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I have been thinking about circles. Concentric circles, full circles, spirals. The patterns we make in our lives. The patterns we repeat, the patterns we see which are not there, the patterns we make which we do not see.
When I went along to my first munch, not knowing what to expect, it all but blew a fuse in my mind. The place where I'd heaped my deepest, darkest, desires - firmly locked away, and then covered over with my most mildest, simplest desires, unfulfilled; the whole pushed into a forgotten room, the door locked, the signposts thrown away...suddenly thrown open to possibility.
So much was suddenly available to me, that had been hidden. I don't think I slept, ate, or made much sense, for two weeks. The munch organiser put me in touch with a potential domme - I lived for nothing but checking my emails, time after time. She showed interest, but then replies dropped off...then nothing.
I wondered if anyone would ever be interested in me. Whether I was not desirable, not wanted.
Jumping back to the present, I realise with something of a shock that those events were two and a half years ago, now. It seems longer, yet shorter. So much has changed, and yet so little.
It's quite rare that I update this blog now. When I am experiencing sadness and confusion, I write to make sense of it. I also write when I've experienced deep highs and need to make sense of what they mean to me. As time has passed, I've grown into my stability, security, and understanding, contentment, has happened without a lengthy gestation process. And sometimes I write to record particularly profound experiences. And sometimes I don't record them, due to a desire to preserve privacy, or simple lack of time.
My whole lifestyle has changed. I've got my vibe back, my mojo. In just over two years I've regained what it means to be ME. I've flourished, I've developed, I've grown. I've been through hell, and I've found my way back. I've survived.
When I first discovered BDSM, and the promise of a reawakened sexuality, I fell in love. I thought I'd fallen in love with a person, but looking back, I think it's more likely that I was in love with pain. In love with sex. In love with being awake inside, again. In love with receiving attention and interest and feeling desired and wanted.
I asked once, on these pages, if I would cut out these dark desires within me, if I were able to. At the time I wasn't sure. Now, I am. I treasure them, even though led me into danger. They've led me into heartbreak; they've led me into despair.
They've also led me home safe again. And now, following the path, my journey has come home. There will be many more journeys, many more circles within circles, but for now, the spiral rests where it started. In safety.
This is a good place, and I'm happy here.
Tuesday 19 July 2011
Sunday 9 January 2011
'Come, Let Me Clutch Thee'
"I am really, really up for fucking you my darling - I really badly need to. I hope you get here soon my love so I can just get my cock out and put it in your mouth and then your cunt. You are a fucking whore my love - a really nasty slutty one. Come soon baby, I need to fuck badly - I am going to have to have a wank soon if I don't stick my cock in you."
New Year's Day, and I'm on the train, traveling towards you, my beloved, for a weekend of debauchery. It's been a year since we first played together. I treasure the texts you're sending me, reeking with lust, as much as the anniversary gift you will give me later, when I climb into your Landrover. My submission is a capricious thing, you can never turn your back on it, but nothing coaxes it into the open more than my need to be desired. To be taken by force, is to be wanted so powerfully that need overcomes reason. And that is how I need to be needed - as part of our consensual, violent, caring, abusive, loving, relationship. The slaps, punches, kicks you throw at me, the words you scream into my face, the rage that seethes through you like your blood has been replaced with a boiling red fury - the need in you to defile me, humiliate me, stain me - it is by these things I know I am loved. The bruises you leave are your love sonnets to me; the pain as your lash pounds into my thigh, leaving it raw, a dozen red roses. Instead of a trip to Paris, you piss in my mouth and make me swallow it. You hurt me, abuse me, torment me, leave your semen leaking sticky and spent, down my thighs; and because of this I know how much you love me. Because I am a sick, sick, fucked up girl. And you are a sick, nasty man. And this is how we fit together so perfectly - a magic of spirit, body and mind as your key opens the locked doors of my anger, fear, and devotion, as if it were made to do so, as if I were made for you, and you for I.
