How many ways can my anxiety count the days?

Content note for self-harm

One-day, two-day, three-day, eighty.

It seems ironic that my mental health would take a nosedive in May: Mental Health Awareness Month. During this time, I am more cognizant of possible mental health issues, reading articles, meditating, and writing about mental health more. However, as time ticks on, I am aware that I am becoming less capable of coping with the chaos of the world. Or perhaps the world is becoming more chaotic than ever before? Both statements are true.

A significant sign that I am slipping when it comes to dealing with my anxiety and depression is that my people pleasing personality becomes more prominent than usual. It becomes apparent that the need to please everyone is seeping into all that I do. The awful problem with trying to please everyone is that I never feel good enough for anyone. This is a lesson and an old demon that I thought I had put to rest.

That is the trick depression plays on its sufferers; if you have maintained a healthy mindset for a long period, it’s easy to talk yourself into believing the illusion that you are recovered or have moved past your mental illness.

In the beginning of quarantine I am hanging on, not losing too much sleep, and not slipping into the deep dark rabbit hole that depression is. I am talking to Dr. Payne and I know He has me, and He will help me. Then I hit a major bump in the road: my personal physician decides that she wants me to try a new medication for my asthma.

This medication doesn’t simply lead me to slip down into the rabbit hole of depression, it throws me there head first and I am suddenly lost in a maze of awful thoughts: “Nobody loves me, and I can’t do anything right!” Then thoughts of self-harm creep in, “Why am I here? Something sharp cutting into my arm would feel better than these feelings!”

Depression lies to you; it tells you that making people happy is the only way to be loved. It also tells you that nobody loves you. I then feel that I must hide my feelings from those around me. Depression and anxiety begin to constantly whisper in my ear that Dr. Payne and Princess care more about each other than they do about me.

That is not true, and I know it isn’t true, but there are times at 2 am when anxiety tells me I have to make things perfect, that doing so is the only way to be happy. In those moments I lose my grip on my emotional and mental wellbeing. I then fall back asleep, and when I wake up, most days I am in control of the negative thoughts.

There are moments of clarity when I can see happiness and daylight, and I talk to my partners about what is going on in my head. However, this is not easy.

As time marches along, and what the world tries to refer to as the “new normal” becomes a scary thing, I ponder what the current state of the world and its unpredictability mean for my mental health. I fear I may not make it to the end of 2020 as an emotionally stable person.

I must fight the demons, the demons of fear that tell me I am too much emotional garbage to be worthy of anyone’s love and attention.

I can tell myself that I am worthy. I can stand up tall, smile, and say that I am loved, I am worthy. But there are moments when I wonder if fear is right, and I am the one lying to myself.

As we talk about the struggles, Dr. Payne reminds me that when times are rough it is more important than ever to rely on our protocols, those things about Power Exchange that keep us grounded. I wish it were as easy as that. I find I have to remind myself that I am collared and owned, that I am no longer the person who struggles daily with being in charge of myself. I fall back on old shameful behaviors that I should know do not work for me. We have had more tension events than is normal, and my anxiety and inability to remember who I am now is often at the center of the tension.

The world is still chaotic, and Dr. Payne tries to filter the outside disorder as much as possible. As time marches on and quarantine is extended, ten-weeks, twelve-weeks, thirteen-weeks, thirty, I touch and acknowledge my protocols and daily tasks: the simple act of drink service, blessing Sir’s tea, and kneeling at His feet when I am in need of guidance. I continue to love and support Princess, and give consent daily to the person who has agreed to be my Dominant, to protect and love me: Dr. Payne, my husband, my Dom, my forever partner.

It hurts

Photo by Bianca Salgado from Pexels

Today it hurts

My mental illness tries to own me

The anxiety throws me into the undertow

The depression drags me under

I worry if Sir will see me struggling and pull me out

Will He notice or will I quietly slip away

Then He takes my hand

He grabs my collar

He looks into my eyes

He says, “come back to me”

I remember who owns me

And the hurt is eased

I submit because I am worthy.

