Silent Screams

I remember a time when I would get itchy and twitchy for pain.  It would gnaw at me, tear at me, cause me to become manic and wild eyed with the need.

I have not felt that in a long time.

I wish I could pinpoint a single reason for it, a single, simple thing that I could fix.

Yes, fix.  Yes, the gnawing, twisted, insane need felt better to me than what I feel now.  Somehow, somewhere, I shut down.

Partially, I think it happened when we went thru our little dry spell a number of years back.  We went from pretty regular play to none at all.  None.  For a long time.  Like a year, I think.  Living together, wanting, needing and never getting left me little choice but to stuff the need deep down and not let it rule me, not let the disappointment ruin the good things in our relationship.

Even when we did start playing again, I’m not sure that the intense need every really came back.

Though that’s misleading.  It’s there, all the time.  It never really went away.  It’s just buried under so much that it’s hard to find, hard to let go.

I think part of it was/is also the fact that we got so extreme.  That it took so much to feed either of us. Blood and scars and heavier and heavier play got a bit freaky.  It got to the point we both often wondered where we could possibly go next and if we even wanted to.

And now there is my thyroid issues.  I know it doesn’t seem like they’d have much to do with s&m play but they do.  God, they do.  I’m chunky.  My hormones are weird.  My body is fighting with itself all the time.  My skin is not the same.  The way things feel is different.  Just sitting here my skin often feels like it’s going to split right off the bone like an over cooked turkey.  Impact play scares the crap out of me because the feeling intensifies with even lightish play.  The pain signals that used to leave me feeling submissive and reveling in the power and endorphins and adrenaline and pure sensation are all mixed up and things hurt more than they rationally should.

It’s crazy and weird and I hate it.

And so I stuff the want, the need, even further down.

And I am not me any more because of it.

I am closed off and less emotional.  Easily irked but also easily beaten down emotionally, as well.  I feel a loss of spirit, a sense of defeat.

And it sucks, especially in light of how otherwise wonderful my life and our relationship is.

I want to fix this.  I want to feel like me again.  I want to be overwhelmed with pain, rocked with emotion, wracked with sensation.  I want to be drowned in my own surrender, left gasping at the physical evidence of his power and my submission to that power.

And doing the dishes and picking up socks is just never going to get me there.

Now, when we play, I find myself enduring.  Counting and going off to a place where I can block the sensations, ignore them, endure them, rather than revel in them.

And you know what?  That sort of sucks for both of us.

And I’m not the type to expect him to fix things about me, for me.  Most times I firmly believe it is up to me to adjust my own head, my own behavior, my own issues, whatever.  But this time?  This time, somewhere deep, deep down inside, there is a voice screaming — hoarse and desperate — for someone to please, please fix this.  I cannot do it myself.

I’m not sure if he knows how to fix it either.  Even if he did…

We have no time.  No privacy.  No space.  And not much clue where or how to start.

Baby steps, I suppose.  Though that, of course, is boring for him.  I think he’s probably tamped his own desires down, too, because it’s easier to do that than to do anything else.

Easier isn’t doing either of us much good, though.

I thank gods every day for the strong, deep relationship we have.   With anyone else…

It wouldn’t have survived this, wouldn’t have survived the silent screams for more, for help, that are so feeble I’m not sure they’re even heard.

I can’t even hear them myself most days unless the odd, strange coldness overwhelms me and I’m forced to think about why…