You can barely wait until we get inside our hotel room, before you tear into me. Standing waiting to check in, you whisper into my ear that if there are any more delays, you'll fuck me right there and then. You're concentrating so hard on wanting me, you fail to notice the check-in assistant has been beckoning us for some time. I am in a haze of lust, and cannot think for wanting you. I travelled light - a heavy bag filled with sex toys, a light bag filled with underwear. I'm not planning on wearing many clothes this weekend. I'm wearing what I think of as my 'rape dress' - black, frilled, see through - barely covered by my thin leopard fur coat. Immaculately made up, shaved, scented, fishnet stockings and high heels - I wouldn't dream of presenting myself to you any other way.
Your need is so overwhelming you just push my knickers aside and get your cock into me. You strip me of some of my clothes during the hours of pleasuring yourself in me - bed, floor, couch, desk, bathroom - and finally you cum deep inside my arsehole once you've violated me so deeply and painfully I've ceased to find physical pleasure in it. It is for you, not for me, that you use me. The knowledge makes me cum, hard, as you're blowing your load deep, deep in my puckered hole.
The next day, a playfight turns serious. You slap me in the face - I am enraged. You hit me again and again, stinging blows to my cheeks which infuriate me. I warn you, you see the humour drain instantly from my face, to be replaced with righteous anger. How fucking dare you hit me? I go for you - naked and unafraid I'll scratch your fucking skin if I can get my fingernails in, you nasty cunt. Fuck, you're SO much stronger than me - it's only when we're doing this, that I remember. You drag me across to the bed and throw me on it, holding me down. I twist and turn, trying not to let you get a grip. You push your advantage, and spank me, and my fury and indignation make the pain feel worse than it is. Furious, I writhe, and you reach for the cuffs to secure me. This means letting me go, and I huddle on the bed, spitting with temper, resolved not to let this happen. I. Will. Not. Yield.
You use your superior strength to force me into positions where I can't escape, and having got half way there with the cuffs, inflict so much pain that I grudgingly accede to a truce to allow you to put the other two on. How did this happen? How did I not see this coming? I should never have let you get the cuffs on me - now I'm fucked. At some point I dig my nails into your hands and forearms, little half moon shapes filling with red and white. Serves you right, cunt. You try and stick your dick in my mouth. I refuse you. You hit me, with a leather strap. You hit me, and keep on hitting me, until the room swims and taking your stiff and swollen prick in my mouth seems the lesser of two evils. I cry out around a mouthful of you. You warn me. You're still hitting me - but every time I try and move you out of my mouth, you hit me really fucking hard, white pain instead of red. You fucking, fucking, cunt. I'm so fucking angry, I want to bite your dick off. I try and keep my expression blank, keep my rage out of my eyes, but I can't. I tell you to go fuck yourself. I spit in your face. The smile you make as you wipe saliva off your cheek, makes me feel a little sick.
I'm on my back. I can't remember how I got here. There are spreader bars underneath me, and they hurt, digging in, uncomfortably. You punch me in the stomach, very hard, and unexpected. A warm, orgasmic fear pain radiates outward from your blow. You have the knife. It's 18 inches long, and you're talking about it, to me. I'm trying to concentrate on your words, but the expression on your face, the liquid meltdown in your eyes, is what I'm watching. I'm poised, adrenaline pumping, pumping, pumping through me as my focus narrows down to one thing - you, and whether you are going to kill me. I know, with absolute certainty, that I am safe. I know, with absolute certainty, that you could kill me. You run the knife over my thighs, pausing it, and telling me in great detail how, should you choose to cut the femoral artery, no ambulance could possibly reach me in time to save my life. Five minutes ago I was anger, incarnate. Now, I am fear.
