This subject is actually what sparked my blog withdrawal. I had been going through something for a couple of days and by Thursday morning I was in full fledged “Am I still a slave without S&M or bondage?” mode. It was like the very basics of my beliefs (that there’s more to slavery than whips and chains) went out the window.
I don’t blog about the bad here very often. It embarrasses me. And I’m always afraid I’m going to say the wrong thing, express myself the wrong way, and ultimately make Master think I didn’t learn from the experience. I’ve been in a “no holds barred” mood of late. Mainly because I hate always censoring my thinking (and I’m not supposed to here or from Master). From anyone. Master, our readers, our friends. I’ve never really been the type to keep my mouth shut. I shouldn’t start now.
I fled to the bedroom as quickly as possible when it was time for bed so I could get down everything I was thinking about the morning’s experience. I wrote quickly and without care as to how it sounded or what Master would think. I needed to put down the way things were. And isn’t that what my journal’s for? To write about the things that happened and how they made me feel? I didn’t get it all out because He was ready to sleep before I was finished. But…
An excerpt from my journal:
This morning… It was a bad and a good morning. I was whiney because the thirteen hour shift yesterday killed my hands. Then when I went to start the car I realized that the eight inches of snow on top had turned to ice. I turned the defroster on with the hope that it would loosen the sheet of ice touching the glass enough for me to slide it off relatively easily. Master didn’t like that idea. He said it probably wouldn’t work the way I expected.
I stormed out the front door thinking all the time, “How come I’m only a slave when it’s convenient?” or something along those lines. When I came back in I was fit to be tied. My hands were alternating between sharp, unbearable pain to pins and needles to the burning start of frostbite (I didn’t have gloves on) and back again and I was hopping mad.
I sat down and cried. Hard. But quietly so Master wouldn’t hear.
I was snotty when I answered Him. I don’t remember what I said but it was horrible. And it was biting. And I thought He was going to knock my head off. He wrapped His hand around my throat and slammed me against the wall. Then He slapped me twice, knuckles and all, rocking my head from side to side.
Then He sat down, staring through the wall. And I inched closer and closer to Him before finally forcing myself to stop being so stupid. I rushed to His feet before I could lose my nerve and knelt before Him, then placed my cheek on His shoe. Forgetting the snow and ice, I tried not to cry to avoid leaving tear stains on the soft leather. I apologized wholeheartedly and stayed there until He told me to move.
We don’t argue quite as often as we used to. I know a slave should never argue with her owner but knowing and doing are two very different things. And when I’m so angry or hurt or confused that I can’t think straight my mouth runs and I can’t stop it. I try. I revert to “Yes, Master.” when what I want to say is “No. You’re wrong.” or something similar. And sometimes it’s enough. And He calms down. Then I calm down. And He gives no opening for me to get upset again and spout off again.
But sometimes, it’s not enough. He knows I’m just placating Him. That I have loads more I want to say. And He keeps talking. And soon I can’t tune out the things I want to disagree with or rage against. And soon I’m unable to think straight again. And my mouth runs away with me.
Thursday definitely could have gone that way. I was mad enough to cause an all out war. Internal physical pain… pain not caused by Master… often affects me that way. Especially when circumstances don’t allow me to sit still with my hands in my lap until the pain is gone. And I can’t understand, because the pain is so blinding, that He knows I’m not up to par. He cares about it and He’s bothered by it. But time constraints and circumstances just don’t allow Him to put me away until I feel better. Especially when I may never feel better.
I’m grateful that He shut me up. That He shocked me into shutting my mouth and just quietly doing what I was told. I was still mad. Even madder that I had more snow related work to do. But I had been jolted awake and I knew I was out of line. And by the time I was finished I wasn’t mad anymore.
And I’m not just a slave when it’s convenient. I am, however, a spoiled child.