Change

Change is inevitable. We alter when we least expect it, or even want it. There is a tide that flows within us below the surface such that our actions may seem random when in fact they are the outcome of a kaleidoscope of thoughts, actions and reactions. Days turn into months and we realize that we may not be able to return to that person we were back then. We have become another version of ourselves.

The power exchange relationship ideally travels along a continuum where there are rituals and rules that accord with the foundation of the agreement, with more rituals or symbols added as time goes by. It feels comfortable and right; more of the same, but more tight and more intense.  Control.

If one can depend on nothing else in this world there is the assurance for the Dominant that the submissive will follow where he leads. There's growth; the kind of growth where the obedience is ever more relied upon; deeper; darker. For some people it works this way. The conditioning makes for this outcome. The very survival of what they have together depends on this outcome.

I think for some of us, however, the level of submission, and even the submissive response itself is not nearly as steady as this. There are moments, passages of time in a person's life, when what one has done until now almost makes no sense. It's a daunting and confusing experience because we've come to rely on that response as being an important part of us and then, suddenly, it can feel like it has vanished.

I strongly doubt that such an important and enduring component of a personality can actually vanish but it can, I am sure, look like it. What has actually happened is that the response is temporarily dormant for reasons that seem, at first blush, incomprehensible.

I could, if I felt so inclined, take the necessary measures to fixate again on my own lascivious lust. I've done it before and thus I can say with authority, it's not hard. But, the motivation is not there. It's just not there and I don't feel inclined to force my hand just for the sake of feeling better or putting things right if it comes at the expense of exploring this current lack of motivation towards the submissive response; letting it be and seeing where it leads. The impulse is to just live rather than question it's right to exist; allow it rather than force it down below the surface.

It's not entirely gone, of course. That's the thing about a submissive response. My husband tied my wrists over the weekend just before I went to sleep and I loved that feeling all through the night; loved the sense of being wholly alive that I felt between my legs the next day.

It's something to do with variety. This thought came to me this morning as I woke. I've been doing the same thing, admittedly very successfully, for about 6 or 7 years, and my mind seems to be demanding change. How could anyone, I asked myself, continue to do the same things forever? Why would it be important for a dominant to insist upon that, when the one thing we do know is that we are forever changing? It's curious that a doll can live forever being a doll, no change for objects, but a woman does change; matures and evolves. This is to be expected and ideally, desired.

Change scares me but so too does complacency and complete stability; tedium. As disconcerting as it is to be beyond the barriers, there is simply no other choice right now. I'm not looking necessarily to see if there is another way to do this. I'm looking to see if there is another way to commute with the world. I'm looking for conversation that allows me to feel closer to the nub of what it is to be human rather than what it is to be 'toy'. I'm reaching out rather than looking in.

I'm saying that this blog was set up to support a specific state of mind and being; as if control or lack of control was the only way to express oneself; one is submissive or one is dominant. I'm not doubting that I am submissive in nature but my mind is doubting if this is the only way to express my entity in the world. I feel like a child that loves his childhood home and will wish to return from time to time but instinctively knows it is time to venture further.

I'm not concerned that this space doesn't allow for my love of gardens, or fashion, or literature or film. I'm concerned, and putting it into words is so difficult, that I can't tolerate being split into two any more: girl here and toy there; silenced in a way where only the toy's impulses are welcomed. What I find that I must give exploration to is the idea, the right of most human beings, that I am a whole human being and that to cut off parts of me, to only want part of me, isn't really what I want. To be pleasing is a very natural way to live and yet there is something driving me to put myself first this time; to answer for myself the question, without prejudice: What do I want?

Update

I thought it was time that I recorded something in this journal. Frankly, it can feel so self-indulgent, all those 'I' statements that one inevitably writes in a journal such as this one. There are three already! It was my husband that asked about the journal and it was his thought that writing again here wasn't a bad thing. I really didn't think he read here. One never knows.

It's been about a month since I wrote and somewhere in there I drifted into a sort of 'depression'. I'd noticed that my mind was chattering away at such a constant and demanding rate that I took the positive step of buying a book about depression, How to lift depression [...fast]. I find it a wonderful aid and I've been working my way through it marking it up so that I can remind myself of the messages whenever I need to do that.

The primary message of the book is that 'depression is always secondary to another problem'. The authors speak in detail of the 'human givens', those elements that all human beings must have  in their lives, and they encourage the reader to do an audit of their lives. First, a depressed person must be calmed and whilst there are various techniques for this I find focusing on the breath in a 5/9 pattern works wonderfully well. So, I inhale to the count of five and exhale to the count of nine.

I was aware before buying the book that I had developed a sleep issue. I was waking far too early in the mornings regardless of when I went to bed and I was aware I was dreaming; lots and lots of mental activity going on in my sleep. The authors explained that a depressed person who inevitably ruminates on issues during the day, deeply in an emotional state and not a rational one, has disrupted sleeping patterns, specifically related to REM dreaming.

If someone dreams excessively to work through the day's upsetting thoughts, they can wake up exhausted. Such people may wake early and find they can't get back to sleep because 'their brains are unable to 'take' any more emotional discharge by dreaming'. This made complete sense to me. I had suspected this. After reading the book, one morning I used the 5/9 pattern and managed to get back to sleep and stay asleep for a couple of hours. Hallelujah, it was working!

The audit of my life is something that I am in the process of doing. I'm in a transitional period of my life and some tweaking of my life and how I live it needs to considered. I might work a couple of days a week, or volunteer for an organisation weekly, or something else new. I might take myself to the library for several long stints of writing each week to make progress on my writing project. Getting the next stage of my life sorted to my satisfaction is a work in progress, but it's not what had me thinking dark thoughts.