You twist up my nipples and hold the knife against them. You threaten me. You threaten me again. And again. I try to close my eyes but you won't let me. I whisper 'I'm sorry', over and over again. I'm crying, although you've told me to shut up, told me not to fucking dare make a noise. You've told me to look at you. I can't look away, so weep silently, watching your face and waiting until it's over. I'm such a slut that I always wear lashes of mascara, never waterproof - we both love how I look when you've made me sob. You make a sudden movement to stand on the bed - the last of my courage fails me and I close my eyes as an assault of tears sweeps over my cheeks from underneath my eyelashes. The surprise of feeling something drop onto my face shocks me open again - I think for a moment that you are cumming, but then realise you are dripping your piss into my face, onto my eyelids, my cheekbones, my chin, the mound of my breasts, onto my lips. You groan the way you do when you're cumming, but this is an altogether different experience from that of being spattered in your seed, although equally an act of declaration, of possession. But this is not delicious to me, this is disgusting. Absolutely and utterly disgusting. I stop crying from the shock of it, and not for one moment do I think to protest; once submission has taken me, I am yours. "Swallow it". My mouth curdles in disgust. "SWALLOW IT!". You finish exerting your ownership of me, with this complete and utter degradation, and leave me rigid in horror while you finish relieving yourself.
You come back from the bathroom. You lift me, and move me onto the couch. You hold me close to you - I don't want you to, I'm dirty, and I'll make you dirty, too. But your will is mine. You whisper sweet things to me, of love, and need. You stroke my face and tell me that I'm yours, and that you can put your cock in me whenever and wherever you damn well please, and that this is what happens when I try and stop you. Your face changes completely as you say these words, but your hands and arms are still soft, stroking.
You carry me into the bathroom and lay me down, washing me. I watch your face, waiting for a sign that it might change again. I wonder whether you will push me under the water to see if I'll struggle. I won't struggle.
You bathe me, and yourself. You lay me down in a nest of soft things and rock me, telling me you love me more than life itself. I can barely speak.
I feel loved, and loving.
For the first time in a month that has been stressful, my mind is still, and calm.
It is impossible to find time to have all the sex we need to have together, let alone do other things, such as sleep, eat, drink, piss. And I am grateful, more grateful than I can show, even now, with my body soft, yielding, yours.
I am in love with you, always and forever.
New Year's Day, and I'm on the train, traveling towards you, my beloved, for a weekend of debauchery. It's been a year since we first played together. I treasure the texts you're sending me, reeking with lust, as much as the anniversary gift you will give me later, when I climb into your Landrover. My submission is a capricious thing, you can never turn your back on it, but nothing coaxes it into the open more than my need to be desired. To be taken by force, is to be wanted so powerfully that need overcomes reason. And that is how I need to be needed - as part of our consensual, violent, caring, abusive, loving, relationship. The slaps, punches, kicks you throw at me, the words you scream into my face, the rage that seethes through you like your blood has been replaced with a boiling red fury - the need in you to defile me, humiliate me, stain me - it is by these things I know I am loved. The bruises you leave are your love sonnets to me; the pain as your lash pounds into my thigh, leaving it raw, a dozen red roses. Instead of a trip to Paris, you piss in my mouth and make me swallow it. You hurt me, abuse me, torment me, leave your semen leaking sticky and spent, down my thighs; and because of this I know how much you love me. Because I am a sick, sick, fucked up girl. And you are a sick, nasty man. And this is how we fit together so perfectly - a magic of spirit, body and mind as your key opens the locked doors of my anger, fear, and devotion, as if it were made to do so, as if I were made for you, and you for I.
You can barely wait until we get inside our hotel room, before you tear into me. Standing waiting to check in, you whisper into my ear that if there are any more delays, you'll fuck me right there and then. You're concentrating so hard on wanting me, you fail to notice the check-in assistant has been beckoning us for some time. I am in a haze of lust, and cannot think for wanting you. I travelled light - a heavy bag filled with sex toys, a light bag filled with underwear. I'm not planning on wearing many clothes this weekend. I'm wearing what I think of as my 'rape dress' - black, frilled, see through - barely covered by my thin leopard fur coat. Immaculately made up, shaved, scented, fishnet stockings and high heels - I wouldn't dream of presenting myself to you any other way.
