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

I ‘need’ to feel.

When I was younger there were quite a few things I did that helped me calm down and helped me in those frustrating cycles of persistent arousal. I am once again in the middle of one of those cycles. Yet I don’t engage anymore in self-bondage as I scared myself quite badly. It isn’t safe behaviour and I like breathing for as long as I can. But I have picked back up something that helps during those moments.

In my younger days, I made my own ‘thingie’ out of rope and knots and used to beat it against my back. Sometimes rhythmically, sometimes painfully but a sense of calm always overtook me. Now, I’m using a cheap belt and it’s not going to last long. It’s already fraying and cracking. I don’t get the swing I used it get. The sensation isn’t the same either.

I’d love to lie to myself and say I don’t know why I’m doing it but that’s not true. I know I’m chasing ‘release’ and relief that I know it can give me if I swing it hard enough or long enough. I know I need a better belt. I suspect that it will do in a pinch but I think I might be seeking something else. Not sure what though.

I was one of those who got belted by their parents. Never on the back but buttocks and legs and those left raised welts that took a week to disappear. I was also one of those defiant enough that I learned how to ‘turn it off’ and ended up with no welts much to parental frustrations. I’ve never understood how this behaviour could produce a calm that now I’m seeking once again. I don’t get it.

For now, the ‘reward’ seams worth chasing. It’s causing me to reflect and redefine myself. I don’t see myself as a person who seeks out pain, at least not in a physical sort. Or maybe I’m returning to this because seeking out emotional pain has been too costly? I don’t know. I just want to feel something. Is that so bad?

The Week That Was

Gratitude Friday

Oh goodness. It’s been a heck of a week! If a lifetime can be packed into seven days, this was the week that was. I’m not sure where to even start a recap. I’ve been on G+ way too much! The outpouring of poetry that’s spilling out of my soul has swamped my G+ wall. I need to copy all of it to my poetry blog. I’m really glad I’m writing poetry again. It’s been over a decade since I’ve had this much coming out. It’s taken a bit of following in other’s footsteps to get that muscle working again. But it worked and now I’ve got a flood just pouring out. No way am I sticking the stopper in it again!

With my girls visiting with grandparents, I’ve worked on a lot of internal projects. In the process, I’ve lost myself, found myself, deeply felt every emotion, cried my eyes out and found something I wasn’t even looking for. That was actually last week. Much of it continued through this week too. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a nutter, okay, never mind, I know I’m a nutter; I had an experience that I can only describe as mystical touching of the Divine.

The hard part to accepting this experience is I want to share this so much. To share the joy of this and I found I could not. Not because of fear, I have lost that but because my loved ones lack understanding of me and well just me. The only person I desperately wanted to share this with, well, was not receptive is an understatement. It is a worthy lesson.

However, I refuse to let other’s actions diminish the joy and happiness I found. I am happier than I have been in a very long time. I’m smiling so much my cheeks hurt. I am laughing and cracking jokes with my husband. I can feel the twinkle in my eyes! My heart feels so much lighter. It’s left me dancing!

Oh, joy abundant and overflowing!

So, onward to the joys of thankfulness;

Thank You for leaving the footsteps I followed. I may have been miles behind but each step brought me closer to me and taught me lessons along the way.

Thank You for my insanity. I know, that’s odd. Yet It’s me and I’m really glad to be just me, not some other mask that’s worn, not some pale shadow of a woman, not some appendage of another’s personality.

Thank You for all of life’s joys. Oh, these joy’s make all the pickles of life worthwhile.

Thank You for Music! Oh, yes, music. To get lost in the sounds and words that move the soul brings me a joy, a happiness.

Thank You for my Men in my life. I know, oh I know how difficult I am to live with. I’m stuck in my own head 99% of the time. Yet all of you have stood by me, held my hand when I needed it, offered comfort when I asked and have continued to prove your love for me just by being you. You are all my safe harbors when my ship blows into your ports. Thank you for being what I’ve needed. I am loved, so very much loved. I love you all.

grins Now as I end this, let me encourage all of you to go out there and love. Take a risk and love.

Oops, one more thing. Check out this artist, Aurora.

The Deamons Among Us

Learning how to Love Yourself Part 2

Everyone ends up in deep conflict once in a while. But rarely does one end up in a full-fledged battle with themselves. Not me, I was in an ugly battle for my life with myself.

