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Mittwoch, 1. Juni 2016

I sometimes really wish this wasn't my favorite song - but then I close my eyes and every single line and every tune echoes within

Somehwere I Belong

(When this began)
I had nothing to say
And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me
(I was confused)
And I let it all out to find
That I'm not the only person with these things in mind
(Inside of me)
But all that they can see the words revealed
Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel
(Nothing to lose)
Just stuck, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own

I wanna heal, I wanna feel, what I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long
(Erase all the pain till it's gone)
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm close to something real
I wanna find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong

And I've got nothing to say
I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face
(I was confused)
Looking everywhere only to find
That it's not the way I have imagined it all in my mind
(So what am I)
What do I have but negativity
'Cause I can't justify the way everyone is looking at me
(Nothing to lose)
Nothing to gain, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own

I wanna heal, I wanna feel, what I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long
(Erase all the pain till it's gone)
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm close to something real
I wanna find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong

I will never know myself until I do this on my own
And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed
I will never be anything till I break away from me
I will break away, I'll find myself today

I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm somewhere I belong
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm somewhere I belong
Somewhere I belong

Dienstag, 17. Mai 2016

A little vent

Hey there,

I'm sorry. I gotta vent a bit. Just to get it off my chest.

So. I've moved back in with my father. That is slowly sinking in. And it sucks. Memories come back. Of me growing up. When I am in "my" living room (I actually got two rooms, so at least I have lots of space), I look at the corner and see my bed. And I see myself. Crying myself to sleep. I hear my thoughts of back then. "Just 6/5/4/3/2/1 more year/s and you'll be free. It's just eighteen years. Then you have a whole life in front of you. You can do this. You just have to live through x more years." 
I feel like the spoiled little daughter. I mean, after all, I don't have it so bad. I have a roof over my head. I am financially rather well-suited. I now live in a big house with a big lawn and a big TV. There are people out there who are going through a lot tougher shit. But still.
A talk with F brought up some of the memories I had carefully sealed in the back of my mind. I don't like walking down memory lane. I don't like how I actually took some reassurance in the fact that there are railroad tracks just some 300 feet from our house. That the possibility of ending my life was there, and that it calmed me down. I feel like the development that I fought my way through over the past couple of years is gone. Because I cannot be myself anymore. I have to fit in again. I have to pretend again.
In the past five years, and even more so in the past year, I've started to grow into the woman that I am. Going to munches and play parties has actually allowed me to embrace who I am. Yeah. I admit it - I am into protocol. I actually love kneeling in front of a Dom because it feels like it's the place I am ... complete. Content with myself and the world. I belong there. It makes me happy. I believe in the idea of collaring. A collar really means something to me, it's not an accessory. Now I have to hide my toys and parts of my wardrobe. I have to be careful what I talk about. What jokes I make. Have to watch my every sentence - and yeah, that actually is quite some effort. I grew used to having my own apartment where I could have the flyer to the next fetish party attached to my fridge, my toy box next to my bed, my corsets prominent in my closet. I came home - and I was home. Now I feel like a child again, like a visitor. Like someone with no say.

There was something next Sunday that I've been looking forward to for more than a month. And the closer my move got, the more important it got. My friends and I wanted to go to the BDSM studio nearby - it's a fucking great studio - and C wanted to come, too. I've really been looking forward to this. Not only for him to mingle with my friends, but also because it's a huge studio and I was sure that he'd lose his shyness and reluctancy and we'd actually play. 
But the reason why I love attending munches and play parties is not because of "just some fun" but because I can really be myself there. You don't have to pretend. As a vanilla, you can go to the movies or a restaurant or something - and you can show what kind of relationship you have. Being kinky, it's not so easy. At play parties, you actually don't have to pretend at all. You're welcome to kneel in front of someone. It's okay to wear a collar. Everyone understands.
So I was really looking forward to next Sunday. Because it was a place and time where I finally could be myself again. And now that's gone because C has to work. He forgot about it. Just forgot.
I try to take the drama out of it. I don't like drama. But I was supposed to go to his place tomorrow after work. And I just don't feel like seeing him. It hurts that he forgot. And it hurts that I lost that opportunity to be myself.

That's it. Just a short vent. Had to get that out of my system.
xoxo
Kiwi

Donnerstag, 12. Mai 2016

I am absolutely in love with that song and listen to it on repeat and have it stuck in my head and it's just a lovely song that I love love love love love


Don’t do as I have done
Win where I have lost
Have where I have none
Don’t let your demons drive
They’ll just steer you wrong
You won’t get out alive

Because you can’t unlive the pain
You can’t rewind to yesterday
You might never find your place
In the time that remains
So if tomorrow never comes
From living fast and dying young
I hope the best is yet to come
In the time that remains for you

Don’t get me wrong
The mistakes I’ve made along the way
Made me who I am today
The time is gonna come
You will wake up and realize
Just how fast your life goes by

Because you can’t unlive the pain
You can’t rewind to yesterday
You might never find your place
In the time that remains
So if tomorrow never comes
From living fast and dying young
I hope the best is yet to come
In the time that remains for you

Because you can’t unlive the pain
You can’t rewind to yesterday
You might never find your place
In the time that remains
So if tomorrow never comes
From living fast and dying young
I hope the best is yet to come
In the time that remains for you

The time that remains for you
For you
The time that remains
The time that remains

Mittwoch, 11. Mai 2016

Yet another insight. Or: Why I need to go hiking in Scotland

Hello there,

I've had another epiphany - I'm on a roll, am I not? (Slightly sarcastic here. And slightly not.)
It's been a long time that I've actually sat in front of my computer and typed this. I mostly blog via email these days because the need to write something down usually doesn't come over me when it suits me well. It either happens when I'm typing on my phone, or when I'm at work. The whole blogspot-interface looks unfamiliar by now.

So. Two things happened. And they came about in conversations with the two people that have the most insight into, well, me. M and F.
When M talked to me and told me that she didn't think that any sane and healthy person could fall for an eating disorder and that she could very well understand why I acted the way I did. Not only was that a huge relief - but it also got me thinking about how I've been around food and myself as a kid.
There's this book. Which is intended to help people overcome their eating disorder. But honestly, it's a huge motivation/thinspo/role model of how to really fuck up. "Wasted" by Marya Hornbacher (see an article here - an article that actually motivates me to get an updated edition, though the thought of re-reading it terrifies me because I know of the book's possibly triggering influence). Anyways. So there's this book. And it begins with a flashback. Marya at a very young age. I remember envying her. Having felt like that this early, and I only began developing my ED at 15-ish, 16. She was like the ideal - the role model, the idol - all that I wanted to be. (Yeah, we're going deep down into fucked-up-wonderland here.) And she had started so early! It was like her path had been laid out in front of her all along. And I struggled so hard to be fucked up. I could never be as sick as her. It was unfair, really, that I hadn't been ED'ed at a young age. - I really remember thinking and regretting that. M's words made me have a look at my childhood again. And there's some truth in her words.
But it needed another conversation with F to open my eyes. We weren't talking about anything of much substance. Like, only chatting - not touching issues on purpose. We were talking about a hiking tour that I wanted to do in September. Scotland. Now, I'm not much of an outdoor person. Like, I have my dog and I walk him and I enjoy walking him in the forest for two hours or so, but that's about it. I don't like camping much, I have no orientational skills whatsoever. I'm not too fond of nature, growing up in the city. Like, I don't panic when I see a spider, but I guess you get the idea. I'm also not really in shape. I'm also not extremely adventurous. Like I have to do this or that. All these new trending activities that apparently you have to do when you're in your twenties. Like surfing. Or hitch hiking. Or traveling with no plan where to go. I'm a boring person, to be honest. Or, let's phrase it somewhat positively: calm, reasonable, down to earth, content with my every day life.


