cabbitzilla (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cabbitzilla) wrote2002-10-15 05:32 pm
cabbitzilla) wrote2002-10-15 05:32 pm
(no subject)
Thank you, those who responded to yesterday's post. As Nightambre can confirm, I was expecting to be blasted off my chair for it; the worry about just that reaction kept me on edge all through the gaming. What I actually got left me in tears... and may have taught me not to underestimate my friends. That one's still a question mark, though, as old habits are very hard to break.
I've been hiding for too long, it seems. This is something that has long been a point of concern to both Rowan and Frances... and something I've vehemently denied. And being the uncrowned Queen of self deception, I even believed it until just recently. I... after yesterday, and the stream of soul posting I did... *sigh* They may well be right. Yeah, this one's likely to be long again...
Self sufficient. Up until a couple of years ago, just about anyone that knew me would have readily agreed that this applied to me. And outside of my 'presented gender' for so many years, it's the single biggest lie I've ever told... to myself or to anyone else. I... think that it was initially done to try and wall off the people who surrounded me. My relationship with my mother has been a tangled mess of resentment, fear, prejudice, and anger... it doesn't take much at all to prompt her into telling how 'bad' I was as a child, how 'difficult' I was to manage, or about the 'unprovoked rage' that lurked within me. I have memories up to about the age of five or six, and then a large black smudge until eight or nine.
And an unreasoning terror to look deeper into that smudged area.
That's not to say I haven't tried... but the effort leaves me completely drained, and nearly drowning in a patchwork of dread and sorrow. Realistically, there're really only two things that are likely to be there; either I truly was the vicious, nasty, quasi-murderous brute that she claims I was... or that reaction was prompted by some form of abuse. What can be confirmed from that time period are comments from adults outside the family that I was a 'sweet, but terribly emotional' child, and that there were bursts of violence. Violence that came from me... and directed -at- me. Self loathing carried to the final stage. There were four documented suicide attempts by the time I was seven, you see... all reported by someone other than my immediate family.
Mom maintains to this day that I was a hellion simply seeking attention... is this who I am?
School records document that although there -were- bursts of temper and fighting, by and large my reaction to violence or harassment was to burst into tears and flee. I don't handle rejection or dismissal well at all even now... perhaps I've simply come full circle? My life has been a looping pattern of desperately seeking acceptance, searching for a 'place', a home.... to be wanted, needed, and loved... followed by a much sharper curve of sorrow and self inflicted abuse in the wake of rejection, and a concerted effort to reinforce the barriers that 'protect' me from the world.
The need for a Guide/Mentor has been crushingly strong for as long as I can remember. It led me to my first sexual encounter at the age of fourteen... he was in his mid twenties, devastatingly handsome, and somehow -knew- who and what I was. Within two weeks of our first meeting, he'd bought me my first dress... a pretty yellow dress with matching petti's, lovely white stockings, and a pair of mary janes (to this day, it's /very/ much my prefered mode of dress), and was calling me his 'precious doll'. Perhaps a week after that, I was his in body as well as spirit. I had six months of what can only be described as complete bliss; there was an upward spike in my grades as well, and the records reflect a drastic drop in outbursts and crying moments. Some would describe his actions as criminal, totally disregarding the fact that I was a willing and eager participant, and that it was -beneficial- to me. I still remember the night he told me he had to go away... I'd known since the begining that I was not his only lover, and it never phased me. I was more than willing to share, and hoped that his other playmate was as happy and devoted as I was. But the other relationship had been discovered by the authorities... and they were taking him away. His trip to prison cost him his life, and cost me my lover and very best friend.
In my early 20's, I quite literally stumbled into the BDSM scene, and have lurked on the perimeters of it ever since. It was there that I began learning about such things as submissives and dominants, and of the rather elaborate games that could be played among them. While I have a passionate love for the psychological styles, some of the more physical avenues provided an outlet for the supressed self loathing. Just prior to this discovery, I had my first sexual encounter with a woman... who for some reason wanted to bed me so badly she got me drunk, then stoned, and then quite literally took advantage of me. It was... sticky. And while it was pleasant enough, I remember wishing she'd let me please her in ways /other/ than the mindless humping she initiated. *sigh* The brutal rejection she gave me a mere 2 months later served to toss me bodily into the recently discovered 'alternative' scene. I... won't go into the details here. I'm already crying, and ... I just can't. Not today.
