Happy New Year.  Yay.  Woo.  Etc.  (I just don’t care.  Aside from the added paperwork when I screw up the date on legal documents at work, that is.)

I’m an idiot, btw.  Want an example?  Of course you do.  A couple of days ago, I went to pee.  And noticed blood.  And for a SOLID three seconds, I was horrified and confused.  I was all, “OMG, do I have a SUPER jagged nail?  Have I cut myself?  Where is all this blood coming from!?!?”

Then I remember that once a month for the past fifteen years, I’ve been getting my period, and everything was fine.  

But in conclusion, I am an idiot.

I’ve been busy, and felt like rubbish for the past few days because of my period. Hell, I was asleep before 11:00pm last night.  I’ve got Kay’s memorial thing (which got pushed back and back and back but it’s finally really happening) on Monday, plus work tonight and Sunday night.  I’ve slept like crap because my bed at home sucks and the other four nights a week I spend on a couch at work. 

I’m too tired to type more about this, but imagine a whole lot more whining here, okay?  Thanks.

I was starting to muse the other day about how I’ve become “more adult” about things.  And as simple as that concept is to grasp, it’s been a hard one for me to embody.

For some reason, being owned – being dependent and controlled and at his mercy – was VERY easy to translate into being helpless and incompetent and codependent in a negative, taxing way.

It made me whiny, petulant, anxious, complacent.  It made me unhappy.  More importantly, it made him unhappy.

He decided months ago that it was time for me to take some responsibility.  A tethered, ornamental falcon will lose its hunting prowess if it isn’t let loose to fly.  And then what’s the use of having that falcon under your control if it can’t do what it’s trained to?  It may as well be a seagull at that point.  And who wants a pet seagull?  Not Antonio, that’s for sure. 

A little experience and self-discipline were in order to keep me TRULY in line.  Because I’ll only truly be in my happiest, best service when it’s what I want so badly that he doesn’t have to constantly correct or punish me.  Kitten said it best in this post – about self-Mastery.  “There are expectations and there are choices. His expectations and my choices.”

(Okay, fine, that’s not an exact quote.  I fixed a typo.  I blame it on OCD.)

Anyway… Working on my own version of self-Mastery recently has been, at various times, annoying, hated, lame, difficult, pointless, frustrating, and painful.   And sometimes I’ve totally ignored it altogether.  But the results thus far?  Have been VERY rewarding.  He’s really pleased with my patience, my ability to be calm through less-than-desirable situations, my ability to make my own choices without freaking out, to follow him without struggling, to be okay and not take advantage of a situation when he doesn’t take a harsh stance, to not whine when he’s away from home for work, etc. etc. etc.

I’m not perfect at any of those things.  But I’m getting MUCH better.  And it wasn’t because he got harsher… It’s because he loosened up and said, “So… What kind of slave do YOU want to be?  Make the choice, answer that question.”

I’m very proud of how I’ve answered that question so far.  

But you know what?  Let’s be honest here.  I do miss the pressure of “or else.”  I miss that feeling of smothering control.  However… Where have I made the most progress?  Well… I was able to make progress with the “or else” Mastery, that’s for sure.  But I’ve made more meaningful progress without it.  I’ve made less tangible progress, perhaps, but it’s much more important to both of us.  But me missing the other way?  It’s real.  I DO miss it.  But…

Many of you know I used to be depressed.  And there has been a happiness in my life since The Man came into it that has made it so that no anger or fear or sadness since then has come CLOSE to what I used to feel.  And yet?  I missed it.  I missed my sadness.  I wrote this about it, and actually posted it for the first time back in July.  But I’ll post part of it again now:

This is going to sound stupid, but some part of me is missing the ache I used to feel.  I mean, I certainly don’t want it back.  I don’t want to be suicidally depressed. 

But a part of me misses lying on my bed, in the pulsing heat of Tennessee, watching the ceiling fan in semi-darkness, with headphones pouring music into my ears, soaking in a sadness so big it felt like the moon had risen in my chest. 

I miss the pain in my throat that came with choking on my sobs.  I miss rolling over and becoming fetal, and feeling the damp spots on the blankets where my tears fell as I worked my wrists over in my hands. 

I miss the desperation. 

I miss floating through days, balancing my words on thoughts of suicide.  I miss waking up to a new day and having to bargain myself out of bed.  I miss having a plan for a way out of here.  I miss believing I wouldn’t see my next birthday.  I miss so much sometimes.  And I don’t even know why.  Because I don’t want it back.

So you know what?  I’m well aware that missing something isn’t a sign that it was good for me, or that I should have it back.  It’s just… It signals an ache to define myself, to find solid ground where I can curl up and know everything around me so well that I don’t even need to open my eyes and really SEE my own world.  It’s an lusting desire to throw up my hands, give up responsibility, and surrender. 

It’s not an ache I want to give in to.  And I’ve been through enough to be able to say I’m truly proud to resist it.  I will keep taking an active role in my own life without actually being in ultimate control.  I know it’s best for me, and apparently?  He knows that too.  Knew it before I did, in fact.