But for a couple of months now I'm having this idea of hiking through the Scottish Highlands for a couple of days. On my own. Well, with my dog.
London has been some kind of trial for that. Of course, going to a city is quite different from the Scottish highlands, but still. I was there somewhat on my own. Well. With WhatsApp and my friends and a stuffed cow to take pictures with.
Anyways. We were talking about him teaching me how to read a map and use a compass, because I have no clue at all how that works. And we were joking. About how he really needs to teach me those skills or I might never come back. Now, I know that I'm not a quick learner when it comes to these skills. And I was jokingly asking him how big his wish was to hike through the Scottish Highlands (to guide me). And when he said that if we really got along as well in real life as we do online, then I could ask him again and maybe he'd say yes to accompanying me. That's when it really struck me that I needed to at least walk part of the way completely on my own. To really find my own way. To learn to listen to my body. Rest when I need rest, eat when I'm hungry, turn left when I feel like turning left. Camp on my own. Really be self-sufficient. Just me and nature.
I always knew that Scotland was a challenge that I needed to master. That it was something I have to do. But only by casually dropping the comment that I need this trip to learn to trust and rely upon my own body because I have never ever done so, I realized why I needed it so much.

Turns out I've been fucked up all my life. Oddly enough, this is some kind of relief. It lifts some of the guilt of enforcing my ED off my shoulders. I've always been estranged from my body. Always. Stories my parents used to tell me come to mind now.
I don't recall much of my childhood. I'm always impressed when people are able to tell you what they did with 6 years, or even last week. I have a bad memory when it comes to these things. Not that I don't pay attention, or that things are not important to me - I just tend to mix them up. Anyways. My parents like to tell me how when I was a toddler I would be really, really careful when getting into the sandbox. Other kids would run into it, sometimes falling face first into the sand. But I would walk to the edge of the sandbox, then turn around and, gripping the edge, first step into the box with one foot, then the next. And if I fell, I'd fall on my butt. - Sounds cute, doesn't it? Like a really, really careful child who doesn't want to get dirty. Who looks out for herself.
I think the reason for me acting that way is a different one. I think that I didn't trust my body. I think that I took the most "elegant" and careful way so as to not humiliate myself and because I didn't trust that I'd not fall on my face. That explanation just feels ... right. I'm not saying that I can recall climbing into that sandbox, hell, no. But I can see myself. And I just feel like that's the reason.
I also remember not climbing fences. Because I was afraid I wouldn't make it. I didn't trust my body enough to pull me up. I remember physical education. How I wouldn't do any of the more risky exercises. Like it took me weeks to dare to try the forward roll, and some more till I had enough courage to try the backward roll. Because I didn't trust my body that I could do it. As a teen, I took trampoline classes before I started playing Basketball. And I always sticked to the easy exercises because I didn't dare try a flip or something alike.
It all falls into place right now. All these memories. These little bits and pieces that I've never connected.
I don't think I ever thought of my body and mind as a unit. As belonging together. That my body is a part of me. And that I can rely upon it. That it'll carry me. That I can actually achieve something. On my own. It's sad, really.
But I've always been fucked up.

The bottom line is: I won't go hiking this September. I'll go next year, in May or something. I'll go hiking in Germany, and I'll try to get into shape to manage the Highlands. And while I don't fucking want to be alone for eight days or something, I also need to be alone for some days. Maybe a friend will accompany me for half of the way. I thought of combining two hiking tours. It's all just an idea so far. But one that needs to become reality. Soon.
I feel that I am getting closer to getting better. Somehow. Seeing these connections helps me understand and reflect and get better in the end. But if I ever want to become one, I need to learn to trust my body.

xoxo
Kiwi

Montag, 9. Mai 2016

Another brief remark

As much as I dread that I have to move back in with my father, as much as I'm afraid that it'll risk my mental health, that I'll transform back into the 16 year old girl who couldn't stand up for herself. As much as these fears haunt me - I'm also kind of glad. It may allow me to focus on establishing eating habits and routines again.
I developed me ED under that roof and I know that I can perfectly hide it. But it can't get as out of control as it does when you're the only one checking the fridge. And I also kind of feel that the identity thing set something in motion.

M said something ever so helpful. I was so afraid that other ED'ed people might judge me for actively jumping into this mess. But she said: "Healthy people see pro Ana and judge it for the bullshit that it is. But if there is already something wrong with you, if you already have a glitch in your brain, it seems appealing to you."
(Sorry, M, for raping your words like this. But they meant a lot to me!)

Moving my first things to my Dad's tomorrow.

xoxo
Kiwi

Sonntag, 8. Mai 2016

Just to clarify

I love the previously posted "manual" on how to love a broken girl. Every single line is true. Every goddamn line.
Everyone except one. I refuse to accept the term "broken". Yeah, I'm damaged goods. There's parts of me that might never heal and that might be mended but not completely. Linkin Park has a wonderful phrase for that: when the paper's crumpled up, it can't be perfect again.
But broken? I refuse to identify with that.
I felt it was somehow important I said that.

xoxo
Kiwi

How to love a broken girl

Hey there,

I just stumbled across this on FetLife. Someone there copied it from tumblr, so I have no idea where it comes from. But every single word is so true that I just have to post it here, too. 

How To Love A Broken Girl

How to love a broken girl. How many would benefit from an instruction book for that? Its easy to love the carefree girls, the "normal" girls, the confident girls next door, but what about the broken girls? The girls with fortresses around their heart and shields in their eyes? The girls whose souls have aged beyond their earthly years? The girls with bodies and minds that have survived wars which would break the strongest of men? Sometimes these girls should come with a warning label. The warning pendulum swings both ways. This warning is not only for how you must treat her but for all the ways she will ruin you.
1. You cannot love her gently. She does not realize she deserves to be loved. You must love her with a force that can crush mountains. You must burn her soul so hot with your love that doubt melts away. Your love must be unconditional and you must show her on her very worst days.
2. She doesnt know shes beautiful. She can get compliments all day and she wont believe it. There is a demon on her shoulder whispering that its not true. It takes a dozen compliments to erase one hurtful torment from her past. Shower her with compliments, be her cheerleader, until your words are her heartbeat instead of her doubts.
3. Chase her. I know we often have the attitude of not chasing anyone. I know it is said to be weak if we chase someone who walks away, but we need to see you are weak for us. Sometimes a broken girl needs to see how much you need her. She needs to.see that vulnerability in your eyes to feel ok. We need you to need us.
4. She needs routine. Broken girls over analyze everything. They notice everything, too. Did you stop asking her for pictures after some time passes? Did you stop using a pet name? Every broken pattern to us means the end of the only thing we have ever wanted and it terrifies us.
5. Smother us with affection. Touch us. Kiss us. Touch us some more. Broken girls have not experienced enough positive affection in their life. We will absorb every ounce as a person dying of thirst demands water. You cannot shower us with enough of a good touch.
6. Be honest and keep promises. Broken girls have not dared to dream much. Every vow made to us has been broken. Every promise has been a lie. We would rather you never let a promise escape your lips than have you utter false ones.
7. Prepare to drown. If we let you inside our chaotic soul, you will be immersed in a madness you will not understand. We sometimes walk the balance beam of insanity and sometimes we fall.
The biggest warning we should have is this.. if we love you, it is forever. We will love you with a loyalty that will amaze you. We will be committed and our heart will beat your name. While we are still broken we will try to devour all of your pain. We will be perceptive to your wounds and eager to heal your soul. If we love you, please be prepared that we will forever stay.

