I know at some points, I sound like a broken record online. I know this because I get tired of myself sometimes, and I know others get tired of my posting obsessively about school and how amazing I am at it, and how much I love it ad museum. To be honest again: I am not that sorry. To be even more honest: Sometimes I am not even all that intelligent. But within that confession lies whole other issues. I can’t justify myself anymore. I am unable to be proud of myself. And those feelings of inadequacies are driving me away from people, away from friends, relationships, mentorships, and the scene in general. It’s terrifying. It’s literally, heart wrenchingly terrifying to be in my mind right now, and I write this knowing that not everyone who reads will understand. I don’t care if you all don’t understand, I don’t care if someone of you find it a pathetic message for attention, because I know it’s not, and if it helps no one but me feel more at ease with *me*, then my mission is already accomplished.

No one ever thought I would go to college, or if I did go, make it the four years it would take. I had to get out of my town, my school, my family. The only way to do so was to go away to school. And I did, I packed up my bags when I was 17 and headed back to the city where I was born to tackle what seemed to be like an impossible task. I had things to prove. I had to prove people wrong. Everyone back home was expecting me to come back at Christmas and stay home. My first semester was awful. I was youngest roommate; I was the dorky, fat, unattractive one. My roommates more than once “accidentally” locked me out of the room. I was ready to quit, saying fuck it to college until I realized screwing me out of college was just going to put me back in cow town nowhere, working at the Wawa…just like everyone expected.

The next semester, I moved rooms, changed my major, then added a second major, got a job, spent more hours at the library than I did my dorm room. I made Dean’s list and it was the first time my parents perked up enough to notice me for a few minutes. It was the first time since I had started college that I got a little bit of attention and pride tossed my way. Of course, they couldn’t, or wouldn’t…I still don’t know…say that to my face, but still, it was ingrained in my mind that in order to achieve any level of recognition.

I added a third major, I quit the cross country team. I spent more hours in the library. I didn’t go out to parties or drink or do anything that would cause me any trouble. I worked my ass off; I pulled all nighters and went to class on energy drinks and skittles. I would throw up blood because I would get stomach ulcers. I would do again, like I was a washing machine stuck on a rotating cycle because I felt like that was what I had to do to get noticed. I took more credits and more credits each semester. You needed 12 credits to be a full time student. Most students took 15. I started taking 18, then 21. I had to be the best, I had to get those awards because then, my parents would open their eyes and notice that I was their daughter, that I was someone they could be proud of, that I would one day be worth something to them.

I made Dean’s list, again and again and again. I made the President’s list. I got fancy awards and gold cords, and then purple cords, and then some more colors to adorn myself with at graduation. I worked three jobs my senior year to make ends meet, so I could eat and maybe occasionally get out with some friends. I was an obnoxiously well behaved goody two shoes. I didn’t drink until I turned 21. I went out for exactly one hour with my friends on my 21^st birthday and had one drink. Then I pulled an all nighters and turned in a term paper the next day.

I was President of one of the honor societies on campus, and vice president of another and treasurer of another. I was in clubs and on committees. I would get off work at 2 AM and wake up at 530 AM for work, and later, my internship. I would turn down invites to go out with my friends because I saw a two hour window to take a nap. I sucked myself into the fetish world because I felt like I could be a real person here, and felt more at home here than I did in the real world.

I graduated in the top 3% of my class. I am the first in my family to start and finish college. I pushed myself harder and harder every semester because I had to be the best for them. Because it was how I thought I would get noticed. I graduated in five honor societies. I graduated being on the Dean’s list seven semesters in a row. But I am not happy. I am not proud, and as much as people tell me to be proud of myself, I can’t erase, or remove or fill this hollow feeling I have in me that tells me that this wasn’t enough, this wasn’t right, this wasn’t who you should have been. That’s what scares me.

