Ancilla's Dirty Diary: "I am so fucking scared." (25/09/2021)

Note: Welcome to my journal. It's an unfiltered collection of my thoughts and relationship. It's an erotic journal so it's mostly dirty. It's more loose and unstructured than most of my writing, and much more blatant, something of an extension of my actual journal that I write with a pen. Some of these pieces will be short and others longer. It's a journal, I can't control how much I feel about my day. You can find all the pieces under the tag "Ancilla's Dirty Diary. 

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25 September 2021

I am not scared of needles. In fact, I love them. I love all sharp objects. Give me a knife, give me a pin, give me a needle, and when I say give, I mean stick it in my skin. Put it against my throat. Just fucking cut me and let the blood pour out of me. Yet, I am scared of what is going to happen tonight. He is going to suture my cunt shut. Usually, it is very difficult to tell if something was my idea or his. It's very difficult but in reality it is an often an amalgamation of things. I've always said that the job that I should really have is "idea person". I have great ideas, about everything. I come up with dozens of business, political, social, community-based and such ideas every day and only 50% of them are dumb (and only about 10% of those will end in my death). I am so distracted I feel like even my sentences are clunky today. I didn't finish my workout either.

Okay, that's not accurate, I did finish it, I just planned for it to be shorter than usual. I knew I wouldn't make it 90-minutes today, so I planned a 50-minute workout that packs the punch of a 90-minute workout, and I over-achieved and successfully punched myself with the intensity of a 2-hour workout in one hour. Everything hurts now and I love it. Maybe I just needed to remind myself I love pain. The literal second that I could stop long enough to breathe, I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't even stretch or do yoga afterwards, because I was immediately distracted.  It's just with some things, you know, some monumental sexual things, there's pressure. When I first got beaten (sexually), there wasn't much pressure because I didn't know it was going to happen. Then it happened for ages in that fashion so I never experienced this pressure. I experienced it when I planned my first stand-alone activity-specific scene with someone. I must have been 19 or 20, and it was a whipping-thing. That's the first time I felt pressure.

I know I shouldn't, and also no one should, because no one is obligated to do things they do not enjoy. That's a very naive position to take though. Things can be terrifying and enjoyable. The first time I felt that pressure, I couldn't say out loud what it was about but I'm older and wiser now, and I can say it. What if I am not able to do this? What if I just can't take it? That's the fear. It's part of the fear. See, I understand, context is everything. The level of beatings I can take from my master is insane compared to what I would let a stranger do to me. Or even what I could bear from a stranger. It depends on the person we do things with. It also depends on who I am that day. Some days I'm rubber, I just don't break. Some other days, I am a dandelion, I can withstand nothing. I have been doing this long enough to understand that "how much pain can you take" is the actual dark and destructive path on the road of masochism. We always think the dark side of masochism is about the destruction of self, but I truly believe the dark side of masochism is competition (whether with self or others, is irrelevant). The dark side of masochism is doing it not for the love of what you experience, but to see each time how much can you take.

I don't want to get mixed up in that shit at all. I will not sully pain with that sentiment. That being said, I am not immune to the trepidation of someone who is concerned they may not be able to do something they think they will enjoy. It's like putting on the gear but never jumping off the plane because the moment one second before it was just too much. That's part of the fear. The other part has to do with whose idea it was. Usually, it's my idea mixing with his idea, mixing with stuff that came up for us while we were three-seconds away from orgasm (for him) and two-seconds from passing out from pain (for me). Usually it's a group effort. This time, with this, it's abundantly clear that it is not my idea at all. This was not my idea. When he sutured my mouth a couple of years ago, that wasn't my idea either. It was amazing, and I loved every moment of what happened, but it wasn't my idea. There's an added later of helplessness when it's not your idea at all. There is for me, at least, that's part of being the "idea person". I am used to being party to the horrible things that happen to me because they were usually my own fucking idea.

I would never have thought of doing this if I wasn't with him. I didn't trust anyone else to do this because, and it's really not because I love him most (though I do) that I trust him to do this, it's quite simply because he's a medical professional who does sutures all the time. I have no reason to doubt his skill, hygeine standards or ability to handle it if shit gets fucked. He literally went to school for that, and so I will do this with him. That's not actually the part of doing it with him that's scary. The scary part of it is why anything I do with him is scary. He actually takes control away from me and creates every situation in his image. The worst part of the suturing of my mouth wasn't the suturing, it was what he did to me after. The worst, or most terrifying, part of everything with him is what he does or how he does the thing that may have been my idea. He taught me something I had never ever learnt before, or even considered, he taught me that context can be used to make me fear pain and suffering. It's a lesson that keeps me alive, I think.

But it comes with fear.

And I am so fucking scared.