Freitag, 6. Mai 2016

The identity shell

Hello world,

Long time no see. And this post was actually not planned. I'm currently in London. Right now I am on my way to crystal palace. And it's really inconvenient - I don't want to deal with the kind of thoughts that I'm dealing with, yet once set in motion my "reflective brain" won't shut up. So I kind of have to face it. 
And it's all F's fault. Fault in a good way ^^
Some words to F because I haven't mentioned him yet. Part of me wants to refer to him as FF - I wonder if he gets the joke. Because I'm sure he is going to read these lines just as I know that M will read these lines. (M, I love you :-*) That is a really weird feeling, to know that this is going to be read by people, but at the same time it's really just for my sanity that I write this down. The fact that I am just walking and typing on my cell phone at the same time instead of taking in my surroundings and appreciating London kind of shows just how important this is to me. I really wish I could just press pause and not think about this until tomorrow when I'll be on the train for four to five hours - but sadly that's just not how it works. 
Uhm. But I was about to say something about F. I met him in a BDSM channel. Imagine me walking for a while without typing because I just don't know what to say. We've been chatting a lot throughout the last couple of days. He likes to remind me that we exchange up to 450 messages per day. So I'd say it's rather intense. Apparently he's read my complete blog or the majority of it. And he's rather sensitive and insightful and really helping. I like to mock him that he just has to help people - but I mean that in the most positive way. He's the kind of person who - up to a point of annoyance ^^ - asks those kind of questions that make you think and reflect and grow. Which is a pain in the ass. But also healthy and good and important and I'm really thankful for having met him. So that's the friend part. I'd lie if I'd say there wasn't a D/s part and that I wasn't interested or curious about playing at some point. Though I'm also already freaking out at the thought of meeting someone that I've exchanged so private thoughts with. That makes me really uncomfortable. While at the same time I want to meet him. It's ... weird. Awkward. Complicated. Whatever. 
Not the point of this post.  
So last night he was telling me about a friend of his with whom he had had a fallout. She's suffering under depression and some other mental health issues and she's been venting and whining and everything when chatting with him. Something that he's totally okay with for an amount of time. And I do believe that he's really the kind of person that you can call in the middle of the night when you're freaking out and just need someone at the other end of the line to listen to your thoughts or to tell you jokes or whatever it is that you need. After all, on some smaller level he's been that person for me already. Sometimes knowingly so, sometimes probably not. Not that I would've called him - I haven't yet. But - and this feels really weird - even though we know each other for a short time, he is one of those people who I consider messaging when I need company. Though mostly I still go with others because ... I'm uncomfortable accepting help or needing someone or burdening someone with me, basically. I'm much more comfortable turning to C - though I mostly then can 'just' distract myself from those thoughts instead of really coming closer to saving the issue. But I'm intimate with C. Sexually. Which makes it so much easier for me to accept his help or 'demand' some of his time. 
But I'm zoning out. 
So he told me about how frustrated he was with his friend because she was making unhealthy choices and even though he made several suggestions of what she could change to improve her situation, she wouldn't do any of it. And she was having suicidal thoughts. And I could hear his frustration and pain of watching someone close to him suffer and destroy her own life and he tried to help - but it was all in vain. 
At the same time I could see why she acted the way she did, though. I understood. I understand both him and her. And I tried to shred some light on her behavior for him. Not that I thought he really needed it - he's good at empathy and looking at situations from the other person's perspective. But still, I tried to explain because I'm similarly fucked up as his friend. Maybe I'm more 'lucky' to be rather reflective and to try to work through my issues or at least ... Well. I always at least try to understand why I am thinking or feeling the way that I am. Narrow it down. If I then want to or actually am able to solve it - that's not the point. But I like to know why I am as fucked up as I am and what made me be that way. And sometimes even what I can do to change it. 
Drifting again. 
So I told him about how she might - consciously or unconsciously - refuse to take his advice because she doesn't think she deserves to get better. I can relate to that thought. So very fucking much. We then drifted from her to me. 
And I made some discoveries. So far I only thought - or rather had the strength to admit - that I didn't want to see a shrink because of a) the reluctance to talk about my most inner thoughts with a professional, a stranger, and b) because deep down I didn't think I deserved happiness. That I didn't think I deserved to be well. And good. And not fucked up anymore. 
But there's actually a c. And it's a big C because it's most likely the real reason why I can't or won't change. And F made me see that. And he set the thoughts in motion so that I couldn't run away from that insight anymore. C) is, well, all about identity.  If you look back at the introduction in this blog, it says "hello, I'm a student, Wordie, etc etc etc - and I'm eating disordered". That issue is a big part of me. It's part of who I am. Part of my identity. For seven years. If I changed that - who am I then? What becomes of me? My eating disorder affects my daily life. So many things. It's a routine almost. It's ... Let's try and compare it to a dog. I'm a dog owner. It's part of who I am. And that dog is reason for a lot of missing out and a lot of work and a lot of misery, but that dog is also responsible for some good things. For having made friends - to mention Sam and Nasimyu here, or connecting with two of my dearest friends at the munches -, for some pride and a lot of positive things that are really hard for me to explain. I have some kind of love-hate relationship with this dog. And every morning I get up and walk him and feed him and cuddle him and spend time with him. Every day. For seven years. If that dog now died - even if it was a long process of going to the vet and having the opportunity of saying goodbye, or even if I decided to give that dog to another family to make this metaphor somewhat less cruel, even if I knew that the dog would be better off and that I would be better off without that dog, I would still get up in the morning and miss the routines. They'd just be gone. And what is there to fill that time? And if I met someone, I couldn't say then "Hi, I'm Kiwi and I'm a dog owner" because I am not anymore. 
And that fucking scares me. This uncertainty. This "who am I?" and "what comes next?"
That's how far F and I got last night before I shut down. It's really tough facing these inner processes and thoughts and everything. Especially without my real dog to cuddle with me and make me feel not so alone. And I just tried to run away from those thoughts and the conclusion because I just didn't want to face it. But - once set in motion - I couldn't run away. Even though I stopped messaging F, I pretty quickly came to what the issue really was. 
I remembered how I got my ED. And that is one of the toughest things for me to write down now. Actually ... I think I'm going to make a break here and run away from that confession some more and talk to M for a while to procrastinate. 
...
Alright. Talking to M didn't work out because she's at work. But I distracted myself some by talking to another friend about a guy who's messaging lots of girls in my FL friends list and who apparently doesn't consider that we - subs especially - talk. And that if someone strikes one as weird, the others are going to listen to that person. And that if one - me, in this case - invites that other person to munches for several times and really tells him about all the different munches and stuff, but he never shows up, that it'll strike the others as weird too, if they give him the same speech. That guy apparently needs someone to babysit him and take him by the hand and talk him through a munch. But none of us is willing to do that. We are all like "if he shows up we are happy to talk to him, answer questions and stuff, but he is not going to get us to date him privately and show him the ropes and go to him to a munch together". 
But enough on that. Enough procrastinating. The more I prolong this and keep running away, the harder it'll get. 
So. I remembered how I got my ED. I mean, I've been ED'ed the majority of my life. But rather in the common way of having food as a substitute for love and affection. I've always been chubby (now chubby is a real euphemism for my weight haha) and I actually can't remember a time in my life that I haven't tried to drop weight. Even as a kid. I remember lots of diets, lots of unhappy mirror moments. And I remember a lot of lines my Dad dropped on me that just made it worse. I don't want to blame him here. It's not solely his fault. This is merely me analyzing why I've become this way. Without much judgement. I let go of my anger a long time ago. And it's really not like he did it on purpose. I don't think. 
So. I cannot recall what he said exactly. But I knew that he disapproved of me eating sweets and everything - which on the one hand I did to fill this emptiness and to feel better and to, well, be loved (this is a common human behavior, right?) and then, on the other hand, I did it to kind of ... Well. In the sense of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He told me it was bad to eat sweets and that I was stupid and chubby and fat and whatnot - so I behaved in a way that proved him right. I became the worst person that he projected on me because he already showed me the worst image of myself. And he was my father and if he already didn't love me because of what he THOUGHT I was, I could just as well be that person. When someone tells you how little you're worth, well, then you might as well become that person. There's no use, really, because you can do what you wish - you're not going to change the picture that person has of you. I don't think I have to mention how fatal that is when it comes to the relationship of a child with its parents. 
So I probably always was ... not healthy around food. But a lot of kids have that. And even though it's not good, it's by far not as fucked up as a "real" eating disorder. Real as in ... worse. 
When I developed my "real" ED (and here I mean the one that orientates towards anorexia as opposed to just a disordered relationship to food), I was with my boyfriend. I was chubby. But that was it. I was 16. Trying to figure out the person that I was and wanted to be and become. Looking for my identity. And even though I was already not "normal" around food, I remember this documentary that my ex and I watched on television. I can really still see us. I know he was on the couch and I was in the kitchen. 
- I am listening to music on shuffle and "The Real You" is just playing, by Three Days Grace. How fucking fitting. Listen to that song, it's so fucking awesome. I know it'd be healthier to be self sufficient enough to not need another person to tell you that you're fine the way you are ... But ... Ugh. That song is just ... Anyways. Drifting again. -
So there was this documentary on anorexic girls. On a movement called Pro Ana. Girls who supported each other in dropping weight unhealthily, who were Pro Anorexia. And how dangerous all that was. 
I'm ashamed to confess all this. Just by the way. 
I remember firing up my laptop and googling one of the online communities mentioned in the documentary. Signing in. Introducing myself. Wanting to be part of that. WANTING to be eating disordered. As some kind of diet. Completely underestimating the danger and the impact that an ED has on your life. But also ... Wanting to be sick. As a cry for help and attention. And affection. Now I see: it was some kind of identity I could take on. 
I remember my frustration when I got denied access to the community because the girls felt that I wasn't really ED'ed. They advised me to stop  to pursue down that path, get help and drop weight healthily. They were doing the fucking right thing. But it only encouraged me to do more research and really become ED'ed. Up to the point where I really developed an ED. Throughout the years I founded my own online community. And I helped other girls. And I denied others access just like I had been denied access. It's a weird world that I got sucked into. And that I loved. It's really hard to explain. But you look out for each other. You really do. You know what the other is going through and you try to help as best as possible. You can't be gentle to your own body because you despise it. You can't love yourself. But you can love others. You can tell them they deserve better. Or you can help them achieve goals. Though it's highly unhealthy, also a lot good comes from it. 
It was a lot of time and nerves that I invested in those online communities. My ex was strictly forbidden to access my computer. I told him a girl needed some secrets. He knew I was leading a forum but he thought it was for girls only. He didn't know it was solely about EDs. He knew I was on a diet constantly and even to some level how poorly I felt about my own body, but he never saw how bad it was. Now, don't be like "he must've been blind" or something. We are really cunning when it comes to disguising that kind of behavior. When you're ED'ed, you see when another one is the same, you kind of recognize your own behavior in them. But to someone who doesn't know what signs to look for ... It's not his fault at all he never saw it. 
There was so much stress - I won't go into detail now because it's really a fucking long story - that one night I couldn't sleep. And I took my phone. And I deleted the website. The community. And I slept like a baby afterwards. This weight had been lifted off my shoulders. 
I woke up to a lot of messages of the other girls in the community wondering what had happened. I told them it was a cyber attack. I was sorry that I had taken that safe haven from them. I really, really was. I knew how terrible it was to lose it. We've been hacked several times before. It was always horrible. But I also knew that it was the only thing that was healthy for me back then. The best decision I had made in a long time. 
I focused on getting better then. I started eating according to weight watchers. I really got better. I had some setbacks. But I dropped weight. Healthily. I started to be proud of my achievements. I got better. Really. 
And then I broke up with my boyfriend. After such a long time, I wasn't only dealing with the emotional stress of being single, the pressure of suddenly having to compare myself to other girls again on the "single market", a scene that is  focused on sexuality and looks and your outer appearance. I was also confronted with myself again. Who was I? When you're suddenly single again, you have the great opportunity to focus on yourself again. No compromises. Do what YOU want. Find out who YOU are. Work towards becoming the person YOU want to be again. 
But whilst this is a great opportunity, it's also a lot of pressure and stress. Just imagine dating someone. "So, Kiwi, what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?" - "I have a dog. I like to read. Music." You end up sounding like the most boring person on the planet. Especially when you're taking to guys who like hitch hiking and surfing (that seems to be the new default hobby) and have travelled to 300 countries already. And you're like "well, I've been in a relationship for 7 years". I started seeing a lot of mistakes I made. But that's fine. I don't regret the time. I intend on learning from them for the next relationship(s). 
But suddenly I was back to being the 16 year old girl that I was before my ex. Not all the way through. I was more independent of my father. I wasn't that convinced of my worthlessness than I was with 16. Things like that. Of course I had grown and developed and everything. But I was again confronted with that identity crisis. And I jumped back to someone that I was for a long time. "Hi, I'm Kiwi and I'm eating disordered." And I was both taking on that identity actively again and falling back into old habits and routines and patterns. 
Long story short: i think my ED was once and is now again an identity shell that I am "wearing" so as to not have to figure out who else I am or might be. 
That's the first insight. It's a long way now of really figuring out all the details. And an even longer way of taking little steps towards getting better. I guess one major thing would be to no longer introduce myself as ED'ed person. Which is so contradictory because I have just let myself accept that it's a part of me and that I'm never going to be another person. Not meant as in that I won't ever change but that my past is MY past and I won't ever wake up being someone else. So I mean this in a positive accepting way. 
So. I think a healthy thing to do now is both accepting my ED as part of me and stopping to identify as an ED'ed. 
I have a lot of figuring out to do. Perfect for a day in London, huh? 
I feel that this post is long enough already, and to be honest, I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm done reflecting for now. But I also know that this is just the beginning of a long process which will consume a lot of time and nerves. I hope I'll be ready for it. 

