This attachment and codependency is astonishing. These weeks that I've been silent here, content in my ebb and flow of what is my enslavement ... there's been little to write about. Oh, I write to HIM all the time. Our days have become a dance of interaction, small loves and pokes across the miles, our meetings and partings, our unexpected chances to spend time together.
There has been some conflict, some disappointment, mostly on his part in me. Frustration, mostly on my part, as my innate and automatic contrivances to get my way fail.
But for the most part, the silence has just been a result of the business of life. Each week, I become less my own, and more his creature. I learn to be content in this, to stop missing and straining towards my own vision of the way things should be, the way I want to do them, used to do them and learn to at least mimic and comply, f not accept and embrace his ways.
Does that mean I'm faking this, that I'm not really a slave? I suspect he believes so, and I quiver inside at the thought I may be deemed some kind of failed experiment. Maybe I had potential but came up short in some way.
I've run afoul of his grace. Today I am banished from the missives and little inquiries I'm used to getting from him throughout the day. It is my fault. I was careless, disobedient and indifferent to his will. It was a small thing, the way I did it, but the event itself isn't the point, it's the failure to obey that is.
I sat there as each silent hour (this is how pathetic I am, we are measuring time in minutes, not even in days and weeks) passed, trying to focus on work. I made myself eat, drink, apply myself to tasks while my mind scurried around and took up the patterns it adopts when he's not there. I considered marking off quarter hours the way I used to do before.
Finally I left. I am not falling apart, he hasn't abandoned me, he is just furious, displeased, disappointed and angry. But he is so absent. I console myself with pursuit of a hobby I enjoy, trying to be productive at home. I deny myself food as punishment for making him unhappy, and stick to water. I can't cry. I am doing what I can only describe as pouting. I want him to not care, to be reasonable, be upset for small things. And I am angry at myself, for it was more than a small thing, it was a breach of trust and something I wasn't even smart enough to conceal from him, wasn't smart enough to recognize as something that might be best left unsaid, although of course the recognition of such would require that I say it anyway. Its the dual shame of my own unawareness that does me in.
What I did, to a vanilla person would be nothing. If I were involved with anyone other than my Master, it might be a blip of annoyance instead of this. But then, then there would be none of the other things, the things that keep me buoyed and together and sane. I find myself thinking hopefully of a punishment, maybe he'll just punish me physically ultimately.
Finally, I slept. I tried to cry, tried to excise out the sharp aching that I know better will not go away. But I am too distressed even to cry. He knows too perfectly how to get to me ... of course, I've handed him all the insight into me he would need to do this. I dreamed of my mother instead of him, how funny a comfort - how blatant to replace daddy with my only other parental figure.
And now I'm awake and alone. I'm still not a good girl, even alone, doesn't he see? Alone or with him, I'm still me. Maybe that's the problem. I've put my phone under the pillow. Resisted impulses to erase myself from the view of anyone online, delete every profile, remove every contact, destroy my existence.
Then I remind myself that the lack of information cuts both ways. Maybe he will begin to wonder what I'm doing just as I do? He's as used to having updates as I am. Surely he's thinking of me, having some withdrawals, missing me? Maybe his anger will be tempered by thinking of other days without me ahead, if he sends me away?
Or maybe he will be relieved, a little voice says, glad to see me gone and no longer responsible for me? There is always that.
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