I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who jai in the fetish world is anymore, and I don’t know who jai is in the real world where I have to wake up every day and face that. I can’t explain the hollowness, and even though I have spent countless tears and voiceless shouts to try and explain, or at least figure out who I am, I can’t. I don’t know.

If my family is proud of me, I don’t know. If my family loves me, I don’t know. My family doesn’t speak about these things, I guess. I don’t know when the last time someone in my family told me they loved me. I do know that last time someone in my family told me they hated me. It took until now to realize that everything I had done, those countless nights where I didn’t sleep because I had to work, to write to prove to someone that I was worth something didn’t equate to love or acceptance. I am coming to terms with the fact that my family dynamic will never be great, and that I have to accept that or I will never be able to move on. But, it’s hard and it’s painful and somewhere in me, I want to be able to reconcile. Somewhere in me, I want to grab my parents and shake them and scream SEE ME HEAR ME LOVE ME…take me for who I am.

I turned to the fetish world to create a family that would be there for me. I spent a summer in Ohio and Western PA sleeping on the couches at different scene friends after my brother physically attacked me. I grew to love and acknowledge a group of people that I had no relation to; that I had no connection to before I got involved in the scene. My scene friends have become my family. I used to call them my substitute family, but that’s not true. A substitute is something you have while you wait for something better. I don’t need better than some of the friends I have found in the scene. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

I am trying to not be ashamed anymore of who I am. I have done some things that I am not proud of in the scene, but things can’t be undone sometimes. The things that hurt me the most are the things that I have done to mess things up relationship wise in the scene. I completely screwed up a wonderful Mentorship that I had this year and I regret it all the time. Mr. Rob is a wonderful, caring, genuinely honest man. He and Miss Lisa have been there for me for so much, including some very personal issues that I won’t include, even in this seemingly tell-all story of me. I blew it by over reacting and freaking out about things that I shouldn’t have. That I can’t take back. And to be honest, the fact that I know I was responsible for most of it is what hurts the most. I let something I had that was wonderful for what I wanted and needed in the scene to fall through my fingers. And I still love them to death and I am still friends with them, but still, it hurts so much to know that it is gone.

I am just tired. I’ve been to see counselors; I’ve talked about how I feel to an extent. I know I am not alone. I know I am not the only confused young woman out there with an abusive past and rocky relationship issues. I know I am not the only graduating without a job. I know I am not the only one who is going to have hurt feelings, or even hurt someone’s feelings in the scene and in the real world. I know I am not ever going to be the pretty one, the shining delight of any party. I just want to be happy, and to know that I am a real person. I want to feel like I don’t have to push myself harder than I can go to please other people. I spent the entirety of Boardwalk Badness sick because I was so tired, so overworked that I pushed myself past physical limits. I left suite parties to throw up because my stomach was so upset. I made people mad because I wouldn’t play because I didn’t feel well. I stayed up til three to talk with friends who I secretly feared I wouldn’t ever see after the weekend was over, and then up til five working on homework, reading and outlining chapters. I took the generosity of a dear, beloved friend who paid for my ticket when he found out I wasn’t originally coming.

I am tired and I am afraid. All my past four years have been tied up in being the perfect student, in seeing how many things could be hung around my neck to get me noticed by my family. But all those shiny, pretty things don’t equate to anything in the real world. After graduation they get put into a box and put in the back of a closet, a storage unit, a garage. They don’t equate to anything when an employer hands back a resume for the third, fourth time with a sneer, sometimes a smile, sometimes a poker face and says “thanks, but no thanks”. It doesn’t equate when I am competing with people twice my age for the same job and all they see is a little girl playing dress up in a thrift store suit and wal mart heels. And that is what scares me. I spent too damn much time trying to be more than adequate for my family, jumping up and down behind a closed door screaming SEE ME that I forgot to look through the windows, try a few other doors to see if they were unlocked.