Your need is so overwhelming you just push my knickers aside and get your cock into me. You strip me of some of my clothes during the hours of pleasuring yourself in me - bed, floor, couch, desk, bathroom - and finally you cum deep inside my arsehole once you've violated me so deeply and painfully I've ceased to find physical pleasure in it. It is for you, not for me, that you use me. The knowledge makes me cum, hard, as you're blowing your load deep, deep in my puckered hole.
The next day, a playfight turns serious. You slap me in the face - I am enraged. You hit me again and again, stinging blows to my cheeks which infuriate me. I warn you, you see the humour drain instantly from my face, to be replaced with righteous anger. How fucking dare you hit me? I go for you - naked and unafraid I'll scratch your fucking skin if I can get my fingernails in, you nasty cunt. Fuck, you're SO much stronger than me - it's only when we're doing this, that I remember. You drag me across to the bed and throw me on it, holding me down. I twist and turn, trying not to let you get a grip. You push your advantage, and spank me, and my fury and indignation make the pain feel worse than it is. Furious, I writhe, and you reach for the cuffs to secure me. This means letting me go, and I huddle on the bed, spitting with temper, resolved not to let this happen. I. Will. Not. Yield.
You use your superior strength to force me into positions where I can't escape, and having got half way there with the cuffs, inflict so much pain that I grudgingly accede to a truce to allow you to put the other two on. How did this happen? How did I not see this coming? I should never have let you get the cuffs on me - now I'm fucked. At some point I dig my nails into your hands and forearms, little half moon shapes filling with red and white. Serves you right, cunt. You try and stick your dick in my mouth. I refuse you. You hit me, with a leather strap. You hit me, and keep on hitting me, until the room swims and taking your stiff and swollen prick in my mouth seems the lesser of two evils. I cry out around a mouthful of you. You warn me. You're still hitting me - but every time I try and move you out of my mouth, you hit me really fucking hard, white pain instead of red. You fucking, fucking, cunt. I'm so fucking angry, I want to bite your dick off. I try and keep my expression blank, keep my rage out of my eyes, but I can't. I tell you to go fuck yourself. I spit in your face. The smile you make as you wipe saliva off your cheek, makes me feel a little sick.
I'm on my back. I can't remember how I got here. There are spreader bars underneath me, and they hurt, digging in, uncomfortably. You punch me in the stomach, very hard, and unexpected. A warm, orgasmic fear pain radiates outward from your blow. You have the knife. It's 18 inches long, and you're talking about it, to me. I'm trying to concentrate on your words, but the expression on your face, the liquid meltdown in your eyes, is what I'm watching. I'm poised, adrenaline pumping, pumping, pumping through me as my focus narrows down to one thing - you, and whether you are going to kill me. I know, with absolute certainty, that I am safe. I know, with absolute certainty, that you could kill me. You run the knife over my thighs, pausing it, and telling me in great detail how, should you choose to cut the femoral artery, no ambulance could possibly reach me in time to save my life. Five minutes ago I was anger, incarnate. Now, I am fear.
You twist up my nipples and hold the knife against them. You threaten me. You threaten me again. And again. I try to close my eyes but you won't let me. I whisper 'I'm sorry', over and over again. I'm crying, although you've told me to shut up, told me not to fucking dare make a noise. You've told me to look at you. I can't look away, so weep silently, watching your face and waiting until it's over. I'm such a slut that I always wear lashes of mascara, never waterproof - we both love how I look when you've made me sob. You make a sudden movement to stand on the bed - the last of my courage fails me and I close my eyes as an assault of tears sweeps over my cheeks from underneath my eyelashes. The surprise of feeling something drop onto my face shocks me open again - I think for a moment that you are cumming, but then realise you are dripping your piss into my face, onto my eyelids, my cheekbones, my chin, the mound of my breasts, onto my lips. You groan the way you do when you're cumming, but this is an altogether different experience from that of being spattered in your seed, although equally an act of declaration, of possession. But this is not delicious to me, this is disgusting. Absolutely and utterly disgusting. I stop crying from the shock of it, and not for one moment do I think to protest; once submission has taken me, I am yours. "Swallow it". My mouth curdles in disgust. "SWALLOW IT!". You finish exerting your ownership of me, with this complete and utter degradation, and leave me rigid in horror while you finish relieving yourself.