It took me years to come to a place of realizing that I am worthy.  I can’t imagine submitting without that realization.  A few years before Dr. Payne collared me, I started a mantra, suggested to help with self-confidence: “I am worthy of God’s gifts and open to receive them.” My anxiety became worse as if my soul were rebelling against the thought of being worthy. At that time, I still wasn’t ready to believe I was worthy of anything good happening to me.

I wish I could say it was easy to get to a path of self-acceptance and self-love, but that isn’t accurate. Some days I still feel unworthy and I imagine I am not alone.

Would a power exchange relationship be possible without any feelings of worth or self-love?

  • Would I accept his dominance, and guidance?
  • Would I accept his help in furthering my personal goals?
  • Would I accept his direction with any of life’s dilemmas?
  • Would I speak up for myself inside our dynamic to voice my wants, desires, or concerns?

The answer is: no it is not.

  • I accept his guidance because I gave him that power over something I value.
  • I accept his guidance for my personal growth because I love him as I love myself. My growth is a sign to others of my Dominants’ mastery of his sub.
  • I accept his direction to not lead me into an undesirable situation because I am worth loyalty.
  • I accept that he wants my opinions and counsel; my judgment is worth something to us both.

If I was waiting for him to make me accept and love myself, this would not work. If I am not worthy, why would he accept my counsel, or help me grow? If I were unworthy, how could he trust I would do what he says; be an example of his mastery. Because I know that I am worthy, I am guided, lead, listened to, and loved.

I know I am worthy of all the work he puts into me, and into us. I am worthy of his Dominance and I freely submit. 

For me, being submissive is who I am. This doesn’t mean it is easy. There are times when life gets stressful. I get stuck in my own head and try to go it alone. But most days I remember I am loved, and I remember that I am worthy.

White Panties

White panties.

The soft cotton the crisp white color.

My favorite panties to wear.

Dr. Payne’s favorite to see.

They do not belong to me.

Dr. Payne bought them but not for me.

They are for his girlfriends, his little; My girlfriend; Our girlfriend.

They are our white panties.

The effects of social distancing on my anxiety.

I get to work from home!  I was relieved, and maybe a little excited to be given permission to disconnect socially for the foreseeable future. It meant I would be avoiding the daily onslaught of people and things that influenced my ability to manage my Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). Lacking a commute meant sleeping in, and more time for me and my personal projects. I am introverted by nature: I rarely feel I get enough time to be still with myself and recharge.

The scary truth is, my own mind is often my worst enemy. A few weeks into working from home, a major problem with this disconnection is becoming apparent: it creates a breeding ground for Anxiety’s close cousin, Depression.  It’s been creeping in for small periods, but now it really wants to move in. Sometimes I would rather be curled up in bed than be productive

As humans we are wired to be social, which is problematic for us anxious introverted souls: the need to socialize is often at war with the need to be left alone.  When online for work during the week, my extroverted coworkers are starting to message me—sometimes video—and I find I am not dealing well with that unpredictable nature.

My sleep is becoming disrupted. I am waking up at 3AM unable to sleep, and lay there thinking about unimportant things: “I really need to mop!” and also truly terrifying things: “Will I be mentally well enough to return to work once this is all over?” My daily meditation time is becoming more relished, but harder and harder to quiet my mind. I am also realizing there are some unusual effects on my sex drive: I swing wildly from wanting to be cuddled to being mercilessly fucked. Sadly masturbation is less interesting: I am craving the human contact.

Even in a strong, seasoned Power Exchange relationship this kind of stress can be difficult. I find I am being reminded of protocols that were second nature a few weeks ago and, now strained, are allowing my brain to replay bad tapes over and over. The support of my Dom is important: Dr. Payne would never take my mental health for granted. However, I am starting to feel guilty for needing so much from someone who is living in the same situation and has their own set of responsibilities and fears.

