[QUOTE=Mud Flinger;1026123]Your Sea Bunny is gorgeous - you bring back the feelings of remembered addiction to the pretties from so long ago. My son is wanting me to set up my old 35 gallon hex in his room ... wanders off pondering a new tankfull of pretties...[/QUOTE]
The more I think about my upgrade to the 150 and rebuilding my current tank as an Indo-Pacific specific clown/haddoni ecosystem with additional symbiotic fish/inverts (Banggai cards, nem shrimps, etc) and that type of thing, the more I like it.
I've never really contemplated a single ecosystem type of tank before. I'm finding that the subtle nuances are intriguing me.
Most of the fish wouldn't be particularly bright/colorful, nor expensive or 'special'... heck, some of them would even qualify as openly available for Haddoni food.
But I think it would have a real charm.
Today = -1
I like that. :o
I've also been on a Rammstein video watching binge...
Husband is going to be wondering why I molest him when he wakes up this afternoon. :p
*Edit: mission accomplished, husband never cares why I molest him (he assumed I'd been watching porn, LOL), he's really cool like that. :cool:
Yeah... TMI... whatever... *walking-on-sunshine*
The Queen of TMI says, "You Go Girl!"
TMI or not, sounds like a perfect wakeup.
One of the best things about men is how they rise to the occasion upon wakening. :)
(Even in their 60s, when they don't necessarily wake up at the ready, it only takes about a minute of dirty baby talk to get them there.)
Today again = -1
My head just exploded.
I'm feeling a post of a rather Taboo nature coming on.
Spending too much time with my family sends me to dark places emotionally, and in a couple of weeks I'm heading back again. That's three trips in as many months. I feel like I'm drowning. I've really had quite enough already. I've lost my food appetite almost entirely. And other appetites are keying up to full force to try and drown out the noise...
There have been many topics that I've hashed out here in these pages that have been not so nice, but helpful to me to dig through in some ways... and I think this may be one of those times again.
A time where it may help me to feel better about something, or better understand my connections to it, or whatever, if I dig through it a bit out in the open.
Strange as it may seem, even with all the anonymity that the interwebs provide, it's a bit like standing naked in the street at times and that can be oddly cleansing.
So... I'm going to stew some more to figure out exactly what that post will be.
And if any of you have questions about the post I make I want you to feel free to ask. It will be a little different than past things that were more intimately painful. Though this is perhaps rooted in those things it really is a separate entity with a life of it's own now and I treat it as such, and expect everyone else to as well.
Also though the subject matter is a bit racy I suppose I will not be explicit. This isn't a bodice ripper, it's just an honest examination of my needs for my own personal reasons. I'm no longer in therapy where I pay a counselor to listen to me whine when I get antsy about these things. This is it.
If S&M, or BDSM, but primarily S&M, bothers you in anyway, don't read the posts that contain that stuff.
I'll put a *warning* at the top.
Last. No judgments please. Or at least keep them to yourself.
Anyway... just a little note to let folks know that while I still feel really great, the conversation is going to take a slight detour to deal with other Stuff.
all supportive ears here. god only knows, I put myself out there too. Actually better than therapy in some respects - crowd sourced.
i've put myself in 'judgey' circumstances myself, so no judgements here
As many of you have read in these pages I grew up both witnessing abuse and being abused physically.
I also grew up with extreme emotional suppression.
Showing emotions was simply not done in my home.
Though my mother died when I was 7, her name was never spoken in our home after her death.
Any grief I had was to be confined to the privacy of my bed in the middle of the night, and not to be loud enough to wake anyone.
If I was injured as a child tears and crying were derided, and often punished physically.
You learned quickly to smile or laugh through small normal pains.
Crying for "no reason" (read emotional reasons only) was quickly and swiftly given a very good reason.
There was also the other bits and pieces of emotional abuse.
As I grew older I was alternately ignored, this was actually something that I sought through "good behavior" (if you're perfect he'll ignore you... not true, but irrational reasoning at it's finest)as it meant less abuse but it stung in it's own way, where there was no talking to me for days or sometimes even weeks.
Or there were random little cutting remarks dropped into casual conversation. Sly? insults. My father still does this... I think he believes they are cleaver. He uses big words he thinks other people don't understand, and many people around him don't I suppose... but I do. Or he drops them into an aside where it would be awkward to respond, or just under his breath. They are ultimately meant to be demeaning and emotionally controlling.
The response to all of this in me was that I began to self inflict pain early in life.
Feeling things physically is how I do things.
Perhaps because I'm so well trained at how to jam the stopper in the emotional bottle.
I first cut myself in 7th grade. It only happened a few times.
Puberty and becoming sexual and physical pain were all very intertwined for me right from the beginning.
However... cutting is obvious, and a bad idea if you want to stay out of trouble (people tend to think you are suicidal, and though I had those thoughts at times too it was a different issue), so I found other ways to get my fix without doing that kind of damage.
Of course I went on to have abusive relationships.
Son's father was an alcoholic/drug addict who beat me. I railed against the abuse but accepted it, and had no clue why.
I will clarify here and now that while I enjoy rough sex and pain play that I DID NOT enjoy the abuse that was dealt to me by my sons father. There is a huge difference. Being raised in an abusive home however had set me up with some really skewed expectations of relationships. Guy beats you, then says he's sorry and loves you = normal. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
But in leaving I took myself from the frying pan directly into the fire...
