Intentionally Untitled.

Warning: This blog post is not really about being a Domme. It’s about my mental health about growing as person and the challenges associated with that. I don’t know if it’ll be triggering for others, but it does lightly cover the topics of depression and ptsd.

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Over the past several months I’ve found myself in this weird place mentally and I’ve been having an incredibly difficult time pinpointing the feelings I’ve been dealing with. At one point I thought it was burn out from being a Domme and in the community, but I also considered it was bigger than that and perhaps it was a version of depression I hadn’t experiened prior. However, those theories didn’t feel right. The feelings I’ve been experiencing lately haven’t necessarily been entirely negative, just different. I think I’m coming to terms with the fact that the person I have been in the past isn’t who I want to be always and it’s hard breaking that cycle. It’s even more challenging when you spend so much time in a setting like the community we’re in. When so much, but also somehow not enough, of who I am is on display. There’s a lot of room online for people to decide who you are, form opinions of you (good or bad), and become convinced they know the real you. It’s not easy for anyone to navigate, but it’s especially difficult when you realize you don’t know how to deal with it because you don’t even know the real you.

Admittedly, I’m an incredibly fragile human being. Recently, I’ve found myself at the peak of my fragility, which is very hard to say, especially here. In the past, as in years ago, I’d have never allowed myself to say such a thing. I wore this mask of invulnerability. My own trauma had taught me that if I was fragile then I was weak, if I was imperfect then I wasn’t enough, and more so that even if I was perfect, I was still replaceable, still forgettable. I had this role of being a being a place holder. I wasn’t what anyone wanted or was looking for, I was just someone to be there until who they really wanted came along. And the worst part about all of it is I convinced myself that I was okay with that for so long, until I wasn’t. Then years later, when I escaped those situations and those people, I overcorrected.

I made myself too valuable to throw away, but in the least healthy way possible. I would position myself in the lives of others in a manner that made me irreplaceable, filling some void in their life, thus creating a dependency upon me. It gave me total control of the relationship, so I didn’t have to worry about them leaving. They thought they loved me, but really they just needed me. For some people, it grew to a point of idolization, and I didn’t treat those people as well as they deserved. I made myself so important to them, and then I treated them like toys I could play with when I was bored and forget when I found something new and interesting. I treated them like they were disposable, because I didn’t allow myself to get close enough to anyone for them not be. And eventually, after years of being this cold frigid bitch of thing, I broke. I realized I had become this awful bully and everything I ever hated about the people from my past, so what did I do? I overcorrected, again.

I started giving too much of myself, spreading myself too thin. I had become obsessed with this need to be loved and in order to be loved I felt I had to make myself available all of the time and I had to be whatever the other person needed me to be, no matter the cost. I dropped anything and everything to be there when someone needed me, and in the process I lost so much about who I was. I stopped painting, reading, writing. I stopped any hobby or passion I had, because I didn’t have time for myself anymore. I sacrificed my identity to become perfect for others, and even still I wasn’t happy. I’m still not happy. I’ve found myself shouldering this constant fear that the people I’ve come to love will discover I’m not this wonderful thing they think I am. I’m not good. I’m not enough. I’m right back in the same trauma I found myself clawing to get out of so many years ago, but the worst part is this time I’m my own tormentor now. No one else is doing this to me, even the enemies I have made could never come close to hurting me the way I hurt myself.

Now, I’ve found myself at this point where I realize the person I am is just shattered fragments of who I had to be to survive and who people expect me to be now, with only the smallest shards of who I wish I was peaking through. The worst part is lately, in these last few months, I’ve become more aware of it. The pain of growing and changing as person has left me exhausted and so uncertain. I don’t really know who I am anymore, and it’s hard when to take off the masks you wear when they’ve protected you for so long. It’s also easy to slip them back on the moment you’re faced with something difficult, even if that difficult thing is yourself.

I suppose this is what it means to experience an existential crisis, and it’s weird laying it all out here online like this. I was such a guarded and private person for so long. I think there’s maybe something healing in sharing it, even if no one reads it. Neither version of my past self would ever be so vulnerable, so I think maybe that’s why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s just another step towards growth. All I know is it’s hard, and messy, and leaves me feeling broken and tired. So, if you’re dealing with something similar then at least you know you’re not alone; if you’re dealing with me in particular, then maybe this helps understand the mess I’ve been, and if any of my broken pieces have ever cut you, then please know I am sorry for that.