I don’t know exactly what normal is supposed to be. But I know I’m not it.
Normal isn’t sitting at Thanksgiving dinner while everyone else is yapping about how they upgraded their living room with the latest and trendiest color themes, while you are recalling yourself being tied and blindfolded to a tree in the woods while your Daddy Dominant whips you with his flogger and cane til your tits have welts wearing nothing but a pair of stiletto heels.
“Ummm yes, pass the green beans Uncle Bill.”
Normal isn’t sitting in your apartment knowing your “Daddy” is probably out with some new submissive in a motel somewhere, because he hasn’t answered his phone in several hours and his AA meeting only lasts one hour. And normal sure isn’t spending half the night casing the local motels when you drove by the AA clubhouse and proved your theory was correct, your sponsor and friends says he never showed.
“Yes Mom, I’d like some gravy on the turkey.”
Normal sure isn’t dumping said boyfriend after three years because that’s what normal people do, but you’re not normal, you’re a love addict, and he’s your “fix”. Every time you try to leave, it feels like your dying inside. So you’d rather have lit cigarettes put out on your flesh than feel that pain…..and you’ve done that. You’d rather drink until cognition ceases to function, and you’ve done that too….. than feel that pain. You’d rather have Daddy take his cane to your flesh until you bleed, and not safeword out, to prove you’re not a wimp, than to risk him leaving. You don’t want to risk him finding some new younger, version of you with a more pert ass and a new boob job; so you tolerate his sadism because you know that’s one thing “they” can’t do. They, don’t have your history, and won’t be able to tolerate or allow him to do any of the things you can physically withstand because he is a sexual sadist. Normal. Yes, this is normal. THIS! staying in this feels safer to you, than to feel the pain of him leaving you behind.
“Yes Grandma, I think I will pass on the pecan pie, I’m trying to watch my waistline.”
“Normal, is a setting on a washing machine” someone once told me, “and that’s about it.” They went on, “there is no such thing as normal.” I took some comfort in that, I really did. But deep down, I knew that I wanted to be. Somewhere deep inside me, the healthy seedling in me was germinating. I started setting limits with him. Taking small steps, because the truth was, I am not a masochist. I hate pain. I only endured it so he wouldn’t throw me away. He always promised me that if I did these “things”, I would be his good girl.
The way it rolled off his tongue….it was as if the promise of coming home has been re-awakened right then.
Maybe this Thanksgiving, I’m a tiny bit closer to normal than last year~