Is there anything more painful striving for a parents recognition, for acknowledgement of your achievements, for love of a parent to also be the love of oneself?
To have her say I am proud. To have her say that she likes something about me. To have her initiate a hug. To have her buy a present based on something that I have said rather than a wish list requested. To have her focus on me rather than her fears. To have her be the hero rather than the bogie monster.
I want to hear her footsteps on the stairs and smile, not have my brain race and heart sink in fear - what does she want now?
I want to enjoy being with her, not for her to be the biggest stress factor in my life, the only barrior.
I want her to stop fighting what she thinks is the illness and support me.
I want her to stop pushing me.
I want her to stop driving me towards the cliff edge at knife point, each slash numbing me further.
I want to want to live, not to die because the plank ahead runs out and the only thing behind is her.
I want.......never gets - isn't that the saying?
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
I still love her though
Every time I have a talk with my mother it just confirms it even more. She doesn't see. She doesn't see me and that tears at me and rips me to shreds inside. It confirms my isolation, my dependence and the fact I am trapped. Trapped in this house, with her and to life. With no power, no privacy and nothing that's mine that cannot be interfered with by her.
I no longer mind what it would do to her if I killed myself, its the impact on my sisters that still matters and I wish to god it didn't. We no longer talk she and I, she breezes in, tells me what she wants and then off she goes. I just cry on the inside, curse in my brain and try and ask her about her day. Again its the outward show of things that is so crucial to her and yet so difficult for me to do. I try for her sake to make life easier but its killing me inside and makes the dips linger on. It burns me that after eleven years she can't see what is difficult for me and what is really important, that each time I have explained, she doesn't listen, if she does she doesn't remember, if she does she doesn't see beyond or the expanded motion.
Oh she is a devoted mother to a sick child, she loves me deeply and bends over backwards to help. Except she doesn't, she has become a thing that makes me more sick, something to dread, a hindrance instead of a help. All she see is the ME not me, me she cannot see, and increasingly does not like.
I no longer mind what it would do to her if I killed myself, its the impact on my sisters that still matters and I wish to god it didn't. We no longer talk she and I, she breezes in, tells me what she wants and then off she goes. I just cry on the inside, curse in my brain and try and ask her about her day. Again its the outward show of things that is so crucial to her and yet so difficult for me to do. I try for her sake to make life easier but its killing me inside and makes the dips linger on. It burns me that after eleven years she can't see what is difficult for me and what is really important, that each time I have explained, she doesn't listen, if she does she doesn't remember, if she does she doesn't see beyond or the expanded motion.
Oh she is a devoted mother to a sick child, she loves me deeply and bends over backwards to help. Except she doesn't, she has become a thing that makes me more sick, something to dread, a hindrance instead of a help. All she see is the ME not me, me she cannot see, and increasingly does not like.
Monday, 16 January 2012
Sometimes it hurts
When I got depressed around my birthday this year I just seemed to sink, I didn't much care about anything and when I started to think about harming myself that was the jolt. I didn't know where these thoughts had come from, I didn't actually want to die but everywhere I went it seemed I saw things that I could use to kill myself. It was strange and extremely scary, how could I be thinking about, dreaming about doing something that I really didn't want to do? I thought about it increasingly in fact I got so scared of myself. That puzzled me the most - how could I be scared of myself, of what I might do, I would have said that I had control over myself. This was something that you choose to do and I didn't and yet I was still scared that I would end up doing it. One of the main things that helped me through was the thought that no matter what I was going through, if I died my family would go through worse and why, when I couldn't stand it should I put that on more than one person. I think if I didn't have a family though I might have done.
Now I know that if I didn't have a family, I would do it. In fact this frustrates me, as you see, months later, a stint in hospital, months of weekly counselling I now do want to kill myself. I am not scared by the thought anymore, its no longer a mysterious horrendous thought appearing from a side of me I had never met before and didn't want to know, its a realisation that I am trapped. I now want to and can't and that more than anything makes me want to even more. And the scary part - my family's feelings are starting to matter less and less.
