crazy, happiness, kinky, life, love, mind, psychology, relationships, sex

Pride, BDSM, Sub

dancer-1284214_1920

You can’t destroy me unless you take my pride, take it away, and I will have nothing.

This got me pensive. What is pride? – I had no answer. I closed my eyes trying to imagine what it feels like to have pride and thought about Jim – endless planes, yachts, and houses; narcissism and power, inescapable excellence and unavoidable success.

I gave him a call, I was curious. – Do you have pride?

Don’t you want to say ‘hi’? – his voice was bitter and pathetic

I want to know your thoughts on pride

 – Why does it even matter now? We are not even together.

 – Did I hurt your pride?

 – What do you think?

Speaking to him was hard, I hung up, I still had feelings. His pride was the size of his 14 thousand square feet home, I could not deal with it, I left.

Early morning in bed, focusing on my body in search of what google defined as pride -“a feeling of being good and worthy”. I could not find or feel anything.

Take away my pride, and I will have nothing”, – I had nothing. No regrets no sorrow.

I was a sub in relations. I was giving in myself completely, melting, dissolving, relinquishing all my powers and control. I felt empty, non-existent, unable to identify myself with anyone or anything, surrendering my body, my ego, my pride, my self-worth, my values, my beliefs.

I was a sub, going with a flow, being quiet when asked, speaking when allowed, serving in bed and in the kitchen, being available to the needs of my master 24/7.

I was a sub. The pride was crushed, I was capable of sensing and perceiving the world freely without hysterical attempts to hold on to my self-identity. I could be whatever my master wanted me to be, I could switch the personalities like undies. I could flip from a slave to a master, attaining the lost control, going as far as my master wanted me to go.

Does not it bother you that he takes control over your life? It is manipulation and abuse, – my girlfriends could not grasp what it feels like to live outside the fixed self-identity, they were shocked, I was free, I had no pride, I did not care.

Jim was in his office when I came in later that day.

Please buy me an apartment in Orlando.

He slowly moved his gaze from the laptop, dark eyes and relentless calmness. – Why Orlando?

The energy of the big city, I want to feel it through my skin.

I want to feel you.

 – We broke up, it is over

 – And you really think I am stupid enough to keep investing in you?

 – I believe in miracles. It never hurts to ask.

 – Come back, and we will see.

No.

 – Than go home and let me work.

His secretary knocked, I let her in. She was carrying a huge fruit basket, I helped her put it on the desk and took an apple. I was ready to leave.

You asked me about my pride, Vixen, – Jim’s voice stopped me at the door. I turned around, I was curious. – I have none.

 – Me too, Jim, I am a sub.

 – I know. We match, we could do good together.

 – Buy me an apartment.

 – Take the fruit basket home.  

The fruits were yummy, I ate them later on the beach smelling the ocean and listening to the seagulls. I had no pride, no identity, nothing. I did not exist, I felt happy.

crazy, happiness, health, life, mind, psychology, relationships

Dead-end, Endless Mind Games

beautiful-2405131_1920

The dead-end was everywhere. Everywhere she went, everyone she met, every life situation she faced was infused with the gloom of hopelessness and despair.

In relations, in career, at school, and with friends, she felt the doors kept slamming in her face or even worse, she saw no doors, just the concrete wall, cold and unbreakable.

Her mornings felt greyish, by noon the depression gradually waned turning desperation into the slightly lighter afternoons when her mind started generating more and more new ideas how to break damn the wall, how to fight the dark endlessness, and to finally make a change in her life. She got involved in copious projects insanely wasting herself on buying stocks and selling lipsticks; her afternoons were the time she had sparkles of hope that she is moving somewhere temporary silencing the dead-end anguish.

Her evenings started with routine workouts and phone calls from men offering the sugar-baby fix: “How much do you need to leave your job and stay with me, hun? You and your son are pretty amazing, give me the number, and you will get paid as soon as you move in” .

  • It is crazy, you are crazy, – her body was shaking with tears and laughter. Small, pale, anorexically thin, showing ribs through nearly transparent skin. Anemic and unable to look through the dead-end. Desperate and distressed – the more she tried the less resolution she saw.

She knew that going to bed at night slightly hyper with new thoughts and ideas was a very temporary relief; since each morning began with falling into the gloom of a new depressive episode.

I tried to help. I tried to plant a seed of common sense in her hysterical, “I will NEVER EVER change anything in my life”. I gave her some reasoning, which I thought would work, but she was blind and deaf, totally married to her problems and obsessive about doing, doing, doing, acting, acting, acting to find the way-out.

It happened late in the afternoon when I left a beauty store absorbing Florida warmth with every cell of my body. I felt her in a usually strapless dress, holding a rose soup, and looking for the vehicle. Petite, nervous, and fearful. I suddenly realized that it does not make any sense to argue that the dead-end is only in her head; and that her frantic efforts to act are as illusory as the problem that she created.

I realized that she will always be here, scared, tiny, subservient and naïve. She is one of myriad personalities the mind creates on a daily basis; and proving to her that neither her dead-end, nor she exists is a waste of time and energy.

I got tired of reacting to her drama, enticing victimization, the infinite desire to resist and fight. Her presence did not bother me, I did not care.

