Apr 222011

Blog post on a barf bagI’m in the air over Oregon and feeling lost. This week has been rough as far as dealing with memories of childhood sex abuse. I feel raw. I just plain hurt. I’m breaking apart. If ever I needed to be topped and taken, it’s now.

That might seem like an odd urge, to cope with abuse with pain and submission, so let me walk it through. The emotional pain I feel right now is stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat. I need someone I trust to gather me up and let me break. Hurt me so I can let it all out – scream, cry, hate, love…

It’s complicated. I need someone else to take charge so I can let it go. I need sensation so I can remember how to feel. But I can’t just be broken down. I must be put back together, better than before. I want approval – be a good little sex slave, please my master. It’s important.

A part of me is appalled at how I long to give myself over. I’m afraid I’m selling myself out. I’m struggling to free myself of abuse. Why look for more? I’m not talking about abuse though. I want a loving exchange, a sacrifice of my pain. I need to be cleansed, by fire and sword, sweat and tears. I hurt, but I can’t cry. Make me cry out.

I want a beating. Blood, bruises, welts, and scratches will free me. Then love me Fold me in your arms. Rock me while the tears flow. Take my sacrifice of pain. In it’s wake I will feel clean and new. Whole again.