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Gagged and Beaten

October 13th, 2007

Yesterday was decidedly not good. My shoulders, back and ass all agree. Being mouthy is a punishable offense and if I’m never punished again it’ll be too soon. I could give you a million excuses: depression, anxiety, not getting my way (yes, I know everything wrong with that statement), etc. But what it comes down to, really, is I made absolutely no effort whatsoever to hold my tongue.

He hung me up, gagged me and beat me. How long’s it been since I’ve had to say that? Even one of my favorite floggers lost cool points. If they’re yummy enough to make me all squishy, they should absolutely not be capable of the kind of pain I felt yesterday! I’ll never look at it quite the same as I did before.

I’m not sure what broke the camel’s back. I’d be lying if I said I knew. But when Master suggested putting my head through the truck’s window (something He has yet to do and I doubt He ever would – car windows cost too much :P) as a viable option to get my attention, I realized I was a little out of hand. However, I’m not sure I stopped there. Or I did, but I must’ve started again as soon as we got out of the truck. Because He seemed to just get more and more angry the more I spoke to Him.

Actually, now that I think about it, I think the last straw was when I threw paper at Him. Paper on which was written a list of things I need for the trip to Florida. I can explain my reason but there is no excuse for that no matter how frustrated I was. The anger, anxiety and depression I was feeling had nothing to do with Him and I shouldn’t have aimed it at Him.

It was everything. The fact that He wanted me to estimate prices for the clothes I need for our trip next Friday and I think I’ve been clothes shopping for myself once in the five years we’ve been together (therefore have absolutely no idea what prices are like these days). The fact that WalMart (and other cheap clothing stores) cater to fat, frumpy mommies and fat old ladies but not fat almost-thirty-year-olds who want to dress like they’re still in their late teens/early twenties. The fact that I am a fat almost-thirty-year-old. The fact that it seems the last two weeks before our trip are going to seriously try my nerves. I’ve wanted to walk out of my job three times in three days. The only saving grace was when our stand-in boss for our stand-in boss said I can pick up my paycheck on Thursday since I’m headed to the airport at four o’clock in the morning on Friday.

Anxiety has been pestering me since I started counting down the workdays left between now and then instead of the total days. Oh my god, I’m getting on a plane! Holy shit, I’m going to Florida for a week. Fucking Christ, I’ve got all this stuff I have to do between now and then! And the what ifs? Are you fucking kidding me? The what ifs are a constant stream in my mind nibbling at the already ulcerated lining of my stomach.

What if we miss our connecting flight? What if the plane crashes? What if it gets hijacked? What if we get bumped? What if we get on it and are so incredibly squished that I can’t walk for a week after we get off? What if Dad forgot to confirm something? What if I totally screw up the things I’m supposed to do and get lost somewhere? What if our luggage gets lost? What if it sucks there? What if we don’t have fun? What if Disney is just another theme park? I’ve been to so many. What if it’s a huge disappointment?

I don’t remember there being a whole hell of a lot for adults to do there but I was five or six the last time I went and not really worried about what my parents were interested in as I tried to run from ride to ride. My memories of the place only come in small snatches. I remember some big train ride, which can only be Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, and wanting to go on it but only having time for one more ride (I chose Space Mountain! Wouldn’t you?). I remember hearing a baby cry from inside Space Mountain and running in place in front of a blue screen while watching myself run on the top of a train on TV. And I remember visiting a couple that I was always made to call aunt and uncle (and thought they were my aunt and uncle until I was tenish) even though there was no relation. That was confusing. I was adopted by family so I have family that’s my family, family that’s their family, and family we share. I could never work out how this couple and their children were related.

Anyway, my depression stems from being a fat almost-thirty-year-old. And Master seems to have it firmly ingrained in His head that the reason this bothers me is because of other people’s opinions. While if I’m to be honest I’d have to say that plays a small part in my embarrassment and disgust, the majority of my problem is *I* don’t like it. I don’t like the way I look. I don’t like the way I jiggle. I don’t like the way I dress. I don’t like the way my various body parts look. If I had health insurance and I wasn’t owned, I’d have long since been to the doctor to prove that gastric bypass is necessary. Any extra money I was making would be going to a personal trainer, home workout equipment and a new, fashionable, more feminine wardrobe. And I would be getting up at least an hour early every morning and walking for an hour.

And I wanted to say all that to Him when I was being punished. I wanted to explain, again, that it’s my opinion of myself that’s getting to me. And I wanted to tell Him that it’s my fear of His opinion becoming my opinion that’s driving me out of my mind. But I was gagged! How am I supposed to respond to the things He says if I’m gagged??!? However, with how argumentative I’ve been lately, it’s probably a REALLY good thing I was.

In any case, I know what I did wrong and I know how to fix it but the solution sounds so much easier than it is. “Just shut up!” has never worked for me. I’ve got a mouth that could offend Andrew Dice Clay. Hopefully, though, I’ll be able to keep it shut more often. Because Master says that if I get out of hand I’ll get more of the same and worse. And He’s ordered me to pack His belt so while we’re gone He has something to beat me with if He needs it. He said I’m not going to be an embarrassment/disappointment anymore. That stung. And added to the worry that soon He’ll see me as I see me. *sigh*

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