Tom and picking my
nails
I can be very self-destructive. I
admit- I'm not a poster child for "see, even healthy, normal
people are into BDSM." Tom could see this. Even living in a
coffeehouse as compared to me having been kicked out of college for having
a nervous breakdown and back at my parents' house, Tom had his act
together better than I did. There was much for him to work on; he did
pick his battles though. One thing he concentrated on was my nails. I
don't bite my nails; I pick at them. And I'll find a nail that's
longer than my fingertip and I'll pick and pick until I have enough
to rip. I've ripped serious enough to expose the quick. I will do
this in boredom sometimes, but when stressed, anxious is when I'll do
it and really hurt myself. I still pick sometimes, but rarely as bad
as I did before Tom focused his domming efforts to get me to stop.
One time, I picked my nails enough
that Tom punished me for it.
I'd gone back to the college to see
friends. I found out after the fact that various friends were trying
to find me, to warn me. I still have the dress- maybe some time I'll
put it on and post the picture so you all can see. Yes, it's pretty
revealing. I was made up, gothed up, in the dress. The trip to campus
security, the ticket written out saying that I was banned from the
grounds, trying to find a way home, finally finding a friend who was
heading towards Detroit and who would take me with her. I'm surprised
I didn't bloody any of my fingers; I had ripped so bad while in a
daze. It was a few days later that I managed to get to Gotham next. I
had a gift for Tom- I forget now what. But I told him, "I have a
gift for you, but it's entirely not meant to get me out of trouble
for what I have to admit." So I showed him the ticket and then I
showed him my hands; enough days for my ripping episode not to show
simply hadn't passed. He took the gift- damn, I wish I remember what
it was. Maybe I'd written something for him? He lead me away from the
bar, to the booths. With the handle of my leash, he gave my back
several swats- Shawn lectured him. Sure, I've gone through situations
as stressful, if not more so, since that day, but no, I've never
picked my nails enough to hurt myself like that since that day.
The Queen getting Vala
sober and eating again
In "Out of the Night: Book One,"
first things first- The Queen has to get Mearr medical attention, get
her sober, get her eating again. She's dangerously underweight. I
admit, you see most of her recovery in summary- Vala really didn't
want me sharing too many of those gory details and he allowed her to
give that stage direction. Amusingly, one reviewer who didn't
understand BDSM had expected me to show Vala at a 12 step meeting.
But during those six months that she didn't want shown, he had a lot
of work to do. Of course there was simply getting her detoxed, all
those chemicals cleared out of her body. She's still prone to falling
asleep, needing to takes naps- even more than two decades since the
last time I took cocaine, sometimes I need to nap like she does.
Eating again, now that's the scary thing. I'm not sure there's such a
thing as "too skinny" in an anorexic's mind- I know I never
found that as I was trying to figure out how to lose more weight when
I was already 30 pounds underweight- dangerously underweight. The
Queen would eat with Vala, tailoring the meal choices to her likes,
to what she needs (although I'm sure they'd both most enjoy her main
protein source being his cum). He would reward her for eating, for
asking for food. "Good girl." "I am pleased." I
know Simon would bring her teas- herbal teas, homeopathic teas,
different teas that contain just a bit of caffeine so she still has
that need carefully met, without her having the chance to indulge in
overstimulation. Of course, healing from either drug addiction or
anorexia are not overnight propositions- in "Gates of the
Garden: Book Two," you will see how he continues to care for
her. The mixture of eating from a bowl on the floor- during formal
meals- as well as more casual times of eating, learning to enjoy
eating again, however one is allowed to do so. Sometimes I wish I
hadn't gone vegan- I desperately miss my Master taking a bite of food
on His fork and feeding it to me.
Shaman getting me off
mini-thins
Beyond how Vala is based of my
struggles, I've shared directly about some of the difficulties in my
life. I just talked in depth a few days ago about how my first
marriage went wrong. Part of how I badly dealt with that was
mini-thins. Don't know what they are? More power to you! I wish I
didn't know what they were; I still miss them, every single day, and
it's been almost 13 years. A legal stimulant, I'm led to understand
that mini-thins were first marketed as an asthma drug, but they went
over-the-counter for some reason and people realized that they both
helped you stay awake and lose tons of weight. I know exactly where
to go to buy myself some- not all gas stations carry them like they
used to. But I know the twin thoughts of "Shaman will look at me
and know I'm on mini-thins" and "He struggled so hard to
get me off them the first time" keep me from getting in the car
and driving the 30 minutes to buy them. Well more than that, but on
bad days, it's only those thoughts that hold me.
A story told to me and a story to
balance...
Shaman and I'd gone to our friends'
Dana and Paul's. A fetish friend they knew from online was coming
over to visit. She seemed nice enough, but I must admit I don't
remember her too well. It was told me later that day that she'd been
rather confused that Shaman "allowed [me] to sleep when [I]
should have been taking care of Him." I forget who it was that
told me, but He explained, "When she's with me is one of the few
times she can get good sleep without worrying about who's watching
her son."
This also happened at Dana and Paul's.
Another visit, another day, I was fighting sleep. Sleep just wasn't a
good thing. I wanted to be awake, to please Shaman. He told me I
should rest, but, but... I took a mini-thin. Instantly, the
sensations rushed through my body. My brain felt so big, like my
skull couldn't possibly me big enough. And then my eyes opened wide.
I looked at Shaman; He knew, He wasn't happy, but He knew why I'd
disobeyed. However, like too much of that time in my life, I don't remember what He did, although maybe most importantly, I do remember His displeasure.
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