You come back from the bathroom. You lift me, and move me onto the couch. You hold me close to you - I don't want you to, I'm dirty, and I'll make you dirty, too. But your will is mine. You whisper sweet things to me, of love, and need. You stroke my face and tell me that I'm yours, and that you can put your cock in me whenever and wherever you damn well please, and that this is what happens when I try and stop you. Your face changes completely as you say these words, but your hands and arms are still soft, stroking.
You carry me into the bathroom and lay me down, washing me. I watch your face, waiting for a sign that it might change again. I wonder whether you will push me under the water to see if I'll struggle. I won't struggle.
You bathe me, and yourself. You lay me down in a nest of soft things and rock me, telling me you love me more than life itself. I can barely speak.
I feel loved, and loving.
For the first time in a month that has been stressful, my mind is still, and calm.
It is impossible to find time to have all the sex we need to have together, let alone do other things, such as sleep, eat, drink, piss. And I am grateful, more grateful than I can show, even now, with my body soft, yielding, yours.
I am in love with you, always and forever.
Saturday 8 January 2011
http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
December 15 – 5 Minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.
The recipe for chocolate and gold mouse cake is in my family cookbook. (I have a scrapbook which I write recipes in which are outstanding and I want to keep. I call it the family cookbook although christ knows who I'll pass it on to since I never intend to have children!)
Never send two men into the kitchen unsupervised with instructions for doing something which involves setting fire to stuff. (lighting the christmas pudding is really a job for women, I feel).
Work goes better if you don't get stressed. (D'oh.)
The combination lock for the painting box is xxx (I get huge pleasure from my delicious bottles of fruity coloured inks and metallic glass pots, tactile feathery brushes and scumptious thick paint. I don't let my husband steal them because within seconds of him touching them, he's covered them in marmite and fluff, and lost them under the sofa.)
You really don't like beer. No, not even cherry flavoured. (Fact.)
You have been banned from drinking cider ever again by both men in your life. (Oops.)
December 15 – 5 Minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.
The recipe for chocolate and gold mouse cake is in my family cookbook. (I have a scrapbook which I write recipes in which are outstanding and I want to keep. I call it the family cookbook although christ knows who I'll pass it on to since I never intend to have children!)
Never send two men into the kitchen unsupervised with instructions for doing something which involves setting fire to stuff. (lighting the christmas pudding is really a job for women, I feel).
Work goes better if you don't get stressed. (D'oh.)
The combination lock for the painting box is xxx (I get huge pleasure from my delicious bottles of fruity coloured inks and metallic glass pots, tactile feathery brushes and scumptious thick paint. I don't let my husband steal them because within seconds of him touching them, he's covered them in marmite and fluff, and lost them under the sofa.)
You really don't like beer. No, not even cherry flavoured. (Fact.)
You have been banned from drinking cider ever again by both men in your life. (Oops.)
Appreciate
http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
December 14 – Appreciate. What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?
Honestly? So many things - but this year has brought something new. My boyfriend, lover, dominant, alpha male and pack leader - mon lupe. He makes everything in my life be infinitely better. I tell him how much joy he brings me constantly, but I could no more capture in words, my gratitude to him, than the pages of a dictionary could soak up the sea.
And my beautiful, close, beloved poly family, who give me support, encouragement, care, love, joy, and fun. I treasure my family, it means everything to me. There is nothing I value more.
December 14 – Appreciate. What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?
