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November 1st, 2007

Before we went to Disney, I was spending a lot of my time depressed and whiny. Who am I trying to kid? I was down right bitchy. I was going through an avalanche of emotions that I just didn’t know how to deal with. And I wasn’t ready to confront them head on. I kept telling myself “Disney will fix it.” and “When we get back from Disney things will be back to normal.” and “A little bit of Disney magic will make things right again.”

I meant me. Disney will fix me. I’m not sure why I thought going to this wonderful place would make me feel better about things. But I was convinced it would.

Before we left, Master said something to the effect of “You don’t believe I love you because I’m hard on you. I wouldn’t be quite so hard on you if I didn’t love you so much.” I sat back in awe, once again, of His ability to read me (while wondering if I’m this transparent to the rest of the world) and tried to figure out what to say to Him. My whole life until I met Master I was painstakingly trained to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself in an attempt to avoid conflict or keep from hurting someone else’s feelings. And that’s been one of the hardest parts of this being a slave business from the start. Being open about my thoughts and feelings regardless of whether or not they might hurt Master or make Him angry.

At one point, I seriously considered giving up on reading blogs. Everywhere I turned someone’s owner was telling her how proud he is of her and how much he loves her and how special she is to him. And it felt like every minute of every day I was being told how much of a disappointment I am. It was breaking my heart.

I’m not sure if my frustration was aimed in the right direction. I’m not sure if I was mad at the right person. Maybe all I am is a disappointment. Maybe I was never cut out to be a slave. Maybe I took the wrong path way back when and I should have stuck with the one I was on. And maybe I should stop being so caught up in me and start worrying about the person who’s supposed to be the center of my universe.

What it comes right down to, though, is I was mad. No one ever tells me I’m a good girl. No one ever tells me they’re proud of me. And when I brought it up, or when I said “I’m nothing but a disappointment.”, or when I all but begged for some light in this pitch black tunnel I seemed to be walking in, I got slammed into another wall. And I began to wonder if I should believe it. And when I get too far down the believing path, I get into the mindset of “Well, if I’m nothing but a disappointment, why should I even try to be anything else?”

Most of this is so far beyond the realm of crazy. And in accordance with the not ambushing Him with something in my blog that we haven’t talked about, I held off on finishing this until I’d told Him what I was thinking. He was sort of angry that I hadn’t told Him before that these things were bothering me, as He well should have been. I’m required to open my mouth and speak, regardless of the possible consequences, and I damn well should have told Him what was going through my head. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t risk ruining the vacation. I couldn’t risk upsetting the applecart more than it already was. And so I set myself on simmer and just waited.

So yesterday, I told Him. Before we went to Disney, I was mad at You. And when He asked why I told Him that too. I went on a tangent about positive feedback and mentioned that the Master I was with at Disney and the Master I’m with at home are two very different people and on and on. I thought I’d get the same response I always get.

He told me that He doesn’t praise me all the time, and won’t, because behaving is supposed to be the norm. And He said that in Disney He decided to give me a bit of a break. He figured I needed it. And He was starting to regret it the more I spoke. Well color me stupid.

I finally let it drop. We don’t see eye to eye and it’s not my place to try to change His mind. My place is to accept what He has decided is the best path to take me down. My place is to change my opinions and views to match His. Or if I can’t, to at least accept that these are His decisions to make and I must abide by them.

I’m not sure where my vision got skewed. I used to behave more than I didn’t and I used to beg to be the kind of slave He’s been trying to mold me into and I’d make a conscious effort not to just float through life doing things the way I’ve always done them. And now? It’s like I’m running scared. There are all these things in life that I want that I never even took into consideration before I decided I wanted to be a slave. Things I can never have. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel a pang of regret each time I discover something new that I could have had if I hadn’t begged to be owned. But once I get passed the “Darn it.” stage, I realize that I want to be a slave more than I want those things anyway.

I want all the parts of being a slave that I love so much and that are so important. Deference, obedience, objectification, punishment, discipline, etc. I need them. I enjoy them. Even when there are things that I have to do that I don’t like or am just plain sick of doing or whatever. I still enjoy doing them because I know they bring Him pleasure. I like bringing Him pleasure. And not just sexual, though isn’t that fun?

I love doing things for Him and looking up when He thinks I’m not to see Him smiling or watching with avid interest. I like to know that I’m doing good. To know that He enjoys my presence. That He is pleased with my performance. That He’s proud of me. And I don’t usually. And I’m not sure if that’s my shit or if it’s His. And if it’s His, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about it beyond confronting the problem, which I’ve already done, and accepting His decision. If it’s mine, I suppose I should figure out what’s causing it and start down the road of getting passed it.

And I’m not sure I got my feelings across without sounding like I was saying “Whine whine whine you’re a big meanie whine whine whine.” He is a big meanie, but that’s what I love about Him. I love that He’s harsh and strict and sometimes outright cold. I love that He draws out my biggest fears and embarrassments and flaws and forces me to face them and either do something about them or accept them but to get passed them nonetheless. And I love that He knows me just as well as, and sometimes better than, I know myself. I love that He knew that I needed a break. And I love that He gave me one.

And I love that He’s ready to get back to where we were. Except He wants my behavior to mimic my behavior at Disney. He saw that I can behave and I can keep my mouth in check. He wants that always.

And it’s so much easier when you’re being given the world. When people are being nice to you and catering to you and making you feel all sorts of loved and wanted and enjoyed. I guess if I’m to prove to myself and others that I am a slave and this is what I want and what I love and what I need I’m going to have to learn how to conquer my mouth when people aren’t being nice to me and I don’t feel loved, wanted or enjoyed.

It’s so hard when He comes at me with a sarcastic remark (for whatever reason) not to pop back with another equally sarcastic response. It’s difficult to keep my mouth shut when I’ve done dishes for the five hundredth time that day and more of them were for Him than for the forty people I feed at noon and five. It’s painful to walk into the kitchen and see His Vitamin Water bottles sitting on the counter over the mostly empty trashcan and not snap something to the effect of “If you can carry them this far, why can’t you put them in the can?” not even thinking about the fact that He shouldn’t have had to carry them out in the first place. I should have done it.

This is where I start to think that I am nothing but a disappointment. Nothing but a failure. And I come to the conclusion that He has no reason to be proud of me. No wonder He never tells me.

And I just got sarcastic because He couldn’t call to mind a shirt that I could see so vividly on my description. What is wrong with me?

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