night to The Dance to Red Studio to the giant water lily canvases that first convinced me to love art. We hadn’t planned to go…we just kind of ended up there on a whim. By chance the weekend before a new timed show had opened on the upper floor. Timed shows mean more for the price of admission, so we moaned and groaned and said we would only see it if it was absolutely spectacular or one of our old friends.

Well, it was both. I have worshipped Henri Matisse as an artist and a man for many years. I love him because even as his body failed him he continued to work. He adapted, changing from medium to medium instead of giving up and settling into what old age would mean for his arthritic body. When the man could not hold a brush he held scissors and cut paper shapes out, then used a pointer to direct where the shapes would go on his piece.

What was held within the MoMA’s walls was not A Matisse show, it was THE Matisse show. All of his cut paper pieces under one roof; things I had seen in art history and in books suddenly in front of my eyes. I could go on about this show for hours…but this is normally a BDSM based blog and I worry about boring you with my vanilla life away from my Dom.

I will mention that all four of the Blue Nudes were there. Under one roof. On one wall. I may have cried.

Afterward, my daddy and I stumbled out of the show speechless. I immediately texted my Dom to see if I could purchase the book from the show, something I almost never do, and hugged it like a precious treasure once it was in my possession. My dad and I are both artists. We both have the sleeping man and we were both at low points before my visit. Seeing that show, seeing the art that we both new and loved in front of us, was like taking a baseball bat to the Sleeping Man. I remembered why I made art.

I also came to the realization as we left the museum that while I loved drawing and painting it wasn’t enough to help me shake my moods. I needed wet clay on my hands. I needed the wheel, my tools, glazes. I needed the heat of the kiln and the feel of bisqued clay as I tried to cover it in the perfect glazes, concocting like a mad scientist. I need long nights lost in the studio, dancing to music blasted through headphones as I thrust clay through slap rollers and make characters appear from a block of while goo. I needed my world back in order to get the release I associate with producing artwork. I needed the studio to produce again.

I don’t know how Kane does what he does…how he knows me so well. That evening after returning home from the city I received a text from him informing me that my schedule would be changing; that even though I was not working full time I would be having eight hour work days. I would spend time doing Lyft or nannying, or whatever I had that day, and the remainder of the eight hours would be spent in the studio. It would be treated as a job. I was to go to the studio every day and create. He had me make up a list of supplies to get started again, and informed me that this would be put into place very soon. I wanted to cry.

The Sleeping Man can be conquered. I’m determined to prove that.

And now I need to pack. This is my last evening at my parent’s home. I fly back on a 7:30 a.m. flight, it’s 1 a.m. now and I have nothing packed.

Nothing like cutting it close 😛

Yours feeling much better

~Rena