One of the human givens is 'volition: a sense of autonomy and control over our lives'. Really, all my married life I've not had that much autonomy. Once I started having babies my husband was happy for me to be with the children and he took virtually full control of our finances. He decided if we went on vacation or did up a home or what we invested in. Yes, I have made suggestions and he's not unsupportive of my suggestions, depending on whether or not he feels that he can manage something. He's generous when he feels that he can be generous.

The situation has often demanded that I display a good deal of patience and I think this is when the lack of autonomy has been felt the most. I'm so much more someone who would prefer to stay away from high risk, whereas high risk is his game. Just lately we talked about this in a very honest way and he listened to me and said that he had been thinking along similar lines, to break down the risk by taking a particular action.There are not my decisions, but he is doing something soon that will enable me to feel much more comfortable. I already feel more comfortable knowing that this is in the pipeline.

I suddenly realized, having re-read what I have written so far that it is so important that I explain that I am not the sort of depressed person that can't get out of bed, or go to the gym or the theatre, or for a walk, or make a meal, or see friends, or visit my mother. I am fully engaged with life whilst at the same time knowing within myself that I am not operating at full speed. My batteries are still operational but delicate, as if at short notice they won't work for a time, and then they do again. I can still enjoy a film, a piece of music, a passage from a book, the birds singing, a conversation, cooking, writing, the light when the sun hits the trees in a certain way in the morning, dressing up, a meal; the business of living. I really do love life and all that it has to offer but I hate my mind when it won't leave me be.

This morning I had an urge to wear pink and realising that I didn't have a lipstick pink anything, went in search of such an item on the Internet. The exact colour I want to wear was not to be found but I shall keep my eye out for it. Depressed people probably aren't nearly so concerned about finding the perfect pink top or dress. I suspect not. It's not that I don't have happy thoughts but simply that I have too many thoughts and some of them aren't that pretty. That's what upsets me, that I can't control that.

Returning to the 'human givens' one such vital category is 'attention: receiving it from others but also giving it.' From a few comments my husband has been making lately it is clear that I don't give him enough attention. In the foggy thinking that makes up depression, that tendency to say 'woe is me', I'd forgotten that he needs to receive attention just as much as I need to receive attention. Four children later, all adults now, he wants his share. I've been remiss here. I really have. Intent on service of a dominant kind I've been a taker more than a giver. I dropped the ball when it comes to pleasing him and making this right has been a great aid in bringing us closer and in getting that chattering mind of mine to take a hike. I can explain this further some other time for this post is already long.

Griffin and Tyrrell write 'What helps is getting the depressed person to stop worrying and get their basic physical and emotional needs met, stop brain exhaustion and rebuild their energy levels and self confidence. We call this the human givens approach to therapy'. They are convinced that depression is not a biological illness and I agree. They believe however that 'there is a biological element to depression' and that depressed people have low levels of serotonin, a consequence of depression.

It is now 10 years since I asked my husband to spank me for the first time. I have come to know myself well such that I know what can give me an enormous boost; make my life feel that I have abundant riches. Taking me into that realm such that I can be a sexual slut is unbelievably enriching, though slightly scary since once bimbocindi is out of the box it's hard to put her back in for some time. There's a greedy, slutti, demanding, voracious side to her, and a childlike, stamp her foot side too. 'I want...' she can ultimately demand when thoroughly discombobulated (though never in scene) when she doesn't get her way, sounding more desperate than she cares to admit. It's embarrassing, truly embarrassing to see her like this. I am not always especially impressed to know her and yet she is a part of me.

In all my experiences in the past ten years it remains the case that to be beaten is the most uplifting of all experiences. To get to that total sexual surrender such as I did on Saturday is gorgeous, but the next day when my husband bent me over and spanked me as he wanted, it put me into a tail spin. I wanted the serotonin (or whatever it is ) that is released after a proper beating. I desperately wanted that, not anything else. I wanted to walk on air. I wanted my drug. I wanted to be satiated such that I no longer wanted.

This is the sort of attention that I want, and need. Yes, I need it. I need to be tied up, tight; a gag in my mouth. No way out. And then, over a period of time, beginning with a warm up, beaten harder and faster, until I am absolutely spent. Then, the serotonin kicks in. My love for him explodes. My world is set right. I am deliriously happy. (Footnote: Re-reading this I've not made mention of the other way to get serotonin in my life, a daily kinky ritual that went somewhat unattended during the depressive cycle and is likely the culprit as well, but that's another story for another day.)

My intellect tells me that to get someone to do something you want them to do it is necessary to make it appealing for them. Of course, some people have a predilection to spank as much as some people like me have a predilection to want to be spanked. Failing that, how does one get to a point where it is a desire on both parts for this interaction? I have no definite answer, but possibly it is part and parcel of him seeing me happy immediately afterwards and for days later. Since it rarely happens in a comprehensive way, how can I entice him to partake, not just this time, but in a more regular way? This is what I am working on and thinking about. 

Does this mean that I have an obsession? Sure. Of course it's an obsession. A need. It's addictive. But, it's not like heroine or some other drug. I've never taken a drug in my life, so I'm surmising a bit here, but the point is that kinky happenings won't kill me.  To be restrained and to receive adequate sensory stimulation is my medicine.

We're talking about this which is a good thing, better than not talking. Perhaps he will read about my feelings here too. God knows I don't go to the rack willingly. You do know these sorts of beatings hurt like hell, right? But, the fact remains I need it. I really do think that if I could just be taken to the rack in a somewhat consistent way, with full understanding of the enormous benefits of this practice to me, that as a human being I'd have all that I could possibly want. Isn't it the strangest thing that someone who is so devoted to me in so many other ways can't understand this.