xoxo
Kiwi

Mittwoch, 27. April 2016

the real you


Three Days Grace | The Real You

I will never give up on you
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do
I do
I will never give up on you
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do
I do

And I'll Show you the road to follow
I'll keep you safe till tomorrow
I'll pull you away from sorrow
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do

If you're the one, to run, to run;
I'll be the one, the one, you run to!
If you're the one, to run, to run;
I'll be the one, the one, you run to!

I will never give up on you
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do
I do
I will never give up on you
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do
I do

And it seems like I've known you forever
I'll keep you safe for one more night
Need you to know that it's all right
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do
I do

If you're the one, to run, to run;
I'll be the one, the one, you run to!
You're not the only lonely one
I see the real you
Even if you don't I do
(I do, I do, I do)

Mittwoch, 20. April 2016

It is ...

... amazing how your life can fall apart within a couple of days after you so carefully build it up again.
I honestly don't have the strength to explain right now. I really don't. I just wanna curl up and run away from everything.
Life might take a turn for the worse, worse, worse - and the decision is not in my hands. I know within a couple of hours. I hope.

Samstag, 9. April 2016

I don't know ...

... why I miss Him so much, but I do.
AD, I miss you.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get some sort of closure. Probably not. And I have no idea how these wounds are ever supposed to heal without that.

I still can't make sense of what happened. And what's worse of all, I miss Him. I really do. Not because I'm lacking people in my life. I just miss Him. And I wish I had a way to talk to Him. Just once.

Dienstag, 5. April 2016

Flawed

We all know it: I'm flawed. I'm eating disordered. I got beaten up growing up. My self-esteem is somewhere at minus three thousand. Stuff like that.

But there's one thing that flaws me all the more, but I haven't confessed it yet. Because I am ashamed.

I'm a freak. A freak who doesn't know her own body. And who feels unbelievably stupid for it.

 

I don't really know where to begin. Back when I was about to have sex for the first time? One and a half years into my relationship? When I ended things and started discussing scenes with Doms? Or last Friday, when I broke down during play with C and started crying uncontrollably?

I think I may as well start at the very beginning.

 

You know how there's this big discussion about the G-spot, right? Does it exist? If so, where is it? Does every woman have it? But there's never been a discussion about the female orgasm. It's a thing. Women cum, too. Some squirm, some don't – but they do have orgasms. If penetrated in the right way and given the security for her to let go mentally, too, women cum – most of them do.

