Obedience is not on the table.

I could not obey because I had no reason to obey.

Submission doesn’t come easy to any of us. Being DID makes it a challenge for our spouse, lovers and to those who engage in power exchange when they briefly dip their toes in our life. I don’t let many people in. Those who I have let in, stayed for decades. Except, those engaged in power exchange; those didn’t make it past the rapids that surround the moat.

I used to think I was slave. There is a part of me that is that. There is a part of me that is anything but that. Unfortunately, that gives the PE types whiplash. I’m a kaleidoscope of emotions, moods, ways of being, viewpoints and tons of contradictions. I’m part-changeling. I can be your favorite dream, your worse nightmare. I can be your perfect slave when you feel the lowest but it won’t last. I’ll be back to fighting with you when you’re on the top of the world. I’m too damn independent. Even when I sink to my knees, there is a part of me watching, judging you and me. That part, guards all of what I am. She can be your best friend or your worst nightmare. She determines if the relationship continues. She’s far more tenacious than a pit bull when set in course.

Even I bow down to her power over me. For she keeps us safe and sane. She protects us even from ourselves. She’s got the balls to make the hard painful choices. In reality, it is her standards you have to live up to. It’s her eyes you are judged with.

You may be wondering why this is? I did too for a long time. Autumn is the protector and has been for a very long time. She took on all the abuse. She’s the one who carries the load of the emotional scars. She’s the one who learned to say no and taught me to say no. She chose her own purpose long ago. She made the choice to shove me out, to endure the abuse. She sheltered me with herself and preserved me.

Why does any of that matter? I don’t know when it happened. As I’ve become more aware of the others, talk with, share with and accommodate their needs and desires; there has been a bleed through, a blending of basic psychological operations. Autumn’s ability to say no, cuts right into my ability to engage with others. Before, I would be wailing as to why I could not do a thing nor could I explain why that is. Now, I can. I see how each of us are joined to each other, influencing each other, affecting each other.

I’m getting a better idea of the “whom” that I am.

Blind obedience endangers me and thus I am unable to engage on that level. Obedience because that’s how the relationship is structured is blind obedience. I have no screaming urge inside me to kneel. If I am to ever kneel, it is with forethought and deep consideration. Emotions are not our driving life force. There is no great urge to serve. We have a devotion to duty, first and foremost. And we don’t give a shit about everyone who gets allergic about the word duty. I’ve had enough with dickheads trying to convince me that upholding duty was a dry affair and that service was better.

Still a bit bitter and raw over that.

All this is just part of an ongoing autopsy of a previous power exchange relationship. I had no reasons for obedience. I had other things to do and he hadn’t ranked high enough. I had no tolerance to stroke his ego. I saw no purpose in most of his orders. I saw danger in many of his orders.

I went through a self-imposed hell. I was afraid and I kept walking back into the fire. I kept learning, growing. I kept walking into that hell. Till the day I walked through the fire instead of stepping back.

It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life.
-Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek-Next Generation

Attribution Error

Healing comes from the inside, born of love and forgiveness.

On Silence and Threats
I can do a decade standing on my head.
But we both know that’s a lie.
I’ll be standing on my feet the entire time,
slowly snowed over with Kleenex’s.

Finely solved the whole dream issue of why it hurts so much to not have a Master…
because I had not stopped to look at what I have and to appreciate what I do have. Instead I stared long into the past and let that pain eat me instead of looking forward to building my future.

And I’m weird. I have everything I need to keep and enforce boundaries yet I step aside to allow Isa to be what she is, soft hearted. But I am the core of steel that protects her. A Master must be my equal or better for anything less will continue to cause Isa damage. There are a few odd rules involved. I’m not interested in changing the person. I will deliver a hearty smack down to idiots that cause harm but that’s punishment. If the person is to change, they must do it on their and for their own reasons. I’m not buying the idea that we change because we want the other person to love us more. Just, no.

I don’t tend to peep up and ask questions. I prefer to record and observe. This leads to many interesting observations and unusual conclusions. Which means I need more communication that normal, openness given results in openness returned.

And from now, that have to be able to deal with me. On my level. Isa might/may be their slave but I am not. I’m not always out because I am cleaning up another mess. I am capable of playing nice and acting as support role for Isa. But if I keep getting dragged out on clean up duty, then something is Fucking Wrong! Sense I am not going, I get to take the garbage out. Just don’t be garbage. Easy.

And I’m tired. Tired of prying Isa’s fingers off time and again. Tired of what I know comes after. Tired of being the bad guy, every time. Tried of doing what I know is right. She makes it hard to stay in the front. And today is one of those days where I wish I could just separate from her, like conjoined twins having surgery. There is nothing I know of that can do that. And stop right there, integration is not the answer.

