Contrary Action

That’s a tool we shrinkees learn early on — contrary action. You get a negative impulse, you counteract it with a positive action. You don’t feel like doing something that’s good for you, do it anyway. Do the contrary. For a contrarian such as myself, you’d think that would be a piece of cake. Not so, however.

So, I don’t feel like writing. Tough. I’m writing anyway. Because I need to.

I didn’t see ST on Monday night. I’ve had a bit of a wonky stomach on and off since last weekend, and on Monday when I tried to push through it at the gym, I got dizzy and broke out in a cold sweat. I knew something was off when the thought of lying on my belly and getting whaled on made me feel nauseated. So I cancelled. I didn’t cancel because I’ve been depressed, because I really did want to see him. Anyway, I had nothing else I felt like writing about, so I took a break.

Yesterday came and went. Despite the fact that I didn’t post my usual Monday night blog, it apparently didn’t register on the blogosphere radar. I got four messages asking where my post was and if I was OK. Four. Talk about humbling. Surprise, surprise — Erica isn’t the center of the universe.

So all day yesterday, I isolated. I didn’t tweet, post to FetLife or anything else. I thought, fuck ’em all. I could completely disappear and no one would notice or care. Familiar territory, one I’ve visited many times in my life.

That got old. REALLY quick. I never wanted children, so having an inner five-year-old got tiresome immediately. Isolating and withdrawing is my go-to mechanism, but time and again it has proven that it doesn’t work for me.

Last night on the phone with John, I said that I don’t know why I can’t break out of this loop. I am consciously aware of all the good things and good people in my life, and yet, all I seem to be able to do is focus on the negatives and the losses. I know I’m being ridiculous, I know that others are probably looking at me and wondering what I’m crying and whining about. So why can’t I just knock it off?

He said because that’s how you are. It’s what you do. You can’t help it.

Yeah, I guess.

I know one thing for sure. Beating myself up and saying I should be feeling this or that doesn’t work. And completely removing myself from everything doesn’t work either. So fuck it. I’m writing.

Recently on FetLife, someone posted a journal entry, a poem about her depression. It reminded me of something I’d written a couple of years ago; I think I posted it on my old MySpace blog, but I’m going to repost it now. She wrote of hating her depression; I chose to write of accepting it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I embrace it, perhaps it will settle down and leave me be for a while.

Guess I’m not going to get Chrossed this week. Oh well. I can’t always be entertaining, interesting or titillating. Sometimes, I’m just plain neurotic little me. But I’m here. I do not plan to disappear. It’s too lonely, even for me.

MESSAGE TO DEPRESSION

Hello, old friend
Been a while.
More time passes between your visits these days.
Sometimes, I even forget you’re out there.

But I know you wait for me.
Wait for a chink in my armor, for a weakened state.
Then you slip inside and make yourself at home, in your old familiar surroundings.

I feel you deep within my bones, weighing down my every step.
Sucking the color and light from my world.
Singing sad songs to me, telling me lies.

I look in the mirror, and I see you reflected there.

But you know what?
Your visits are shorter.

You may be strong-willed, but my will is stronger.

The love of my friends, the love I have for myself, is more powerful than your malevolent force.

I know I will never fully vanquish you.
You’re like a virus lying dormant, waiting for its host’s vulnerability.
But while you used to stay with me for months, for years, now your duration is merely a week or two, sometimes days. Or even hours.

Suddenly, a day goes by, and I realize I haven’t cried.
My bed once again becomes a vehicle for peaceful sleep, rather than a refuge from the world outside.
I remember that life is good.

So, while you’re here, enjoy yourself.
Come join me under the covers in the darkness.
But don’t get too comfortable.

Because you’ll be going. Soon.

Confession is good for the soul… right?

Last night, a special friend wrote to me and said she was sad on Thanksgiving Day, because she couldn’t be with everyone she cared about; they’d either died or gone away. I wrote back to her, saying I empathized, but I hoped she could focus on who is here now, because people come and go in our lives and if we spend our time missing the ones who are gone, we forget to appreciate the ones who are very much present.

It occurred to me after I hit Send that I need to take my own damned advice.

Confession time: I’m stuck in a depressive spiral, and have been for weeks. My weekends with John and Mondays with ST have been bright spots, but the rest of the time has been rather bleak. I have been crying every day and struggling to do even the simplest of routines. And I’m fucking sick of it.

Those of you who know me, know I have a lifelong bad habit. I have abandonment issues that run deeper than the oldest oak tree, and I don’t take losses well. When they happen, I fixate, and pretty soon, I’m missing everyone who’s ever gone out of my life. I’m feeling every slight and imagining the worst in all scenarios. It’s self-centered and I’m just so damn tired of my own head. But the insidious thing about depression is, I don’t have the energy to push myself forward, to do what I need to do to get OUT of my head. And so it goes.

I know everyone thinks I should go to see ST today. I would if I could. I just can’t get myself out today. He understands. I am there in spirit.

I have done all the things I can, used all the tools I have in my psyche. Reached out to others, showed an interest in what they’re doing today, sent wishes to loved ones. I know some people would say, “Get out of yourself and go volunteer in a soup kitchen.” Yes, that’s a good idea. But not something I’m capable of doing.

