I have no idea what is going on with me lately.

Ok, that’s a lie.  I know exactly what it is.

Last week, I burned myself on the oven twice.  I bent over to get something out of the oven and the kennel door was open behind me and I got poked in the ass by a pokey part of it. Puncture wound.  I tried to open a box that came in the mail and stabbed myself in the boob.

Yesterday, I broke a coffee mug and slit my hand wide open.

Accidents, every single one of them, but those of you who have been reading me awhile, who remember when I wrote more than product reviews and fluffy drivel about cleaning the house, may remember me talking about accidents before.

Usually, when they start happening a lot, it’s for a reason.  I know this.

Saturday I cried, for no fucking reason at all.

Yesterday, I broke the hell down and bawled my head off, told Taylor I hate everyone.  I could not put into words a reason why.

Last night, I cried again.  Went in the bathroom, sat down and just cried.

Today, I still hate everyone.  I’m so fucking crabby I could scream.  Everything is irritating me.  I want to lash out, tell people off.  And I’m tired.  So fucking tired.

Last night, I also took a long, hot bath.  And as I was laying there, surrounded by sweet smelling bubbles, I started to think about things I haven’t thought about in a long, long time.  BDSM things.  S&m things.

I started to think about how, last week, Taylor and I were watching one of our movies, a scene we’d filmed.  And how he was beating the living hell out of me, beating the shit out of me, really fucking laying into me and I was standing there, visibly holding my breath, enduring it and looking, for the most part, bored.  And how much that upset me, to see the rigid fucking control I was holding over myself, refusing to let go.

And sitting in the bath, I realized I’ve been doing that for a long, long time now.

And that I am losing my fucking mind, needing that release, needing to let go, needing to break the fuck down and connect with him on that primal level and…

Haven’t.

In a long, long time.

Oh, we play.  We have fun.  We do our thing.  But, god damn it, we’re still in a house with no room to do it privately and no real privacy anyhow, since we have neighbors downstairs and the houses are all so close together and it’s just not worth having someone call the police if we get noisy.

And no where that we play makes me feel comfortable enough to do what we need to do.

I can’t even explain it.  I know folks are reading and are like…  oh, big whoop, go get spanked.  Go get flogged. Whatevs.

Yeah. No.  It’s not…  it doesn’t work like that.

I’m not the queen fucking masochist but, when I get like this, I need things that most folks don’t want to…  can’t handle…  seeing.

I want to be broken.  Pushed.  Beaten with whips and floggers and fists and hands and feet until I am broken and sobbing and begging for it to stop.  And then I want him to NOT stop.  To push me past that.  Until every bit of armor and control and restraint is cracked and torn and shredded and I am nothing but a ball of raw emotion incapable of speech or thought or movement.

I want to be hurt.  Horribly hurt beyond what I can take, beyond a safeword, beyond fucking sanity.

And…  yeah…  you can’t exactly do that at the local dungeon or play party.

Hell, I don’t really have any friends or pals or acquaintances left in my actual life who would understand what I mean or why i’d want that.  I’m not sure how many of my readers even get it.  A few, I’m sure.  Rayne will get it. Kaya will get it, if she still checks in here.   Sinn, for sure, if she’s reading.

*sigh*

I know if I don’t get what I need I will continue to grow more angry…  and yet more reserved, more tightly held in check, more contained, emotions hidden away…  until I snap.    It’s already been growing, growing, growing, for so long.  The need, the hiding of the need, more need, more closing myself off…

Maybe I’m already insane.