It’s funny, the more I get to look at all of this, I just want to slap her. It’s so obvious that he doesn’t love her like she feels for him. She’s probably nothing more than Replacement Object #4,635; just another voice assigned with the same name, same duties. So she lied. Yup, she lied big time. No, we are not all in. It’s just her. Me, I’m tired of the cycle. I’m tired of being monkey in the middle. We gave integration a shot a long time ago and when it broke, things were worse than before. He has failed to prove he knows how to deal with all of us. All I can say to that is this; there are easier fish in the sea.

Owning a slave that has DID is a pain in the ass. I know because we are a lovable pain in the ass to our husband and boy. Twenty plus years with both of them, they’ve been there from before knowing and stayed and supported us after knowing. They did the work to gain a relationship with me. They did the work to earn a measure of trust, with me.

The buck stops with me, no matter how many times I am willing and happy to step back to let Isa just be. I don’t have her innocence or joy. I don’t have her starry eyed enthusiasm. I don’t have her child like wonder. I don’t have her sensuality. I don’t have the depth of her emotions. I don’t even have her laughter. What I do have, is an appreciation of everything she is and the will and strength to protect her. Even when it’s gonna cut her heart out again.

I remember my birth.

She walked away from the garage with tears running down her face. Everything was wrong and she felt numb but not numb. Everything was a jumble of emotions, swirling, spinning so fast she couldn’t stand it. The sun flicked between bright and dark. Each step she took the world grew heavier. In anguish she attempted to not think, just walk one more step forward. Just one more step. Just one more step. Her head spun so loud. The world was loud and heavy and she wanted nothing to do with it. She put hands over her ears to shut out the sound but kept on getting louder. She wanted to scream but couldn’t remember why. She needed to scream but couldn’t make a sound.

With each step, the world grew wronger and she could pick out words. The voices were arguing so loud with each step she took away from the garage. With each step, a dreadful fear grew inside her. She was possessed! She was corrupted by a demon, unsaveable and damned. They kept fighting in her head as tears fall. She knew now she was doomed. She knew there was no one she could turn too. There was no one to save her. She had no recourse. She had to save herself. To the future, she would look and the countdown begun. She’d count all the years to graduation day. She’d leave and never come back.

A child had walked into that garage that morning but something very different walked out. That day we were born, Isabella and Autumn; an angel and a demon, on her shoulders we argued. She kept count, always counting. She kept count till she could count no more then she’d chime her age. A voice, a metronome, keeping the beat of a course set so long ago that even reason was forgotten. She kept counting, always counting, anything and everything. It was the only way to drown out the voices in her head. Even at night, she’d count till she fell asleep and woke counting. In the day, the count continued till the voices grew quiet once again and she could forget that she was one of the damned.

The long count continued. Each year took another number off. Each year closer to a goal who’s reason had long been forgotten. Each year a shy reminder of her damnation. She kept count even when she couldn’t take being alive anymore and went inside to become a ghost. She was 12 when she died. She was 7 when she knew she was damned to hellfire. She was 37 when she stretched and woke up again. Soon after, she’s never had to count again. The reason was finally dead.

HaHa!! I got here First.

Autumn, you are such a dunderhead! Ha! I’m getting to this before you so suck it.  God, you already figured this out but I’m breakin’ the news here. The other day with the headphones, THAT was PTSD, a misplaced memory and emotion.

Yeah, I know! I didn’t know PTSD could come across like that. Or oh holy shit, shove me back to when I was a freeking kid! It bugged the hell out of me too because that kid…that kid isn’t supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be grown, right? Yeah, yeah, let’s not scare everyone with that tidbit. Oh, okay, yeah only one of us headmates has an age tag attached and it’s not us. We just kinda figured that we were the age the Ghost kept repeating, well till she woke up. Blah, blah, blah from 12 to 37 overnight. Yeah, I know, growing up sucks.

Anywho, what happened was a triggered emotion memory thingy. Why it hurt so blasted much? Looks so tame on the surface, doesn’t it? It’s deep. My father had a habit of giving me things that I cherished just to nitpick at them and take them away. Headphones were one of those things I was given after my mother died. Except he started nitpicking anytime I was using them. It always started soft, “you got your head in those headphones again” and tone would be one of admonishment. Then it escalated to articles about how kids lost their hearing from using headphones. Next was the rules of when I could wear them and how loud I could play them. Later, I wasn’t allowed to wear them over my ears, they had to be on the side of the head instead. I quit at that point. I got it. To make him ‘happy’ I simply stop using my headphones and I stopped listening to music when he was home. I stopped being me and that was the pain I re-experienced.

It sucks.

