So many things to think about.

No wonder my latest updates have been pathetic, to say the least. Too many thoughts. No way to settle on one or two to talk about.

Slash... you know, he's the main reason I DON'T want my submissive side out ever, followed closly by Rhett, with Michael and Scott tying for third place. Angel, you only get fourth, m'Lady... I'm willing, if it's you. *sigh*

I'm an idiot.

But we knew that, right? If you've been reading - or at least browsing - you have some idea of how foolish I can be. Trusting the Tiger. Falling for my bard, my kitten, my caleb... talking with Slash again when I KNOW it's most likely a bad idea. Dealing with Rhett, and now, worrying because I have NOT been dealing with him in a while. I don't know how he is doing and this bothers me.

Should it bother me?

I think it should, if only because I still care about him. This is the oddness that is my life: I still care enough about people, particular people, that even when I want to just forget them for a while, I can't. I keep coming back to thoughts of them, rather like picking at a scab, only not nearly as grossifying.

"The only boy who could ever reach me / Was the son of a preacher man..." ...and just like that, I remember watching Armand french inhale, talking to him while sitting outside of Queen Bess, watching him walk around on the beach in camo and combat boots... the boy is beautiful. Was beautiful. I don't know what he is like now, but I find myself wondering.

Subject jump - Megan looks beautiful, all bruised to hell and back. Simply striking. And she took blows for me, and it bothered me - a pride thing. I've talked about it and thought about it, and we'll leave it at that. It's a pride thing. I used to be able to take more.

I want to take more. I want to be beaten to kingdom come. I want to feel alive. I want to cry.

Gods, I want to cry.

Elru... he thinks he fucked up a marriage. I think it's bullshit - if the marriage fell apart over one mistake on his part, there was a LOT more wrong with it than his presence. And yet I know how he feels. I tried to meet up with him online, but he wasn't around when I was on, and apparently came on after I left... gah. I miss him.

Speaking of people I miss, it's been a while since I have talked with Nreshan. I wonder if he's ok... I need to get on ICQ more. For now... hm.

--- written a day or so ago ---

This is an entry not everyone will understand. It's one I don't even understand, exactly. But it's here. Here. Being written while I'm perched on the corner of a futon-couch, staring at a screen with insanely tiny resolution, wondering what the two people whose apartment this is are doing.

I got beat last night.

I, in the very split sense.

I got repeatedly struck with a series of objects including a leather paddle and two different handmade leather whips or was that all of 'em? I don't know. I don't know much about last night. I know that afterward I got to sleep on the bed and I was very grateful for it. I know that I pretty much passed out, confused. I know that I woke up once crying, but I was facing away from him and I don't think he noticed at all.

I know that she has far worse marks than me. Far worse marks than I've ever had. I know that she is stronger than I am. Braver.

Better.

It doesn't seem to matter how illogical a thought is, right now. Illogic, irrationality, none of that seems to stop any damned thought in the book from pouring in. I wish I'd taken more. I wish I had fought back. I wish I had run. I wish I had gotten more sleep. I wish that things were different.

I wish gah.

This is me: confused, disturbed, and frightened.

See, this changes not everything, but a lot of things. This changes them. I haven't snapped out of this mode yet, haven't been able to 'wake up' the rest of me. The part of me that is Domme it's in hiding. The part of me that normally goes on and fucking ON about pain it's in hiding too - it tends to romanticize the stuff, but when confronted with the real thing poof.

I'm not running, I swear I'm not. Just hiding. That's different, right?

My mind is full of memories of a past that for all I know, I could just be imagining. Past lives? Bullshit. Pure bullshit, right? The things I feel, the memories that flood me, the very thoughts that seem so real, it's just another example of my own psychoses, right? RIGHT?

Good. I can live with being crazy, that's ok. I can't live with what I think I did, I can't stand this helter-skelter wave of mental illusions that try to call themselves a past life.

I feel like I should be wearing a collar. Funny, that 'cos I don't want one. Refused one, when it was offered, not that long ago. I feel like a stupid little slavegirl, is what I feel like and I know I'm not. I know that I am a bright, talented person. A decent Mistress, a fun playmate, and occasionally a good friend. I know that I'm human. I know that I have a life that has nothing to do with and every reason to avoid a collar around my throat.

I know all this. I do. I swear.

And still I wish there were hands around my throat.

I want to finish crying - I didn't, last night. I started but it was all wrong, I was giving off mixed signals again, and I stopped crying. My pride got hurt way more than my body did. I want to curl up in a lap, feel again, I want to feel gods! I felt. I experienced. It was what I needed but it STOPPED. It's ok.

It's ok.

It's always ok, the fucking bard is always fine but me, I'm just ok.

He's curled up with her Caleb, my caleb, I suspect/hope he is sleeping, I hope he sleeps well. I did. Sound asleep, tired, exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a lifetime and then some, it was I was drained. But not completely, or I wouldn't still want more, right?

It sickens me that I want more. I am literally disgusted with myself, if I was truly alone I'd be screaming aloud at myself for not taking more, for wussing out, for being me.

'Scuse me, pardon me, crisis coming through Daya. I want him to hurt me.

Do you yes, you know how fucked up that sounds. You're reading it. At least, I intend it to be read - I write this now, in Word, then upload it. Diaryland is about to get knocked. *shrug* I know. Incoherant. I don't care. The only thing I care about right now is 'when is he coming out of the bedroom' and 'what is there to eat' and 'why do I want to die'.

Erm.

Ok, that last one is a non-discuss-able thing, k? I am not entirely sure where it came from, and I want it gone. I want it gone RIGHT NOW. I am NOT that fucked up. I refuse to be that fucked up. Hand on my throat, maybe, but gah

This, I think, is the point where I start running. Not afraid of him. Not afraid of what he'll do. Just afraid of what I wish would happen. Afraid of how I feel. Afraid of me.

I terrify myself, sometimes.

This is so very incoherant.

---end of that ---

Ahh... much better. Been waiting a while to get that out of my system. I'm talking with Slash and Grr right now about past lives. Wheeeee...