You know how family conflicts turn ugly? Take that and intensify it by a factor of a hundred and that might come close. I found out first hand just how shitty I can be. I am not a fair fighter. When the cause is important enough, nothing is barred, nothing is fair. I was an evil bitch. Just as weird as it sounds to me still, the bitch I was being too was myself.

Isa and Autumn are much like sisters in personality. Isa is my love, sensuality and emotional side. Autumn is my hard nose, logical, protector and feeler of all the ugly emotions. And me, well I was asleep. Shhh, I may be whole now but I can still break into my parts and talk still. Weird how that turned out.

And like any family of sisters, the fights are all too often over a man. And this was the case. I was in a fight over my husband, over my poly family and later on over my involvement in M/s relationships. Autumn was angry as hell. Not only did she not agree with my marriage, she didn’t trust my choice. It was she who was picking a ton of battles. In singleton speech; I was conflicted and unsure of my choices.

My husband is a man with flaws but a good man. And he was tossed into a situation without all the knowledge that would have helped us out. I couldn’t give him what I didn’t know. So when there were moments that Autumn would peak and lash out, he would be at a loss. Not only did I not know what happened, I wouldn’t remember. It was a crazy making time. Isa was often hurt emotional because she would catch the brunt of the consequences of Autumn’s actions. And Isa’s pain would inflame Autumn’s anger. It is a vicious cycle that had to be broken.

And what stress would create this crazy making cycle, you ask? Poly.

About nine years ago, I found my dear boy and his wife. I’ve known him since we were in high school. He was the one I let go and yet he was the one that got away. He is the father of my angel baby. I had a lot of emotions that I had vet to processed at all. After he left me and moved away, I boxed up his memory and tossed it in the back of my mind, deep into the shadows. My feelings couldn’t hurt me anymore. I could barely remember them.

He was once the one who’s word was my law. And I was only sixteen, physically.

Back then, I had no clue about Domination and submission. It came naturally to me and it scared the hell out of me. For what is this strange power to speak and then I lose my will to go against what he said? Worse, that even actively trying to disobey would have me crumbled down into a heap on the spot? It terrified me. And I hid as best I could my reaction to him. This was craziness. Why would I obey?

So when he came back into my life, I was a married women with a child. My husband knew my past with him. He could remember things where I could not. And I was like a moth to a flame. I could not deny I would do anything to get my dear boy back. In fact I did everything I could to do just that. Even ignore the hurt I was causing my husband.

That’s how the war began. Between compromise and unyielding desire; the players were set. The pawns were moving across the table and the queen sat protected by her king.

Autumn came out more often and picked fights with my husband. And Isa would run away on weekends into the safety of him who’s word was once law. Actually his word was still law. It took me a very long time learning how to say ‘no’ before I could shake it. To this day I have to actively use ‘no’ when dealing with him. Distance has made things easier as well as having a Master. But in person, it’s an effort.

I was tearing my marriage apart, on purpose. Autumn does not forget nor does she forgive. She is unyielding once set on her purpose. Oh Dreamwaker; this is why I asked about how to learn to forgive.

I was out of control. My blackouts were frequent, hours out of a day, weeks at a time. Home was full of emotions that I couldn’t figure out. Bitterness and hurt hang in the air like perfume.

One weekend I was with my boy and his wife and Autumn got caught out. Not only are my alters split on emotional lines, they are split on skills too. Isa is the writer. Autumn is my art, my gamer, my logic. And she was needed to do a job. My boy knows me well, too well. “Who are you?’ Caught what no one had ever caught and as such I could not switch back to deflect the answer because it was he who’s word was law. I must answer. I speak words which never before spoken “Autumn” and switched in the blink of an eye.

We all had a very long conversation with him. I’m still not sure all that was said. There is a wall still in the memory of that conversation. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to believe him. This I already knew but I sure as hell didn’t want this to be real. I thought if no one had ever noticed and confronted me, then it was just all in my head. Those voices were just figments of my over active imagination. I could live with the fear of being crazy and do my best to work on not being so. I could control myself. I must control myself. Ha! What a lesson to learn. I could not control what I refused to acknowledge.

