Motivation is a major problem for me. As in, I have 0 personal motivation to do anything. People look at my list of diagnoses (chronic clinical depression, severe anxiety disorder, borderline personality disorder [BPD]), and go, “Well, duh,” but it’s really bothering me.

I’ve basically become a housewife. I don’t really work with/for anyone, anymore.

It’s partly because when I’m going through shit, I start dropping the ball, and instead of explaining myself to the people I work with, I mostly just stop talking to them. I’m sure they see me posting on social media, and think I’m fine, everything’s fine, I’m just blowing them off. But it’s not like that at all. In reality, I’m a mess, everything’s crazy¹, and the only way I know how to cope is to retreat inside myself and shut everyone out but M. I know that’s crazy unprofessional, and I have no excuse besides mental illness. And in truth, I don’t think that should excuse my behavior. It wouldn’t in an actual work setting, so why should it anywhere else?

Of course, there are some exceptions, like the company I told I was going on hiatus right after their system changed. I lost my login info while on hiatus, so I asked them for help, and they told me they “forgot” how to get it, offered to direct me to a blogger, and then I never heard from them again outside of mass affiliate emails. It felt very much like I was being blown off, so I’ve since removed their banner from my sidebar. I haven’t removed their other links because I really liked working with them, and would love to again, but we’re in a serious money crunch, so if I’m going to promote sales again, it’s going to be for companies I can potentially make a commission from, and not one that won’t even help me figure out how to get into my affiliate account. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Read more…

I don’t handle confrontation well. Or communicating my wants/needs/emotions. This is not a secret.

I talk very logically about good communication in BDSM relationships all the time, but when it comes down to applying that in my own life, I often come up wanting.

It’s partly how I was raised. Growing up, my mother would try to get me to talk it out, but when she didn’t have the answers I was looking for, I’d get frustrated and shut down. My father’s response to any negative emotion was “walk it off.”

“Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, Rayne,” he’d say. “You’re giving everyone all they need to mess with you.”

And I took it to heart and started doing my best to keep everything bottled inside.

I was already a good candidate for borderline personality disorder (BPD). Add in the stilted emotional development, and I was a shoe-in. Read more…

It started the same basic way sex between us usually starts. He sent me to the bedroom to get naked and get on the bed.

If you asked what position we use most, the answer would have to be doggy style. I get on my hands and knees with my ass and feet hanging off the edge of the bed, and he stands behind me, legs between my feet, and pounds on my pussy so hard I’m really surprised our flimsy (15 year old) frame hasn’t snapped.

He slammed into me, and fucked me like that for a while. The stomachache I’d been nursing for two or three days disappeared behind the haze of good sex. The pain of spending too much time on my hands and knees the day before was a distant memory. All I was focused on, could focus on was his cock.

Then he spread my ass so he could stare at my asshole. I tried not to tense, tried to hide my fear, but he knew it was there. I could tell by the way his body reacted to the way my body reacted. Read more…

When we moved here, we left our grill by the road at the old place because it was super greasy, so we didn’t want it in the U-Haul, or our car. Plus, parts of it were rusting out, and the burner cover basically disintegrated when we tried to take it out to clean it. I’m pretty sure the neighbors we liked grabbed it despite the fact that it was falling apart. M says K probably just got some scrap metal and rebuilt the parts that were rusting. He’s probably right. K’s that kind of guy.

So on Friday, we bought a new grill. We actually bought it before Friday, and drove into another Middle of Nowhere town to pick it up at the store on Friday because they have this sweet discount if you do that. And the grill was on sale. After the pick up discount and sale price, we spent $20 more than we did on our last grill, and $20 less for the grill cover than we did for the last one, and they are both a hundred times better than the old grill and cover. I love it when that happens. It happens to us a lot because we wait FOR-E-VER to replace things, so by the time we do, everything is manufactured better for less money.

When we got home, we put the grill together. It took over an hour because some of the screw holes weren’t lined up correctly, and the parts weren’t all labeled. It was frustrating, but we threw teamwork at it, and got it done. Then I threw together some really amazing blue cheese burgers, and he cooked burgers on the grill for the first time in nine and a half months.

I’d say I may never go out for burgers again, but beef of any sort is rarely ever cheaper than $4-5/lb out here, so we’ve cut back our beef intake by a lot. It’s weird how much cheaper food is in the city. You’d think it would be cheaper in the country because, theoretically, it doesn’t have to go as far.

We didn’t stay out long, Friday night, because I am a freakin mosquito magnet, and I have a tendency to dig my skin off when I get bitten.

On Saturday, he really, REALLY wanted to kill zombies. Read more…

So I’ve been really slacking on the house. And on writing. And though I’ve been doing everything I can to be a good slave otherwise, slacking on the chores and writing is making me feel hella guilty.

Even more so because Master is being so damn nice about it.

He’s started doing this thing where he tries to point out that something needs done or isn’t being done as often/well as it should be in the nicest way possible. The other day, he was actually trying to say that something I’d done, that I hadn’t done in a while, looked really good, and he was appreciative. But he was trying to say it without making me feel bad for the time that I’d let it fall by the wayside.

And then, yesterday, I decided to pick up the bedroom and vacuum because he bought a new vacuum, and I wanted to use it. The old one is made for indoor/outdoor carpet and hard floors, and really doesn’t do much of anything on the carpet in this house. He didn’t really believe me when I told him that, but then this happened (Instagram post showing a small section of carpet that was just vacuumed and the full canister from the vacuum to exhibit just how bad the old vacuum is), so he believes me now. ANYway, I got really frustrated with myself because the bedroom was a disaster, and he basically started making excuses. I mean, they were true, but they were excuses just the same.

So, finally, I said, “Nah, dude, I’m fucking up.” Don’t try to make me feel better about fucking up. You’re the boss. It’s okay to just say, “Yo, you’re fucking up. Straighten up.” Yes, it will make me feel shitty, but…I mean…I did it to myself. Right? Right.

It’s sweet that he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, but it’s completely unproductive. If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed in all of our 15 years (besides the fact that I’ll love him until my dying breath), it’s that I need boundaries and repercussions when I push them. Without them, I just keep pushing. As a friend use to say, you can’t submit in a vacuum. If he doesn’t care, what’s the point?

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that. 💜

When I was in 9th grade, I met a boy. THE boy.

Or, you know, so I thought in 9th grade…and then 10th grade…and then part of 11th grade…and then I rarely spoke to him because his girlfriend was crazy jealous of me and showed up at my parents’ house with friends and baseball bats and threatened to beat me to death if I did, and it was easier for him if I stayed away because when we got caught talking, she’d threaten suicide. ANYway…

He was the boy that got away. The one I would always (I thought in high school) love more than anyone else. And probably the biggest point of contention between me and my ex (besides the abuse) even though most of the time, I didn’t even see or talk to him because of the aforementioned girlfriend.

I’m not in love with him anymore, obviously, but I think about him occasionally. Did he ever reach his life goal of owning a McDonalds? Did he get away from the aforementioned abusive girl he dated on and off throughout high school? Does he still hang out with the people we used to hang out with? Did he ever put together that jazz band he wanted?

But most of all, I think about his name. Read more…