Thursday, November 26, 2015

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

I do stupid things when I grieve. I panic. I make rash decisions. I do things I might not normally do when riding the anxiety train. Perhaps they're mild things in the long run. I mean, I've never ran off and went on a sex spree, or done drugs, or anything permanently damaging. Well, I might have a few minor scars. I only manage to dangle off the side of the anxiety train.

But for me, they are shifts in my normal decision-making process.

When I lost my first dom, I burned his shit and then I became play partners with a couple for several months, doing things I might never have done otherwise. I'm not sure how I feel about it now. It went farther than I had intended, but fate saw to it that it didn't go somewhere I would have really regretted. We had discussed it, but circumstances prevented it.

Maybe I should set it on fire too.
When I thought Daddy had broken up with me, I immediately went out and agreed to move in with a friend. Hence the new window in my Sinful Sunday posts. We got back together, but I work fast when I'm upset.

But now, I'm not really sure what to do with my grief. I feel like there is no real outlet for it. I've bought Christmas presents. I've arranged private play dates with Peach. I've cursed at a U-haul box and stomped it into oblivion.

But, honestly, my major inclinations tend toward self-destruction. I'm far too chicken shit to execute most of the morbidity that passes through my brain, but it passes just the same. The one thing I've managed to do throughout the course of my post-pubescence is cutting. An expression of my masochism from the early days. Daddy requires that I ask permission to do it, but since I so seldom ask, he typically says yes.

I know he'd most likely say yes, but even so, a part of me wants to just fucking do it without asking. The rational part of me knows it's bad, and I've managed to refrain. I'm not sure what would come of it. Nothing satisfying, I imagine, at this distance. I'm not typically one for acting out to get attention, but I suppose my pitiable attempts at self-destruction involve this sort of bullshit.

I expressed this to him in a text message. I've yet to receive a response. It's a bit disappointing, his silence today. I assumed he might say something since he was off work for the holiday, but I'm treated to more silence. Perhaps that's part of it too. Grief mixed with a lack of attention.

I just feel like crying is rather impotent and I'm too fond of my shit to break anything. Throwing things has never been terribly satisfying to me anyway. I'm more of a punching door frames kind of girl.

Masochism is my outlet, and I appreciate Peach's willingness to scratch that itch. However, I've not quite managed to figure out how to trigger catharsis.

I mostly just scream in my head a lot and fight back tears.

This is the first holiday we've had without him. We usually spent Thanksgiving at his family's. Instead, we went to the casino and played blackjack and had dinner at the Waffle House.

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