I know I am smart. I know eventually I will find a job in my field, and I know realistically that it may take a while. And what confuses me shouldn’t. The voices I am listening to; my parents wanting to know why I haven’t landed a career job yet, are the ones I couldn’t hear when I needed them before. But it’s hard to not listen sometimes. I love my family, but they don’t always make it easy. I know I should be proud of myself and all I have accomplished and I know I need to focus more on that instead of the stuff I didn’t do. But it takes time.

It has taken me a few hours to write this, and it is obscenely long and probably the most personal thing I have ever written or ever will write in the scene, and it’s not even the entire story. These past few months I feel like I have alienated a lot of people and strained the ties for friendship in my quest to be the perfect person. One day I will be proud of myself, and one day I will realize I don’t need the love and support of my family. I am not afraid to admit that I have screwed up a lot, and honestly, I will mess up again in the future. It’s called being human. The only human I can be though, is me. And I still have a hard time accepting myself as a person I can love, although one day I hope to be there.

So many of you have been there for me in ways I can never repay. Sleeping on couches, pile ups on hotel beds, dinner, walking on the boardwalk, listening to me cry or talk or yell and scream…sometimes at you. I can never repay those debts, but writing this, knowing that it won’t be read by anyone who isn’t into fetish in some way makes me feel so much better. There is stuff I can’t say because it is too vanilla, but likewise, some of this I could never bring up in a vanilla setting, and I value the friendships, the closeness I have with people in the scene who get to know me as a vanilla person so much more than I ever could have realized. Thank you.

I had been grounded from Fetlife for being disrespectful to a Dom and his teddy bear, and I was now preparing to be punished for it. The problem was, I honestly didn’t know what I had done that was so wrong, but apparently it was a huge issue. I was teasing this Dom and his bear and I thought I was being funny, but the tables turned really quickly and I had no idea what I had done wrong and why suddenly people were angry with me. I ultimately ended up grounded for 4 days and not quite sure why until Miss Lisa had a discussion with me about it on Tuesday evening.

To my shame, I was kind of argumentative to Miss Lisa in the beginning; I thought it was stupid to be punished for being accused of being disrespectful to a teddy bear. At one point, I threw my hands up in the air and said, “It’s a teddy bear!!” with exasperation clear in my voice. While I was getting progressively upset, Miss Lisa remained calm and explained to me that I had been disrespectful of someone else’s fetish and that it was unacceptable. She explained to me that when I thought I had been joking I had actually offended people and hurt feelings along the way; even if I didn’t think I did so.  I lay down on the bed and was looking at the television while Miss Lisa was on her computer communicating with the Dom and bear I had offended. I was texting my scene sister, still upset that I was going to be punished, but now having accepted that I had done something wrong. I was kind of upset that my sister agreed with Miss Lisa that I had been disrespectful, since previous conversations had her on my side. I eventually turned off my phone so I didn’t have outside communication because I was afraid I would lose my nerve if I kept talking to people.

Eventually Miss Lisa told me to turn off the television and I did so and sat cross legged on the bed, while she laid out a blanket and a set of implements (cue wide eyes). Mr Rob walked into the bedroom and I couldn’t look at either of them. My lap suddenly became very interesting looking. Miss Lisa told Mr Rob that she had spoken to me about the disrespect issue and asked if he had anything to add. He lectured me about my language which had been the causation of a previous grounding and the fact that I am behind on school work. I am less than two months away from graduation; I need to finish up my obligations. My eyes were already wet before anyone had touched me. Miss Lisa instructed me to get in a certain position, and I said I needed to use the bathroom first. In the bathroom I was too scared to pee, but I removed my leggings and panties and returned to the bedroom in my tunic shirt, which covered everything but the lower curves of my bottom.

I climbed up onto the bed (it’s high) and laid in the prescribed position, the nature of doing so raised my shirt to cover only half of my bottom. Miss Lisa pulled it up to the small of my back as Mr Rob sat in the chair next to the bed to watch. Miss Lisa told me that she was getting no pleasure out of what she was about to do, and all I could do was bury my head in the blanket as I was already tearing up knowing the spanking was coming.

