Post card from the edge..

i am sitting out here under the red umbrella in my secret garden... swaddled by tall bushes and fencing and feeling very much on the edge of things... (not in a bad way actually)

After some serious pain this weekend... some serious beatings.. even one last one last evening... the brain functions differently than normal.. don't ask me why.. it probably has to do with the adrenalin and endorphins and all the other chemicals that are shot through the system....banging into the brain cells.. shorting out ... small sparks flying..

Last night i was doing something in the kitchen... feeling disjointed and a bit out of body.. and i got to thinking how seriously scewered this is .. to offer up one's ass for a beating.. AND enjoy it... i was thinking how scewered i am.... and then i kinda shook my head and thought nope... for me this feels good.. just as it is.. there is no reason (i can find) behind the need for pain... and once the withdrawals are gone i can actually walk away from it (have done it before so i know of what i speak) It is a kind of addiction..but one i can control... i am strong within myself.. know who i am.. know where i come from.. know the skeletons rattling in my darkest deepest cupboard..

BUT then i got to thinking about all the ones i have met over the years that don't have their shit together (or didn't when i met them) ... and they just sort of .. kind of .. melted into 3 different types... 3 personalities i can't get out of my mind..

Butterfly - i will call her - was the most beautiful submissive i have ever met.. an older woman - who when she walked into a room all heads turned to look. Straight back .. head held high... proud independent woman wrapped in a corset with black leather collar and cuffs.. she always took my breath away.

Then .. when i got to know her.. saw her go off with men she didn't know.. to motels where all manner of terrible things happened.. saw the bruising the cuts the marks.. listened to her tearful tales.. and then the... "i only wanted them to love me" plea at the end...

And i realized she wasn't nearly so tall or proud or self assured or independent....

And slut .. i will call her that.. because .. in her own way she was a slut... i can see her tightly corseted .. crawling on all 4's around a public club.. crop in her mouth. . begging anyone .. man or woman to take the crop and beat her... she was loud and brassy and bold and scared the living daylights out of me.. and yet she and i became friends for a while..... and she was searching for a Sadist who would "do it" for her.. give her enough pain to take whatever demons haunted her dreams away........... she would do dope to heighten the need and the experience and mix with alcohol and desperately search for someone to make her real... make her feel important.. worthy..
the last time i saw her .. she was still figuratively crawling around.. bare ass in the air.. crop in her mouth.. still searching....

And then the lost soul.... i call her that because she is so lost... lost in herself and in the world around her.. afraid of her shadow.... a wallflower who quakes when someone speaks to her... and yet.. who has the nerve.. the audacity to show up at someone's house.. drop her drawers and take a beating.. she needs to be punished for some feeling she has had.. some evil she imagines... some self loathing... she plays the weak helpless female (and who knows perhaps she is) but this weak female has claws.. and god help you if she shows those claws..
This burning need to be punished drives her onward.. and outward.. seeking.. but not finding release and forgiveness..

And i sit out here under the red umbrella .. swaddled from the world.. and wonder do others see me in one of those categories.. do they wonder about my driving need for pain.. for marks.. for blood ... do they wonder what drives me???

Today i wonder .. a little bit.. what drives me....

as i sit on the edge and write a postcard..........