One Hour at the Kitchen Table

“Autumn, I still don’t want to do this. You still have this place flicking between the kitchen and that leather sofa.”

“Isa, I believe this is worth the effort. This place hasn’t been solid since the void after the space station. I’m glad that it’s still functioning at all. I was worried we lost it for good. Which do you prefer?”

“I like the kitchen. The sun shines through the window. I know it’s small but it’s just the two of us for now. It feels like there could be more. I can see grass and trees beyond the window. It’s peaceful just to look out there.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best to focus on staying in the kitchen.”

“Thank you. You just flickered it to the sofa again, I know you are trying.”

I make an effort to think back to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee. Square table, hard chairs; it is a tiny kitchen, more of what I’d expect in a cottage. I pull out the chair and sit. She’s sitting down with her fingers interlaced looking out the window. Why are we here in this place; what does it represent? “Better?”

“Yes.”

“I want to explore your relationship with being a slave.” I pause. I really want to explore what I suspect, that it is a role she’s used to keep from having meaningful and intimate relationships. I see puzzle pieces in her journal and she’s the only one who can explain them. “Can you remember the first time you embraced the word ‘slave’?”

She frowns at me and shakes her head. “It wasn’t with Aries. I mean that was the core impulse but it wasn’t slave-like. It was, I wanted to please him. It was desperate and happiness and it made me feel good like I was worth something. ”

Isa stands up and sets the kettle to boil. As she leans against the counter, I watch the emotions cross her face, confusion, sadness, and avoidance. “It was with my husband before we married. You know the fights we had. You caused most of them. And I was left trying to figure out how to be better, to be what he wanted. All that was left for me was to become what it was he wanted. And it didn’t work. He didn’t want a slave at all!”

I nod and look down. I don’t want to face my own role in that, not yet anyway. The truth is I abandoned her too many times and left her on her own. Cradling my cup I sip, contemplating what to say. “What does it mean to be a slave to you?” A heartbeat of time passes “I mean, is being a slave the same as being in a relationship to you?

“What? No. Of course, it’s not the same as being in a relationship. How could it be? I get told what to do, what to think, how to be. None of that has any meaning in a relationship. ‘I’ don’t matter, you know. It’s what I can do, what I provide that matters.”

The whistle shrieks and Isa turns off the stove. She pours the water into her cup and comes back to the table and sits down. “Being a slave, Autumn, it gave me a place where I belonged. I was safe as long as I was good and obedient. It was a role I thought I knew the rules too.” Stirring her tea for a long moment before she looks at me, “I want to make people happy and take care of them. That way I am taken care of and kept safe. It just didn’t work out that way. Every time I got upset, you came out and kicked the world apart. All I was trying to do was box up the pain and keep it inside. It didn’t matter that I was hurt. They were happy. If they knew I was hurt, they would be hurt and I didn’t want that. If they knew I was hurt, they would use that against me. They could find have found a way to hurt me more.”

I want to hug her and I sit there holding my cup. What had she said ‘they would hurt her,’ hmm, there is something deeper here. It’s a distracting tangent. “Isa, what is a relationship to you?”

She sticks her finger in her tea and grimaces. “Autumn, a relationship is a lot of give and take. I give and they take. But when it’s my turn to take, it goes crazy. I know what I want. I want to be able to be me and still loved for it. I want to be able to devote everything I am but on my own terms. I want it to be acceptable that I have needs and not have to do everything on my own. I want to be able to show my soft belly and know I won’t be hurt for it. I want to be able to say ‘that hurts. can you help fix this with me.’ Is it so wrong to want a partner, an equal, a playmate in life? Isn’t that what a relationship is all about?”

 

“Who Are You?”

“I don’t know. It’s just there in the back of my mind.” Her hand flutters around her head agitated and waving wildly. She pins me with a look and I sit up a bit straighter. “I keep having these daymares of Him telling me things, secret things. But these things didn’t happen.” I watch her gaze into the distance and I take the moment to refill my cup.

“So, what are these daymares about?” I sit with my coffee and sip wondering what is going to come spilling out now. She rubs her eyes slowly frowning. She leans towards me. “It was the before time and it’s so fuzzy, Autumn. I don’t know if it’s real!” I lean back as she jumps out of the chair. Warily I take a sip of my coffee as she paces.

“It’s so fuzzy like I’m not supposed to remember. That he had some kind of brain injury. It was pretty massive and left him pretty sick. He talked about taking a swim in the ocean and not coming back. That he was an inventor and his family stole his ideas. That he was worthless now to them and that didn’t make any sense to me. He just wanted to help people and now, he couldn’t.”