Honestly? So many things - but this year has brought something new. My boyfriend, lover, dominant, alpha male and pack leader - mon lupe. He makes everything in my life be infinitely better. I tell him how much joy he brings me constantly, but I could no more capture in words, my gratitude to him, than the pages of a dictionary could soak up the sea.
And my beautiful, close, beloved poly family, who give me support, encouragement, care, love, joy, and fun. I treasure my family, it means everything to me. There is nothing I value more.
Action
http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
December 13 – Action. When it comes to aspirations, it's not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?
I'm going to audition to join the Poi Passion School of Poi and Fire Performance. It means two hours of practice once a week with the dance troupe, plus unlimited practicing by myself. It would mean that I could move from the kind of poi I've been doing, to fire poi at performance standard, which would not only be good fun, good exercise, good discipline, and an outlet for my exhibitionist side, but would considerably up my game in terms of what I can achieve with poi as dance, and the better I am at poi, the greater my joy in it.
I think I've got a fairly good chance of getting in. The auditions are in february, and I'll get the info I need and start creating an audition piece over the next few weeks.
When I was just starting classes last year with Poi Passion, they suggested I audition, and a whole year's gone by since then. I didn't feel ready, before, as I was a beginner, and I didn't want to join as a beginner. I feel ready now.
December 13 – Action. When it comes to aspirations, it's not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?
I'm going to audition to join the Poi Passion School of Poi and Fire Performance. It means two hours of practice once a week with the dance troupe, plus unlimited practicing by myself. It would mean that I could move from the kind of poi I've been doing, to fire poi at performance standard, which would not only be good fun, good exercise, good discipline, and an outlet for my exhibitionist side, but would considerably up my game in terms of what I can achieve with poi as dance, and the better I am at poi, the greater my joy in it.
I think I've got a fairly good chance of getting in. The auditions are in february, and I'll get the info I need and start creating an audition piece over the next few weeks.
When I was just starting classes last year with Poi Passion, they suggested I audition, and a whole year's gone by since then. I didn't feel ready, before, as I was a beginner, and I didn't want to join as a beginner. I feel ready now.
http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
December 12 – Body Integration. This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn't mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?
I wrote this on my kink blog back in June - and there is no better description I could write now, of complete cohesiveness.
http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/beauty-in-violence.html
December 12 – Body Integration. This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn't mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?
I wrote this on my kink blog back in June - and there is no better description I could write now, of complete cohesiveness.
http://kinkforimp.blogspot.com/2010/06/beauty-in-violence.html
Saturday 1 January 2011
11 Things
www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/
December 11 – 11 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn't need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?
I've had to think really hard about this - and I very nearly skipped the question. I checked out other people's answers in the hopes of getting inspiration - but I've come to the conclusion that, fundamentally, I don't have much in my life that I don't need.
So here is my list, stripped down to basics, and only very small things. None of them are very profound, and it's more of an idle toying with ideas, rather than a passionate commitment. Maybe that's something worth knowing in itself though. I don't feel that there's anything very much I want to give up or give away - there are things in my life I value, and could do with more of, but little I need to let go of.
1. Debt.
Having paid off my personal loan this year, I still have about £Too Much of credit card debt and a £Much Too Much overdraft, which I could most definitely do without. My plan is to pay large chunks off it as and when I can afford it, and I'm doing pretty well so far. I managed to change my spending from 'spending more than I earn' to 'spending less than I earn and paying off debt' during last year, so that's a fucking result as far as I'm concerned. And I've stuck to that for the last few months, even over christmas.
2. Perfectionism and the Overly Critical Eye.
I recently heard about a small tribe with a long life span and low stress levels, attributed to their 'good enough' attitude. Rather than living by the maxim 'never put off to tomorrow what you can do today', and 'if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well', their approach is 'that'll do', and 'I'll do it tomorrow since it's not important'. I could do with some of that, and letting go of my intense perfectionism and the internalised voice inside me of my mother, telling me that unless I've done it right now and to A+++ standards, I'll be letting myself, and everyone around me, down.
