Right now, I'm just feeling worn out and kinda broken. I'm not sure why.
I just want to go hide my head somewhere and cry.
At the same time, however, I ... I feel a visceral need to be pushed to the edge of my limits. Something to make me feel that white hot heat in my veins and the dizzying mixture of freedom and release that comes with it.
I hate when this feeling settles over me. It makes the world a scary and confusing place. On one hand, I want to go hide and cry. I want to find a warm, safe place where I can be comforted and protected. In the midst of this, however, I want to feel pain, fear, and subjugation within a strictly controlled environment.
It scares me to want such things because a part of my brain insists that I should revile them. There's a laundry list of reasons that come to mind as to the reasons why I should repudiate these desires and divorce myself from them. They start with the fact that I'm a rape and sexual abuse survivior and extend to arguments about how these desires are some how something I'm theoretically programmed to want because I'm a female in a male dominated culture.
All of those things, however, are excuses.
The thing that really scares me is the amount of comfort I find in such things. I want them to happen on a more regular basis, but I don't know what to say or do to somehow make that possible, if it even is possible.
I don't know, maybe my husband is right and some of this need to have my will placed under the hand of another is due to the head trip I had in my childhood from the adults around me. I don't know. Even that feels like it's a lie.
All I know is that right now, nothing would do more to make the world feel like there's some sembelance of order to it then to have that little forbidden itch of mine scratched. And I want to cry because I need to hide any and every inclination I have towards such things on a daily basis.
It wounds my soul to shove aside these things about me. I'm sick and tired of feel like there's something wrong with me because of my sexuality or anything else like that. And I don't know what to do about it. As I get more stressed out, the more I think of these kinds of things and how it would help me be less anxious, and then I realize that it's just not going to happen.
What does that say about me? Does that say that I'm broken some how and I've lied to myself over the last several years in my insistance that I'm not? Does it say that I'm unhealthy in some fashion because of this?
I just want to feel like... I want to feel like I'm not about to fly apart at any moment and I can't figure out what can help me accomplish that on my own.