Cracked

This is one of those moments where I wish I had a Dom to turn to. To give me direction, to give me palpable purpose, to be the bridge between my aspirations and reality. To be that gentle hand that turns rough when called for. Because I may have grown into a woman in most respects, but I have allowed myself to become so hollow and fragile without even realizing it. 

After posts like the last-- ones I have come to refer to as mental vomit (as in, after you get it out of your system, you feel better) -- I do indeed feel better. And I did, somewhat. I got what I can only describe as my life, my essence back. I felt again. And then I hit the big wall and shut down completely. Like, bipolar only smile-at-work-get-in-car-fuck-the-world-I-hate-you. Kinda how I felt a few months back when the pain got to me. 

Honestly, I wish I were a more positive person. 

Anyway, I was feeling pretty shitty about myself and why I couldn't tolerate more stuff and be a better person when I got off work today when I learned that I had apparently agreed to help with way more than I had bargained for. Long story short, mom's redoing the backyard, painting, repairing, etc and asked if I could be available. I answered in the affirmative, but dates and times and specifics were never discussed. As you might have guessed... It's an accident waiting to happen. Come three days before, she starts dropping hints and I'm completely clueless. Enter tonight: the day before and she tells me the whole shpeel of what's really going on. I apparently agreed to be at the house with the dogs the entire day, five days straight (and I have work and other appointments... Which I've canceled for this God damned thing). I get the massive breakdown of missed conversations and a lot of assumptions between both parties but hell. The whole blowup of her throwing what can only be described as a panicked tantrum and yelling hysterically that she's totally unsupported, while I just say OK and take it....

I'm caught between how little it matters and how frightened I feel. How I don't feel safe as a person, how little my life matters in the grand scheme of things and how (for the moment) a majority of me would really like to throw in the towel. 

And while that part of me would love to go down any number of the in-the-end unpleasant imaginings my brain has concocted I mother fucking can't. Seriously, I physically and mentally can't. Even now when I have had all kinds of negative self talk rolling around in my head and have even teared up a few times the gosh darn stubborn light of me won't go out. 

I'm still requesting a hug. From a really yummy smelling man. And a kiss and a snuggle would be nice too. A good murmuring of "my pet" thrown in for good measure. 

Even in times of struggle I am spoiled and demanding. It is the way of things and I am OK with that.