Now I know that if I didn't have a family, I would do it. In fact this frustrates me, as you see, months later, a stint in hospital, months of weekly counselling I now do want to kill myself. I am not scared by the thought anymore, its no longer a mysterious horrendous thought appearing from a side of me I had never met before and didn't want to know, its a realisation that I am trapped. I now want to and can't and that more than anything makes me want to even more. And the scary part - my family's feelings are starting to matter less and less.
Monday, 26 September 2011
That moment
That moment; when all has been set up, but before the main course begins, the anticipation, the eagerness builds.
The rise of goose bumps, a wiggle to test the limits of arms bound at the wrist, ankles clasped by the firm hand of leather separated by iron, thighs kept at the exact distance apart.
Blindfold and bit gag creating sightless eyes and muffled sighs that will soon grow to groans and cries.
Tightened nipples cushioned and caressed by soft cotton down contrasted by the firm press of knee to floor alleviated only by the plump of a pillow.
He cruelly extends that moment of waiting, all focus is on him, his presence behind like heat from a furnace; as he surveys his handiwork and devours the sight.
The manifestations of his control, the growing connection as the moment turns electric. Your whole presence yearns for him to do something, nothing, anything, to prolong that time, to end that time, that endless time.
Then he does.
He snaps the tension; the almost living presence between you now.
He gently, ever so gently, strokes his hand from the side of your waist, past the curve of your restrained arm, down into the dip of you back and then over the crest of you bare bottom.
His fingers casually grazing the two places that call out for attention one so puckered the other pulsing wetter at his tune.
All this he knows, a calculated play on his part.
Thus the moment is broken, ended and the rest begins.......
The rise of goose bumps, a wiggle to test the limits of arms bound at the wrist, ankles clasped by the firm hand of leather separated by iron, thighs kept at the exact distance apart.
Blindfold and bit gag creating sightless eyes and muffled sighs that will soon grow to groans and cries.
Tightened nipples cushioned and caressed by soft cotton down contrasted by the firm press of knee to floor alleviated only by the plump of a pillow.
He cruelly extends that moment of waiting, all focus is on him, his presence behind like heat from a furnace; as he surveys his handiwork and devours the sight.
The manifestations of his control, the growing connection as the moment turns electric. Your whole presence yearns for him to do something, nothing, anything, to prolong that time, to end that time, that endless time.
Then he does.
He snaps the tension; the almost living presence between you now.
He gently, ever so gently, strokes his hand from the side of your waist, past the curve of your restrained arm, down into the dip of you back and then over the crest of you bare bottom.
His fingers casually grazing the two places that call out for attention one so puckered the other pulsing wetter at his tune.
All this he knows, a calculated play on his part.
Thus the moment is broken, ended and the rest begins.......
His Hand
The fires' flickers blur and haze, as the room fills ever more with the smell of woodsmoke, cigar and musky male.
Voices mummer as if from a distance, like hearing a conversation underwater or from another room.
You float through the present, unaware of time. No thoughts are present just peaceful daze.
His hand stroking your hair, tangling its' fingers through the strands, lightly pulling, then soothing. Travelling to your neck and shoulders, moulding, fluttering, digging, massaging down the back.
Leaning into the sensation content with anything his hand will give you, you lean into its warmth. The occasional hard pull, sharp dig, a light tickle as his hand follows an absentminded path.
You know you could spend hours just kneeling here, leaning against his knee or chair with that hand playing as it will.
Fully in the moment and yet out of the present time strand.
There, but absent to all except the heavenly warmth of him.
Voices mummer as if from a distance, like hearing a conversation underwater or from another room.
You float through the present, unaware of time. No thoughts are present just peaceful daze.
His hand stroking your hair, tangling its' fingers through the strands, lightly pulling, then soothing. Travelling to your neck and shoulders, moulding, fluttering, digging, massaging down the back.
Leaning into the sensation content with anything his hand will give you, you lean into its warmth. The occasional hard pull, sharp dig, a light tickle as his hand follows an absentminded path.
