The last weekend gave me so much to think about and I can’t seem to figure it out.
First of all, I really have issues with that missing reaction from people towards us (my appearance, me obviously not wanting a haircut, the lead/collar). On Youtube, I have found a lot of videos testing people’s reaction. This is called “social experiments” and I wasn’t surprised to see that most people do not react in any way if they witness harrassment, fights or violence. Most of them just walk by. When they’re questioned concerning their not-occured reaction, most of them say they don’t want to get in trouble. Uhm. That really makes me worry! I don’t know how I would instinctively react if I witnessed a fight or harrassment. To be honest, I regard myself as a coward and I have always tried to avoid confrontations. I don’t know if I’d have the nerves to interfere. I hope I would. Or at least, I hope I’d have the courage to call for help. But anyway, it feld bad to be in that situation. I don’t even know whether I had wanted someone to barge in, but I was confronted with my own helplessness and that’s an ambiguous feeling. More of that later.
Second, I have really bad problems with my new hair length. If there’s one thing I’m vain about, then it’s my hair. I’m that kind of guy who even uses conditioner on a regular basis, and having had an involuntarily haircut makes me feel hurt, even though many people reacted very kind to that. Like telling me my hair looks better/thicker now and so on. I’m bad in defining who I am, but I would always mention my hair as a big part of myself, and having John rule about it, feels weird. I don’t really get that point, you know. It had been OK in the past if he told me what to wear, where to shave and even who to have sex with, but my hair is so special to me. It took me a lot to have it cut and I’m not OK with it yet.
The third thing I fight with recently are conflicting feelings regarding my role on the weekend. On the one hand, it was hard to accept this role of a useless fuck toy. I felt more like a pet than a husband and there were moments in which I fought with tears. What John demanded from me was not little and in some ways, it reminded me of what my father did. It was somehow like triggering memories I wanted to forget. On the other hand, it make me going, you know.
When I take a look at what I have written over time, I can clearly see that these conflicting feelings are very typical for me. There are times when I try to cope with every injury, both mentally and physically, in a quite “grown up” way. Going to talking therapy, trying to calm myself, trying to do my chores, be a good and kind person, trying to oppress the urge to hurt myself in thought and deed and just being a nice, loving husband, a reliable friend and a good brother. In such phases I tend to think that I can live without the pain and that I even might learn to like normal things like truly consensual, clean sex, soap operas and puppies. Then BAM and everything changes. I seem to lose grip of myself and all my good resolutions. Then I just need dirt, pain and humiliation and really thinkI am ready to fully embrace the fact that whatever I learn about myself or whatever I talk about with my therapist I am broken and have the goddamn right to like all that stuff. Sorry for cursing. And after a while, I’m again into a good phase and think of myself as a disgusting, insane person with those perversions making me tick.
Having these conflicting feelings and needs puts unbelievable pressure upon me. In a good phase, I disgust myself for the need for pain, and in a bad phase, I despise myself for the attempts to live a clean life. For John, there is no clash between the “good” and the “bad” John. He says it’s always him and he totally accepts that he is a realible, nice guy with dominant and sadistic needs. Period. I totally adore him for this ability!
Craving what I crave, needing what I need makes me feel like a bad person, and I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t have a bad conscious about my sexual fantasies and about other fantasies as well. And even if I know it’s all just because of the abuse that took place for about two decades, it makes me feel insane, bad and psycho. The worst fantasies are those of me being a kid and having to please my Dad. I know, I really, really know it’s just because of what he did, and I wish it would not turn me on like it does. It makes me feel so worthless, but I have failed in about 18 years of therapeutic sessions, stays in several mental hospitals and a whole lot of work woth myself to find better, cleaner things to turn me on.
Since last weekend, I keep asking myself whether I will always be that torn?