I found the vehicle, put the scented soap on the front seat, and smiled to the rear-view mirror. I was not sure which personality I saw, but I did not care, it did not matter to me any longer.

 

happiness, health, life

Ignore Your Mind Games, Just Live

masks

 – I am tired of your games, – Jim was angry, I was quietly snacking on a pine apple.

Split personality, getting through my days under endlessly changing masks; altering the thought process based on the day of the week, on the frequency of sugar intake, and on the degree of the body dehydration. That was my way of living.

 – You are bi-polar and seriously psychotic, don’t you see? – Jim looked pissed. I kept licking the pine-apple juice off my fingers.

Unlike myself, Jim’s perception of the reality was consistent. His mindset was consistently locked in the world of profit and loss statements, dull numbers, and endless money-making. He was unable to grasp any diversion from the linear buying-cheap-selling-high approach.-

If you hate chaos, why are you still with me?

 – I like you, Vixen. I can be your sugar daddy, all I ask is your consistency, – He obviously loved what he called “craziness” and “psychosis”, – you need therapy and medication.

 – My therapist told me what you did to me when we met is rape.

 – Change your therapist, she is an idiot.

He was insistent on my mental diagnosis and on my inability to survive without his pervasive interference in my life.  – I am the most normal person you have ever met, Vixen. You have no idea how lucky you are that I am around. You are a very poor judge of character; people that you choose are really weird.

 – I know. – With time, I learned how to deal with my mind games; I knew that my mind gets me down throwing me into deadly hopelessness every Monday morning, every weekend without Greg, every failed job interview, every time my expectations do not match the reality.

The mind could spin relentlessly, sinking me in despair. I knew when panic attacks will return, I knew exactly what they will be about. I knew the first signs of mania, I knew when and how I will be kicked out of euphoria straight into the gloom and doom of the depressive episode.

At first, I was searching for the triggers to catch, to prevent, to cope, then I got bored and stopped wasting my time on digging into the crap of childhood traumas and heart-breaking love stories. I got tired of reacting to endless mind dramas, the mind repertoire was limited, dull, and nauseously primitive. I just kept doing what needed to be done without reacting to the hysteria of the tiny tape-recorder in my head.

I knew I was cuckoo, I did not care.

Jim was cuckoo too, he was stuck in solely one reality that his mind kept creating for him throughout his life. Fixated on success, unable to share, and mercilessly using others, he continued suffering every time his obsession with power and control broke against common sense. He kept picking up the tiny pieces of his illusions of strength and dominance, trying to clue them together and resume control, repeating the same break-and-repair insanity cycle over and over again.

 – Vixen, how many personalities do you have? I counted at least six.   

 – Millions or billions, whatever the mind creates, but I do not bother….

 – Why? – dark eyes, black hair, and Italian background, he was hot and charismatic, at least this is how my mind wanted me to perceive him.

 – I do not care because I do not exist, you do not exist either. And it really does not matter what the mind will want us to see and to feel as long as we use the mind as a tool, and we do not allow it to use us instead.

 

health

My Bodily Needs and My Mind


cd-cover-2978944_1920

 The only friend I can entirely trust is my body. Unlike the mind that drags me through a myriad of imaginary horrid to ecstatic life scenarios, the body never lies. The body is always real, it always stays with me here and now, the body is very articulate in expressing its likes and dislikes regardless of the societally imposed bullshit about the nutritional value of meat, sugar, salt, bread, and dairy.
 
The body will cry out loudly for the need to work out and to sleep at least 8 hours daily.  Even if its voice is temporary silenced by anti-depressants, energy drinks, antibiotics, and surgeries, the truth comes out sooner or later. We tend to panic when the body sends us signals in the form of sickness. Instead of putting our rat racing on hold and listen to the voice of our bodies, we desperately ask doctors for help, entirely ignoring that most of them literally fall apart under the burden of diagnoses and prescribed substances. Mentally and physically sick people who do not know how to take care of themselves claim that they know how to treat others. The matrix is ruthless in its insanity.
 
Suppressing the bodily needs is the most inhumane thing that most of us do going to work they hate, impressing people they do not know, and sleeping with someone without chemistry – Kids need both parents, two incomes are better than one, I must save the family at any cost and blah blah blah.
 
The mind is tricky, it only goes by what happened in the past; it offers the future based on the previously happened traumas. And we listen to it, turning our back on the reality that does not give a shit about hallucinations of our little broken tape recorder. We follow the mind, disregarding the bodily yells to stop and get real. We do not want to get real, we cannot get real associating ourselves with that little head device that tells us what to do and how things need to be done. Even when the reality smashes us with common sense, most of us do not get it and continue following the mind games over and over and over. All we get out of being slapped in the face is that we are victims. And we fall in love with our sufferings, traumas, and problems, proudly carrying the victim-status throughout the life. We cherish this shit, aggressively protecting it from common sense.
 
          We live in imaginary worlds created by our minds. Even if the body suffers, we are not willing to let go of the created illusions, Greg.
          Interesting, Vixen. But I still do not get how come that we do not exist.
          It does not matter
          What matters?
          Nothing really, our mind creates what is important what not, and we stupidly follow the created priorities. This makes us suffer
          Do I make you suffer, Vixen?
          Sometimes, when I appropriate the illusion that you are the most wonderful person in the world.