Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Running to Stand Still

Daddy said something to me last night that started me thinking.

Again.

We’d gone to a party on Saturday night. It was part of the Bound in Boston weekend, and many of our friends were there. Daddy didn't plan anything too strenuous for us because he had to leave early the next morning for The Boy, and I had my class to lead. Neither of us wanted to have too bad of a droppy day on Sunday.

After talking to friends for a while, and teasing Daddy relentlessly, he decided to use the St. A’s cross and give me a flogging and/or a spanking. He’d asked first about my injury and I told him that I’d probably be ok, but that we should be careful with it.

Off we merrily went. I was tied to the cross, being flogged, spanked and teased when my damned boots, while really hot looking, were making me concentrate on my feet hurting rather than on what Daddy was doing with the rest of me. I asked him to untie my feet.

After I was on the floor, with my hands still tied, he’d told me to “make my ass look pretty”. I know what he means when he says that. It’s a position I’m very familiar with and, as kinda loopy as I was from the flogging and spanking, I tried to do it. But with my hands tied to the cross, I couldn’t get into the correct position and the strain pulled on my chest. I looked at Daddy and said I can’t do it, my chest. He just looked at me and said something like "come on...did you forget how?". At the time, I’d thought that he couldn’t be serious....he wants me to do that after I’d just told him that my chest hurt? But I figured there was a reason for him to want me to do it regardless and tried....and the tears started. Not too much, and certainly not a meltdown, but the sense that I'd done something that had been wrong crept up on me.

Now that I think about it, I’m not quite sure that he did hear me. It was pretty loud in the room just then, another scene with a lot of people had started, and I don’t really remember if I even said anything loud enough for Daddy to even hear. I know that if he'd heard me, even in the middle of that scene, he'd have figured out something else to do.

Regardless, he looked at me and knew something was wrong. Mostly because I tried to get my hat (which he’d hung on the top of the cross) and just get the heck off that cross. He untied me and we left the room, with his arm around me. And I remember now too, that after we left, I'd had a hard time sitting or even seeing the chair as anything other than a place to just "put me" away, and I was giving Daddy a rather hard time when he tried to put me in a chair. It’s amazing how much I forget right away. Only by talking about things a couple of days later, can I remember. Once I've started to fly, things get pretty difficult for me to process. Daddy knows this now though and that's why he doesn't expect really coherent answers right away. But a few days later, he always finds some way to talk to me about them.

But anyway, last night Daddy and I were having a discussion about “Broken Toys”, a website I’d found from my twitter friends, that had some essays on submissives with mental illnesses. Now of course, I’m not a broken toy, but some of the essays really struck me. I sent one to Daddy to read.

We talked about it for a bit and he’d mentioned that on Saturday, I got a twinge of something that he really hates to see. The twinge I got was of the whole “having to run” thing. He also told me that when I’m like that, I have a couple of faces. He’s not sure what they mean and it’s confusing for him. Of course, I can’t see my own face, so I asked him what he thought they were. He said they looked like anger and fear.

That kind of surprised me. I can’t remember one time when I’ve either been angry with, or fearful of, Daddy. If anything, he's brought me places where I haven't been in far too long simply because I'm not fearful of him.

But after he said that, I tried to remember some of the times where I’ve had a meltdown and from what I can remember thinking about them is that they do share a few commonalities...but I didn’t realize that those came out as anger or fear.

The commonalities I remember from all of those incidents was that all of those times, I’d felt something wrong. And by wrong, I mean as in definitely wrong with me. I’m not able to describe what that feeling is, but it’s like those times I’ve become the cause of something wrong. Either I couldn’t explain myself enough for Daddy to understand and he misunderstood, or I didn’t say something when I should have, when I’ve been hurt by something that he might have said and I misunderstood, or even when I’ve had physical pain that wasn’t intended. It’s like in those times I go from flying to crashing in the time it takes to hear Daddy’s heartbeat.

Those times feel like a failure, a disappointment, and a defeat. I am angry that I’m not able to control those feelings better. But looking at myself, I know that it's because I’ve never actually been allowed to experience defeat or failure in any way other than it ending up with me being a disappointment to the people I cared about most.

When those feelings show up, I do one of two things, neither of which I can obviously control and either of which is a surprise to me: I either avoid any situation where I could possibly fail....or I run from those situations where I start to feel like a failure.

We talked a bit about some of this, but I'm still not sure if I explained it well enough again. But after a restless night, spent lying and staring a the blackness of my ceiling, thinking about all of those times where I’ve felt like running, I felt like I had to write whatever was in my head down in order to understand any of it at all. I think I can see how things go, and where that point is that Daddy needs to be able to stop me from doing it...but whether or not we can figure it out when we’re in the middle of it....that’ll take some time and practice.

About the only thing I can’t figure out yet is if I’m running away from something still hidden in my head from the past....or if I’m scared because I’m running towards something I’m afraid will be another defeat.

No comments: