Ask and ye shall receive

Yesterday, I was ready to lay down and die.  I had nothing left in my spirit that wanted to keep on living.  With all of my animals piled up around me, I begged them to please let me go so I could be at peace.  I cried all day.  I think I ate something once because Ted asked me to.  I was ready to stop going through the motions and be finished.  When Ted went to work, I did the last thing I could think of:  I prayed.

Now, you have to understand that I have a unique and very personal relationship with my Higher Power.  She is sassy and mean; and when She wants it Her way, it is so.  This was my prayer:

I know that I don't pray very often; I don't have the tongue for it.
But I could use a little help here because I'm not going to make it alone.
And if You won't help me then fuck You.
(Kudos to those of you who got the Conan reference)

I asked Ted to come home and check on me on his lunch break (he works third shift).  He couldn't come home, but he called.  I was still breathing, and I could feel the familiar crackle of otherworldness running up my spine.  But it wasn't until today that She responded.  There is a local group, a small community here of kinksters, that gets together once a month.  I had all but talked myself out of going, but Ted encouraged me to go.  He thought it would be good for me to socialize with someone other than him.  So, I went.

And She sent me Thunderbolt.

As it turned out, Thunder was flying solo for the evening because His Lady was home with strep throat.  He made a comment about how He was bummed that He didn't get to play.  Without thinking, I chimed in "I'll play with You!"  And so began the unshaking of everything inside of me.

I'm not used to spankings.  It was never something Ted and I did when we functioned as a D/s couple.  It was all floggers and knives, hit parade and splash.  This was something entirely foreign to me.  I could hear the low feminine chuckle in my head as the first strikes fell.  Ask and ye shall receive.

Every time He hit me, I would cry out.  I yelled, I cursed, and I cried for what seemed like forever.  Whether She was guiding His hand or not, He beat all of the shards of glass out of me, and I was left with something of a clean slate.  When it was all said and done, I cried a river of anguish onto His shoulder, and He held me and just let me get it loose.  He listened as I rattled off all of my problems over the last I don't know how long, and He spoke to me the way T would speak to me (except without all of the sarcasm. *kiss*).  By the time I was finished crying, I had no more story to tell, and I felt that I could maybe start making it through the days without asking that they be over and done.

The message of the holy woman came through our conversation so strong...I knew She was there.  I know that She laughs at the fact that I must be beaten in order to understand that I am worthy, that I am holy, and that I deserve to live.  The beating I took tonight was personal.  It was heaven sent.  It was exactly what I needed to get down into the mire and sweep all the bullshit away.  And I know that She doesn't want a weak-willed groveler.  I know that she doesn't want someone who doesn't understand their own worth.  But maybe now with all of those shards of the past life gone, maybe now I can see myself.  Maybe now with all of what you did, and what he did, and what she said gone, I can look at that slate and see an image of myself shining back out at me.

I know that I don't pray very often, but I feel You in my life.
I know that I can be difficult to direct often times, but I am ready to be guided.
And I know that I can do it alone because I am strong, special, and ready to go to war for myself.
And if anyone tries anything tricky, fuck them.

Looking Back

...looking back on the memory of the dance we shared 'neath the stars above
for a moment all the world was right; how could i have known that you'd ever say goodbye?

...but now i'm glad i didn't know the way it all would end, the way it all would go
because our lives are better left to chance; i could have missed the pain, but i'd have had to miss
the dance

...holding you, i held everything; and for a moment, wasn't i a king?
but if i'd only known how the keys would fall, hey who's to say, you know i might have changed it all

...and now i'm glad i didn't know the way it all would end, the way it all would go
because our lives are better left to change; i could have misse the pain, but i'd have had to miss
the dance

-gb

Hate

I started to hate myself today...while I was in the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  If you want the truth of it, I have hated myself for more of my life than I have not.  Sometimes I can handle it; sometimes it lays me so low.  I'm reading this book, though, that has got me to thinking about self-hate.  Because I can clearly acknowledge that I wasn't born with this self-hate; it was taught to me.  It was a lesson learned.

 

And so, with that in mind, I sat with that hate for a few minutes.  And I asked myself:  what does it serve me now?  What good does it do me now?  I could hate my thighs, so round.  I could hate my stomach, big old tire belly.  I could hate my size, the way I look, the turmoil I am going through right now.  But none of those things are ME.  They are simply accessories of me.  And I couldn't find a single reason to hate the me that I keep inside.  So right there, in that moment, I let it go.  And I felt calm. 

 

I don't imagine that this is the cure-all moment.  I imagine I'm going to have a million more moments like this one; but to have one, at least, has been ... inspirational.

It Turns Out...

You never really remember how good it feels to do something until you haven't been able to do it for a long time.  It is easy to forget how good the pen feels or how nice it is to have your hands dirty.  It feels good to play with paper and stamps and glitter.  And I had forgotten because I was down so low I couldn't get myself out of bed.  I was down so low I wanted to sleep and never wake up.  Chronic pain will fuck you up.  Bipolar disorder will fuck you up.

But, the good news is that both are manageable.  Once you accept that you will be on a lifetime of medications and that it.is.not.your.fault., you will be able to move beyond the initial denial and start managing your conditions.  Two years.  I was in the denial phase for two years.  Sure, I was taking my meds, but I was really hoping, craving, waiting for a magic cure for all of my problems.  Two years is a long time to waste.  Two years is a long time to spend in bed.

But again, there is good news.  My life was broken down before me, and I was able to see what was real and what was not, what was good for me and what was not.  I can see now what I need to do - no matter if it is harder than hell - and I know I have positive support.  Honestly, without my support line, I wouldn't have made it through the last three months.  I don't know if they let you blog from the hospital, but I doubt it.

So, here we are.  Two years and a bunch of internal bullshit later, and I feel like I am finally starting to make some progress.  I accept what is, and I am moving on.  It isn't good or bad, it just is.  There is no fault because it just is.  And I let it flow around me because I am a stone in the river - and the river is neither good nor bad, it just is.  It washes over me, and it just is.