I was young and naive and had a certain need written as plain as fresh black ink across my face to anyone who knew what they were looking for.
And the worst possible person spotted it.
One with the experience and the will to exploit it, and no conscience at all.
Some day I'll tell that story (maybe). Not today.
When I read most S/M and BDSM materials I find myself frustrated at the lack of accuracy at the flexibility of the nature of the beast.
Often when I was active in those communities I was very frustrated as well.
I find it strange how in such an alternative community that such lines of polarity that are encouraged as the ideal.
Those who are fully dominant and those who are fully submissive.
Those who are sadist and those who are masochist.
Yes some play the switch role, but still... there are limits in play.
The lines are generally tightly drawn. A narrow pathway that needs to be followed strictly rather than a broad garden to be explored.
One of the reasons I didn't stay in the community was that splitting of roles.
I'm a Type 2 SM- "a fairly equal mix of sadistic and masochistic tendencies. They like to receive pain, but also like to be dominant partners (sadists) at other times. They are also capable of achieving sexual orgasm in the absence of pain or humiliation." (that's a definition directly from wiki... very accurate!)
There it is in black and white.
I don't think it's a choice. Sometimes straight vanilla sex is all I want or need and does the trick, sometimes I need more.
If I don't get it with a certain degree of regularity I feel extremely stressed. And when I'm stressed is when I have the greatest need.
There are times I want to give and receive pain for no particular reason, however... not because I'm stressed, but just because I'm in that mood. (AKA I'm happy, I feel frisky, I wanna bite you, pull my hair please! )
In another thread recently I admitted to choosing and marrying my husband for less than purely romantic reasons. And that is 100% true. I chose him with my head, not purely my heart... and yet 15 years later he can still make butterflies in my stomach with a kiss. That is a good thing.
While he makes allowances for my needs (he doesn't exactly understand them or like to discuss them), and finds some of my play erotic (he doesn't complain when I bite tender parts or other wise need to give or receive some mild kink), he has NO actual need of his own.
This is important but also at times frustrating.
Because right now, as wired up as I am in need of pain exchange (a t2 SM's ultimate stock and trade) I would have no limits, no safe words. Right now I want NO limits. I want to escalate. I want to give as much as someone can take. And I want to take as much as they need to give.
I want to see the emotional pain that I feel inside myself in the eyes of another person and trade pain with them through the physical world of sex and hurt.
That's what I feel about pain exchange.
Seeing the need.
It's like giving a part of yourself away for a little while.
And although it seems like it's the ultimate form of avoiding emotion, between two traders it can end up being extremely emotional... including awful sobbing crying... and after it's like you are fresh, reborn, temporarily cleansed of everything, and completely empty.
And I'll freely admit right here that I'd be hard pressed to say "No" if confronted by the right person at this moment. I'm, completely on edge. An easy target if I were out.
That's a dangerous place for two damaged people to go together. But sometimes I long for it.
I long for it and fear what I would do for it.
Fear what I would lose for it.
Long for it, and fear it.
Things that happened while visiting family that have driven me to the edge:
-Father made several of his cutting remarks on the side... and covered them with one open remark about how beautiful my hair color is that he made a big deal of. This made me feel sick. *abuse history
-I was reminded that when my stepmother heard about how my father abused my mother he told her that my mother was "crazy"... hormonal woman problems crazy. And she believed him. Of course, he then said the same thing about her when she left him.
-Father brought some of my mothers sketches (she was an artist) to my uncle's house. I had never seen them before, and didn't even know they had existed prior to them being shown at the post viewing gathering. This needs context I suppose... I look like my mother, I inherited her artistic talent. After she died we were never to speak her name and never saw any of her things, I did art in high school my freshman and sophomore years and won awards... often sketches much like the ones that were being passed around... and my father constantly berated me telling me how worthless it was to pursue such things, sometimes he took my sketches and wadded them up and threw them away... He was bragging and smiling over those sketches of my mothers from college.
I nearly had a breakdown I was so overwhelmed, went to the bathroom counted to ten. Cork back in that bottle. Breathe. Smile. Yep, I'm fine.
Of course my family was being nice. "Oh, do you want to see these." "Do you have your mother's talent." ("No") Etc. It was a hard knot in my throat, and my stomach flipping over, each and every time. Trying to maintain my composure and flee at the same time... *smile* "Excuse me..." *next room*. BREATHE.
Only my cousins saw me really break and start to choke. One of them is a psychologist. She held the other two off from "saving me" gave me the space I needed to regroup.
I don't want my father to have smiling happy memories of my mother. I don't think he deserves them.
I watched him abuse her. Beat her. Threaten to kill her.
Then he took my memories of her and left a ghost in their place that will always haunt me.
I sometimes wish I believed in hell so that I could know he might get what is coming to him.
But I don't.
If I had a couple thousand dollars extra laying around right now I'd be face down in a tattoo artists chair bleeding. That's safe. Painful and safe. I could find a happy zone inside my head and rest.
I'd run out of skin after a while I suppose though if that was always my solution.
Unfortunately I just paid for my son to have surgery on his hand and it ate into some discretionary savings I had for such fun things.