I am struggling, when am I not? But why this time? Let's indulge a bit, shall we? Still locked up, which is still comforting, but things are getting odd again. Because I am me and because I do not understand your human boundaries I ended up getting all musical and post-modern in my report to my Holder online and I think, honestly, I scared her off. We were playing and I think I might have ruined that by being me. I kill playfulness and experimentation. I destroy good-natured happiness and I grind good feelings underfoot until nothing is left but bitter ashes.
At work, stresses have built because I can't seem to sleep at the moment. My concerns regarding...
See, here's the thing, a lot has been left unsaid since November last year. In December, Tilly came to the conclusion that she could try and live with me and my ASD. She could try and see if we could make things work. But, like she warned would happen, we then agreed to pootle on as if we hadn't skirted close to divorce and then a month passed. I went into chastity, without Tilly's knowledge, as a coping strategy test-run. And then it took off. Like all exciting things I got carried away. And, like always when I get carried away, I end up ruining it.
Because this chastity leaves plenty of time to reflect and think about things. Going on to a site called Chastity Mansion opened up a new community to listen to, to talk at and eventually to over-share with - in that way that I do. And there was talk of Female Led Relationships and submission. Submission is something I have been investigating through my chastity decision and with my Holder because, well, why not? I have leaned in, and I have been semi-rewarded, but that brought more questions and taht, in turn, brought some disappointments. My attempts to be more submissive with Tilly in an effort to cope with the way things are brought a recoiling from me by her. I was too fixated on things, I was too keen to do things she liked, I wasn't dealing well with my blow-up with the youngest. Basically, when I thought I was being more open and helpful and romantic I was actually being weird and fixated and annoying and shit. Like I normally am but worse.
I want to talk to Tilly about what I have discovered, about what is going on, but a full weekend where I got no time to work ("I did warn you not to have any work on over the weekend!") and no down-time coupled with a series of evenings of indefinite child-care whilst Tilly got stressed with and at the elder children did not help. So, on Monday, with Harry being depressed and using me as a sounding board I found myself emotionally spent. Cue some shitty students spotting this and riling me up. Unforgivably, I had a sense of humour failure at them, leading to me splurging on another colleague who happened to be in the same room as me. And whilst I wasn't specific I did find myself bringing in the pressure of my own dark thoughts about the lack of progress since last October and the fact that I feel trapped as I can't talk to Tilly. This low mood and sudden lack of emotional control continued into Tuesday after another crap night's sleep so that I struggled to operate effectively and was a bit snitty and snappy generally. Coupled with not having got my work done over the weekend and I struggled to function at work at all. On the evening I came home, was thrust straight into child-care until 2030 when I could cook myself some tea and then was simply too tired to work.
Wednesday. I miss a meeting. I had to cut a meeting short with a student and hadn't got to the 'how to fix what they had fucked up' stage of our discussion. I was feeling down. Perhaps a tad suicidal, I don't know. A colleague who is lovely asked how I was and then pushed until I ranted a bit because, you know, my inability to control emotions at the moment. She was concerned, tried to tell me (via e-mail thank God) that she thought I gave her hope about her ASD son because I was happily married with children. This made me feel even worse. Of course it did. Before that e-mail I got back from finding out what happened at the meeting I missed to the Form Tutor of the student I left informing me that said student had complained and that I needed to sort it out. The Head of Sixth Form also saw me and said, essentially, the same thing. He then caught up with me at lunch time (still pre-e-mail) and told me that the Form Tutor had now also complained that I was abrupt and that I had upset them. I had to find both staff and student, apologise, and fix matters. This was an order.
I found the staff member, she agreed to send the student to me to sort that out and was utterly confused as to why I was apologising - she claimed she had not spoken at all to the Head of Sixth Form. Fuck knows what's happening now. I get back to the e-mail. Cue almost crying. I weather the afternoon somehow. I get home - it's the youngest's birthday - to an empty house littered with the remains of a happy birthday. Checking the Book of Faces reveals Tilly has posted some lovely moments. But, once again, it is when I am at work. I haven't been present at the actual opening of cards and unwrapping of birthday presents with any of my children for the past two years now. It kinda hurts. Also, evidence that the family had eaten, but there was nothing for me. I went out to get a soup.
I bump into Tilly and the children. Tilly berates me for going out for food, we had something to eat and she hadn't had tea yet. Would I carry the youngest for her and walk with them. We get home, eldest dropped off at another class, and Tilly has lost a bag with some of youngest's toys in it. I run off to get that, trying to calm a panicked Tilly beforehand because emotional labour is a thing I can attempt now and again. I get the bag, go home, then set off immediately to pick the eldest up. Tilly greets her return with a bizarre display of wanting to be Right - it fucks me off when Tilly does it with me, I hate it more when she does it with our children - and this time I quibble.
"There's no need to say something like that," spits Tilly, "and certainly not looking at me like that!"
I don't argue, I fold. I look down, don't meet her gaze. What is there to say? She stays angry, my 'whipped puppy' look is enough to send her spiralling into a rage against me for quite some time. Later, around 2100, she apologises but her heart isn't in it. She's sorry for her tone, she shouldn't have been so grumpy. She is not sorry for the substance of her complaint. She never is. I end up writing a wide-ranging e-mail that is tinged by all of this and may have scared off my play-partner, and with good reason. I'm not a playful person. Not for long.
Today is my busiest day. I survive, but only just. Get home, child-care, charge car, get on computer. No work. Manage to learn from Tilly that I have been pretty awful since Christmas, slowly getting worse. She's drowning in all the things she has to do with the children (what, with dance shows, rehearsals, performing in Joseph and getting the Boy to his classes, as well as running creative writing, science, French and maths classes in the house for multiple home-schooled children from around the local area, and making sure friends come round and drama classes and trying out new classes and you get the idea). She'd asked me to get a signal booster for the broadband a fortnight or so ago, I hadn't, so she had done it. This was proof that I can't really help her out when she is stressed because I am incapable of adding more to my routine. If I want to talk, I brought this up, then I must understand all the things that I can't do for her and how long I have not been doing them. I must understand how hard she is finding things. Sure, we can talk, but I shouldn't expect her to listen fully when I can't even do one or two things to keep her from drowning in her own life. Pre-emptive excuses, gotta love 'em.
To think, on Friday I was planning to post here to talk glowingly of chastity and how much it had helped my mood - with hopes that it was also having an effect on helping my relationship and just generally improving my outlook. I only held off because I wanted to have nice round numbers (four weeks since an orgasm, Monday at 0730; 50 days locked up, today) and... well, that lovely post will never be written. Instead I write this shit.
I thought, maybe, that I could actually find out that submission worked for me, maybe apply it in stealth and see what happened. But I can't even do that. Conversation on Chastity Mansion on FLRs showed that... well, I can't really call myself submissive and... Yeah, my assumption that I would make a terrible submissive was borne out. My knowledge that I can take any positive interaction and, over time, ruin it has been borne out with the good lady stranger that agreed to be my Holder. I doubt I can recapture that.
If I were a better person I would actually do something about my suicidal ideation rather than just sitting and stewing in it. But the fact that I ended up feeling worse in my last attempt to use therapy, and worse than I do now, coupled with hitting the panic button back in October last year means that I won't. I'll just stew. Ah, fuck this, I can't words.