3. The Belief that I'm Unattractive.
It's hard to be plus size, let's face it. Previous years' NY resolutions have nearly always included a promise that this year - THIS year - will be the one in which I lose weight. Well, guess what. If I really wanted to that much, I would have done. The internalised voice is again, speaking to me of how inadequate I am, and how much better my life would be if I could just....lose....weight. Well, that's bollocks. The few times in my life I've been a size 10, I've been miserable, because my life sucked, and being thin didn't make it suck any less. Now I'm happy, and I'm damn sure I wouldn't be any more happy if I was thinner. My skin glows, and is soft and beautiful, my hair is thick and touchable, my nails are pretty and perfectly manicured. On a good day I can look in the mirror and like what I see. I'm happy and healthy. I love food, I love eating, and tasting, and smelling good, pleasurable, food - and don't want to give any of it up for a dream of being perfectly slender. My body appears to please those around me - and I've begun to allow it to please me, too.
4. Anxiety and Worrying to Excess
I've not had a brilliant month, I've needed to take time out to just slow the fuck down, calm down, and let my headspace settle. It's been an extraordinary year, a landmark year, a wonderful, amazing year. I've pushed my body, heart, mind and spirit to their limits, and sometimes a little beyond, so it's no surprise that I've crashed a little just this last few weeks. My energy's been low, and I've needed time to recoup, and just be quiet, and still. The old war wound of anxiety disorder has resurrected itself, and I've had a few mild panic attacks and some low level anxiety days. This has knocked my confidence in myself as a 'functioning mentalist and well person', and frightened me. I don't, ever, want to go back to being the way I was years ago where fear ruled me and everything I did was haunted by worry. While I do think that this is just a short dip in strength caused by putting too many demands on myself, my tendency to fret fret fret is most definitely something I could live without.
5. Neglecting My Own Needs
I have a core part of my personality which gains huge satisfaction from giving people something they need. It makes me happy, it makes me feel 'of worth', it makes me feel real. I need to find more of a balance though, between this, and neglecting my own needs to the point of exhaustion and collapse, at which point I can't help anybody, not even myself. To this end, I'm promising myself a 2 hour diarised slot of TLC time, where I will give myself nice things and look after myself, once a week. And to try and be a little more balanced in my approach to other people's needs, and my own.
6. Multitasking to Excess
I'm going to try and take a 'one thing at a time' approach as much as possible, this year.
7. Not Tolerating Intolerable Behaviour
I've made a good start on this in 2010, and in 2011 I want to consolidate.
8. Repressing Rage and Righteous Indignation
See above
9. Being Busy Without Getting Anything Done
This is connected to multitasking. I need to pare down my internal 'to do' lists to essentials, rather than flapping about constantly trying to achieve perfection.
10. Working Through My Lunchbreak
Really. There's just no point. I could be doing poi.
11. Getting up at 7.30am, drinking tea and faffing about, then getting into work late at about 10am.
For heaven's sake, I only work 10 minutes cycle away from where I live! I need to be more disciplined about not getting stuck into stupid tasks in the morning, or deciding on a quick last minute wank and then dozing off for half an hour in a pile of sex toys.
December 11 – 11 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn't need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?
I've had to think really hard about this - and I very nearly skipped the question. I checked out other people's answers in the hopes of getting inspiration - but I've come to the conclusion that, fundamentally, I don't have much in my life that I don't need.
So here is my list, stripped down to basics, and only very small things. None of them are very profound, and it's more of an idle toying with ideas, rather than a passionate commitment. Maybe that's something worth knowing in itself though. I don't feel that there's anything very much I want to give up or give away - there are things in my life I value, and could do with more of, but little I need to let go of.
