It’s not demand which underpins the words, nor dominance, or absolute insistence, it’s need, His need. Yes, he may want me to tell him, but I feel it so keenly, He needs it more.
Emotion has once again won, once again I’ve fallen foul of it’s unrepentant hold over me, and I feel.
Everything bubbles beneath the surface, everything I’ve been trying to hold back because it’s so hard to acknowledge.
I feel broken.
He asks again, words a whisper, because now He thinks He is the cause of the tears, and this I cannot bear. Now He looks how I feel, and guilt becomes the filler for the cracks in my precariously constructed wall. His need to know far outweighs my wish to keep cloaked the issue currently uppermost in my mind. The words become a jumbled mass of knots and tangle that get stuck in my throat as I try to explain.
But how can I explain when I don’t understand it myself? How can I tell him…
I feel broken….
Silence hangs in stagnant air, threatening to divide, consequences dire.
To find my voice.
As we navigate, together, the obstructed pathways of my mind, we play a game of dot to dot, except the dots are words, and together they form sentences, albeit at a reduced pace. With each word uncovered, comprehension begins to dawn, illumination, in places, other areas still concealed by the dark.
Questions posed, questions eventually answered….
I hate that I find this so difficult, I hate myself for finding this so difficult, why won’t the words just flow? I tell Him this, express my anger, at myself, at being so fucking useless.
He knows I struggle with this, He and I are so alike in that regard.
Internal monologue; just tell Him what you need!!!
The problem is my need transcends want, my need is interlaced with fear. Verbalising the need means facing the fear, means acknowledging it, means that I am seen, vulnerable, no walls, no hiding places, just me, laid bare. This is something else with which, of late, I have struggled.
But that isn’t significant right now.
Or maybe it is.
It’s all connected in truth, by those curious little dots from which words then sentences began to form.
Small voice(paraphrase), almost a whisper.
I need you to hurt me. I don’t want it, but I need it. I want you to stop, but I need you to carry on, go further than we’ve ever been before. Need outweighs want. I don’t want this, I’m scared of the pain.
But I need it….and I need it from you.
I’m broken, the pain slut is broken, my masochist has upped and gone.
An acknowledgement, pain thresholds fluctuate, but this is more than that, and I don’t understand why.
I remember the flavour of it, it’s appeal, the craving, how every fibre of my being was set alight by it’s delivery, and I long to return to that state of want and desire, where pulse races, butterflies flutter in crazed anticipation.
Need becomes my thoughts, it becomes who I am, and I
need that not to be the case.
I don’t want need to push everything else to one side, I don’t want need to be my singular vision.
To get there I need Him to hurt me, to hear my words…..small voice….“please stop”….and to carry on regardless.
To see my tears and remain unmoved.
To see my face and not be swayed by the fact that I’m broken.
I don’t want Him to hurt me, but I need Him to hurt me so much more.