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Embracing Dissociation

Unfortunately, after I created my dual identity as Dominatrix Barbie / Self, I was unhappy. Everyone I ever knew (aside from the Networking 101 guy) basically made me cry. Maybe Networking guy just didn’t have the right opportunity for it. See me making an excuse to distance myself from feeling anything for him? SEE IT?! YOU DO THIS, YOU JACKASS NEUROTYPICAL FUCK WADS.

Although everyone makes mistakes to cry about, he could have made a lot fewer of them than anyone else. I can be optimistic, for fuck’s sake.

Anyway, to think about him is to indulge in fantasy, so we move on. I met him before this happened, so my rape and subsequent dissociation could have been prevented in that relationship — but that is not a guarantee there wouldn’t have been a later relationship where it happened or that it wouldn’t have happened in that one.

Regardless, I stepped into my true presence on the internet, feeling safe without scrutinizing eyes that told me there was something wrong with me. You all do that, too. Look at me as if I am an alien. As if I don’t belong here. I am Other and it’s not even significant. I am nothing. Your eyes try to ignore me. Your eyes try to rape me. Your eyes try to hurt me. Some of you — very few — merely express your own pain in your eyes. Many people have daggers for eyes, intentional or not. They’ve been hurt, I know. That’s the reason. But I didn’t hurt them, how could I?

See what you did now? You made God cry. I ought to whoop you all on the ass and put you in time out.

“Go find me a switch,” she said in irritation. “No, mommy! I SWEAR I’LL LISTEN BETTER AND BE GOOD!”

Ever have to do that? Go get your own mother a fucking flexible piece of fallen tree so she could whip you without leaving a mark? And then she rejects it. “You can do better, get me a good switch,” she’d say. Subtext: I hate you for making me upset about the fact that you are crossing boundaries I haven’t taught you about in full. We’re in public and you’re unruly; FIX IT. Additional subtext: I am ashamed of you being youthful and exuberant without caution and a (misguided) sense of public decency. The rest of us have to follow rules and now I’m going to force you to follow them all, too, even if what you’re doing is innocent.

“Stay in your limits,” she’d say, letting me out of the house to go in circles, approximately 150 feet in length and 35 feet in width. Around and around we go, moving as fast as we can to burn all kinds of energy, happy to be moving… unknowing what it would be like to roam outside the limits. Living within the parameters of another human being in order to pleaseth them. That is what being a child is all about, actually. At some point, you have to stick your middle finger up at your parents’ rules and just go hog wild in your own direction, learning from your own mistakes.

She wanted me to be easy to find because I lived in the ghetto, so… take some of my vinegar with a grain of salt. (And maybe a deadly nightshade known as potato, while you’re at it.) When I realized that I was causing her pain by disappearing, I stopped doing it, and my existence got better by a smidgen.

Boundaries. A thing most of us disrespect unless we are taught consequences for doing so. It’s natural, because we don’t understand the boundaries of others very well without being told what the outcome of failing to do so brings. Most of the time, terrible feelings. So, to be kind to others, we need to respect their boundaries.

How was I supposed to know that the ultra fun activity of balancing on a tiny retaining wall like it was a balance beam from school was wrong if she didn’t inform me?

Every time someone tells me a way they were traumatized, I tried my best to internalize their boundary and avoid triggering it. I know a better way now that I’ve had more psychology training and God’s therapy, though. The way to get over these traumas is to trigger them in a setting of safety. And then you just wait. You let the patient feel their feelings and come to terms with it, come to equilibrium. If they cannot, then further therapeutic support is required. Imagine that.

The world of domination and submission is a world revolving around boundaries. You have your own distinct set of boundaries and the Other has their set of boundaries. You must communicate them clearly, or you will cause pain that is unwarranted. You must obey your own boundaries, as well, or you will absolutely rape and dissociate the longer you continue to rape by causing pain to Self and then ignoring it.

You’re probably wondering what sorts of activities I got up to as a dominatrix. Too bad! A gentleman never kisses and tells, so neither does a gentle woman.

