When I was young, I took great pride in hearing how strong I was, as I’d thought it an accurate description. I hadn’t been fully cognizant of my dissociative state at the time. As I came out of that state in my 20s, I remained capable of surmounting obstacles and achieving my goals, but I was not fully prepared for the onslaught of human emotions that accompanied the individual experiences. I dealt with those situations by channeling everything I felt into “hope” and “determination”. I never accepted defeat and I always succeeded in whatever I set out to do.
Getting involved with the Professor changed all of that. Changed me. I broke a little more each day and depression set in. Yet, at the same time, I held out hope that someone would rescue me from the depths of my despair, my dismal situation. This was a fantasy I’d clung too throughout my childhood, as well, hoping that someday someone would save me from a mother who, as the Lt Col says, clearly hated me from the moment of my birth. Of course, no one rescued me from either situation, but that hope remained intact, as did some measure of strength.
Years and years and years of disappointment after disappointment only served to make me more determined to overcome. To succeed. But looking back upon those years, I now realize that there was nothing to succeed at, nothing to achieve; it was just a coping mechanism to survive whatever was happening at the time. I first realized this about 4 years ago, when someone asked me if I was going to return to my old career at some point. I realized that career had been nothing more than a means to justify everything that I had experienced as a child / teenager. To give it meaning and purpose.
What utter nonsense and what a lengthy delusion to have had. That career was primarily ego-driven and did not validate me as a person in any way, shape or form. And in pursuing that career, I was merely delaying the inevitable fall that was bound to happen once I realized that I was still the same exact person I’d always been, and nothing would ever change that. I was never strong as a child, teenager, or young adult — I was only half-present for most of those years. How could I have been strong? The very word makes me feel sick and I loathe having it attributed to me.
And yet… to go back to the issue of “hope”… it remained for years and years and years. I’ve no idea how, but self-delusion must have played a part in it. I clung to hope for the first few years of Pooh-bear’s life, refusing to acknowledge that her condition would only continue to deteriorate and become more difficult to cope with, until that situation finally wiped all the hope out of me. But I held onto it for a good few years — delusion and denial at their level best.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I held out hope that I would meet a man who could cope with her issues. And then came the Serbian. When he raped me, I came very close to having a genuine mental breakdown. I suppose I actually did have one over the day or two that followed. But I managed to keep that hidden from the Lt Col for a full year, until the PTSD started on my next birthday. I’d all but lost hope of finding a new man during that year. It was the first time I had stopped looking, stopped trying.
After the PTSD for that particular issue had been dealt with, I dipped my toes in the dating pool again. I’d mustered up a little bit of hope, but not much. Despite how my last date with Sniper went, I was mad about him for quite awhile and I felt like a new person. All of my hope had returned and then some, and I felt happy for the first time in my life. Yes, in my entire life, I had never ever felt like that before, and never have since. But when that ended, I crashed. Hard. And I think my hope died with that relationship. I managed to get a bit happy (a bit) with people I’d met after Sniper, but as soon as I realized it wasn’t going to work out, I crashed even harder — not because I was sad about them personally, but because it was seeming more and more clear that I was never going to find someone.
I asked the Lt Col why I am so strongly affected now when something turns out badly. I’d certainly never used to be so strongly affected. I asked him if I was Bi-Polar — how could I be so “up” with Sniper, and then so extremely “down” for months afterward. The Lt Col says I am not Bi-Polar at all, that I am just fragile. That most of the time I am just down, and never have any ups at all. And that is true, I guess. Nothing makes me happy, nothing excites me, nothing feels good. More often than not, the thing I love to do most is sleep — and yet it is the single most difficult part of my day, as I can never stay asleep for more than a few hours before I wake up from a nightmare.
I asked the Lt Col why he has told me that I am strong in the past, if he thinks I’m so fragile? He said that I am strong in the sense that most people would not have survived my childhood. And while I have posted some stories from those days on this blog, I have barely scratched the surface of what it was like living with my mother. I reminded him that I was, as he said, in a dissociative state during that time, so that seems to me like I was simply out of my fucking mind and far from sane to begin with. He seems to think I’m sane and always have been. I am starting to think he may be delusional himself.
I felt pretty good on Thursday when I’d finally seen the Lt Col after a 3 week gap in our sessions. On Saturday, I’d found a local D/s dating site for people from Oz. I actually felt a tiny surge in hope. By last night, I’d realized that these people are just fucking insane and have no concept of what D/s means. And I can understand that, as it is a completely new concept here; they simply don’t know what the fuck it is. They think D/s means S&M, and hardcore shit at that. They have questionnaires that are meant to be filled out when you sign up, and everyone fills them in.
The questions range from what kind of torture you enjoy, to whether or not you enjoy bestiality and to what degree. There are no normal questions. Everything is all about electroshock, scat, bestiality, living in cages, etc. Not one ad is about a healthy D/s relationship that integrates various BDSM practices or fetishes. And many ads state ‘no safe words and no compromises’. Of course, only 30% of the men on that site are Doms. The rest are subs. And that just goes to show how the men are over here — must be something in the water.
Once I realized how hopeless it all was, I crashed. Completely. A long time ago, I used to be very hopeful, with setbacks barely getting me down. Now I am rarely hopeful, with setbacks sending me further down than I would’ve thought possible. I’d wanted to blog yesterday or the day before, but couldn’t motivate myself to get up out of bed. I am 2 weeks away from seeing the Lt Col again because of another work-related trip of his, and I just feel like I am totally alone.
When I feel like this, I always end up focusing heavily on my existential crisis, which I’ve been going through for at least the last 1/2 decade. I used to have hope that it would end at some point. Now I don’t even care anymore. I am sorry I haven’t been around to your blogs for the last few days. I likely won’t have time before Wednesday night, but as soon as I can, I will be around to see what you’ve been up to. It is nice to at least see that some people are enjoying their lives, and I can live vicariously through you. ;-)