I’ve been down this spiral before, and I will come out, when I get good and sick and tired of being sick and tired. When I’m tired of shedding copious tears over people who aren’t shedding them for me. When I come back to reality and see that it’s not all about me.

Depression SUCKS.

I have an appointment with my gyno in a couple of weeks, just to check on things and see if some of this could be post-menopausal hormone hell. Chances are, though, that it isn’t. It’s just circumstances that triggered the demons.

Today, my apartment is quiet and peaceful. I am grateful for that. Whoever finally moved in next door hasn’t made a peep. The gym is closed, but I’m going to work out in the apartment gym and get some endorphins going. The Marx Brothers’ “A Night at the Opera” is on cable later. And I may not be feasting, but I did buy myself a piece of pumpkin pie for tonight. 🙂

So, I’m coming clean. All the sarcasm and jokes and spanky patter have been put aside for today — I’m admitting I’m scraping along the bottom and I’m tired of being there. I am going to come back up. Again.

Thanks, everyone, for putting up with me. Sending you all much love and best wishes, and yes, gratitude, on this holiday. For everyone who is dealing with pain and grief, I’ll share my favorite “ism,” once more: “The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy.”

Pre-Thanksgiving thoughts

Of top importance: ST’s dog is OK. He had a growth on his back that was increasing in size, but it turned out to be a benign tumor. He has a big incision and staples, but he will heal up just fine. And fortunately, the area is out of his reach so he can’t bite at it, so I guess he doesn’t have to wear one of those stupid head cone thingies. What a relief!

In other news, my third Spanking Court clip went up on the site yesterday. It’s been a while since we shot it, so it was fun to see and remember. Unfortunately, because of the camera angle this time, V’s head is cut off through most of it, so you don’t get to see his priceless facial reactions. But it’s still a lot of fun. I love the unexpected twist at the end. 😉

So… tomorrow is Thanksgiving. What is everyone doing? Who’s cooking? Who’s going out? Family? Friends?

All three of John’s siblings are going to other homes tomorrow, so no family gathering, thank you. However, John was the only one of the four to say, “Hey what about Mom?” I swear, they don’t deserve him. So, his little canyon area has this thing every year at TG and Xmas, where they have a potluck dinner for the neighborhood; he’s taking his mom to that. And fortunately, while he’s made it clear that I’m welcome to join them, he hasn’t pushed it. Let’s see: lots of people, mostly ones I don’t know. All crowded into a small space. Lots of noise. Nothing to do but eat, and babysit John’s mother. I love you, honey, but I’d rather suck down an arsenic and cyanide smoothie.

On the flip side, ST is having a quiet TG dinner at home and has invited me to join him and the furry invalid. If I were going to do anything, it would be that. But…I dunno. I’d like to BE there. But I don’t feel like going there, if that makes any sense. I don’t want to dress and put on makeup and fix my crazy hair and make the drive. I just don’t feel like it. Welcome to the life of a depressive isolator.

I actually have some work to do (yay!), and laundry as well. There are some good movies on Turner Classic Movies tomorrow. It’s probably going to be rainy. I think I will cozy up with sweats and fuzzy slippers and pretty much treat the day like Thursday.

However, in the spirit of thankfulness, I am grateful for the loved ones in my life. John, ST, my friends… you have expanded my curmudgeon’s little world and brought me much joy. I love you guys. Thank you.

Have a wonderful turkey day.

Mercy

I hear that’s a good movie. Never saw it, myself. Kathy Bates won the Best Actress Oscar for it. But that’s not what I’m going to talk about.


EDIT, 11/22: Aaaaaggggghhh! It’s just been brought to my attention that the name of the movie was Misery, not Mercy. Of course. I knew that. Chalk it up to being incredibly spacey last night. Sometimes, I try too hard to be clever and it backfires on me.

ST and I both had things on our minds tonight. We spent about a half-hour talking before we started to play, and I was up for a distraction and some fun.

We started out silly — actually, we were silly for a long time. I was challenging him as per usual.

“You just can’t keep your pants up, can you?”
“Not around YOU, I can’t!”
“Why? Am I that hot?”
“You’re full of hot air — does that count?”

He sent me to my bedroom to get the heart-shaped paddle. “And leave those pants down!”

“OK,” I said, leaving them down, but pulling up my panties.

“I said leave them down!”

“You said pants! Make up your mind!”

He had me OTK for a while, but then decided he liked me on my hands and knees. Figures.

I was NOT feeling the love…

Then it was time for the ottoman, where belt, strap and flogger commenced. Finally, I started to settle down. Stopped saying words and just made sounds. Got into the zone.

He gave me a long, hard flogging, interspersing the hard strikes with light, caressing slaps, keeping me wondering. It got progressively harder, and I struggled a little, but recovered each time. I wanted to go on.

I’m not sure what happened. Maybe my mind was askew tonight, because I was worried about something. Maybe it was the combination of hard AND fast. I’m not sure. But then he switched from the flogger to the heavy strap and really let me have it with that. Usually, I roll with that and am able to absorb it. Tonight, I couldn’t. My brain couldn’t process the pain fast enough and I wanted to scream to release, but of course I can’t scream here. So the pain had nowhere to go, and that inner battle started up.