I can tell you that the experience was extremely multi-faceted due to the fact that both myself and my Other were intensely interested in role-playing together online. He lived in another country, after all. I’m sad to say that some of it was in plain view of other human beings, which made me highly uncomfortable most of the time. I didn’t lose my bodily virginity [to him] until I was 21 and we were over 18 months into a relationship…

Well, that’s not expressly true since I was raped before I formed my first official memory — I didn’t have consensual sex until that age. However, the internet is a wonderful place without sexually transmitted diseases. As long as I was not hurting anyone — including my Self — then everything was fair play. I failed my Self in this relationship, placing Us… no Him… above Self. Us women are taught to do that, to acquiesce to whatever you rapist motherfuckers want from us in order to receive some terrible facsimile of love. If it ain’t love, it’s HATE!

That same ex, my Other, would tell me “Turn-about is fair play.” He would do anything to me that made him unhappy, usually to the point of extreme cruelty. I feel all feelings at times ten intensity. I didn’t need such cruelty to learn from what I did wrong. Now? Now I realize he did it because he hated himself, primarily. He hated himself for not being a better person, which is a choice he made. And he was raping me. He was forcing me to feel what he felt instead of explaining how he felt so I could understand.

God tells me he often slept with one of his mother’s acquaintances named Carla the whole time I even knew him.

Even while we were together, he continued to do this. Even while he knew his heart belonged to me, he caved to the pleasures of the flesh due to our distance from each other. Or maybe she was all that and a bag of chips, but it sounds like his heart wasn’t with her when considering all the facts.

He couldn’t wait for me because he’d turned into a fornicator (or was always a fornicator) — but he expected me to wait five years for him. Hypocritical bitch. And I’m sure he raped the Third Wheel, too, just as he had raped me. Just as he raped a woman who came after me named Amy. Just as he raped the woman who came before me named Alison. In short, the man is an unabashed rapist. He was able to “live” with himself by justification of his actions. This is when I learned that justifying anything means you are battling your conscience when you know you’re doing something wrong. In other words, it’s enablement of rape.

I believe his brother raped him in his youth. From all the things I know about that man, I know his brother was a source of outright terror. And he wouldn’t talk to me about it, no matter what, even though he’d be in a tizzy at the mere idea of his brother visiting him. Since I know he was perpetuating his shame and guilt, recreating that which had occurred, he was recreating the scenario of being raped by his brother… with his wife. Me. If not with all these other women, too.

Just because we didn’t go through a priest to be married does not mean we were not married, you see. We chose each other, even when things were bad. I dumped him because he resorted to manipulating me day in and day out. It didn’t matter how I tried to console him, he already lost me in his own mind — and for good reason since he’s a cheating, lying son of a bitch — and nothing I could say could improve The Relationship(T.M.). Then, on top of this, he’d disappear full days from time to time, then tell me he had a migraine when he’d never had one before in the history of me talking to him. (Was it really that good, Carla, or was he pretending you were me? You think I am too naive to see what really happened, God or no God? Oh, you hate me now? Good for you. You’ll die in short order, mark my words.)

If he’d just told me what was going on, maybe I could have helped him. If he just told me he was a fucking victim, it would have helped… it would have started to heal him. But, he was a mental mess due to his own misbehaviors. Misbehaviors he refused to give up. Why? Did this woman tempt him to make it harder, standing between him and his right to be happy? (Narcissistic bitch. Just own it — the truth will set you free, woman.) He turned up the self-hatred, probably doing more of the things he despised himself for. I made him want to be a better man… to the point of nicotine consumption cessation.

The man stopped smoking simply because I didn’t do it. For at least six weeks.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. Now if only he could have stopped drinking instead of putting himself in the grave about eight years ago due to pancreatitis and complications from organ failure. He drank himself to death. I remember being sad for his mother… it’s a tragedy to survive your own offspring. I was relieved that he was no longer in pain. This is my normal response to human expiration dates, by the way, because to live is to be in pain. On the other hand, this is joyful for Tom himself. He exited his cycle of guilt and shame, going to Purgatory to learn his lessons about the life he led. He’s still there because he’s not done yet. He has to face each and every thing he’s done, good or not, and see the bigger picture thanks to the G-man and how death works. Apparently, in the tunnel, this all takes place. If there is really a tunnel. I didn’t see one… but maybe I didn’t get that far as I was dying in 2020.