I don't. At least: I don't think so. And that's the humiliating part. What does an orgasm feel like? How do I know it's there? I am fucking 23 years old and I have no goddamn clue. I'm a freak. I don't know anything about my body at all, apparently.

 

I remember being sixteen, walking to the park. It's one of those rare situations of my childhood that I really remember clearly, though at 16 one probably isn't considered a child anymore. Anyways. I was on the phone with my best friend (of that time) who lives in Berlin and who had a boyfriend and who had had sex. She told me how her guy could arouse her to a certain point but that was it. How she was not able to orgasm. How it built up and up and up and then no further. I was still a virgin, so I found it all pretty fascinating stuff. A couple of weeks later she called me, having had her first orgasm. And a couple of months later she told me she was able to cum when someone licked her earlobe. Erogenous zones, I guess.

 

I guess that description of being aroused to a certain point but no further kind of stuck with me. Sex with my ex was awful. Well. Okay, that doesn't do him justice. He tried. He really did. But he finished after a few minutes. And he just didn't know how to use his hands or tongue. Being naturally shy and submissive, I just cannot ask for anything. So for six years and a few months, his tongue had not really touched me. I shrugged it off – if I was him, I wouldn't wanna have my tongue down there, too. If he didn't like it, I wouldn't ask for it. It was awkward enough that after 6 years, he still needed help „finding the hole". I felt like an alien. And when his fingers touched me, he sometimes did a good job, but most of the time it wasn't all too pleasing. Because he started fine but kept repeating the same movement over and over again until it hurt. – Am I weird that it starts hurting at some point? Hell, I don't know. He also never seemed to get a grasp of the fact that it's not fucking pleasant to rub my clit with sanddry fingers. There's a reason women get wet.

Anyways. I remember our frustration in the beginning. When we were so fiercely in love and full of passion. When we had sex every time we saw each other. I remember how he was frustrated that he finished to early and that I never had an orgasm. I remember smiling and telling him it was alright (though it wasn't) and that we had all the time in the world. I remember how he was afraid I might seek sexual pleasure elsewhere if he wasn't able to do the job. „I'd never do that. I'm not unfaithful!", I said. „Don't worry, hun, I'm not going to break up because of this." And jokingly I added: „I give you another two years. If I didn't cum after three years of having had sex, then that's it."

I broke up after six and a half years. And sex was one of the major reasons. It's easier to tell myself that it's because of his poor performance that I never came, but I don't think it's the whole story. I still think that it's his fault for the most part, because even for vanilla sex, it was not good. Another huge part, of course, was the fact that I discovered what I was really into and desired and that he just wasn't dominant enough to fulfill me in that regard.

Know your own body. Know what pleases you before another one will ever be able to please you. That's what they tell you. When I tell a friend I never had an orgasm, the first question that comes is „Not even when you touch yourself?". „No", I answer then, „but it's extremely different from when someone else touches me." Of course it's pleasant and pleasing – but it's far from breathtaking. My hips don't start shaking, my breath hardly accelerates. It's ... fine. But it's far from what it feels like when another person touches me, plays with me, teases me. So I gave up on that. I even gave up on the whole orgasm issue itself.

 

About 2% of all women can't cum biologically. Their bodies are just not able to. Am I among those 2%? Or have I just not managed „yet"? Or maybe, did I cum and just not realize it? I feel ... so dumb. Like Jon Snow. I know nothing. Not even how to touch my own body. It's humiliating.

 

I love how open the BDSM lifestyle is. There's rarely something that's not accepted. You are the way you are. AD did a great job building my confidence in that regard. Faust, my first online Dom with whom it didn't work out at all, so we gave up after a few days (I was so new and so eager to try that I didn't see the signs that we weren't suited for each other at all), he once said something which I really took to heart and still would love to live according to: „Forget about the whole orgasm issue. It's clear you're having fun even though you do not cum, so let's focus on enhancing the fun without the pressure of an orgasm hanging over our heads." – And it's just what I'd love to do. But as open as the lifestyle is, there's still some kind of fixation on orgasms. I haven't met a single Dom (except Faust and AD) who didn't focus on it. Orgasm control is such a common thing among D/s folks. I'd make it a hard limit, but I'm scared of the message that might send. „So she doesn't want me to control her orgasms, she's no true sub" or „So she can't give up on orgasms?" anything along those lines. Messages that are so far from the truth. I'd be easy to make it an hard limit, but I'm sure it'd immediately be a topic of discussion with everyone. I can by now almost admit easily that belts are a hard limit because my Dad used to hit me with a belt (this one sentence alone sends me shaking) – I now see that it's important for potential play partners to know about my past and that physical pain might result in me slipping mentally back into a place I don't ever want to go back to. It was not my fault that he hit me. It's his fault. No matter how difficult a child I was, it's no justification for physical violence. – But not knowing your own body? That's just humiliating.

Or, and that's even worse, I think, guys get this ... ambitious focus. „She's not had an orgasm because she's not met the right one who knew how to please her – well, now I'm here." With all the issues with my own body I have, guys still believe that I'm able to let go the first time I am with them, let myself fall enough to be able to cum. It's one of those things that I know from friends that even those who cum mostly need a few times with a new man to be able to relax. The bigger the issues with themselves, the longer they need. Being a submissive and a pleaser, it's hard for me to disappoint guys. „Did you cum?" – one of the hardest questions for me to answer. I'd love to say „no, I didn't, but it was still great" – but most men don't hear the last part of that answer.

First time I played with B, he used a magic wand. And it was ... great. Beyond words. I was so exhausted afterwards, it hurt and was pleasant at the same time. It was just sooo good. He was like „so, how many orgasms did you have? Four? Five?", and I just smiled and didn't answer. „Ha, so you stopped counting!" I let him believe that. Truth is that I'm still not sure I came. Sure, it was awesome. But ... how do I know that I had an orgasm? I tried googling it. That's really humiliating, isn't it? And most answers go like „if you ask yourself, then you didn't have an orgasm" or „you just know". Which leads me to believe that I didn't cum. But hell, what do I know?

T knew about the whole orgasm thing. The one and only time we played, he used a vibrator to stimulate my clit, and my hips shook and it was nice (though not as good as with B) – but that was it. Mid-session he said „it's really hard to please you" and he could've stopped right there because after that I just felt awfully awkward and wanted him to stop. I don't want it to be „work" in the sense of being „hard work" that the man doesn't enjoy. And fucking hell, if I feel that the guy is focused on making me orgasm, it takes the fun out of it for me. Because I know I won't be able to give him what he seeks. And being submissive, it's fucking hard to know that.

 

When C and I discussed playing, I told him that I did not want him to focus on orgasms. I'm not sure I told him about not having had one, I think I did, though. I think I even told him that B was sure I had had one, but that I wasn't so certain. He said he wouldn't focus on it and that he gave up on it anyways because women were just too good at faking.

I was relieved. And he knows how to touch me. He gets better at it each time we play. Makes my hips shaky and me whimper and everything. Three weeks ago, after sex, he asked: „So did it work?" – and I froze. I was pretty sure I didn't have an orgasm. Yet it was still great. I shook my head. Later, I texted him to please not ask that. To let go of it. Two weeks ago, the next time we played and had sex, he played with my boobs and lead my hands to my crotch to play with myself. It's something I've always been afraid of – have someone watch me masturbate. This is a hilarious thought, I know, but what if he thought I did it wrong? So I was reluctant but did it. When we discussed the scene (in texts, because it's so much easier for me), he said that he wanted me to ask next time. He had realized I was reluctant. And I was confused. Did he refer to cumming? (No, he can't. Because I didn't. Can he? We said we would drop the issue, didn't we?) Did he refer to masturbating? Why should I ask? It was his hand who led me to do it – nothing I wanted. So I asked him: „Ask for what?" – „You'll see."

Had he clearly said then what he meant, last week wouldn't have happened the way it did.