The dam was breached and the floodwaters were rushing in. The voices were back. This time they weren’t going to accept getting boxed away. They weren’t gonna take my refusal of their existence. Quite frankly, there is nothing more shocking than getting slapped in the face. I had lost control over the most basic of things; my body. Autumn was strong enough to steal body parts at her will.

Becoming co-conscious was both familiar and weird at the same time. Instead of having my angel and deamon on my shoulder, I was instead the angel with a deamon and a very drunk, rude and crass man who could make her laugh on her shoulder. The I that I once was, was deeper inside sleeping in a grave only chiming out my age, an age that had no relation to my physical age. I had been emotional stunted at 12 and had remained that way.

I had died at 12 and my body lived. I know this know now. I even know when this happened. I know when the angel came out as primary. I gave up at 12. I had went catatonic once and wanted to sleep, see nothing more of this world, escape the abuse and be done. Except I blinked my eyes open at the end of the day and I got up. We were once a co-conscious system way before then. It was confusing as the voices were gone and I wasn’t sure what happened. I simply carried on. My angel, my Isa carried on with my life. Autumn took the abuse and kept it from Isa. And Jay, that crazy man in me would steal the memories, box them up and sit on them. Asking my age, was always a bit of confusion. It was the only clue that something wasn’t right for even Jay stole the memory of being split.

The first steps to healing is accepting there is a problem. The second is figuring out what to do about it. Of course I hit the books and read everything I could about this physiological condition. Even in that, I know I’m a bit weirder than most who claim DID. The core was build twice each with different rules. The maxim we had lived under was simple; “don’t get caught.” Fear was real and the consequences of being caught was frighteningly real. I was a child of seven afraid that I was deamon possessed, of being banished from her home, afraid of hellfire, afraid of seeing the dejection in her mother’s eyes if she knew her daughter had deamons inside her. The second time being built, the maxim was simpler “keep moving forward.” Hellfire had nothing on her as she lived in hell everyday.

To be continued…

Part one

Learning how to Love Yourself.

I have DID; Dissociative Identity Disorder. In short, my head is pretty much fucked up. I’ve functioned okayish for many years not aware of much that was going on. I’d lose hours, moments, days and weeks at time. I thought it was being very very forgetful. So I created many ways to keep myself informed. I write a lot. I kept a ton of To Do lists that cover typical routine months in advance. I used to use sticky notes all over the place. I enforced the idea that everything thing has a home; it’s proper place so I’d stop loosing my things. All this helped to keep my life from running off the rails.

Stress has a way of destroying the best of plans. I got worse. Blackouts more frequent. I was angry all the time. I didn’t understand the problems. I knew it was down right odd that me and my husband could feel and say the exact same thing. That is rather atypical. I knew I was stressed out. Body memory was over reacting and trigging way before real threats. I was a mess and I didn’t understand why.

It took getting caught switching for all of this to unravel; to have a chance to heal. Longer still for the other parts of me to start speaking up. Then it became more of a reunion in my head. My Peanut Gallery, always sitting on the bleachers of life, watching the game on a perfect summer day.

Acceptance is an amazing thing. My friends accepted me and understood what I was going though. They are like me too; kindred souls. Their trust in me and their acceptance allowed me to see, to learn how to accept myself, to face my flaws. It was my poly partners who saw and recognized this in me. It was them who helped me though the shock of this. It was also them who called out each alter and had a long conversation with each of them.

Trust is required for healing. I believe it is one of the things that broke me is that I didn’t trust myself. Trust is a risk. I’m not a gambler. I don’t like taking risks. And it’s very hard for me to trust. There are times that the possible outcome is worth the risk. I told my Master about what I had learned about myself. I was terrified that doing so would end the relationship. It didn’t. But I still kept my other parts away. It wasn’t like they weren’t interested in him. We were concerned that we’d confuse him or worse be wrote off as too much drama.

I don’t have tales of my alters going out and doing crazy things or claiming crazy things. We were always working to stay hidden, to not disrupt or get caught. Being labeled as crazy or being drama was the thing to avoid. Stepping out of the shadows is far more fearful thing than getting caught. It breaks the very rule of existence. So stepping out wasn’t really done. Being known and recognized was as good as it gets.

Telling my husband was a moment of healing for both of us. It gave us the chance to honestly work on our marriage. All that was unclear and muddled became clear. It was a true ‘oh shit!’ moment, ‘it all makes sense now.’ I didn’t know the hard work was just getting started.

