If I had a dollar for every time someone who cared about me said ” You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.” I would be a rich woman. Teachers, family, my friends, partners, colleagues, bosses, mentors, everyone. My personal sense of success is a huge factor in the direction my mental health moves. If I feel, or even smell, a whiff of “failure”, I spiral. I’m pretty transparent about my mental health here and on social media; it is a flexible, malleable thing with ups and downs. What’s interesting is how, over time, the ups and downs change and shift. I used to spiral down deep and stay there, anxious and self-isolating for extended periods, weeks, occasionally months. Now, with more support and awareness of how and why my outlook shifts I don’t spiral down as deep, and it doesn’t last as long. Still, when it hits, it’s debilitating.
It’s been a week and a half since we said goodbye to one of our cats, and I’m proud of myself for honouring my grief, sharing in the grief of my partners, and expressing myself. But oh, it took a toll, in both time and energy, that pulled me away from the blog, Patreon, writing gigs, art commissions, toy reviews, everything professional. I already struggle with not being an earner in my household. I used to be top banana, the corporate shill who put the overpriced organic food in our bellies and the organic bamboo shirts on our backs. Until I broke under the pressure.
Nowadays I just do my best to ride those down days out. Today I pulled out with some help and love and focused breathing with Daddy via Skype. It’s a wonderful thing to have someone help you find your centre. Having that LittleSpace with Him is such a refuge when I’ve had a hard day or a rough night. He’s the shepherd, and He’s the forest where I’m safest. He’s also so practical and comforting with his directness. He expressed the absolute epitome of LDR Poly DD/lg when he said “Baby you’re so stressed. I guarantee you will feel better if you get some dick, ASAP. Daddy doesn’t care whose dick it is, but get some in you. And all the orgasms, that’s an order. Don’t make me swim the Atlantic.” and Reader, He was right.
Speaking of dicks (as in dicks I may never fuck), the tea date with The Cop moved to tomorrow but he’s been conspicuously absent on text (which isn’t totally weird for days that he has his girls which I presume he does because he’s not working) but I might be getting ghosted! Wouldn’t that just be a cherry on the old sundae that is life? Fabulous. I will be very disappointed if that’s the case; I was really looking forward to meeting him. Can’t win ’em all.
I need to chill out. Like, a deeeeeep chill out. I need to get Antarctic on my ass. I need to become the Mariana’s Trench of chilling out. I need to be so chill I’m pooping popsicles. Because I’m making myself so stressed for nothing. I’m doing well, I’m growing and improving. I’m learning and I have goals that I’m achieving. That has to be enough for now. It just has to.