It’s hard when Noah’s attempts to be cheerful feel like specific mindfucks. He is trying to not encourage me further down the spiral but it also seems like a denial of reality. Things are rough so let’s pretend this year didn’t happen. Maybe I’ll think back on it as a time when Noah was loving. Naw, I don’t think 2024 is going to have a rosy glow of being loved. It’s not like 2016 involved you feeling loved in the end even though my last date was in July. This year I haven’t had an official date. Just a rape where you hurt me afterwards and told me it was for my own good and you were going to keep doing it.
I don’t know when you plan to start hurting me periodically to require the fawn reaction from me, just to keep your feet wet, but I’m fucking freaked out.
Combine that with the fact that I’m sucking your dick every day and while you do massage me, positive sexual between us is mostly not happening. I show up and suck your dick and sometimes you come in my body without trying to make it nice for me.
I feel like a stupid fuckdoll. This is why I can’t live in Gunlandia. On a really freaked out day a gun to my face would be far too tempting.
I actually went to bed in something fun last night hoping Noah would find it and touch me at all in a way that doesn’t feel like clinical maintenance. He didn’t come to bed till super late then he never touched me at all. At some point I moved from the middle of the bed over to my side and grabbed my teddy and pulled the weighted blanket over me. It’s effectively a wall that creates a don’t-touch-me zone. I am not sure I’m going to bother coming to my bed tonight. This is making me feel like shit. I feel disgusting. I feel nauseated by who and what I am. I am pathetic.
I am angry with myself for seeking his touch as comfort because it is the only thing I’m allowed to have because I end up feeling worse about myself. I wish I didn’t want or need anyone. I wish I could fry my brain enough that I would never reach for another human being again. I’m so tired of feeling like this. This is my fucking mother. I have wanted to feel cared for and loved after being raped for my whole life and it hasn’t happened. This is yet another one. I feel disgusting and used. Dehumanised. I am not a human, I am just holes.
I feel like I want to scrape the flesh from my body. I should be in so much pain that I cannot form a coherent thought. That feels like justice.
I feel like I don’t deserve anything good and I should back out of all social engagements because I might talk to someone in the wrong tone of voice. I don’t want to be surprised by getting hurt after I enjoy talking to someone so I shouldn’t talk to anyone. That way when I am hurt to force a fawn reaction it won’t feel like retaliation. If I do nothing then it isn’t retaliation it is just the way my life works. It’s just the only thing I deserve.
I deserve pain. I deserve to be used, but only by the person who paid a lot of money for me–it’s not fair for him to share. I deserve nothing good but what he feels like letting me have. I’m not a real person I’m a thing. Maybe I deserve nothing at all. I’m in a lot of pain and I don’t see a way that it’s going to change. I’m scared. I’m sad. I feel like this is going to be what I get forever going forward. Be smaller. Want less. Don’t look for comfort. That’s for people.
God this feels so much like dealing with my mother. If I am not doing work why even allow me to be in a room with you. I feel dirty and defiled and like I cannot be cleaned. Some things can’t be fixed; they are just rubbish.
I feel like this assault is being treated like one of the many times I am just bad. I deserve every bad thing that happens around it because I am a disgusting whore who didn’t manage to get out of the room fast enough. I deserve as much punishment as I’ve gotten and a whole lifetime worth to follow. I have earned every mean and bad thing thing. It’s like I got the top prize in being a disgusting whore and instead of a teddy bear I get to be hurt for the rest of my life as a reminder that I’m not good for anything better. I was born to be holes. I was born to be disregarded and injured and damaged. I have no right to complain. My mouth is a hole for a cock, not for me to complain out of.
Just shut up you stupid bitch.
> He is trying to not encourage me further down the spiral but it also seems like a denial of reality.
Yeah. I’m not finding much middle ground where I can do well by you here. If I agree things are bad, it means you’re bad and I hate you. If I try to find a bright side, I’m gaslighting. Shutting up and not responding — which you have specifically told me is what you want — is letting you spiral.
There’s a ton here where everything I do is actively and specifically wrong. I don’t mean “you’re bad and making me wrong”. Things just suck. But again, if I acknowledge the bad, I’m making you bad, which is not at all my intent. This all sucks.
> I deserve to be used, but only by the person who paid a lot of money for me–it’s not fair for him to share.
I am genuinely sorry things haven’t worked out better for you with the Travel Boyfriend. I feel like I worked hard to suddenly expand my comfort zone a *lot* to try to let you have this… and instead it’s turning into how awful and territorial I am. I won’t rant about it, but… this, too, sucks. This, too, feels like we both tried really hard in good faith and things still didn’t go well.
I am sorry I didn’t notice last night. I was pretty wiped out from running and then kempo. I’m not sure I’d have been much fun.
I do not think you are bad. I was hurt by a lot of this too, and for some of it, I responded badly. I did. I am sorrier than I can ever say at how much this has hurt you. I don’t mean that as an apology, exactly. I haven’t figured out how to *stop* hurting you, so no apology I make now can count yet.
I wish I could promise to *not* hurt you in some of the big, obvious, voluntary ways. As you say, we’ve specifically negotiated an especially traumatic time for me to rape you next. I wasn’t sure that sounded like a good idea, and mentioned that maybe the rape-you-at-traumatic-times thing was doing more harm than good. And you told me that I wasn’t allowed to even *talk* about stopping it, that that was absolutely required.
I don’t have any idea what to do about a lot of this. Sometimes, in a small and selfish way, I wish that me hurting you and making you small would solve the problem. I *could* happily live a much smaller life with you. “In another life, I could have been very happy just doing laundry and taxes with you”. I’m doing a tiny bit of programming, but much less. I don’t exactly miss it. I just worry about trusting our support without keeping my hand in. It feels like an annoying distraction, not something I wish I had a lot more of.
I’m here with you. This is one of the harder times we’ve had. And I still wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Well, okay, I’d like to be at a different time and place with *you* when things were better. But other than that? I’m with you, and that’s where I want to be. I’ll stick around, and maybe we’ll get back to where that’s a good thing from your point of view.
No, I don’t mean we’ll look back on this with a rosy glow. I mean we’re magnificent bastards and we’re often proud of making it through very hard times. You are *my* magnificent bastard. I think it’s possible that we’ll come through this twitchy, traumatised and stronger.
That was the big problem with 2016. I feel like I came through it weaker. I continue to work on that.