Melen is strong enough to be my man.
I’m having a particularly difficult time with some things going on, right now. It’s not so much the events themselves, though parts of each of them (there are a few that are separate and affect different parts of my life) are sad, and awkward, and bewildering. It’s more the way the events came about, and the clusterfuck that has been left in their wake.
And of course, this shit has to happen just as that wretched beast the Monthly Monster rears her ugly head. Because why on Earth would I want to face stressful situations with a clear(er) head? That’d just be silly.
I’ve been in a straight panic since some time last week. I got a few moments of respite when I buried my head in intoxication for the weekend, but the moment sobriety returned, so did the fear. I haven’t been afraid like this in … years?
And it’s so stupid. All of it. None of it matters. No matter the outcome, I’ll land on my feet. Life will go on. That’s generally the way life works.
I’ve probably said all this before. I’ve probably said what I’m about to say before, too.
One of the most important things in my partner is that he’s strong enough. I am high maintenance. I can, if I have to, like most insane people, hold my insanity at bay when I am under scrutiny … or when I just don’t want to hurt the people around me. But eventually, I need release. And the longer I hold it in, the worse it is when I finally let it out.
Due to even more extenuating circumstances*, calming down once I’m riled up takes way more control than I have. One of the reasons I finally gave in to experimenting with my masochism was hearing someone talk about the release causing themselves physical pain gave when they were feeling emotional pain.
Problem is, it doesn’t work that way for me. Hurting myself doesn’t come close to the release of being hurt at another’s hands. But being thrashed by my lover will cure even the worst panic attack, mood swing or outright rage.
But every once in a while, it’s not pain I need. Just someone to hold me. To let me show my weakness until I’m strong enough to tuck it away again. To hold me up until I can do it myself.
Yeah… He’s strong enough to be my man.
I love you so much more, Master.
*Once a dual-diagnosis counselor told me that my life reminded her of a bottle rocket. “When it blows up, it goes every which way!” she exclaimed.