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.

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

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)

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.

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.

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

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.