Knocking on Depression's Door

It's been a difficult year and an even more difficult few months.

I found out yesterday that the lump under the incision site, or alien as I've come to call it, is normal. The doctor assures me that it will soften in time and will stop hurting. At this point all I have is his word and I have to trust that he knows what he's talking about. He didn't seem surprised by the alien nor by the pain so that's a point in favor of trusting him.

Until it does soften and finish healing I'm stuck wearing stretchy exercise type pants that don't squeeze my belly. I can't wait til I can wear "real" pants again.

I've been struggling a LOT with my slavery, with myself, with my life. I'm worn out, rubbed raw, vulnerable. I don't feel like a woman right now and I'm fighting to get that back but it's hard to do on my own. I need people to treat me like a woman, I need to feel wanted, desirable.

It feels like Master and I have lost a lot of the intimacy we once had. My working evenings has really created distance between us. Sex during the week consists mainly of me giving him an orgasm when he's not too tired to ask for it and when I don't demure because I'm feeling pissy because he doesn't want to f*ck me. Sex on the weekends is hit or miss, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not, and sometimes it starts out good but fizzles out for one reason or another. It's no one's fault. It's what happens when two people who need to interact the way we do are forced to interact as independent entities due to circumstances. That's my theory anyway.

Instead of getting closer, leaning on each other, it feels like we've withdrawn into ourselves. Or maybe it's just me. I know I've pulled back, I haven't been telling Master everything that's been bothering me. Instead I've been trying to just cope, to gut it out. I'm almost done with school, I can do this and I'm the one that created this situation anyway so I shouldn't whine about it.

This isn't a complaint about the way he wants to have sex, it's his right and one that I've acknowledged and consented to as his slave. I'm just struggling with it, as I'm struggling with everything else.

It's just a jumble of thoughts and feelings that need to get out in print instead of meandering around in my head. I'm trying to make peace with it all, trying to reclaim what I had, what I still want.