Take it. I can’t. You have to. Don’t be a wuss. I can’t, I can’t. Just push through it, it’s almost over. NO.

“Mercy!” I cried. And of course, he stopped immediately.

I hate safe words. I hate using safe words. If I’m in a scene with a brute/jerk/Uber-Dom, then I refuse to use one, because my pride won’t allow him to see that he broke me. And if I’m playing with someone I care about, I don’t want to hurt his feelings or make him worry that he did something wrong. Either way, I feel like an ass if I mercy out.

But this was ST. I had nothing to prove to him. We were way beyond this kind of nonsense. So I said it.

He soothed me with lotion, rubbed my back, stroked my hair. He asked if I was OK, a couple of times. I assured him I was. He asked what had happened — was it the pain? Was it too intense? I said I didn’t know for certain. I just knew I’d gone as far as I could go, this time.

I apologized to him. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. I felt like I needed to, anyway. I wanted him to know for sure that it was me, not something he did wrong. I would never, ever want him to think he did anything bad to me.

Silly, stubborn pride. Erica must maintain her bionic reputation! Oh, bull.

After I calmed down, I felt fine. Relaxed. Sleepy, almost. My mind was quiet for the first time today. And if it was possible, I felt even closer to him than before. Because I was able to say mercy to him, when I can’t say it to anyone else.

“There is no such thing as a bad scene with you,” I told him. I meant it.

Please hold good thoughts. ST is bringing his dog in for a bit of surgery tomorrow. I know this time tomorrow night, he’ll feel very relieved and glad it’s done. So best wishes for his beautiful boy.

Hmmmm… I do believe he accidentally took my heart paddle with him. Don’t tell him I said so, but I hope he brings it back. 🙂

A happy post for a change

Happy Friday, everyone. In direct contrast to my last two cranky, Grinch-y posts, I’ve got some fun things to share today.

First, I have a new interview up on the blog Spank Place. If you haven’t seen this site, do check it out. Every month, Mark interviews someone in the scene, and I was very flattered when he asked me.

He made the effort to ask several questions specific to me, which I appreciated. One of them was “What is Spanking Court?”, so I was very happy to give them a big plug. He asked for a selection of pictures and so I sent him a head shot plus six random spanking shots. He put up five of the seven, so there’s a nice pictorial along with the interview. You can read it here.

And even better — I sort of got Double-Chrossed today. My Rough entry from Monday was included, plus my interview. Thank you, Mr. Chross! That does my little attention-whore heart good.

This was a weird week. I have been feeling especially square-peggish, and it seemed that wherever I went, cyber or real, I clashed with someone. On Twitter, someone jumped on my ass because she didn’t like something I posted. Yup, I said I didn’t like seeing Bible study posts on my FetLife feed, and she said I was judgmental. Oh, please! I wasn’t judging people who study the Bible. But some things just aren’t a good mix. Do you see me going to church study groups and talking about spanking, bondage and other forms of happy debauchery? Especially since most religious groups think people like us are going to fry in hell? Whatever.

Then on FetLife, I expressed some thoughts on a controversial topic and was laughed at by a condescending know-it-all. Frustrated, I went to the gym later that day to blow off some steam, and had a particularly unpleasant encounter with a pair of women in my class. They were making so much noise right behind me, talking and laughing, and I couldn’t concentrate on the really tough moves the teacher was putting us through. So I politely asked them (yes, I was polite) if they would please take it down a bit. Their response was to glare at me, then spend the rest of the class whispering and snickering behind me. I felt like I was back in grade school.

I came home thinking, Jeeeezus, I can’t get along with anyone. I really need my own island. Perhaps my own planet.

Then yesterday, I got a lovely present.

A while back, I had a correspondence with a young woman just breaking into the spanking scene. She had read my book and had many questions, so we passed some lengthy emails back and forth. After a while, she joined FetLife, and I’ve seen her bloom. She’s posting pictures, making friends, getting tons of comments, and it’s like watching a kid in a candy store. I was very happy for her.

Yesterday, she posted this on my wall:

Erica, just wanted to send you yet another quick soul-felt thank you. If it weren’t for you, I might never have started down this path of experiencing these things. You were so kind and gentle with me, right from the start, so willing to communicate so openly. Your kindness has opened so many doors for me. Thank you.

She may never fully comprehend how much that meant to me, and how timely it was. If I’d received this a year ago, I would have included it in my book. What a keeper.

Thank you, dear. Enjoy and embrace your journey. You have so many treats ahead of you.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

An addendum to last night’s post

Since my buddy Zelle posted three anti-Christmas links in comments last night, I was reminded about this bit of footage, the mother of all Grinch-y sentiments. And because I’m just in that kind of mood, I’m going to post it. If I don’t laugh, I cry. Laughing is more fun.

WARNING: This is RUDE. Please, if you do love Christmas, or you don’t like the f word, don’t watch this. But if you do, make sure you listen all the way to the end, after all the clapping. 🙂