What may be difficult to factor in to all this is that on the surface, to people around me, I was WELL known to be a strangely upbeat and hyperactive oddball... and thought to be more than capable of taking care of myself. Beneath that shell of 'acceptable behaviour' were some problems that only a few of my close friends know about. By the age of 23, I was a recovering cocaine addict with a rapidly growing problem with alcohol. I'd somehow drifted into drugs in an effort to keep myself going; full time student, full time job, two part time jobs, plus a girlfriend (platonic) and my gaming group. 'Sleep was for the weak' was what I remember thinking; I was being driven to earn money at an incredible rate, my internal demons failing to tell me what it was -for-. While nowadays I firmly believe it was my first earnest run at acquiring the capital for HRT and surgery, all I really knew at the time was that I needed desperately to bank a lot of money. The coke slipped into my patterns to keep me going, and then required getting the second part time job to pay for this new habit. It was a cycle that I'm sure would have killed me fairly quickly... but fate took Stephie instead. She and I met through our dealer, of all people... we used to cuddle up and study together, kissed occaisionally, and to the outside world looked like a happy couple. She committed suicide one morning while I was on an errand to fetch clean clothes from my grandmother's house. No note, and even looking back, no warning... just the empty shell of her body floating in the bathtub, surrounded by swirls of blood in the water.
It shook me. And frightened me very very badly. Her parents blamed me for everything that'd gone wrong in their precious little girl's life, I was blaming myself for not somehow knowing what was going to happen and stopping it... the end result was that I was clean within a week. Four months later I met Hazel and lost what was left of my virginity, and three months after that was alone again. I buried myself in the BDSM scene, for a time becoming one of the local whipping posts in my attempts to scour myself. But as I found then, there is no true solace in pain. Without the sense of Duty and Service that accompanies being taken in, the beatings did nothing but bruise me inside and out... but that particular revelation is recent itself. At the time, I only knew it wasn't doing the trick.
Lady D pulled me out of the cyclic beatings; She said that She saw something within me that required special attention. Within two weeks I had a place within Her household, a closet filled with lovely dresses (including a trio of formal maid's dresses), and daily duties to occupy me. *faint chuckle* She -did- vary a bit from her normal outfiting with me; She put me in flats rather than heels, stating that at 6'3" I needed not an inch more height. On a lark, though, She invested in a pair of knee-high ballet boots for me; they became my official 'after hours' footwear after it was discovered that not only did I -really- like them, but that I was actually able to walk in them. (For those uncertain what I'm referring to, look at this... mine were similar, but... well, a bit prettier and white leather rather than black.) Most folks consider them utterly insane, or downright dangerous; I treasured them as a gift from my Owner, and was in heaven at having impressed Her so. Granted, doorways (and some hallways!) are a bit awkward when you're suddenly nearly 7' tall, but with a bit of practice I was moving nearly as quickly as the normally shod members of the house. The boots themselves were lost in a fire several years ago, a loss I mourn. They were my last remaining tie to Lady D outside of my memories. Due to conflicts amongst Her other pets, the household was completely shut down and disbanded 15 months after I'd been honored by being included. It was a happy time for me, truly; She seemed to understand instinctively that I needed and desired considerably less personal freedom than Her other pets. And I was the one She blessed with taskings concerning Her own appearance... some of my fondest memories are quiet times in the evenings, brushing out Her hair while listening to classical music play in the background. To this day, I still don't understand why two of the others kept expressing sympathy for being 'stuck' with such petty details.
