A part of my journey has been to attempting to determine how much of my kink is the result of past trauma, how much is natural to my existence, and how much is attached to my need to please.
The strange and beautiful truth is that all of them matter and none of them matter. I still take time to pontificate though.
Prior trauma in my life has altered how I interact with people. It would be non authentic for me to claim otherwise. I am the person that I am because of how I needed to evolve to survive. Some come to their maturity without trauma, I am not one of those people. If I were lying on your sofa I could tell you about my momma issues, and my daddy issues, and how bullying really fucks with the psyche of our youth. This is not a paid session though so I will skip at least some of that.
I can admit that the loss of my father in my life at such an early age altered how I reacted to me. I can admit that the abuse suffered at the hands of Bonnie altered how I reacted to people. I can admit that living a life mostly in solitary altered how I react to groups.
The trauma of my life created the bubble that I’ve lived in for most of my existence. It was only through the introduction of BDSM into my life that I allowed emotions to enter that bubble.
I took to it like a fish to water in part because it is natural to me, but mostly because it was the only way to feel. Without all of the trauma of the past I think I would eventually have come to this life. My vizion of sex, and relationships and existence has always been different so it is only logical that I would have sought out this peace. When I look to those around me in this life – yes there are those like me who have lived through trauma – there are also those who simply understand there is something else that can be, and should exist.
My need to please is as much a part of my Libra nature as it is the result of abandonment. It is the combination of those two that make me exceptional in what I do. I know that I am exceptional – what I don’t know is does my unique ability translate into something sustaining.
My love affair of BDSM has run parallel with my love affair with The Man. Even in the space we did not occupy together we seemed to always move towards the same place until our tangents connected again. Understanding that our paths are no longer intersecting leaves me in a place where despite my hunger, I must still question if this is who I am or if this is who He needed me to be for satisfaction.
That takes me to compulsion. What is it that compels me to remain in this place without the ying to my yang.
What I need in my life is the person who compels me to kneel in reality and in spirit. That happens so rarely for me one might wonder if it is St. Elmo’s Fire. I’ve learned that it is not something I can grow into. Reginald taught me that. I’ve learned that it is not something that I can fake. I’ve learned that to ignore it is painful. I’ve learned that I do not require that kind of pain…. I require else.
As I process my current compulsion with the very real understanding that this is only temporary I question if I will meet that compulsion again.
In 40 years of life and 15 years of BDSM the compulsion has happened twice. If I were into numbers I could break that down into some statistic that shows the rarity of the compulsion. Twice. Shit.
I know that I want the compulsion, more of it, but it is beyond my ability to manufacture it.
I find myself these days quietly operating in a familiar way but also in an unfamiliar place. My actions are second nature, and my requirements are as someone said: “right up your alley”. There are moments where it seems like nothing has changed at all except for the face that I look up to as I kneel.
I have changed though and that is what troubles me.
I am concerned that moving from perfection – to natural – will hinder me from growth. I am concerned that moving from perfection – to natural – will teach me to ignore other possibilities. I fear that moving from perfection – to natural – will throw up a barrier to the future and I will become static in my existence.
Very few people on this planet of seven billion plus get it right the first time. It took me a fair amount of time to get it right, and now right is gone. I wonder if reminding myself that right is gone is healthy or if it is preventing me from looking for right 2.0
I shed tears over the course of Weekend Reunion. Some were intentional others not so much. The unintentional tears were the most cleansing and give me hope – but the on purpose tears bring me back to the same spot. The spot that I still have not left since June.