Things get worse before getting better.

The odd part of being co-conscious is that in some ways it’s always felt that way. That the buzz in my mind were all the words I couldn’t hear before. I had rejected being split so I rejected the conversation that would happen but it didn’t prevent it. I’d freeze up, startle, choke on answering simple questions, always indecisive and close to perpetually confused.

Hearing them inside, it’s startling how familiar it was to me. My voices, my alters, my aspects of myself, each with a different voice, point of view, different motivations for life; fully formed individuals with an independence streak from hell. Team building was none of our strong points. Fights began.

It was ugly.
To be continued…

Part two

If I could Save just One

I didn’t intend to be writing this today, not like this. For all I know I could be yelling my head off the rooftops and no one would hear me. I need to clear up several misconceptions about Master/slave relations as I see them. Argue with me about it after you’ve slept on it.

Number one, it is roleplay. Bottom line. Consensual role play entered into by two parties in full agreement. Consent is a full belly deep Hell Yes! response that it is what is wanted. Anything less, is not consent. It’s agreement, it’s going along with things, it’s a stepping away from your required responsibilities to yourself first and foremost. Agreement for agreement’s sake is just a copout. But it is a roleplay, a negotiated and communicated role to live out life in this extra dimension of meaning, actions, ritual and commitment. It in no way erases vanilla life and responsibilities.

Slaves actually have far more responsibility than others in typical vanilla relationships. And that responsibility can not ever handed over to another, not even to your Master. You must own each and every decision to submit. Your consent must be a Hell Yes! always. And with consent must come full disclosure from your Master as to the whys and hows. You have a Right to protect yourself and that includes asking questions. Ask those hard questions. Ask those questions that lurk in the back of your mind. If doubt remains, if trust wavers know that this is normal and should be rejoiced. Your self-protection systems are working as they should. Master/slave is not something that should ever be entered into lightly and with much conversation and deliberation. You will change in unexpected ways that can not be foreseen.

Morals are NOT a value judgement. Right and wrong are NOT situational. There is only one basis for right and wrong and every religion at its core states that. Love is that core. Love is what determines what is right and wrong.  Every child knows this but we learn to forget it as we grow older. We share what we have out of love. We care for another’s pain out of love. We seek to sooth out of love. We seek the best for others out of love. That is what makes things right. The whole argument about the two men doing horrible deeds to each other though they thought their own actions were right in the eyes of their god has ignored the lack of love in the hearts of those men. Right and wrong are Not based on what a person thinks is right. It is instead based solely on your ability and willingness to love your neighbor as yourself. Love is the KEY.

Slavery is not about pain. I am talking about deep soul searing pain that threatens to tear apart one’s sanity.  As an emotional masochist, I can say from experience it is far too easy to find Men who are more than gleefully willing to tear apart a person’s soul and call it slavery. That will never ever be slavery. That is abuse of the highest order.

Slavery is a calling. Slavery is a joy. It is a deep well of abiding joy that never empties. The road is hard and challenging. It requires a lot of work, a lot of self work. Those are internal challenges that one must face head on and not run from. Slavery is your total commitment to being the very best person you can be, FOR YOU. Not for your Master, but for you. For those that just did a double take, this is one of those responsibilities that can not be shucked into your Master’s hand. It is yours and yours alone. Without it, without accepting this, what are you being a slave too? Desire? Desire fades. Lust? Lust fades. Slavery is a commitment to a calling that only you feel deep inside. Your Master does not feel it and can not feel it for you. They can only guide, encourage and receive the massive weight of the intensity that a slave contains inside.

Only you can determine the shape and form of what that calling contains. No amount of prompting, controlling, altering, cajoling, or abuse can change that. You determine who and how you will be a slave for another. Only you determine the exact Nature of your commitment. Anything and I mean anything less bumps on the borders of abuse to your soul.

The collar ties two, not one. Entering into a Master/slave agreement is both parties committing themselves to being the best possible person for the other while exploring this extra dimension of meaning as set out by them together. This is why no two slaves look nor act alike. This is why each Master/slave relationship is vastly different and unique from each other. The very core of what makes this unique relationship does not change. Anything less is traveling down the road to soul breaking abuses. Bruises fade, bones mend but Souls break.