I didn't greet my sudden freedom with joy; in my considered opinion I had been cast from Eden... without committing a sin beyond loving my Owner. But it was Lady D's wisdom that saved me even without Her presence: She'd insisted that I keep my outside job, suggesting I shift my hours to the mornings so that it didn't interfere with my Duties to the house. I attempted to fill the void with work... and on the surface was wildly successful at it. It became nothing less than an obsession, and 70+ hour work weeks were common despite the constant complaints from the payroll department. My bosses were more than willing to take the heat for the overtime, considering the sheer amount of work I was getting done. Complete room rewiring, server rebuilding, anything I could get my hands on. I ended up in charge of the technicians for our department, and managed to take us from laughing stock of the college to 'model facility' status in less than a year. Any time I found a tech with anything close to the sense of Duty I felt got tossed into what was dubbed 'the atomic pile training program' - anyone that didn't 'power up' got incinerated. Looking back, I'd managed to tranfer my devotion to Lady D to my division at work. Unfortunately, the sheer intensity of my drive to make everything work made me some annoyingly powerful enemies in other divisions. It was never my intent to make them look bad, I swear.
And into this mix stepped Rowan... and my life changed again. She brought with her the key to the rest of what truly is -me-, an understanding of tendencies and patterns that permitted me to start trying to reevaluate my life. I suspect she feels guilty, somehow believing that she's 'twisted' or 'corrupted' me... while all she did was help me finally make sense of the deeper side of me. I know that she's quite convinced of her own worthlessness... Rowan, sweetie? You're mistaken, darling... I do NOT give my loyalty of my /love/ to people who are unworthy or useless, and I do love you. There you see it, in text for the world to view. If you need independant confirmation of the strength of those feelings, I'd suggest talking to Frances... one of my more militant supporters and someone I love in much the same manner (even when she whacks me in the head with her Clue-by-Four). *kisses for both of you*
Which doesn't tell anyone much about the nature of that key, does it? It truly -is- a key... there to wind me. Like a tiny dancer atop a music box, the only time I'm truly happy is when someone is pleased with me, wants me... and lets me Serve. A doll, to be direct about it. I will happily and cheerfully give near total control to someone who /understands/ what that means, and is willing and able to love me and fill the need that is there. Recent history has show me just how catastrophically bad things turn out when I'm treated as a 'traditional' submissive... it seems that being the owner of a doll is a serious investment of both time and heart. We wither rapidly without the love we lack, and don't do well as whipping posts. A simple scolding, for me at least, is as effective as a full-on beating... knowing that I've displeased and/or failed can (and often will) bring me to tears. It's difficult to explain, really, though I did make an attempt once here... be warned, though, that the site as a whole is -woefully- out of date. A rework is in the plans; I spent last night downloading the package I wanted to do the retool, and this morning pulling down the existing pages for editting. We'll see how long that project takes.
But in the end... truly... that's who I am. While I have skills and talents outside of this realm, /this/ is home. This is proper. This is where I belong. It's also part of the reason why I rarely open up to anyone... it is not my place to complain; it doesn't help anyone, not even me. I dream of a day when my physical situation is fixed, and I find a place in a household again; single or couple, I need to be there... and the sorrow that dwells within my soul will remain until that day.
I'm sorry if this has been burdensome to read. After unlocking the vault of my mind yesterday, this ... needed to be said as well.
*soft hugs*
~Ellie-chan
I've been hiding for too long, it seems. This is something that has long been a point of concern to both Rowan and Frances... and something I've vehemently denied. And being the uncrowned Queen of self deception, I even believed it until just recently. I... after yesterday, and the stream of soul posting I did... *sigh* They may well be right. Yeah, this one's likely to be long again...
Self sufficient. Up until a couple of years ago, just about anyone that knew me would have readily agreed that this applied to me. And outside of my 'presented gender' for so many years, it's the single biggest lie I've ever told... to myself or to anyone else. I... think that it was initially done to try and wall off the people who surrounded me. My relationship with my mother has been a tangled mess of resentment, fear, prejudice, and anger... it doesn't take much at all to prompt her into telling how 'bad' I was as a child, how 'difficult' I was to manage, or about the 'unprovoked rage' that lurked within me. I have memories up to about the age of five or six, and then a large black smudge until eight or nine.
And an unreasoning terror to look deeper into that smudged area.
