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Depression @ Its Best

May 12th, 2009

Disclaimer: Apt to ruin any good mood. Not looking for comfort or reassurance. Just stating fact.

I was going to use a prompt today. But then I fell apart and left Master with no choice but to put me back together. Again.

I’m so fucking high maintenance.

So here it is.

I hate myself. There are no ands, ifs or buts about it. I cannot stand who I am.

I used to think that it was other people’s opinions of me that bothered me. Then I realized that the opinions that bothered me weren’t held by other people. Other people like me. And the people that don’t? I either don’t know them or don’t like them either so it doesn’t matter.

The opinions bothering me are held by me.

My head is permanently implanted in my ass. I’m mean to the most important person in my life. Unprovoked and often. Aesthetically, no matter how often I’m told otherwise, I find myself disgusting. Mentally and emotionally, more often than not, I am a wreck.

Chaos incarnate. That’s me.

I’ve been asked if suicide isn’t a viable option before.

It was once. Might have been again. But I’m not allowed. It’s in the rules. No self-harming without permission and absolutely no suicide attempts.

And, true to form, I obey.

And I don’t want to die. Not really. I’d miss Master too much.

I love Him, you see. Cannot bear to be without Him. So it comes as no surprise that the majority of my panic attacks and severe bouts with depression happen when we’re apart.

But, true to form, I obey.

I take Him for granted. And on days like today, that’s a realization I’d rather not have. One more fault to add to the list that is currently as long as the street we live on. One more reason to beg to have the rule lifted if it weren’t for the fact that it would destroy Him.

The problem?

I can’t get motivated to fix any of it. And when I do, depression hits again and the motivation is gone.

But! We have progress.

Instead of stewing in my own shit, today, I talked to Master. I verbally vomited all over Him and fell into a million pieces in His virtual lap (He was at work).

I laid everything out on the table. Laid myself bare. And told Him in no uncertain terms that I hate myself. And that I know myself well enough to know that I won’t change without help. And even then, it’ll be slow going.

Wanna know what happened?

He first told me “Suck it up, Buttercup.” (Damn it all to hell. Don’t it just suck when they say that?) Then He told me He’d help me change what He can. And then… the sun came out.

Funny how talking over your fucked up head with someone you love does that. Brings the sun out, I mean.

I love you, Master.

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