The urge to purge is there again.
Not food or possessions. But people. I slam my computer shut and take a deep breath. Must not run away. Must not run away.
He made me promise not to. Said it hurt him the last time. And I was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. I promised I would stay. So I would do it if it killed me.
I shove the computer in my bag. Fantasies of drowning myself in work for the next few days flutter through my mind. I want to hide. I want to go dark again.
I had a super stressful day today. People in my virtual community and in real life were testing my patience. Coupled with an emotionally charged fight I had with Husband the night before and I was done. Ready to retreat into myself and lick my wounds.
But that would mean not being available when my dominant got done working. It would make him worry. Then he’d be disappointed with me. So running is not an option.
I sigh. I don’t want to talk to Daddy. What would I say? What do you tell someone who holds that role in your life? How do I tell him what I need? What the hell is it that I need?
You need him to take control, a voice whispers. You need him to help you turn off your head so you can destress. I snort and sling my backpack over my shoulder before grabbing my purse. Destress. Yeah, right. You know I’m right. The voice sounds smug. You need him to take stock of what’s bothering you and solve the problem.
I shake my head. Nope. It’s not reasonable nor healthy to ask someone to take that on. What if he had a bad day? What if he was stressed?
It’s selfish. I can solve my own damn problems, I growl to myself. I don’t need help.
But I know that’s not true. Even the strongest superheroes rely on help every now and then. I toss my bags in my car and then climb in, turning on the heat. Leaning my head back against the seat headrest, I sigh.
Him telling me not to hide meant I was running out of unhealthy ways to deal with conflict and stress. There’s only so much chocolate to be had after all. Emotional eating can only be done in certain amounts.
It also meant that I was going to have to communicate my needs to him and hope he didn’t let me down. It meant that I was going to have to trust him.
I let out another sigh. Being a submissive is fucking hard.
It doesn’t work out. I’m terrified of being needy and my requests come off as demands. Not nice ones either.
He says I’m being defensive and standoffish. He’s right of course. Being defensive and standoffish is another defense mechanism. I apologize. You’re a bad submissive, the voice taunts. He’ll go away. You’ll lose your friend. It’s your fault that ex-Sir walked away. You’re damaged goods and he’ll figure that out soon.
There are tons of easier littles out there. Why he wants to continue with me is a mystery. I want to cry but fuck that. I go to bed instead.