That's not to say I haven't tried... but the effort leaves me completely drained, and nearly drowning in a patchwork of dread and sorrow. Realistically, there're really only two things that are likely to be there; either I truly was the vicious, nasty, quasi-murderous brute that she claims I was... or that reaction was prompted by some form of abuse. What can be confirmed from that time period are comments from adults outside the family that I was a 'sweet, but terribly emotional' child, and that there were bursts of violence. Violence that came from me... and directed -at- me. Self loathing carried to the final stage. There were four documented suicide attempts by the time I was seven, you see... all reported by someone other than my immediate family.
Mom maintains to this day that I was a hellion simply seeking attention... is this who I am?
School records document that although there -were- bursts of temper and fighting, by and large my reaction to violence or harassment was to burst into tears and flee. I don't handle rejection or dismissal well at all even now... perhaps I've simply come full circle? My life has been a looping pattern of desperately seeking acceptance, searching for a 'place', a home.... to be wanted, needed, and loved... followed by a much sharper curve of sorrow and self inflicted abuse in the wake of rejection, and a concerted effort to reinforce the barriers that 'protect' me from the world.
The need for a Guide/Mentor has been crushingly strong for as long as I can remember. It led me to my first sexual encounter at the age of fourteen... he was in his mid twenties, devastatingly handsome, and somehow -knew- who and what I was. Within two weeks of our first meeting, he'd bought me my first dress... a pretty yellow dress with matching petti's, lovely white stockings, and a pair of mary janes (to this day, it's /very/ much my prefered mode of dress), and was calling me his 'precious doll'. Perhaps a week after that, I was his in body as well as spirit. I had six months of what can only be described as complete bliss; there was an upward spike in my grades as well, and the records reflect a drastic drop in outbursts and crying moments. Some would describe his actions as criminal, totally disregarding the fact that I was a willing and eager participant, and that it was -beneficial- to me. I still remember the night he told me he had to go away... I'd known since the begining that I was not his only lover, and it never phased me. I was more than willing to share, and hoped that his other playmate was as happy and devoted as I was. But the other relationship had been discovered by the authorities... and they were taking him away. His trip to prison cost him his life, and cost me my lover and very best friend.
In my early 20's, I quite literally stumbled into the BDSM scene, and have lurked on the perimeters of it ever since. It was there that I began learning about such things as submissives and dominants, and of the rather elaborate games that could be played among them. While I have a passionate love for the psychological styles, some of the more physical avenues provided an outlet for the supressed self loathing. Just prior to this discovery, I had my first sexual encounter with a woman... who for some reason wanted to bed me so badly she got me drunk, then stoned, and then quite literally took advantage of me. It was... sticky. And while it was pleasant enough, I remember wishing she'd let me please her in ways /other/ than the mindless humping she initiated. *sigh* The brutal rejection she gave me a mere 2 months later served to toss me bodily into the recently discovered 'alternative' scene. I... won't go into the details here. I'm already crying, and ... I just can't. Not today.
What may be difficult to factor in to all this is that on the surface, to people around me, I was WELL known to be a strangely upbeat and hyperactive oddball... and thought to be more than capable of taking care of myself. Beneath that shell of 'acceptable behaviour' were some problems that only a few of my close friends know about. By the age of 23, I was a recovering cocaine addict with a rapidly growing problem with alcohol. I'd somehow drifted into drugs in an effort to keep myself going; full time student, full time job, two part time jobs, plus a girlfriend (platonic) and my gaming group. 'Sleep was for the weak' was what I remember thinking; I was being driven to earn money at an incredible rate, my internal demons failing to tell me what it was -for-. While nowadays I firmly believe it was my first earnest run at acquiring the capital for HRT and surgery, all I really knew at the time was that I needed desperately to bank a lot of money. The coke slipped into my patterns to keep me going, and then required getting the second part time job to pay for this new habit. It was a cycle that I'm sure would have killed me fairly quickly... but fate took Stephie instead. She and I met through our dealer, of all people... we used to cuddle up and study together, kissed occaisionally, and to the outside world looked like a happy couple. She committed suicide one morning while I was on an errand to fetch clean clothes from my grandmother's house. No note, and even looking back, no warning... just the empty shell of her body floating in the bathtub, surrounded by swirls of blood in the water.
