I had trouble making myself post this. It’s something I’M having trouble with. It’s personal. But I’m aware it may sound a lot like an accusation because of how huge this is in the lifestyle. It’s not an accusation, truly. My fear it would sound that way has kept me from posting for a while.

But it’s my blog, and I need to get this out.  And I trust you’re all smart enough to either say, “Nah, I’m all good with this!  Moving on…” or, if it does upset you, you’ll simply reflect on why it bothers you in an honest, level way.

I haven’t worn my collar in months.

Part of me wants it back because ALL of me has one desire – to move out where Antonio is, to live there, to truly be his, and to end this horrific, stagnant limbo I’m in so I can finally, finally, FINALLY move forward in my life. I feel myself slipping back and back and back. Forward movement is a thing of the past. I see moving and my collar as a symbol of finally getting back on track, and I want it.

I just don’t want THIS collar back.

It’s leather, and leather disgusts me.

Leather didn’t always, though. And I must admit that. I didn’t always have a problem with leather. I even worked in a leather store when I was a teenager. I KNEW where leather came from. I did. And I still worked there, wore it, and supported that industry.

But , in truth, I was being willfully ignorant.

I actively chose not to investigate what actually goes into leather production, and I chose not to think about the cows that gave their lives for it. Ignorance and blindness can be selfish and intentional, and mine was.

One of the side effects of being skeptical is my need to research. And at this point, I’ve done too much research to continue supporting the atrocities of the leather industry anymore. I’m not okay with pretending animals are fabric. They’re not. They’re living, breathing, feeling creatures. I know that, and on some level I always knew that. I just chose to ignore it in favor of my own petty wants. I was okay with eating meat and eggs and dairy, and with wearing their skins.

My years of indulgence in willful ignorance… Well, they really upset me. I feel so… So fucking guilty. Who the hell am I to go on about bestiality being wrong, pedophilia being wrong, if I supported such inhumane practices as meat and leather consumption? I’m so angry at myself for that blatant hypocrisy.

Most cows slaughtered for leather come from India or China. They are transported, often injured, packed in small trucks. If, en route to the slaughterhouse, they become too exhausted to stand, chili peppers or tobacco are rubbed in their eyes and their tails are broken to keep them moving. They are often dehorned (packed in that tight, they will fight and injure each other with their horns), never receive veterinary care of any kind, don’t see sunshine or grass, and many have their throats slit and have skinning begin while they are still conscious.

Fuck. No. No no no no no!  That sort of stuff make me want to shove my fingers in my ears and squish my eyes shut.  I know I can’t act like a child, though.  It’s reality.  I can ignore it, but that’s not the kind of person I am or want to be.

No amount of desiring something leather will make me okay with that ever again. I feel utterly horrible if I step on my cat’s tail. Why? Because it HURTS her! I know my cat experiences pain. And fear. And these cows, battered and beaten and in pain, are herded closer and closer to death in all manner of pain and fear.  My cat gets legitimately scared of the goddamn vacuum. I can’t even imagine the kind of fear and panic those cows endure as they are herded, via incredible pain, toward the stench of blood and the tortured lowing of their fellow cows being slaughtered.

I can’t imagine my lifestyle supporting that cruelty. And, on top of that, supporting it for absolutely NO reason. There is no way for me to justify to myself NEEDING leather. I don’t need it. Are their leather items I want?  Sure.  But “I wanna” is simply not a good enough reason to support that kind of industry. Leather is not an antibiotic. It is not a surgical procedure. It’s not my paycheck and it’s not my family members. It is not necessary.

And while I might just say, “Well, I already have the collar, I may as well use it,” I just can’t stomach the idea of pressing the dead cow’s skin to my throat again.

The whole thing just depresses me.   It’s so shitty to be so disappointed in my moral strength and in myself as a person.

Bleh.

In lieu of posting depressing slaughterhouse pictures I’ve been looking at, I’ll post a cute baby cow.  Moo!