I’ve not had a very good couple of days. I don’t know what has triggered this new ’bout of memories, but I’m not liking it and there’s no where I can really turn. My childhood was broken, which sadly isn’t as uncommon anymore as it should be. Since I left home in 1996, I thought I had successfully drowned the bad memories so that I would never have to see them again. Not all of them involve me, but they still are affecting me just the same.
I try to figure out who was better or who was worse, my mother or father. They always end up a tie. The only good thing out of this whole childhood nightmare is that my father has drastically changed since he married my stepmother, a kind-hearted, loving woman that I have grown to appreciate. My mother went down the wrong road and refuses to resurface.
These memories are only flashes. I don’t think I could remember the entire event if I tried, I’ve repressed it for too long, denied that it happened or treated them like they were no big thing and that I’m over it. Do you ever get over it? Can you step back and move on without the ghostly pain, the childhood fear, the misery coming back to you?
I have always been an overweight child. I was constantly reminded that my parents were upset that I was getting larger, although they themselves were obese. I don’t know if it was parental fear for what health my life would bring at a large weight or that they had other thoughts. All I remember is that my weight was a constant issue and many shouting matches ensued because of it. Vividly I remember the times I fought back. The finger bruises on mom’s arm after she beat both my inner arms with the bristles of a brush till they bleed because I had accidentally scratched my sister with my new, getting used to having them, nails. The claw marks on dad’s neck after he took hold of mine to choke me when I refused to walk the outdoor dog in 15 degree temperatures. The time I got so angry that my dad was hitting and picking on my brothers, all adopted (now that’s a story) with emotional problems that I picked up my brothers baseball bat, ran out to dad’s car and broke all the windows and dented the hood.
Oddly enough, daddy’s little girl, my sister, was never around during these hailstorms. She never knew what went on, I told her last year and she cried fiercely. She was upset I hadn’t told her, that I had protected her from it for so long. I couldn’t let her know. She loved dad so much, I didn’t want her to feel as I feel. Full of fear and hate. I tremble when I’m around dad for more than a few hours still to this day, even though I know he’s really changed.
I’ve been resigned and quiet. Master is really worried. I’ve not told him why I feel this way, why I’m off center. I just can’t voice it. I don’t know why I’ve resurrected these demons. I don’t know why they haunt my thoughts right now. I want to be free of them.
For this I begin to wonder why I enjoy the SM activities that Master and I engage in. For me they aren’t a sexual pleasure, I’m not a pain slut in that sense. I feel released from thought, I feel in control, and I feel loved. I know that Master does this out of love for me, because I crave it, he craves it and we walk the line of pain together. The endorphins that course through me help me to feel as if past never happened, they solidify me in the present, the future and the happiness I have been able to find in Master. I can’t explain it any other way. Maybe that’s why I’m a giggler. I laugh so hard sometimes I have problems stopping. It feels so good to laugh freely and know that you aren’t going to be haunted for awhile.
I wish the ghosts would leave, they frighten me.