It shook me. And frightened me very very badly. Her parents blamed me for everything that'd gone wrong in their precious little girl's life, I was blaming myself for not somehow knowing what was going to happen and stopping it... the end result was that I was clean within a week. Four months later I met Hazel and lost what was left of my virginity, and three months after that was alone again. I buried myself in the BDSM scene, for a time becoming one of the local whipping posts in my attempts to scour myself. But as I found then, there is no true solace in pain. Without the sense of Duty and Service that accompanies being taken in, the beatings did nothing but bruise me inside and out... but that particular revelation is recent itself. At the time, I only knew it wasn't doing the trick.
Lady D pulled me out of the cyclic beatings; She said that She saw something within me that required special attention. Within two weeks I had a place within Her household, a closet filled with lovely dresses (including a trio of formal maid's dresses), and daily duties to occupy me. *faint chuckle* She -did- vary a bit from her normal outfiting with me; She put me in flats rather than heels, stating that at 6'3" I needed not an inch more height. On a lark, though, She invested in a pair of knee-high ballet boots for me; they became my official 'after hours' footwear after it was discovered that not only did I -really- like them, but that I was actually able to walk in them. (For those uncertain what I'm referring to, look at this... mine were similar, but... well, a bit prettier and white leather rather than black.) Most folks consider them utterly insane, or downright dangerous; I treasured them as a gift from my Owner, and was in heaven at having impressed Her so. Granted, doorways (and some hallways!) are a bit awkward when you're suddenly nearly 7' tall, but with a bit of practice I was moving nearly as quickly as the normally shod members of the house. The boots themselves were lost in a fire several years ago, a loss I mourn. They were my last remaining tie to Lady D outside of my memories. Due to conflicts amongst Her other pets, the household was completely shut down and disbanded 15 months after I'd been honored by being included. It was a happy time for me, truly; She seemed to understand instinctively that I needed and desired considerably less personal freedom than Her other pets. And I was the one She blessed with taskings concerning Her own appearance... some of my fondest memories are quiet times in the evenings, brushing out Her hair while listening to classical music play in the background. To this day, I still don't understand why two of the others kept expressing sympathy for being 'stuck' with such petty details.
I didn't greet my sudden freedom with joy; in my considered opinion I had been cast from Eden... without committing a sin beyond loving my Owner. But it was Lady D's wisdom that saved me even without Her presence: She'd insisted that I keep my outside job, suggesting I shift my hours to the mornings so that it didn't interfere with my Duties to the house. I attempted to fill the void with work... and on the surface was wildly successful at it. It became nothing less than an obsession, and 70+ hour work weeks were common despite the constant complaints from the payroll department. My bosses were more than willing to take the heat for the overtime, considering the sheer amount of work I was getting done. Complete room rewiring, server rebuilding, anything I could get my hands on. I ended up in charge of the technicians for our department, and managed to take us from laughing stock of the college to 'model facility' status in less than a year. Any time I found a tech with anything close to the sense of Duty I felt got tossed into what was dubbed 'the atomic pile training program' - anyone that didn't 'power up' got incinerated. Looking back, I'd managed to tranfer my devotion to Lady D to my division at work. Unfortunately, the sheer intensity of my drive to make everything work made me some annoyingly powerful enemies in other divisions. It was never my intent to make them look bad, I swear.
