Yesterday, John went off to Mallorca, for a week of playing golf and spending some time with “the boys” he went to university with. He left me here with a list of things to do (and not to do…like jerking off). When he’s away, I feel strange in my skin, in his house and in my whole life. I miss him so much as he is the beacon in my life, but moreover I’m jealous concerning all the time he will spend with his old friends and yes, concerning the “cute Spanish boys” he will fuck. If he will, I don’t know.
The past two weeks have been very busy in the café. We had some changes in the staff and I have problems adjusting. My boss asked me if I want to work two hours more per week (which then would be 8 instead of 6 hours), and I talked it over with my therapist, because my first reaction was putting my head in the sand and freezing. Well, to put it short, I will not work more, as me and my therapist both think that I’m not capable of it. Currently I’m in an unstable mindset and more work would mean less time for myself and more contact to others which frightens me. And that again makes me feel like a wimp and a loser.
After I made that decision (which my therapist calls selfcare instead of cowardice), I had a hard time not injuring myself. I felt so much anger, I did not know how to cope with, so that John took command. Oh, and how he did. I always tend to think I’m used to pain and degradation, but I always underestimate his creativity. So, I found myself naked with just my collar on in our backyard where the two apple trees had let go of their apples which had turned into a fermented, smelly, sticky mass on the gras. He made me wallow in that mass, watching and mocking me and asking me “why do you deserve that, tell me!”. Yeah, why? I guess because I’m a worthloss fuck toy, right? Right. Having his heel in my neck, rotting apples up my mouth and nose and getting pissed on put me right where I belong. I felt so humiliated, so dirty and reminded of what my father did, I had to cry. Usually, John takes care for me in those moments, but not this time. He sharply told me to shut up and endure. I felt so helpless, but thought that he was just right, letting me behave like the dumb pig I am. I hated myself so much in that moment that I just wanted him to inflict as much pain and degradation as possible, and later on, he did. Had to spend the night in our cellar, smelly and sticky like I was, because he said he sure would not have such a bitch around. When he picked me up the next morning, I was stiff and had cried it all out. He put me in the warm tub, scrubbed me clean and then made me crawl up inside his arm. How can it be that he’s the only one to know what I need? Sometimes I think only he can give me what all therapists have tried to give me…
Before he went off, he told me not to injure myself. I know he has to trust me there, as there are so many ways to hurt oneself without leaving marks. I will really try my best to stick to his rules. I know I always feel better when I trust his cures. But at the moment, my self-disgust is so hard to cope with. I know it’s just a phase, it will pass. But when it’s there, I feel like dying would be ways too nice for me. Sigh.