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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

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