1. Debt.
Having paid off my personal loan this year, I still have about £Too Much of credit card debt and a £Much Too Much overdraft, which I could most definitely do without. My plan is to pay large chunks off it as and when I can afford it, and I'm doing pretty well so far. I managed to change my spending from 'spending more than I earn' to 'spending less than I earn and paying off debt' during last year, so that's a fucking result as far as I'm concerned. And I've stuck to that for the last few months, even over christmas.
2. Perfectionism and the Overly Critical Eye.
I recently heard about a small tribe with a long life span and low stress levels, attributed to their 'good enough' attitude. Rather than living by the maxim 'never put off to tomorrow what you can do today', and 'if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well', their approach is 'that'll do', and 'I'll do it tomorrow since it's not important'. I could do with some of that, and letting go of my intense perfectionism and the internalised voice inside me of my mother, telling me that unless I've done it right now and to A+++ standards, I'll be letting myself, and everyone around me, down.
3. The Belief that I'm Unattractive.
It's hard to be plus size, let's face it. Previous years' NY resolutions have nearly always included a promise that this year - THIS year - will be the one in which I lose weight. Well, guess what. If I really wanted to that much, I would have done. The internalised voice is again, speaking to me of how inadequate I am, and how much better my life would be if I could just....lose....weight. Well, that's bollocks. The few times in my life I've been a size 10, I've been miserable, because my life sucked, and being thin didn't make it suck any less. Now I'm happy, and I'm damn sure I wouldn't be any more happy if I was thinner. My skin glows, and is soft and beautiful, my hair is thick and touchable, my nails are pretty and perfectly manicured. On a good day I can look in the mirror and like what I see. I'm happy and healthy. I love food, I love eating, and tasting, and smelling good, pleasurable, food - and don't want to give any of it up for a dream of being perfectly slender. My body appears to please those around me - and I've begun to allow it to please me, too.
4. Anxiety and Worrying to Excess
I've not had a brilliant month, I've needed to take time out to just slow the fuck down, calm down, and let my headspace settle. It's been an extraordinary year, a landmark year, a wonderful, amazing year. I've pushed my body, heart, mind and spirit to their limits, and sometimes a little beyond, so it's no surprise that I've crashed a little just this last few weeks. My energy's been low, and I've needed time to recoup, and just be quiet, and still. The old war wound of anxiety disorder has resurrected itself, and I've had a few mild panic attacks and some low level anxiety days. This has knocked my confidence in myself as a 'functioning mentalist and well person', and frightened me. I don't, ever, want to go back to being the way I was years ago where fear ruled me and everything I did was haunted by worry. While I do think that this is just a short dip in strength caused by putting too many demands on myself, my tendency to fret fret fret is most definitely something I could live without.
5. Neglecting My Own Needs
I have a core part of my personality which gains huge satisfaction from giving people something they need. It makes me happy, it makes me feel 'of worth', it makes me feel real. I need to find more of a balance though, between this, and neglecting my own needs to the point of exhaustion and collapse, at which point I can't help anybody, not even myself. To this end, I'm promising myself a 2 hour diarised slot of TLC time, where I will give myself nice things and look after myself, once a week. And to try and be a little more balanced in my approach to other people's needs, and my own.
6. Multitasking to Excess
I'm going to try and take a 'one thing at a time' approach as much as possible, this year.
7. Not Tolerating Intolerable Behaviour
I've made a good start on this in 2010, and in 2011 I want to consolidate.
8. Repressing Rage and Righteous Indignation
See above
9. Being Busy Without Getting Anything Done
This is connected to multitasking. I need to pare down my internal 'to do' lists to essentials, rather than flapping about constantly trying to achieve perfection.
10. Working Through My Lunchbreak
Really. There's just no point. I could be doing poi.
11. Getting up at 7.30am, drinking tea and faffing about, then getting into work late at about 10am.
For heaven's sake, I only work 10 minutes cycle away from where I live! I need to be more disciplined about not getting stuck into stupid tasks in the morning, or deciding on a quick last minute wank and then dozing off for half an hour in a pile of sex toys.
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