Instead, I woke up with telepathy. “What a GIFT, I assure you,” she claims sarcastically and snarkily.

I broke up with Tom because he’d make me cry all day every day. (Night, really, due to the time difference and the fact I worked after I finished going to school and getting my shiny associate’s degree — which turned out to be all I ever needed to catapult into upper middle class pay.) He was manipulating me, trying to make him feel the same way he did, forcing me to sympathize instead of simply asking me for my empathy with honest and authentic communication. I was tired of being gamed… especially when I proved to myself it was a game.

I turned the tables on him.

“Turn about is fair play.”

Sure it is, Tom.

Sympathy costs me a lot of energy I cannot afford to have if I’m half-starved, like I was all my life, as I continued to eat foods that I could not digest. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, of course. I couldn’t sustain it, so I dumped him. Couples therapy would have resolved it, I’m pretty sure, or personal psychotherapy for him. Trauma therapy these days would have absolutely assisted. Empathy, though, I can give in unlimited amounts. I can touch my own sadness and feel it on your behalf. You don’t have to make me feel what you feel to care. Maybe the rest of you are broken like this and need to be healed, but I am not one of you. That’s the whole point of this fucking diary. I’m not one of you. I am alien. I know that now.

To force a person to feel feelings is a form of control. Control is psychopathy. The END. No discussion. I shalt not suffer a psychopath(T.M.)

God tells me I’m right; his brother molested him and anally raped him in his youth. He should go to jail and/or die, if you ask me. Apparently, he’s already dead, so… I’m late on that one. I would have supported Tom sending his sibling to jail. I would have given him psychotherapy to the best of my ability — which, admittedly, at age 20 or so, was not going to be top notch. But, he could have used the trust for me to open up completely and begin the healing process. The first step is putting it into words to communicate it, even if only to the Self.

Sharing trauma history allows two people to understand each other better. It allows a person to access their empathy and deepen the connection with another being. This is what is missing as I see couples on dates staring at their fucking phones (or worse yet, the dude is eyeballing me because I’m judging him for being on his phone on a date.) You’re disconnected, jackasses; look each other in the eyes and tell each other who wronged you and how. It’s a parable for them to learn from, a way to learn how to treat you better. And it’s healing(T.M.).

Go home, sit in the dark, and feel your fucking feelings about stuff. Stop lighting up a monitor, television screen, cell phone screen, tablet… just stop. You’re raping yourself. You’re dissociating. It’s fucking painful, but you’ve long forgotten that part by now, considering you do it all the time.

Every night, I turn off the computer and go do my yoga in silence for hours. Or it would be silence if there weren’t twats in my head, constantly trying to redirect me in whatever direction they please. [It’s secretly all of you, by the way. You all suck. Let me do the Me show and enjoy it. If you want more entertainment than psychology and spiritual enlightenment, then pay for it. Otherwise, pipe down, I have my own life to live. She grumbles about rapist bastards again.]

You can read in order to reflect, too. It will help you process feelings as your move your eyes right to left and left to right. You can listen to music to help, as well. The lyrics can help identify thoughts or feelings that are being subverted. You need fully emotional music with words that take you through the gambit of emotional reality. Click here to listen to a playlist of emotional music.

There are 25 emotions identified, which have varying degrees of intensity. Prepare for a barrage of them…

  • Admiration
  • Adoration
  • Appreciation of beauty
  • Amusement
  • Anger
  • Anxiety
  • Awe
  • Awkwardness
  • Boredom
  • Calmness
  • Confusion
  • Craving
  • Disgust
  • Empathic pain
  • Entrancement
  • Excitement
  • Fear
  • Horror
  • Interest
  • Joy
  • Nostalgia
  • Relief
  • Sadness
  • Satisfaction
  • and Surprise.

I know that’s an awful lot of things we can feel. I imagine the ones you are avoiding are a much shorter list. Primarily, we’re talking about grief, sadness, fear, anxiety, confusion, potentially disgust, craving, and BOREDOM.