You know you could spend hours just kneeling here, leaning against his knee or chair with that hand playing as it will.
Fully in the moment and yet out of the present time strand.
There, but absent to all except the heavenly warmth of him.
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Fairground Fantasy Writing
The sights and sounds of the fairground usually set my sights racing.
The colour, the noise, the people and that unique smell that shoves you straight into long ago childhood memories. Screams, jingles and bells all around, and all I can think of, is the man who is standing so close to me, controlling me in so many different ways.
My sight is on the approaching crowd but my sense of smell ignores the candyfloss and freshly baked donuts, and focuses on the unique smell of leather, smoke, and male, my male, that is surrounding me.
My sense of touch is focused on the feel of the cold breeze, every time I take a step it brushes past my ever increasing wet thighs. Due to a pussy pelmet skirt and an order to abstain from panties, my hot and swollen labia is oh so vulnerable. To the gusts that arrive every time my leg takes a stride forward and pushes open the protective covering of the loaned trench coat.
Left to my own devices I would have shortened my step to avoid having to part its long lengths but the hot hand at the small of my back keeps me at a pace, just enough to tease, but not enough to properly flash goers by.
My thoughts are filled with trying to keep the plug, 'kindly' lubed up for me earlier and fed in anally, from sliding out.
Fighting with that is the sensation that, due to a heavy sweater and no bra, each step also moves the nipple clamps, pushes and wiggles them, creating flashes of pain amongst the ever present ache that swirl downwards to clench my stomach and increase the wetness that the breeze is having so much fun with.
Mostly though, my mind and senses are on him, my Master, the one who has created this scenario, is leading me through it, who is my magnetic north for all my thoughts, feelings, and who directs my pain and my pleasure.
With my hands bound at the small of my back, hidden by his draped coat, I cannot help but rely on him to support me. I have to trust him and so I breath through all the sensations and reach for him as he taught me. Leaning against him as he guides me through.
Trusting in me that I will succeed, comply and above all, submit.
The colour, the noise, the people and that unique smell that shoves you straight into long ago childhood memories. Screams, jingles and bells all around, and all I can think of, is the man who is standing so close to me, controlling me in so many different ways.
My sight is on the approaching crowd but my sense of smell ignores the candyfloss and freshly baked donuts, and focuses on the unique smell of leather, smoke, and male, my male, that is surrounding me.
My sense of touch is focused on the feel of the cold breeze, every time I take a step it brushes past my ever increasing wet thighs. Due to a pussy pelmet skirt and an order to abstain from panties, my hot and swollen labia is oh so vulnerable. To the gusts that arrive every time my leg takes a stride forward and pushes open the protective covering of the loaned trench coat.
Left to my own devices I would have shortened my step to avoid having to part its long lengths but the hot hand at the small of my back keeps me at a pace, just enough to tease, but not enough to properly flash goers by.
My thoughts are filled with trying to keep the plug, 'kindly' lubed up for me earlier and fed in anally, from sliding out.
Fighting with that is the sensation that, due to a heavy sweater and no bra, each step also moves the nipple clamps, pushes and wiggles them, creating flashes of pain amongst the ever present ache that swirl downwards to clench my stomach and increase the wetness that the breeze is having so much fun with.
Mostly though, my mind and senses are on him, my Master, the one who has created this scenario, is leading me through it, who is my magnetic north for all my thoughts, feelings, and who directs my pain and my pleasure.
With my hands bound at the small of my back, hidden by his draped coat, I cannot help but rely on him to support me. I have to trust him and so I breath through all the sensations and reach for him as he taught me. Leaning against him as he guides me through.
Trusting in me that I will succeed, comply and above all, submit.
Monday, 19 September 2011
Optimism
A new start has begun I hope.
On Saturday I came home having been in a hospital for three weeks. It was the most wonderful, peaceful place where I had constant care, help and counseling. I was able to go to church, talk to a chaplin, have some intense sessions with a counselor and got some really helpful advice from some physios.
Life is no longer looking bleak, I have a way to cope, an aim, a goal and remergence of the core of who I am.
