Struggling

I have another blog, my “real life” blog that I write mostly head-stuff in, thoughts that have to do with my daily life or with me, and who I am, as opposed to the graphic stories I share on here about sex and BDSM and submission.  And I struggle with the separation between my two blogs.  I’m feeling more and more like I want to integrate the two, so that I can write in just one place (here), but this space has it’s own flavor, and putting all my head stuff in here feels like polluting it a bit.

Who wants to hear about my angst over the utter failure and ass I made of myself today, and how down I feel about it? How that has tainted how I feel about myself enough that I don’t feel excited any more about the prospect of going to Austin next week and doing something very much outside my comfort zone–something I had wanted to do for W, was so excited about doing, because I knew it would entertain & please him.  I am daunted and intimidated by the prospect now, almost immobilized by insecurity & fear of failure, of appearing foolish, of not being good enough.  And all because something I was so proud of didn’t work the way it was supposed to, the way I thought it would. How is it that something so simple can make me feel this way??

Subdrop may have to do with this. Or maybe not. The pit I feel in my stomach is the same one I have felt before when I have failed. And I certainly wasn’t experiencing subdrop then.

I wish I was one of those people that looks at failure as a “learning opportunity,” as an “opportunity for growth,” as a “challenge.”  But I’m not.  I just see it as proof that I tried too hard and am not really good enough.  And it’s a self-fulfilling prophesy.

So that kind of bullshit is why I hesitate to write here the things that go on in my head sometimes. I still have the 2 nights of sex and beatings and bondage and cock-sucking and fucking and just the sheer pleasure I had with W the past two nights to write about, but honestly, at this moment, I don’t have it in me to write that stuff.

However, as I write this, I do recognize more and more that a lot of this is subdrop.  It took a little longer to get here…I was still riding the high today…but, yeah, here it is.  Perched on my back, its nasty poisonous claws digging into my shoulders, gnawing on my stomach…making me queasy and depressed and anxious and insecure.  And W is gone, and A is at class…and I am alone with it.  As I told the GF, subdrop isn’t insurmountable. It won’t kill me.  But damn it sucks in the middle of it.

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