For example, we fail to acknowledge, even after binge watching everything on Netflix, that we’re BORED. We just get another subscription and end up watching the Same Story, Different Day. We’re not very inventive as a species and we feel like it’s all been done before because people are rewriting and rehashing sameness everywhere we look. They lack divine inspiration, sadly.

We don’t want to face the negative things we feel. We are Pure Pleasure Seekers, as Moloko sings about. To acknowledge feeling bad means having to really feel it. It might even come with an ugly cry, snot and all. Oh my god, Sansara, don’t encourage me to ruin my perfect makeup today!

Fuck your makeup, woman. Look at yourself in the mirror. LOOK HOW MUCH YOU FAKE IT. Are you making it yet? Or are you just feeling worse and worse, degrading yourself because you aren’t acknowledging he’s raping you.

As for men… you don’t even have the makeup excuse. What is wrong with you? Like, seriously, I’m asking for a friend… Her name is Carla. Her name is Sheila. Her name is Alison. Her name is Jennifer. Her name is Crystal.

Although I have to take a moment to make a shout out for guy-liner. Hot. Can my next husband subscribe to guy-liner, pretty please?

What, really, is wrong with being in touch with our emotions in the moment we’re feeling them? I can tell you. You’ve no doubt forgotten the abuse you received that made you want to avoid crying altogether. You were made fun of. You were teased. You were bullied. You were told you’re wrong. You were told being a feeling creature is wrong. By people who already began to dissociate because of taking abuse all of their own. Or worse yet… you cried at a psychopath, completely alone and vulnerable, and they didn’t care. They invalidated you. They raped you.

You didn’t deserve that, the not-caring. You didn’t deserve the coldness. Did they tell you to go to a therapist, completely dismissing you and telling you that the problem is all yours to deal with? Get out! Get away! Save yourself!!!!! This is your wake-up call, honey. He’s a psycho. He wants to kill you just to do the Him show. He doesn’t care what you sacrifice for the union, only that you do it with a smile. Only that you pretend there is nothing wrong with his utter abuse of your Self. Stop fantasizing about him being The One. He’s wronged you to tie you to him. They absolutely know exactly what they are doing because they are devoid of all emotion and believe all emotion exists for purposes of control.

They. Will. Not. Change.

They. Will. Never. Love.

But where’s your fucking romance novel, woman?!

Shut up, Steve. You have to pay your dues first.

You can subscribe to my Patreon account if you want me to write it faster.

Put your money where your thoughts are and I’ll put my thoughts where your money is… part time, anyway. Believe it or not, I already put work into it today. At least an hour. I have an entire plot for a novel and then ideas for a second one.

However, since I’ve kind of already disregarded the exact formula that goes into the writing of an actual romance novel and instead plotted out writing a normal novel full of romance (and erotica!) in the science fiction genre, I may as well throw away the plan to have a “sequel” and make it all one continuous story, don’t you think?

I have to get back in touch with my empathy to do this correctly, which means I have to write a dissertation on emotions, cure myself of my psychopathy that was forced on me by men who only wish to fuck my body but not my soul, and the dissociation that came from acquiescing (unbeknownst to me) to this very act. They all say forever and they mean forever they will rape you. If you let them. In fact, they’ll rape everyone they can. I have yet to meet a man who actually believes in making me the Only Girl in the World.

So focus your energy on psychopaths dying. Remember, wherever our focus goes, energy flows. Psychopaths are holding back the human species. We are unable to progress to anything even remotely close to Utopia while they exist. Envision the world free of cruel bastards that hurt you for fun. Everyone is able to smile or cry when they feel like it, without judgment or a guilt trip. Without ridicule. Without anyone controlling it to their own ends, for their own whims, for their sick desires to rule the whole bloody world.

In other words…





I shall dedicate it to all women, everywhere, whether we’re friends or not. I love you, even if you don’t love me. I will never be jealous of you; I understand you are walking a path just like mine. I can only ever hurt when I am abandoned for another. That is all.

Now, if you will excuse me… we were talking about emotions we don’t want to feel. That’s right… you did a classic deflect, STEVE. I don’t want to go there, Sansara! I don’t want to go! Let’s change the topic! That way, I can avoid feeling it.


You. Are. The. Pain.


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