I had been cheeky and slightly disrespectful to provoke him to be more strict with me. And I got punished. It's a longer story, but I'll cut right to the core (this post is long and humiliating enough). After punishment, I apologized. And I was so very submissive mentally – it was awesome. It was this state of mind that I needed to be in, that I crave. This absolute weakness. I knelt, wearing a mask so that he could only see my lips. And he said he wanted to establish two rules. „The first rule: You ask for permission to cum."

I froze.

„Do you understand?"

I said nothing. I couldn't say anything. Had I not been wearing a mask, he probably would've been able to see the agony in my eyes. I wasn't able to say anything. Mentally, I was so submissive that I couldn't logically tell him it was against my limits. I couldn't say no to him either. But I also couldn't say yes because that'd be a straight lie. What if that shaking was an orgasm? What if I did cum? I had no fucking fuck clue how to influence that. IF that was an orgasm, I needed training! How could he ask that of me? I felt stupid and violated in my trust.

He misinterpreted my quietness. He thought I was challenging his rule. Being disobedient. And he started caning me.

After the first stroke, I began sobbing. By the time he hit me the third time, I was a little bundle, crying out loud. That's when he realized something was wrong. Stopped, wrapped me into a blanket and led me to the bed. He tried hugging me there, pulling me into his arms – but I pulled away. I felt betrayed. By him. Violated in my limits, in my trust. So extremely betrayed that he'd go for a limit in a situation of absolute devotion. And I knew that he didn't know what was going on. I could feel that he thought it was because of the pain and my father, because I had warned him that physical impact scenes might turn bad quickly when I had a mental relapse.

After a while he left me alone. Which made it worse. I didn't want to be in his arms, but I didn't want him gone, either. Yet I was unable to talk, sobbing heavily and feeling humiliated, betrayed, stupid, betrayed, naive, betrayed – and betrayed.

I calmed down slightly. Was able to talk myself into seeing it through his eyes. Remember that I trusted him. That he wasn't abusive. That it must've been a miscommunication. That he wouldn't violate my limits knowingly. That it was goddamn C I was talking about.

Objectively, I knew he didn't do it willingly. That he didn't know it was such an issue.

But subjectively ... the trust was gone.

 

I don't know how long I needed till I was able to get up, sit across from him. I knew I had to tell him what had really caused my breakdown. But the thought of having to say that oud loud just sent me crying harder. He had offered to leave beforehand. Big mistake. If you're a guy reading this – don't ever offer to leave in a situation like this. If she's crying, no matter how much you messed up, if she doesn't push you out the door, stay. Leaving makes it worse. He then asked if there was anything he could do. More tears. Then: „You can tell me what made you break your word."

It dawned upon him then. And he realized what the problem was. And we talked about it and he apologized and was startled and we kind of solved it. Or so I thought.

Until the next morning, after waking up and having a little fun, he asked „did it work?" again. And I'm extremely certain that it didn't. But by asking he ruined what he had really achieved, which was having me submit mentally again.

 

After he left, I texted him and told him to never ask that again. It's a couple of days later and we touched the topic a couple of times, and I explained to him why it was such an issue and he promised to never ever talk about it again. But ... I am not so sure yet. After all, I had asked him not to a couple of times before. Time will tell.

What kind of make me go soft, though, was that he texted me „you know, that wasn't easy for me either, seeing you like that. Unable to do anything." So I know it wasn't his goal, that he cares about and for me.

 

But still. I'm sick of the whole orgasm topic. So very sick.

The next post'll be on the first private play party that I attended (and had SO much fun at). But guess what topic haunted me there, too? Right. Orgasms.

 

Having reflected all that today, I'm seriously sick of sex. For the moment. Won't last long.

And sorry for the extremely long post. If anyone except my own personal stalker M read this far. (Yep, M, I am super humiliated and extremely ashamed by the fact that I know that you read all this.)

 

xoxo

Kiwi

Donnerstag, 31. März 2016

Le sigh

Hey world,

Life is an up and down these days. I'm just on the train, yet I made up my mind about something right now.
I do have a play partner now, C, and he's amazing. He knows what to say when and gives me the security I need. Yet it's not enough.
I gained so much weight since AD left and I can't seem to get a hold of myself. The more insecure I get, the more I turn to food. But it's more than that. I eat to punish myself for pretty much everything. Forced eating - ha ha. It's the other ugly side of my ED, the one you can't explain to anyone because it's just too sick.
I truly despise myself when I look in the mirror.
That's gotta change.
Reasonably, objectively, I know this is the worst decision ever, not healthy and it won't help me in the long run. But: I can't gain any more weight. So I'm gonna throw myself into the arms of my ED and starve myself. It's the only way I know right now how to cope and stop hating myself every single day.

I'm sorry.

Dienstag, 1. März 2016

This and that

Hello world,

so let's see what I have to cover in this post, so that I won't forget.
(1) My fallout with B.
(2) KinkyBeats and PPP.
(3) Food and playing.
(4) Clothes and food and shit.
I think that's about as close to an outline as it's gonna get. This is going to be one hell of a blog entry!

I removed the link to this blog from my FetLife. I got uncomfortable having strangers that I meet at munches read my most inner thoughts. When I put that link there, I never intended to get in touch with the local kink scene the way it's happening right now. To be honest, I never thought I'd ever get in touch with the scene as much as I do now. After all, I'm more of the shy type. But having made some friends (yes, M, that includes you - time to freak out that I mentioned you again :D) really helped. And it's just so much fun!
Another reason for me deleting that link from FL is that this blog was never intended to be read, really. Of course I feel unspeakably happy when I see comments by Sam or Nasimiyu (I can't believe you stuck around, and gosh, there are no words for how I felt when hearing from you!), but it's never been about that. The main reason has always been that I have a place to vent and whine, to make up my mind, reflect on things and thoughts and happenings. And because I like the layout :D
I don't remember exactly how B got to know about the blog, I somehow dropped a comment. I think it was because of that post where I mentioned him the other day. Anyways, my outline gives away: (1) My fallout with B. He asked me wether he could get the link and read it, and I told him exactly what I just said above: that he could, but it was never meant to be read. He asked why I didn't keep a diary instead. (Because I do not like diaries, because I love to integrate lyrics and whatnot here and have more options than I have with a diary, that's why. And because I've always been blogging one way or the other.) I thought back to what I had said the other day, how I couldn't go to B for help anymore because he wanted me to get professional help (which he, luckily, hasn't mentioned again ever since). And I started to worry about how he might react reading that. So I messaged him: "But please don't ever be mad at me for anything I write on there, okay?", being seriously concerned. His message back: "Okay, then let's see how much you vented and what bad things you said about me XD"
We got into a fight then. Because I told him that he was being insensitive. He tends to drop comments without thinking about them, without considering that they might hurt. And I was seriously worried he might be mad at me for talking my mind here. He told me I was being too touchy and that sometimes a dumb comment was just that: a dumb comment. Which I understand, he didn't intend to hurt me. Yet it doesn't change the fact that he's being insensitive dropping comments like that when someone voices a serious concern. When someone's deadly afraid of flying, you don't sit next to them on a plane joking about crashes. And from a friend who knows me and *should* know how hard it was for me to voice that concern, I expect some more sensibility. Just like I can't handle weight or food jokes from persons who know about my eating disorder. When I'm in a group of people who don't know about it and then someone drops a comment jokingly (like, move your fat ass out of the way or something along those lines - friendly banter), it hurts me but I swallow it and smile and pretend it didn't hurt me the way it did. Pretend I didn't have to tell myself that it was just a joke, one that the person would've made with anyone, no matter how skinny. But when someone from the inner circle says something like that, it hurts me all the more. Not because I think it's any more true then, not necessarily. But because that friend should know how it makes me feel - because I opened up and told them. There are times when I can shrug those comments off more easily than at other times, and right now I feel like that thick layer of protection skin is gone and at any scratch, I'm lying there raw open. Which B knew about. He knew I was on the edge, and yet he didn't care enough to think before dropping that comment. - Oh, and then he compared me to his ex. Which is about the worst you can do to a person, I think. So ... it feels like I lost a friend. At least momentarily. Something keeps me from messaging him - because I'd need help and I already struggle asking him for help or telling him how I'm feeling when we're at good terms. But now that we're not ... And I just don't know about the shopping trip we planned.