Like I said, it was probably one of the worst spankings of my life. I kept moving, and Miss Lisa paused and told me that I wasn’t allowed to move during discipline. I tried really hard not to move after that, but I kept involuntarily jerking my hips and drawing my knees up to my side. I think Miss Lisa knew that I wasn’t doing it on purpose because she would just keep spanking and grab my waist and readjust me if I was too far out of position.

She stopped when the skin started splitting on my bottom where I have some sensitive areas. I was well past the sobbing point by then and continued to sob into the bed as she rubbed lotion on my bottom for a few minutes. I was allowed to lay there for a few minutes to regain my composure while Miss Lisa sat near the top of the bed. Eventually she called me to come to her and I went and lay down with her, with my head on her shoulder as she hugged me and stoked me hair as I continued to cry softly. After a few minutes she asked me if I understood what she had been telling me earlier about and I told her honestly, not one hundred percent. So we talked for a few minutes about it and I understand much better about what I did and later, she instructed me to write out apologies to those I had offended. She watched as I typed them and helped me with the first one because I didn’t know how to write it and was stuck staring at the screen.

The best part about last night was that after the punishment and writing apologies, we were able to giggle and have “girl talk” which was kind of needed at the time. There was no resentment, no hard feelings…the slate is clean again, and I think I might actually try and stay out of trouble this time!

Scene life lately has been great. My Dommy Toad allowed me to branch out and seek spanking needs on a more local level and I was able to find a great married couple, Mr. Rob and Miss Lisa who have taken me under their wings and mentor and protect me, respectively. I am so happy and grateful for this experience because I needed someone on the local level to keep me on track and take care of me when I needed it. I have been punished a few times by the both of them, and while not enjoyable, the atmosphere was great because I needed a clean slate with people I trusted and I was able to walk away happy, albeit VERY sore on all accounts. The other night, however, was absolutely fanastic. Mr. Rob caned me over the bed and I was almost giddy on endorphins. It was the right amount of pain to put me in a great headspace and allow me to release some stress. My bottom needed to be spanked long and hard, but not punitively. I am glad I was able to get that earlier this week. My bottom is tender and bruised, but I had hours of spanking fun with Mr. Rob and Miss Lisa and my new scene sister, Melanie, who is fantastic and my new partner in crime! *evil giggles*

Last month I attended the party that they host monthly and got to meet some fantastic new spankos, including BradD and Benman, who has since become my play partner. He is adorable. And fantastic. I am happy to be getting this chance now to experience new people and have fun as well as have my needs met.

I am due up for another punishment on this upcoming Saturday as Mr. Rob is making a valiant attempt to curb my tounge, but then, we are all going to a party together (they are hosting) and I am excited to see all my new friends and have a good (sore) time. Have I mentioned lately, I love spanking?

Today, I got my own little email. The exact same wording as Erica’s with only a different salutation. I was wondering what the hell this woman wanted with me that she would actively seek a restraining order against me, when I had no contact with her in weeks. WEEKS. The last conversation I had with her was telling her I would never attend her parties.

I emailed Christopher back and told him exactly what I thought about this RO, and exactly how I felt about this woman, who is not only BLOCKED from my profile, but who, until this point, had basically been erased from my mind.

You all can be assured I am not going to waste my time or money to attend one of those things she claims is a party, and that after this, I am not going to waste my time or energy on this woman who hides behind her computer screen and can spit venom, but can’t take the heat that comes from its repercussions. So, the restraining order stands, and while I am mildly pissed that someone is petty and pretentious enough to go after me in that form…have fun.

My friends on fetlife know who I am and that fact that weeks after a supposed altercation and after a sock puppet was exposed on Fet is when she comes after me only speaks to HER character, not mine.

Hope you have fun wallowing in your hate, sweetheart. I’m off to go have some actual fun!