That isn't saying that there aren't moments when it is a struggle but I feel much more in control and supported than I have been.
The hospital has shown me a way to live with ME and trying to improve my quality of life not just my health. It is also helping me develop tools in order to become an adult living with a disability rather than a child dependant on others.
This has been an eye opener and it is still taking time to get used to it. It has certainly shaken things up at home and is taking a little longer in that respect.
It was a bit claustraphobic and lonely to suddenly come home but I think I am overcoming that and taking steps to avoid sinking back into depression.
My life is a little more regimented and I have lots of proper rests, which has enabled me to be able to do a lot more. However I haven't suddenly become better overnight and the tasks I am doing are small and only for a short amount of time.
A big thing is that everyone has agreed I need to add some colour to my life and despite however tired it might make me feel I need to have a social life. I will be trying to go to the Saturday munch but although I am excited I am also nervous. I haven't been to one since Feburary, nor have I been about on Fetlife. Many people have moved on to other places and I feel I will be walking into mmostly a crowd of strangers.
When I went to my first munch there were only three other people - not scary at all, now it has grown and the amount there will be much larger and I am not sure how many people I will know. I am also dubious about my social ability - I haven't really talked with anyone for months and I haven't done anything interesting so I worry that I will be boring. Also I am nervous about how I will cope.
I won't be able to stay long, and I am not sure whether I will be in a wheelchair or not. My parents and I have been discussing getting one - walking and standing up are very tiring and so decrease the energy I want to use on other things. However a wheelchair has huge negative conatations and my parents are worried about that. For me, it is an enabling device, something that will let me do more things, get about more but I do realise that it is a scary thing as most look at it as a disabling device.
Life though is going on and right now I am happy about that and believe that once more I am living not just exsisting. All I have to do now is screw up my courage and rejoin the community that I left so abrubtly.
On Saturday I came home having been in a hospital for three weeks. It was the most wonderful, peaceful place where I had constant care, help and counseling. I was able to go to church, talk to a chaplin, have some intense sessions with a counselor and got some really helpful advice from some physios.
Life is no longer looking bleak, I have a way to cope, an aim, a goal and remergence of the core of who I am.
That isn't saying that there aren't moments when it is a struggle but I feel much more in control and supported than I have been.
The hospital has shown me a way to live with ME and trying to improve my quality of life not just my health. It is also helping me develop tools in order to become an adult living with a disability rather than a child dependant on others.
This has been an eye opener and it is still taking time to get used to it. It has certainly shaken things up at home and is taking a little longer in that respect.
It was a bit claustraphobic and lonely to suddenly come home but I think I am overcoming that and taking steps to avoid sinking back into depression.
My life is a little more regimented and I have lots of proper rests, which has enabled me to be able to do a lot more. However I haven't suddenly become better overnight and the tasks I am doing are small and only for a short amount of time.
A big thing is that everyone has agreed I need to add some colour to my life and despite however tired it might make me feel I need to have a social life. I will be trying to go to the Saturday munch but although I am excited I am also nervous. I haven't been to one since Feburary, nor have I been about on Fetlife. Many people have moved on to other places and I feel I will be walking into mmostly a crowd of strangers.
When I went to my first munch there were only three other people - not scary at all, now it has grown and the amount there will be much larger and I am not sure how many people I will know. I am also dubious about my social ability - I haven't really talked with anyone for months and I haven't done anything interesting so I worry that I will be boring. Also I am nervous about how I will cope.
I won't be able to stay long, and I am not sure whether I will be in a wheelchair or not. My parents and I have been discussing getting one - walking and standing up are very tiring and so decrease the energy I want to use on other things. However a wheelchair has huge negative conatations and my parents are worried about that. For me, it is an enabling device, something that will let me do more things, get about more but I do realise that it is a scary thing as most look at it as a disabling device.
Life though is going on and right now I am happy about that and believe that once more I am living not just exsisting. All I have to do now is screw up my courage and rejoin the community that I left so abrubtly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