Here, (1) and (2) blend together nicely. I need an outfit for the Kinky Beats. Though right now I am actually at the point where I don't want to go anymore. But maybe I'll overcome that eventually, and then I need an outfit. I asked M to come with me, because she'd know how I feel trying on clothes that show more than they hide. I think I would've been comfortable with a corset. I like corsages, and a corset with a skirt would've worked for me. But she's traveling to London at the end of the week (lucky girl! I would've loved to go there in March, too, and then we could've gone to LAM together. But I didn't get any days off this month, so I'm probably going to go in May) and the one day we planned to go I was not feeling comfortable in my skin at all, so I better cancelled before I felt any more miserable in the changing room than I would've felt like already. I don't really want to go to look for an outfit alone, though, but I also didn't feel like taking one of my other friends with me because then I'd have to pretend and keep up the smile and I'd feel as horrific as I felt the other day with the latex dress. So I asked B if he could come and be there for me. And he agreed to travel all the way here just to help me out. Which I felt bad for already. But he once told me he was going to be there for me when I needed him, and I did need him. That was before our fallout, though. So I don't know if he's still planning on doing that, or if it's still on his mind, even. He may very well have forgotten all about it.
Moving on. Today I received the email - the tickets for the Private Play Party (PPP) can be purchased now! That's a party I am really looking forward to. It's a private event for kinky people aged 18 to 35 in a BDSM location. The furniture looks promising, I'm actually really curious about the cages! There's said to be real tasty food and non-alcoholic cocktails, and it's organized by one of the munches I attend, so I'll know quite some folks. Ready, M, for another paragraph you're mentioned in? Here you go! :D Because M told me about how great it was and she'll be going, too, along with other friends. I asked C if he wanted to come, and he told me he'd check until tonight if he was free that day. Not that I want to go with him as some sort of date-ish whatever, but it'd still be nice to have someone I can play with by my side :D Though I'd also be fine with "just" watching, seeing the location for the first time, talking and having a fun time.

(3) is closely linked to C. We joked around and somehow ended up talking about olives. Told him I didn't like them at all, which he teasingly commented with "Well, then I know what to do for punishment. Others go for a golden shower, I feed you olives." And while I appreciate the no golden shower policy (NOT my kink! :D), I told him that food was off the table. When being asked why, I told him one of the reasons: that I seriously didn't think one should play with food. Too much food goes to waste in Germany and other industrialized countries, and elsewhere people starve to death. How many animals die to end up as waste? That didn't give away, though, that it'd make me completely uncomfortable to not be able to decide or know when I'll eat what or how much. And then ... he asked about pet play. Treats are such a common thing. And I'd love to get some treats like chocolate ... but I also know that in the situation I'd panic. And that'd destroy the kitten headspace, I'd be all ED'ed again. I didn't know what to tell him - and luckily managed to postpone that discussion, saying I had to sleep over that decision. Luckily, he then said that he wasn't planning on a pet play session all too soon, so I got time to figure that out. Or let him in on the secret.
I'm not quite ready to tell him about my ED yet, though. He's nice enough, seems trustworthy - after all, I submit to him during sessions. But once people know, they watch me. They treat me differently. And the circle of those knowing is small. I'm not ready to let him in there just yet. Which makes me uncomfortable. Because I do submit, and he can't make the best decision based on an incomplete knowledge. He doesn't know what it feels like for me to be on display, how much I despise my body, how I constantly battle that voice that's telling me I'm not good enough. I feel bad for keeping that secret from him because at some point he may screw up and we'll suffer and it won't be his fault because he just couldn't have known.
So I am going to tell him. Soon-ish. Within the next couple of weeks. After we've played a few times and I know it's not a short time thing, once I know that we harmonize during play.

Which leaves me with one last topic to cover: (4) clothes and food and stuff. I'm going to keep this really brief because I feel bad enough about it and yet not bad enough to change it. I'm back to buying clothes one size smaller to motivate me. And to expecting inhumanely things from me. To plan calorie intakes below 1000 and fasts. I drink lots of black coffee ... because it's a natural laxative. *shrugs* It's the way it is. And I'm gonna tackle that another day.

xoxo
Kiwi


Dienstag, 23. Februar 2016

The image is gone

I don't know if it was me writing about it. I don't know if it was that friend of mine - whom I really need to give a name for to refer to her on this blog ... Hm. Let's call her M :) - So, I don't know if it was M telling me she could identify with what I had said, or telling me that she thinks there's something (ha, and I rarely dare to repeat her words here!) fragile and small about me, even though I'm taller than her. And while it's awkward that she knows, I'm also glad and thankful that she does.
It was probably a mix of all of the above. Most likely me not eating since Monday does play into there, too. And I'd worry about it not being healthy if I would be giving a shit. But I'm done with being responsible for now.
That's the bitter aftermath. Healthy or not, I'm feeling better about myself today. I can look in a mirror and not turn away - and I didn't even put up makeup this morning :D

And no worries - if anyone does worry - I am going to eat eventually. And I am going to fight my ED again, eventually. I just need some days off. If that makes any sense.

xoxo
Kiwi

Montag, 22. Februar 2016

The very worst of me

Hello there,

It feels weird blogging about this now, knowing that one of my friends does read my blog regularly. I try not to let that influence me, because the purpose of this blog has always been to help me. Vent, whine, reflect or make up my mind.
Today I have to release some pain. And while it helps me cope to write it all down, the mere act of putting it into words also makes it more real, and that hurts.

I had been looking forward to this weekend for several days, and all in all we had a blast. We went to a BDSM and pet play munch on Friday, then to a fetish store and a metal/rock/alternative party on Saturday, and I had my creative writing group over on Sunday.

At the fetish store, we urged a friend of mine to try on a red latex dress with a cleavage that can hardly be called a cleavage anymore. The neckline goes down to below her belly button. And she can totally pull it off! She looks amazing in it, but she needed some nudging and encouragement to try it on.
The thing is: she acted all coyly. But in my opinion, she was just shy and it was just that, an act. Like "I really want this but I'm too shy to admit it"-kind of thing. Which is fine - we all do it. And that's what friends are for. If she really hadn't wanted it, I'm not the one to push you. Nudge you out of your comfort zone, yeah, sure - but not push you out of it. And in the end, she spent more than 200€ on that latex dress - so I think it's fair to say that it was good to make her try it on.

But - it backfired. Because then my friends were all over me to try on one myself. Which I really didn't want to. Yet they told me not to be a chicken and that it was unfair to make her try one and not do it myself. They just meant it for the best. They really did. None of them could've known or even guessed what I was going through in that changing room. Or when they made me come out. Or, and worst of all, afterwards. And the shop owner, too, just wanted my best and she really tried. She told me that the next couple of days, if I didn't try a dress on, I'd be wondering what I would look like, if it would suit me - and that I should just do it. I really tried to avoid it - but in the end I had no choice but to try on a dress.
What the shop owner didn't know is that now I can't get that picture out of my head. And not in a good way. It haunts me. It inflicts pain on me on a physical level.
I tried on a black latex dress with a silver underbreast corset. And it just looked wrong. I can't even put it into words here, in my safe place and haven. I have no words for how horrible I felt. How I really had to pull myself together not to break down in that changing room, to keep up the smile for my friends. I just don't have the body for that kind of slim fit latex stuff.
I've always struggled with being ... big. Not just weight-wise, but also being tall. When you feel all small and fragile on the inside, it's hard to not have a body that matches that. I like cute and feminine dresses and I just found the courage to wear those last summer. I almost made piece with my body. Almost. But that latex dress just dashed all that. With one look, I suddenly felt appalled and disgusted again. The sudden wave of self-hatred that swept over me crushed me for good. It showed all the worst of me.
I looked like a person too big squeezed in a dress too tight. A person who obviously couldn't pull that off, yet tried to look sexy. A little girl trying to act grown up. And what bothers me, too, is that I looked dominant. I know I can be rather dominant sometimes (and I'm even considering trying to switch with a partner), but it's not something I have made piece with yet by far! And it's certainly not something I want to look like. I can't really explain it. But I felt like one of those people on trash TV who have absolutely no self-reflection whatsoever.
I'm really lacking the words to describe how I felt and why and what I looked like. It was just like my worst nightmare in one image. And that image keeps haunting me. I don't even remember the details, just that feeling when I looked at my reflection in the mirror. And how I had to try to joke around with my friends and thank the shop owner who really tried hard to compile an outfit and probably even did a great job. Had it been for someone else.