And into this mix stepped Rowan... and my life changed again. She brought with her the key to the rest of what truly is -me-, an understanding of tendencies and patterns that permitted me to start trying to reevaluate my life. I suspect she feels guilty, somehow believing that she's 'twisted' or 'corrupted' me... while all she did was help me finally make sense of the deeper side of me. I know that she's quite convinced of her own worthlessness... Rowan, sweetie? You're mistaken, darling... I do NOT give my loyalty of my /love/ to people who are unworthy or useless, and I do love you. There you see it, in text for the world to view. If you need independant confirmation of the strength of those feelings, I'd suggest talking to Frances... one of my more militant supporters and someone I love in much the same manner (even when she whacks me in the head with her Clue-by-Four). *kisses for both of you*
Which doesn't tell anyone much about the nature of that key, does it? It truly -is- a key... there to wind me. Like a tiny dancer atop a music box, the only time I'm truly happy is when someone is pleased with me, wants me... and lets me Serve. A doll, to be direct about it. I will happily and cheerfully give near total control to someone who /understands/ what that means, and is willing and able to love me and fill the need that is there. Recent history has show me just how catastrophically bad things turn out when I'm treated as a 'traditional' submissive... it seems that being the owner of a doll is a serious investment of both time and heart. We wither rapidly without the love we lack, and don't do well as whipping posts. A simple scolding, for me at least, is as effective as a full-on beating... knowing that I've displeased and/or failed can (and often will) bring me to tears. It's difficult to explain, really, though I did make an attempt once here... be warned, though, that the site as a whole is -woefully- out of date. A rework is in the plans; I spent last night downloading the package I wanted to do the retool, and this morning pulling down the existing pages for editting. We'll see how long that project takes.
But in the end... truly... that's who I am. While I have skills and talents outside of this realm, /this/ is home. This is proper. This is where I belong. It's also part of the reason why I rarely open up to anyone... it is not my place to complain; it doesn't help anyone, not even me. I dream of a day when my physical situation is fixed, and I find a place in a household again; single or couple, I need to be there... and the sorrow that dwells within my soul will remain until that day.
I'm sorry if this has been burdensome to read. After unlocking the vault of my mind yesterday, this ... needed to be said as well.
*soft hugs*
~Ellie-chan
no subject
I'm unsure at what to say to your posts about these things - it's a complicated issue of which I know absolutely nothing and have nothing of value to contribute... other than to *hug* and say that anyone who blasted you for opening up like this would really deserve the verbal (or physical, if I could get close enough) kicking I'd give them.
Talking about these things is a good thing though, definitely. I hope that you can find resolutions to your problems, and that perhaps people with more experience and knowledge will be able to help you.
*hugs more*
no subject
*hugs tightly*
Stop apologizing
Shado will probably just hunt them down and beat them into a bloody pulp. Sometimes he's more direct than I am. *smirk*
You are safe with us. We love you. Any hurt that we've ever done you has always ALWAYS been unintentional, and as soon as it was discovered ..I would like to think...has been desperately apologized for. There is a haven for you in our hearts and a shelter for you in our arms, and that will never change no matter what you share in conversation or these posts.
We both love you very much.
I'll keep repeating it and repeating it and repeating it. You're one of the few in my life who has seen almost all of me, parts that I rarely share with anyone...why would I do any less in return for you? You're my sister, luv...and you always will be.
As for the rest of the world, outside the comfort and shelter of our friends, well...who cares? We don't need the rest of the world, at least not the parts that are petty and bitter and close-minded. There's a home waiting for you, whenever you want it...whenever you start to let yourself believe that you deserve it...because you DO deserve it, you know. You deserve joy, you deserve happiness, you deserve to have a life that you don't face with dread but instead with eagerness.
If that means finding you a household, then you've got some steps you've got to take before that can happen. You know it as well as I do. You have our love, you have our support, but you're the only one who can take the next step. We can't force you into it. I can prod and push and whack you with all the Clue-by-Fours in the world, but only you can actually move the next inch, or the next foot, or the next yard. We're here to steady you as you go...if you let us. These posts are a good start *HUG*.
You are safe with us.
You are loved by us.
I love you VERY much.
Very Enlightening
There's *NOTHING* wrong with doing so here. Lord knows I do all the time -- and like you, I've constantly had to be told to stop apologising.
You and I have only met through the virtual ether, but I'm hoping to change that someday. You're a wonderful person, that much is obvious -- you wouldn't have the friends you do otherwise.
All my love,
~~KT-Wishing-You-True-Happiness~~
no subject
Soul in porcelain
Your heart burned by shadows
I will hold you up