We have a protocol that has become my best friend–you know, the kind of friend that reminds you to do the right thing even when you don’t want to. I have a standing order to express my feelings to Dr. Payne. All my feelings: the good, bad, and the horrifying. We are talking more than usual about where we are emotionally, and I find I am relishing these moments of connection. It helps me keep focused to know I am not alone in dealing with whatever my mind dishes out.

A sad realization has come to light in these moments of sharing: I am not truly alone. We are all cooped up at home together. Therefore, we must find ways to truly disconnect and unplug, even if for short periods, from everything that tugs at our attention. I am spending more time outside in my garden or just sitting on the front porch. If I can’t take care of myself and my mental health, I am missing an opportunity to serve, and I must take care of Sir’s property. To that end, I get to serve at home. I find comfort in those still moments when I can kneel at Sir’s feet.

What basic act of service gets you centered when everything demands your attention?


Tie Me Down

“Strip!” Sir commanded. A wicked grin crossed my face as I began to comply.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“No Sir. I am just excited!” I replied. Admittedly, this was at a time that I was still in sub-frenzy and even the command “Attend!” heard from across a room had my pussy wet and my body feeling electric.  

“Let’s see,” Sir said as he reached his hand inside my panties and felt my already-slippery pussy. A grin spread across his face. “You’d better finish getting your clothes off, or I might have to rip those pretty white panties.” I would never dare disobey, but the thought of having my panties ripped off me raised my body temperature and the level of excitement.

Once I was naked, I was told to lay back on the bed. “Don’t move!” This command from my husband, my Dom, always turns me on.  Each hand was bound with wrist cuffs, then my ankles, then attached to straps from under the bed. The last thing he attached was my leash snapping into place with a seductive click. Sir laid the cold chain across my belly and down over my pussy.

Sir slowly began exploring my pussy with his fingers. I closed my eyes and prepared for him to do whatever he wanted. Sir bent down and let his tongue explore my wet, shaved folds (Sir insists on a bald pussy and I willingly comply). His tongue does things my fingers never could, and a clean cunt ensures I am rewarded for my efforts. Sir rolled the tip of his tongue on my clit, then covered my nub with his lips and sucked.

“Are you going to cum?” He raised his head to ask, as he slipped a finger inside my cunt and tickled. “Tell me how many times you cum!” His mouth went back to work lapping at me until those wonderful tingly tremors began signaling my impending orgasm—that electric feeling that my pussy and entire body were about to become a quivering mess. His face in my cunt, lapping away and making me breathless, is one of my favorite things. He inserted two more fingers.

 “Cum for me!” Sir commanded, and at that same time he reached up and pulled hard on my leash. That was the catalyst for the first orgasm to start and with it I was squirting in his mouth. He didn’t stop and reminded me to count for him. “Two.” I said. I would come down from one orgasm for a moment, and then he’d lap my clit and another orgasm would have me convulsing on the bed. Unable to grab his head, or my own leash made it all the more erotic.

I love to have Sir lap at my pussy, and he prides himself in making me cum multiple times but being restrained was the most intense sensation ever. He held my thighs down and apart as the restraints still allowed me to bend my knees.  I couldn’t have been quiet if I wanted to. I came so much the blankets were soaked where I lay.  

“Twelve.” I counted breathlessly: I almost lost track and had forgotten to count out loud. As I came down from that twelfth orgasm, Sir stood up, stripped off his clothes, and shoved his raging hard cock into my pussy, the metal chain smashed between us as I came three more times.

I was exhausted, certain I would pass out before Sir finished. As he continued to pound me, he reached down with his hand the push the chain against my clit. Sir wasn’t close to coming, but my brain was so foggy I lost count. When Sir finally shot his load into me, it was as I had one last orgasm; His moans mixed with mine.

We lay there sweaty and breathless for a few moments. He slowly reached one at a time to undo my bindings, then he curled himself around me and we lay there until I began to shiver.

“That’s my good girl.” He said, wrapping me in dry blankets and tucking me in for the night.  

Years later, the words “Cum for me!” still turn me into a wet mess.