the one about elephants

I have a good memory. Or a bad memory, depending on what comes to mind, so I suppose I should say long.

I have a long memory.

I remember things forever, I guess. If something or someone has hurt me, I can be transported right back into those feelings at that moment and my brain tells me that it hurts exactly the same. Logically, I know it doesn’t. Logically, I know I have moved on.

I’d like to say I don’t hold grudges, but I’d be a liar. I’d also like to say that I don’t burn bridges, but I light the match with glee. I’d love to say I forgive and forget, but I can’t. I can forgive (with some people FAR too frequently), but I can’t forget.

Elephants don’t forget either.

Man, I don’t want to be an elephant! I’m a kitten, we all know this. I don’t think my cats forget, either, though. Sometimes they look at me like “mom, remember last week when you made me wait five minutes for breakfast? Fuck you.” So much side eye from these cats! I digress…

Elephants. Memories. Me. What triggers my ridiculous memory? Anything, really. A song. A new hurt. Food. Photos. A place. My emotions can get thrown right back into whatever I remember, as if no time has passed. It’s weird, difficult to explain, and it sucks so hard.

Today a smell got me. A shower gel. One that is my favorite and that I used regularly six, five, four years ago. I lathered up my sweaty body and was transported into some bullshit feelings. Not cool. I don’t like anything messing with my showers so I said to myself nope, not today. I tried to fill my mind with other things – it didn’t work. I allowed myself to just feel the past and I didn’t dwell. It hurt but then it washed away. Progress, sort of.

Today’s satsuma scented memory wasn’t a bad one – especially at the time it was made – it just brought up the feelings of stupidity, misinformed decisions, and lies that came to light later. And for those kinds of good- turned-bad memories? The best remedy (for this elephant mind) is replacing the unpleasant with something more palatable. Go back to the place, do a new thing, all with Sir, and make a better memory! It offers a fresher focus so when the elephant strikes, though past still hurts, the new experience has a bigger place in my head. Four decades to figure this out, but better now than never.

As for my little shower situation? Well, I’m sure if I beg Sir properly, he’ll pound some new, sweetly scented memories into me.

Happy Monday and hugs to anyone that can’t stop being an elephant. 🖤

~shygirl

new year, new…

Me? No, probably not.

The moment I dare to think I will have the time or the words to jump back into my blog, life knocks me down and then it’s all I can to do manage the minimal day to day.

That’s okay, life is okay, Sir and I are okay, and all will continue to be okay. Day by day. Just keep fucking swimming.

But I’m not here to fuss or to vent or to moan about things that aren’t quite right. Not today.

Today I’m here to say Happy New Year! I am here to say that laughter through the tears is the way to go! Mostly, I’m here to ruminate on my little Etsy shop. Not to plug it, or to convince you to purchase something (but feel free, we make it all with love and pain in mind). I just want to remind you that little things are, in fact, the biggest things.

My shop is small. We sell heavy duty spreader bars, burned spoons, loopy pain devices, and recently added enamel pins which are an unexpected hit. We don’t sell a lot, but it has picked up slightly. Usually the uptick comes when we need it most and I just feel so thankful – like a higher power is looking out. Yeah, my god totally supports my BDSM shop. Praise be. 😉

My favorite part about running this little side-hustle isn’t the small boost to income, it’s the connection of it all. The open and frank conversations with likeminded individuals. No pretense. No embarrassment. Questions. Answers. Discussions. About sensation or strength, Dominant & submissive gifts, custom words.

Recently I’ve had two gift orders wherein I’ve handwritten the dictated message. I love it! I love getting a glimpse into the lives of others on similar paths, or very different ones. I love being a voyeur. I love getting to be a part of these dirty little gifts that are also sent with so much love. It’s really life-affirming for me, which I know sounds a little extra, but it is. The small moments remind of the validity of our choices and preferences. Our needs may not be the norm, but we aren’t the only ones. I need that because sometimes, even after all these years, I start to worry that I’m not ‘right’ or that this dynamic is just a manifestation of my fucked-up-ness. I’m not good at friends, and sometimes that gets lonely and very isolating. But having this meager shop (and this blog when I utilize it) gives me a sense of community, belonging, and understanding that I’d otherwise not have.

In the new year, I hope to rekindle my affair with this blog and to invest more time and research (ha!) into new things for my shop. Hold me accountable! Send me a message asking what’s up! Even if you don’t want to buy, follow my shop, follow my blog, let’s chat!

And if any of you have ever purchased, thank you from the depths of my black heart and just know that I secretly consider you party of my kinky, dirty family.

Much love & laughter to all!

Happy weekend!

shygirl

that hand

I jump three times and then hit the open air.

Falling into that perfect dive off the high board.
I slice the water, straight down to bottom. Execute the flip…
But I don’t come up.
A strong hand is holding me down, pressing on my head.
I fight. I struggle, past denial. I hold my breath. I stay calm. I think.
And then I push, but that hand wants what it wants. I am stuck.
I move past the panic, past the fear, past the primal instinct to simply breathe.

I think.

The hand that holds me down is my nemesis…

And, somehow, also my comfort.

I move past the thinking. Until I only feel. I feel the burn in my lungs and the suffocating weight of the water.

The strong will to break surface resurrects. I oblige, and give another struggle.

But that hand… That hand keeps me still… Forcing my compliance.
I close my eyes, knowing I cannot win. I command the world to go dark. I relax. I give in.

But now, I want that hand to push me further down. I want that hand to keep me here until I am nothing.

I sink, sink, sink… Below the bottom…

Underneath everything there is.

In this place, there is no need for oxygen, no need for thought, no need for anything.

Except for that hand. I need that hand. Because that hand has become my world, my anchor, my demise, my Savior.

My Master.

The sinking, the letting go, the giving over, the death… It is all the same.

It is all peace.
And the very moment that the water steals my life, is the same moment the hand yanks me to the surface.
Reborn.
Refreshed.
Renewed.

That hand doesn’t leave my head. That hand has ultimate control. That hand decides my fate. Forever. Plunging me into the depths or lifting me into the clouds.

That hand.

This life.

It is time.

Now.

To live.

~shygirl

*photo found on Pinterest with no credit given*