I had a hard time recovering from that. At the disco, I actually hid in the toilet to cry. Trying not to make a sound or smear my makeup or be gone too long. I feel guilty posting this right now, because that one friend who reads the blog also went partying with us. But in that club, I then excused myself, saying a friend needed my help, and ran off to sit in a corner and cope with that disgust that threatened to burry me. It was in that club that I worded the previous post. If I had had a knife there - I don't even want to go there. I tried to distract myself then. And luckily they played really good music, so after giving in to the thoughts for an hour or so, I was able to let it go for the moment and enjoy the rest of the night.

Yet, the image of myself in that dress, the very worst version of myself (and the voices of my friends telling me it looked good - somehow making it even worse), haunts me still. Last night, when walking the dog, I nearly broke down in the forrest.

I have hated my body all my life. But it's hardly ever manifested in physical pain. The level of disgust had hardly ever been high enough to make my lungs cry out in actual pain. For real. Produce a noise that mirrors what's going on inside.

And I can't eat. I just can't. I still have to find an outfit for that fetish party. And all I know is that I can't eat.

But: thanks Sam for that comment. You made me cry. And cry in a good way. I had no idea you were still reading my blog. But all the comforting words can't help me right now.
I have a friend who said whenever I need him, I should call for his help. I suck at asking for help, I just can't. So we even have our little joke of me just sending him an exclamation mark for when I'm bad and he knows. I did send him that exclamation mark in that club, and he tried to talk to me. But he urges me to see a shrink when I really don't want to and can't. It already took my everything to ask him for help, a friend that I trust and know and who basically had to tell me over and over again that he needs me to talk to him when I'm not good. But to seek professional help? Not only don't I want to talk about my struggles with strangers, it also kind of - and stupidly so - feels like failing.
And I know that I can't ever turn to him again for help because he doesn't get it. Which is okay. It's hard to get it when you don't know if from your own struggles. But I would've needed him to come over and hug me tight and let me cry and just not talk. Not try to talk reason into me when I'm already beyond good and bad, beyond madness and reason, beyond wisdom or practicality. Just that physical reassurance and a safe place to give in to my feelings without trying to talk them away.

xoxo
Kiwi

Samstag, 20. Februar 2016

This moment ...

... when you're out with friends and you just want to have a good time. But you can't stand the body you're trapped in. You want to take a knife and cut yourself out of this shell that's not you. And you wish you could just forget about it, but there's just not enough booze to keep those thoughts from entering. And you go to the restroom and hide the tears and rock back and forth and wish this wasn't you and you weren't stuck with this.

Donnerstag, 18. Februar 2016

The Little Things Give You Away


Water grey
Through the windows, up the stairs
Chilling rain
Like an ocean everywhere

Don't want to reach for me, do you?
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away
And now there will be no mistaking
The levees are breaking

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you
And six feet under water
I do

Hope decays
Generations disappear
Washed away
As a nation simply stares

Don't want to reach for me, do you?
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away
But now there will be no mistaking
The levees are breaking

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you
And six feet under water
I do

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you
And six feet under ground now
I
Now I do

Little things give you away
Little things give you away
Little things give you away
Little things give you away

All you've ever wanted (Little things give you away)
Was someone to truly look up to you (Little things give you away)
All you've ever wanted (Little things give you away)
Was someone to truly look up to you (Little things give you away)
All you've ever wanted (Little things give you away)
Was someone to truly look up to you (Little things give you away)
All you've ever wanted (Little things give you away)
Was someone to truly look up to you (Little things give you away)
All you've ever wanted (Little things give you away)
Was someone to truly look up to you (Little things give you away)
All you've ever wanted (Little things give you away)
Was someone to truly look up to you (Little things give you away)

Sonntag, 14. Februar 2016

Valentine's Day



My insides all turned to ash
So slow
And blew away as I collapsed
So cold
A black wind took them away
From sight
And held the darkness over day
That night

And the clouds above move closer
Looking so dissatisfied
But the heartless wind kept blowing, blowing

I used to be my own protection
But not now
'Cause my path has lost direction
Somehow
A black wind took you away
From sight
And held the darkness over day
That night

And the clouds above move closer
Looking so dissatisfied
And the ground below grew colder
As they put you down inside
But the heartless wind kept blowing, blowing

So now you're gone
And I was wrong
I never knew what it was like
To be alone

On a Valentine's day
On a Valentine's day
On a Valentine's day
On a Valentine's day

On a Valentine's day
(I used to be my own protection)
On a Valentine's day
(But not now)
On a Valentine's day
('Cause my mind has lost direction)
On a Valentine's day
(Somehow)

On a Valentine's day
(I used to be my own protection)
On a Valentine's day
(But not now)
On a Valentine's day
('Cause my mind has lost direction)
On a Valentine's day
(Somehow).

Freitag, 5. Februar 2016

Hall of Shame

I don't really want to post this, but I feel that I have to. So I am just going to.
My ED is really really bad right now. Like, really really bad. Completely out of control. And I have no idea how to get it back to how it was.
I've never purged. Whenever I had bulimia-like binges, I resisted the urge. I can recall one time when I knelt in front of my toilet and tried to, but couldn't. There are two reasons for why I never purged. On the one hand, it doesn't help much. Most of the calories are by then somehow in your system already, so that you just get rid of what's inside of your stomach. It's also extremely unhealthy and ruins your body and your oesophagus. The other reason - which is the more important one, because let's be honest, we're talking about being mentally fucked up here, who cares about health and reason then?! - is that I binge to punish myself. It's a lot more twisted than that, but it's basically some sort of punishment.
Long story short: I am so out of control that I knelt in front of my toilet again last week. I couldn't vomit, it just didn't work. Bulimics have more practice than I do. That's how bad it is.
I drink lots of black coffee. Because it's a natural laxative. I googled laxatives. I didn't buy any. Yet.

I'm super ashamed of how bad it is again. It's really fucking with me right now. One second I feel good, the next I don't. It's just ... so very much out of my control.

Donnerstag, 4. Februar 2016

I'm a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind

What is it about this BDSM lifestyle that makes people smooch my cheek and tell me how cute and innocently naive it is that I wanna be monogamous with someone?
Is it so weird that I want someone to take an interest in me - and not just my submission?
Is it so weird that I want someone to sweep me off my feet, make me feel loved and like a princess - before he fucks my brains out?
Yes. I'm a naively romantic bitch. It may even be childish. But how come that in vanilla world you fall in love, and here you get collared? If even that. Why can't we have both? Why is it hard to find a boyfriend, but have multiple people wanting to be your owner?
I love to play. I love how open most people in this lifestyle are. But why must we discuss kink before anything else?
Yes. I'm a naively romantic bitch. But I wanna wake up to good morning texts and close my eyes to goodnight ones. I want some innocence in between plugs and crops and blowjobs.
Why is kink always the center of attention? I want someone to make me happy. And happily fuck me to heaven then.
I want someone to make me unspeakably blissful before he does the unspeakable to me.
I want someone to fight for me as a girl - before he fights for me as a sub.

Is that so much to ask for? Am I entering the wrong lifestyle for that? Am I the only naively romantic chick out there?