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

Hehe.

I am hoping to change that this weekend when I go to the Delco party on Sunday. I am the kind of special person who sends an email to the wrong address and then wonders why no one is responding. D’oh, that was a Homer Simpson-esque thing to do, for sure.

Anyway, the group seems nice and I know I will see some familiar faces, so I am fairly excited to get rid of this dry spell. Bring on the paddles!

MASCARA!

I can apply it now! I’ve been trying for years, but I would paint my face, or stab myself in the eye or look like a rabid raccoon. I gave it up as an act of futiliy, but the other day I saw it on sale and decided what the hell…

Surprise, no eye jabbing, tears or wildlife look.

I’ve been wearing it for days.

Only took 10 fricking years to get it right.

As much as I cared for him, it didn’t work out. And although I am still his submissive, I told him I didn’t want to be owned anymore. I told him I didn’t think either one of us was ready for it. And all he said was “OK, anything else?”

And that hurt.

It had been more than a month since we had spoken on the phone, when we used to talk multiple times a week.

It was unanswered Yahoo! messages.

It was seeing him “protecting” another woman who had pictures of her on fetlife playing with toys I had bought specifically for Toad and I alone to use. Toys which he promised would never see another woman’s bottom. She was gushing about the caning from him.

A caning he denied giving despite pictorial proof.

And that hurt.

I am not writing this blog in anger or in retaliation. I still care a great deal for Toad, but I hate this feeling that we are slipping away from each other. I have never been anything less than truthful with him. And yes, it has gotten me into trouble before. A lot of bruised, sore, teary trouble. But I have never lied to him.

A submissive is never supposed to lie to her Dom. I don’t know what to think right now. I do know that I am still going through a painful transitional time. And I do know that I need reassurance that I am not receiving right now. I am at the point where I could take or leave the spanking world, and I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with it.

I am going through a very transitional period of my life right now, and the scene world seems very far from my thoughts right now. I probably won’t be able to go to the Boardwalk Badness Party in April, and I am not even that sad over it any more. Of course, I would like to go and see my friends and make some new ones, but still, I’m just not feeling it right now.

I started my last semester of college, and on one hand, I am elated that I will soon be finished, but the other hand is sucker punching me in the gut, reminding me that I am still so young, and unprepared for the world ahead. I don’t know what to do. I have a college degree and I have done well in school, yet I am completely utterly lost about what I should do with my life. I know this should be normal for the average twentysomething about to graduate college, but for me it fills me this hollow fear that I am not good enough.

Good grief, am I crazy?

I still struggle with the idea of leaving the spanking world for a time, about a year or so to go explore and travel and be free, but I don’t know if that is what I want. I am scared, to put it simply of what lies ahead. And yes, quite possibly it could be glorious, or it could be devastating. I am torn between the feeling of having my wings clipped at the same time I am afraid to spread said wings. It should be an easy decision of one or the other, but I can’t decide on either and it sucks.

I struggle with the concept that who I am is okay, while I worry about leading a “double” life. I can’t decide if I am uncomfortable with the kinky side of me, or the vanilla side of me. I feel like I am oil and water. Both are fine, but won’t mix. I am afraid of ruining friendships, losing face, respect from friends who know me on both sides.

A lot of people tell me that they wish they were my age again. Maybe being my age I can’t appreciate that yet, but I can’t help but fear that when they mention a re-done youth, they mean long nights and hungover mornings. Bad breath and sunglasses in your morning Physics class. I wonder if they had a do over would they really want to go through all this self doubt and negativity, or if they just want to relive the party hardy routine over again.

This is a lot of thoughts posted into one rambling post, but I can’t seem to separate my feelings into distinct ideas or categories. I have four months until I am handed a diploma and told that four years of pounding books, chugging coffee and sleeping surreptitiously in the library has prepared me for life.

Much like door number one, I have no idea what it waiting on the other side of that stage.