addendum (ə-ˈden-dəm)

I had a couple drunken revelations this weekend, I think even my therapist was surprised at how much sense they made considering I'd been drinking, smoking and eating tramadol for three days (all the the same time she asks? No, I reply, I'm reckless, not suicidal).

SO they went something like this:

* I am in charge.
I am in charge of what I do in my life. I am not in control of everything, but like the skipper of a small rig in a big ocean, I have my hand firmly on the tiller.

* They are all me.
The grumbling voices of disapproval and negativity that live me my head telling me how shit I am, ad naseum. Pinky, who goes out on binges and is aggressive and passive at the same time, getting herself into all sorts of unpleasant situations. Bad'M' who does interesting if totally immoral things, loves round numbers and always compounds the mess she's made by making sure it's done properly and to her bad, bad specifications. Miss B, who is calm , sensible and warm and contains children's chaos so they can get on and explore.
They, and their conterparts- for there are more believe it or not, are all me. All part of who and what I am, which technically means I should be able to diminish or accentuate thir attributes at will and get them to help me reach my goals (remember the tiller). I need to find a way to build them all into one marvellous M, discarding what I do not need as I go- an amazing construction project!

Last night I had one more, which could be misinterpretted, but since I'm working very hard on making the grumbling voices _shut_up_ I will say it loud and proud;

*God made me, and I am beautiful.

tied and kneeling

badness

I had to confess to my man again today, down the slightly stretched sounding phone line from India.
I'm sorry I've been bad, not as bad as last time, but I didn't ask for permission in this instance. I just got carried away. I am broke and horny this month, and you're so far away...did I say I was sorry? I am. very.
I let him watch, you asked me not touch him, and I didn't, but I let him watch me, I kept my pants on, if that helps? I let him watch whilst I played. And charged him the price of a henry.
I'm sorry.
Can we talk about future hopes and dreams again now?

I am wretched,
pressing against my shadow
with the tips of my fingers
I ask it to open and let me in

Rule Eight (8)

Remember, you are not alone.
If people don't have time to support you, right now, as much as you feel like, wonder what's going on for them?
Perhaps they need a hug too.

The Rules

I'm working on rules. They're like guidelines to help me live. So far they're something like this;

1. Everything is not one big giant lumped together problem.

2. You are allowed to take things one at a time.

3. You are not required to feel guilty (not everything in the world is your fault)

4. Stop trying to control everything, do your best, that's all.

5. Find something to smile about every day.

6. Work hard at not getting distracted (blogging!)

7. If you get stuck, start with a (silly, energetic) dance.


I'm sure they'll keep on evolving....
so far they do seem to help a bit

pressure

His head’s so big that at first I don’t think it will fit, but he just presses and presses…

I’d have known this was what it was like, but last time I stopped him. It was years ago now, whilst I was still with Alex and I’d like to think that’s what it was that stopped me…. Or I’d like you to think that’s what it was, but in reality I know that lying there, with him between my thighs, both of us naked and myself opened out to him, his cock “knocking at the door” (his words) I asked him not to because I wasn’t on the pill and he hadn’t offered to wrap it up. I could’ve asked him to wrap it up. Or just let him in and gone for the morning after pill the following day. But I asked him not to, and let myself believe that it was for Alex.

And now here I am, in his fiancée’s arms, she’s stroking me, kissing me and I’m staring up at him, wide eyed and he’s pressing and pressing until I give and he forces his way in whilst I gasp and clench.

The shaft is contrastingly narrow, and he doesn’t give me his full length, but there’s a sweet spot that he’s hitting, and I arch my back striving for more pressure, to be filled.

And she’s there, kissing and stroking me and I’m gasping and writhing and reaching, and reaching… reaching….

Getting closer and closer…. But he (they?) prolong it, and I keep reaching….