I could see she was on the verge of tears and desperately holding it all together. I sigh. “How do you feel about that?”
“Hopeless. I didn’t say anything. I was too afraid to draw attention to it. I was afraid it would be used against me. You know I’ve had ex’s who played the suicide card. It’s hard to know what to say at that moment.”

Nodding, I motion to her to continue. I was intrigued, maybe we are getting somewhere. She pulls out the chair and drops into it with a thud. “He was married before, you know that, right?” I nod. “Always thought his anger issues had to do with that but no. Those came before, I think. None of it makes sense Autumn. It’s like there are two different timelines in my head!”

I reach out to her and grab her hand and rub my thumb across her knuckles rhythmically. “It is okay. I know this is hard for you. You are strong and you can do this. Would you like to continue or would you rather have a break?” I watch her eyes as she inhales deeply, centring herself as she nods. Her eyes clearing from the panic are for the moment still shadowed.

“I’d like to continue.”
He always complained of being alone. It never made any sense. He had his slaves, didn’t he? I mean, he had [REDACTED]. I thought they lived together but then there was that phone call. That sure as hell wasn’t [REDACTED]’s voice in the background. He said it was his wives. I flipped, Autumn. I flipped right then and there. Married? He‘d been married all this time? What the hell is the truth, Autumn?”

I wanted to shake my head as I took down notes. I remember that. I remember how much it hurt her to go through that. With resolve, I look into her eyes, “What do you believe is the truth, Isabella?”

A Hidden History

There is another blog that we own that I tend to ignore its existence, Formely Aries’ slave. Isa wrote in it from July 2007 till June 2015. It’s a raw and rough record of two D/s / M/s relationships. It’s an incomplete record of chaos, pain and heartbreak. Isa moved it to private at some point. I know parts of it was here and then removed. I’ve been looking it over, seeking clues to the past. I want to say it’s enlighting but it’s not. It is a bitter pill to swallow actually. This was us at that point in time.

But a lot is recorded, even the day our heart broke so badly that the body physical spiralled out of control with rising high blood pressure. I look back now and suspect something rather sinister was at play. Everything Isa was, was tied so deeply to an identity of a slave that walking away meant death. Fighting an unconscious death wish isn’t fun.

Somewhere in those years, I came out again to fill in for her as she collapsed internally. I’m talking about this because I’ve got a problem I’m still trying to solve. What do I do with Isa? What do I do with her desires and her natural inclination to submit, or rather to revolve around a single person as her all?

If anything that blog is proof Isa can recover and love and trust again. If anything that blog shows how much she’s grown. Dreamwalker’s tale isn’t included in that blog and not much of it is here on this one. But it’s all over her poetry, the whole story is written in every line of her poetry. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I know she was thinking ‘third times’ a charm’. I’m not sure she ever asked, what kind of charm.

And it occurs to me that I could be asking a different question: what to do with Me? Considering it is me that prevents Isa from being herself as she sees herself. Only one of has a choice, oddly. Isa is what she is, it’s not a matter of choice. But, me, I have a choice. Choice also means having responsibility. What do I do with the part of us that I feel is still unhealthy?

You know, it’s too ingrained, Isa as a submissive/slave. It’s too much a part of her foundational identity. So how do I nurture her towards a proper and healthy expression of her submission, safely without destroying the integrity of the identities in the rest of our system? How do I do that while keeping us safe?

An excerpt from Formely Aries’ slave

First Collar
Posted on September 17, 2010 by Isabella LeCour

While reading a posting about D/s lifestyle and collaring I had a flash back to my first experience of a collar. It happened back in high school. Me and my boyfriend at the time were holed up in my bedroom. We were talking and going through my stuff, for something, needle and thread I think. He reached out and grabbed a black velvet ribbon, deftly wrapped it around my neck and admired it. He told me he liked to see me that way. So simple the words he used, the eloquent expression of desire. I was so moved by his desire that I turned that ribbon into a choker style necklace and wore it proudly the next day. I remember taking it off when we broke up. It had become the symbol of our relationship and I never wore it again once we broke up. But I have never forgotten the experience nor have I been able to shake a preference for chokers. Every choker I wear, I remember him and that velvet ribbon.

It may not be a first collar in a traditional sense in the lifestyle. We were just teenagers with no sense of BDSM, at least I was not and I was the one more sexually experienced. It is instead the first time I submitted to another’s will with a passion. It does strike me as ironic that this memory would be enshrined in myself. I wanted to give everything I was or ever would have to him. Those were my first stirrings of my deep dark submissive passions.

Those feeling were unleashed. I sought them out and like-minded people. I have wore collars for other’s since then. The feeling of belonging is similar yet nowhere near as strong. The shear rightness of it, of my submission has never changed. Kink has been in my soul for a long time.