So – with S the camera man today.

Training mainly – spent a lot of time bouncing between teacher and subject – hard space for the head to keep up with. Taught basic ties, flogging basics…

He did manage to trigger an anger response in me – a flash, that surprised us both.  “Stop fucking pulling my hair.”.  We talked after – well, he talked, I squirreled away as usual.  But that rage is there – just below the surface – hot, unfiltered and deep.  So deep.

I talked about the moral high ground being lonely – being isolated.  Being the place you can’t act from.  Whilst it gives you the security of not being able to be spoken about as a perpetrator, it does mean that there is a lot that gets buried.

I also told him about Sy.

Then I cried.

And now I still get teary – because he and every other fucking person around me tells me that I need to be able to be emotionally available with other people.  I do that and they leave.  I do that and they run screaming for the hills.  Or at least they do in my head.  And it is easier to hurt on my own terms than to add the hurt and the hands of someone else.  Because even with someone else, I’d blame me – I’d take all the responsibility because everyone else in the world is perfect and I’m the broken thing.

When Sy says to me that he will do anything – what is it that I want…. I swallow my actual answer.


Because if I ask him to stay and he says no I’ll know where I stand.  At least this way I’ll never know – never ask the question unless you already know the answer.

Too much damage.

Too much fear.

Too much risk.

Because now I’m here, in my loungroom, sobbing as if my heart could break.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s