There are some things which will never be. But there are many things which can and will be. I've come to accept that.
I spent my time focusing on what it would take to get me where I wanted to go, and little time considering where I was actually headed. I steered myself into believing that manipulation and control were tools which would allow me to find my self, but in fact, they ended up being the chains that kept me away from it. Each time I struggled to push forward, they pulled me two steps back.
I had created the most wonderful illusion of who and what I am as a masochist. I fed it, nurtured it, proudly showed it off to others as it grew, and eventually clothed myself in it. I wound this illusion so tightly, that I believed it real. And eventually, I fell. I fell hard. Because in order to realize the existence of this illusion of my own making, I needed to. The resounding *splat* was magnificent indeed.
Pain, though an incredible sensation and wonderfully exciting challenge which will endlessly intrigue, fascinate, and stimulate me, is not the means to discovering the core person within. It will not give me the answers, or provide the purpose. It does not define my worth, or sustain my balance. It is exactly only what it is - pain. And I will not be so ignorant or naive in the future to ascribe it any other meaning.
The rest of my self discovery needs to come from letting go of what I think I know, and being open to what I have yet to learn. And whether I believe it entirely at this point or not, it all comes from me.
I've come to accept that.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
On The Other Side of a Safe Word
What does that mean? Let me first say that previous to this weekend, I could not begin to tell you because I'd never had to say one...
And, I didn't want to say it. I suppose though that's easy enough to have figured out. (I'm a masochist, you know.) After all, we masochists for the most part don't seem to have many limitations or boundaries on that ever-elusive pain threshold. For the majority of us that loosely translates into ignoring that such a thing even exists. Is that such a bad thing? Consequences as a result of purposefully allowing ourselves to get caught in that kind of thinking really don't enter our minds - at least, it didn't for me.
I'd really built myself up for imminent failure in a way. Interesting how that works. Over the years I've physically and mentally challenged myself in various ways when it comes to my masochism. I've done scenes with incredible amounts of pain that slowly progressed from one successive level of tolerance to the next. Handling each one was relatively easy because I could anticipate the transition and confidently juggle my own responses. Pain, as I experienced and knew it, could be manipulated, converted, and as a result controlled. And over time with much practice I was becoming quite adept in how I did just that. Unfortunately, my false sense of security (and some might say misplaced arrogance) blinded me into not being able to consider what might happen if the ability to do even one of those things was taken away from me.
I found out what happens, this past weekend.
“Red!”
Once the word was out of my mouth it was as if the atmosphere around me had suddenly collapsed and become unbearably suffocating. The physical pain had temporarily ceased, but the forced acknowledgement of my own actual limitation was an overwhelming tidal wave of emotional torment and suffering such as I have not experienced before. The shame of this new situation found my face streaked with tears, my tightly-held emotional defences crumbling before those around me, and my illusion of control irrevocably shattered. The immediate and unmistakable truth was now placed in front of me. It was not one I was in any way prepared to face.
How could I, in those moments as I lay on the floor hoarsely screaming and crying through my denial, anger and frustration, console myself with the realisation that numerous other masochists have surely reached the same point as I just did; that I am no more unique or different in my ability to suffer; that admitting I cannot take any more of that particular pain does not mean I have failed? I wallowed in my disbelief and self pity. I had begged for my own humiliation, and I was more naked than I had ever been even though I was mostly still clothed. I felt as if something had been taken from me, when I was not willing to let it go. And, it had been. Control was no longer mine.
I wanted it back and as I lifted myself to try and take it, reality reared its ugly head and I backed off like a coward. I lowered myself. I pleaded to be their piggy. I whined and cried for their spit and disgust. I gave up my selfish sense of pride and watched as it too, much like the carpet below me, flattened as I rolled across the floor towards the chairs with the encouragement of their boots.
I sat on the chair against the wall that night... stunned, with tears, spit, and snot running liberally down my face as i tried to contemplate what was now waiting for me on the other side of my uttered safe word. Surely, people were sneering. Of course, they must have been laughing at my ultimate defeat. The whispers were likely already carrying talk of how weak I really was. I didn’t think it was possible for me to fall any harder or lower than I had.
I reached down, picked up my shoes, and carried them and myself to my room.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To understand where I am now, I had to explain where I've been. I'll write the second part of this journal when I return to Canada.
And, I didn't want to say it. I suppose though that's easy enough to have figured out. (I'm a masochist, you know.) After all, we masochists for the most part don't seem to have many limitations or boundaries on that ever-elusive pain threshold. For the majority of us that loosely translates into ignoring that such a thing even exists. Is that such a bad thing? Consequences as a result of purposefully allowing ourselves to get caught in that kind of thinking really don't enter our minds - at least, it didn't for me.
I'd really built myself up for imminent failure in a way. Interesting how that works. Over the years I've physically and mentally challenged myself in various ways when it comes to my masochism. I've done scenes with incredible amounts of pain that slowly progressed from one successive level of tolerance to the next. Handling each one was relatively easy because I could anticipate the transition and confidently juggle my own responses. Pain, as I experienced and knew it, could be manipulated, converted, and as a result controlled. And over time with much practice I was becoming quite adept in how I did just that. Unfortunately, my false sense of security (and some might say misplaced arrogance) blinded me into not being able to consider what might happen if the ability to do even one of those things was taken away from me.
I found out what happens, this past weekend.
“Red!”
Once the word was out of my mouth it was as if the atmosphere around me had suddenly collapsed and become unbearably suffocating. The physical pain had temporarily ceased, but the forced acknowledgement of my own actual limitation was an overwhelming tidal wave of emotional torment and suffering such as I have not experienced before. The shame of this new situation found my face streaked with tears, my tightly-held emotional defences crumbling before those around me, and my illusion of control irrevocably shattered. The immediate and unmistakable truth was now placed in front of me. It was not one I was in any way prepared to face.
How could I, in those moments as I lay on the floor hoarsely screaming and crying through my denial, anger and frustration, console myself with the realisation that numerous other masochists have surely reached the same point as I just did; that I am no more unique or different in my ability to suffer; that admitting I cannot take any more of that particular pain does not mean I have failed? I wallowed in my disbelief and self pity. I had begged for my own humiliation, and I was more naked than I had ever been even though I was mostly still clothed. I felt as if something had been taken from me, when I was not willing to let it go. And, it had been. Control was no longer mine.
I wanted it back and as I lifted myself to try and take it, reality reared its ugly head and I backed off like a coward. I lowered myself. I pleaded to be their piggy. I whined and cried for their spit and disgust. I gave up my selfish sense of pride and watched as it too, much like the carpet below me, flattened as I rolled across the floor towards the chairs with the encouragement of their boots.
I sat on the chair against the wall that night... stunned, with tears, spit, and snot running liberally down my face as i tried to contemplate what was now waiting for me on the other side of my uttered safe word. Surely, people were sneering. Of course, they must have been laughing at my ultimate defeat. The whispers were likely already carrying talk of how weak I really was. I didn’t think it was possible for me to fall any harder or lower than I had.
I reached down, picked up my shoes, and carried them and myself to my room.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To understand where I am now, I had to explain where I've been. I'll write the second part of this journal when I return to Canada.
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