Submission does not have a single thing to do with slavery. Submission does not exist for a slave. A slave has no need to bend their will to another’s. It is the slave’s will that is the core. What is your true will? Find that and you will find your slavery, joyfully.

Obedience for a slave is not earned nor given by acquiescing. Obedience is given out of an unshakeable commitment to the person who receives it, be they a Master or not. Obedience is Not to towards a Master. It is instead towards themselves first and to others second.

Slavery is also Not a roleplay. It is far deeper than that. It is that also Not aspect too many forget. Commitment is the Not a roleplay part of slavery. Those commitments, first to yourself to being the best possible you, to commitment to your true will, to your commitment to the shape and form of your slavery are the life changing elements that no roleplay could alter.

You Always have a choice. Choices have consequences. Each choice is worthy of consideration. Only you can make those decisions, not your Master. Being a slave is not a throwing away of choice. It is instead living life with eyes open as wide as possible and facing each choice, making a decision and growing as a human being should.

If I could only save One person the heartache it took me to learn this, I am grateful.
I will always be a slave. There is no coming back from that deep journey into my soul. It is a journey of transformation. And I didn’t know what I was embarking on when I started this. I don’t think anyone knows when they take their first steps down this path. I had only a yearning, a deep soul crying yearning that I followed where it lead me. I jumped off a fair number of cliffs and broke myself many times over. Somehow, no matter how directly guided I was, I could not find it until I knew me and my true will.

I am at peace.

Live Life as if There Were No Tomorrows

I am nowhere near close to finished in my life’s work of just 37 years on this big beautiful blue-green planet. But Monday, January 5th, I almost answered another call, one of death and eternal sleep. It wasn’t like any other morning. I hadn’t slept much during the night and my head kept pounding away as the pain increased. By morning I was barely in condition to get up and move, much less get my girls ready for school.

I remember taking two aspirin as soon as I got to my feet. Only later on do I find out that automatic response may have saved my brain and quality of life. I remember every little thing setting me off which made no sense at all. I remember the only relief was laying back down. I remember staring at my blood pressure monitor as the numbers popped up. I remember calling my husband for help. I remember thinking that this could be it, my end and feeling helpless to prevent it just as my ability to clearly think slowly ebbed away.

My blood pressure had skyrocketed. By the time we made it to the hospital, it was 250/127. I can not tell you what I was thinking. I wasn’t able to think much. My husband says I was incoherent and my speech was slurred. In those moments, what I do recall is that I hurt all over and that thinking was so very hard to do. I simply existed, without much thought.

I lost connection with time. About five hours after being admitted, I got to see my husband. They had already given me the first shot of the pressure reducing medicine. It felt like I had just gotten in, not five hours had passed. I remember being sleepy and then having panic attacks and being unable to communicate because there were no words left, no energy to speak. I remember one though that set off several panic attacks, that a heart attack at that moment would be so very painful and more likely un-noticed. It was the only thought that keep me fighting to move in some way and not drift off to sleep.

Good news to all this is, I’m now on medication for blood pressure. I came close to having a stroke, real close. If I had waited, had been stubborn about this, I would not be here to type this out. It’s still a fight to bring it down and there will be a lot of changes and adjustments to this. I’m terrified to smoke one more cigarette. All  I can think is that it would be that straw that broke the camel’s back. I never really drank. Christmas day was the first time since, what…summer? I think I might have had about two or three that summer. I’m just not a big drinker at all. But coffee, now I love my coffee. I’m having to let go of coffee. That’s my breakfast I can’t have anymore.

Yeah, I’ve got some weight on me that I need to lose. But it’s been fairly stable for the last four years. I’ve never cooked with salt. It’s just bad practice to do so and it ends up over salting the food. I am a scratch cook. I do home-made meals and avoid prepackaged items as much as possible. Have you ever added up how much salt are in all those items? It will shock you.

So how’d I end up with high blood pressure? I have no idea. Turns out, other than the weight and blood pressure of course, I am otherwise healthy. I did get asked a lot about family medical history but it’s a question I can’t answer. I have no idea. Chances are, someone in my family tree had it too. Chances are, it’s the random toss of the die. Ultimately, it’s just a trivia question. The issue I face from now on is dealing with the changes this makes in my life. But more than that, how I am going to live each day as if it was my last.

I almost died. I’m glad I survived. I have a lot of things to do. Some things that I’ve learned, I’m not ready to talk about yet.