Tonight, my heart hurts. Sick from cruel words from an unexpected sources, and seeds of discontent have sprouted, until all I want to do is weep and bury my head in blankets and just... disappear. Runaway from all of these silly humans and their I haven't even told Sir about the painful comments, nor about being so miserable today, on the edge of tears and fury, my ribcage circling a ball of pain. I am finding it more and more difficult to open up to him lately, even though he tells me that I can at any time. But he never opens up to me. And he never pries, never tries to dig in and look past this veneer and see Me. I wish he would. I wish he would care about what went on behind my mind, wish he felt never ending curiosity about my inner workings. What I dream of, the best moment of my day, what I dream about, what I see in the future, my biggest fears, my most painful moment. Sometimes, he says, "Tell me a secret." And I will come up with a little story, nothing too deep because I don't know if he really wants to know. He used to love to read when I wrote pretty posts about him on Tumblr, so when I made this blog, partly as a way to open up to him without my awkward anxiety of face-to-face conversations... I told him about it, offered to send him the link, but he wasn't too interested, and I never did. I have tried to ask him questions before. Silly little things like, "What are five things you want to do before winter ends." "What is your fear?" "What was the best thing you ate for Thanksgiving?" And all of them are ignored, none of them are answered, and I feel foolish for trying. Maybe he doesn't want to open himself up to me. It has been months since we have started hanging out, yet there is still so much I don't know. I know his favorite color, his favorite food, his favorite game... I don't know what he wants to be in the future. I don't know any of his goals, his dreams, his inner workings. And he doesn't seem to try to discover mine.

It makes me weep. Especially given the cruel words from Kajira's Sir, calling me a slut and implying that boys only want to hang out with me because I am an easy lay... I am filled with fear and doubt and terror, and I can't even tell him, because I can't tell if he really wants to know. Maybe he doesn't care about what goes on under my skin. Maybe he just wants a pretty girl in his bed, a companion to keep loneliness at bay, with no ties. Maybe my face and my body are the important things, my kisses and my adoration. Not Me.

I broke down a few weeks ago, and poured my heart out in a silly stupid love letter. I wanted to open up, to show him a part of me, to be vulnerable and passionate, hoping to incite that same passion or curiosity in him. Hoping to get some words. He received it, said that he loved it, it made him smile, and I should keep writing letters like that... But he didn't have any sort of deep response back, he didn't open up, he didn't share his feelings or his thoughts.

There is a wall around him, and I can't get in. And it scares me. Terrifies me with the thought that maybe I am being a foolish girlthing, for developing feelings when maybe it would have been the best thing to keep the walls up. I know that he wants me to say the Big Three Words, but no matter my feelings, I can't say them. Because I want to know him, who he truly is, all of the good and the bad, everything that is under the surface, and I want him to see all of Me, not just the superficial starchild exterior. That is all my past lovers have been content with, sans my ex-master, and I could never give myself to them fully. Because they didn't want more. And it feels like Mr. Bones doesn't either.

In only a few months, we went from texting all of the time, silly sexual yummy texts, to barely any, just basic "Good morning, I miss you, yayayayay!" Have we plateaued already? Have we run out of things to talk about when there is still so much we haven't said or shared?

I have so much passion inside of me, and I wish he would reach in and rip it out, demand it of me, to not accept anything less than ALL that I have to give, to be vulnerable with me, to let me see HIM and to feel like he genuinely wants to see ME. I want him to demand more of me, to push me, to let me pull it out of him, to wrap ourselves in passion and beauty and depth and wonder, to go beyond the surface. I want a relationship that takes us to the bottom of the ocean, strange currents and unseen sights, where anything can happen, completely lost in each other.

Instead, I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself, feeling lonely and completely alone and Less Than and lacking and like good for nothing but an okay lay.

When will I learn?

I truly have the best Sir in the entire world. He is constantly doing wonderful things, little presents like Red Velvet Cupcakes and sour gummi worms, searching for hours in the cold for my lost wallet, comforting my tears without ever getting angry or annoyed, just telling me over and over again that It Will Be Okay.

After my anxious post last night, my Mr. Bones ended up giving me a call, sensing the anxiety and volunteering an idea to distract my brain during those long hours. He created a character slot on his video game account for Guild Wars 2 (which is like WoW, but much, MUCH cooler), gave me the password and email to his account, and told me to play while he was at work.

So I did - creating a magicman who has skin of bark and a mohawk of leaves, a leaf like a mask across his face. My Greenman Wildwarrior, that aspect of myself that I keep wanting to get in touch with. So I created him, and spent hours battling and gliding across skies on dandelion seedpods and crossing crystalline rivers and charging past the most luminescent ultraviolet blossoms. So much beauty in one game, like my dreamworld plucked from my skull and spread across a screen, a lovely fantasy to explore and get lost in.

So that was my day, and for the first time in months, I had a whole day spent without Sir in which anxiety did not strike me. It was lovely, and it was such a kind gift for him to offer me: hours of amusement and blissful distraction.

I think I am might be addicted to it already.

He is so good to me, and I am so grateful and thankful that he came into my life. <3 <3 <3

Sir and I are dating now, after a wonderful weekend of cuddles and cooking and chocolate chip cookies and Halloween movies and shopping and being sick and moans and blushes and presents. It was his birthday. He asked me for those titles that I find silly, but there was no fear in my heart. So I agreed, and our joy in each other was radiant. Even in spite of a few bad moments, there was so much happiness, and I wish those moments could have stretched out into eternity. He thinks the walls are gone, though. And I try to tell them that they aren't... But I don't think he understands, not truly. When I am around him, those few days, everything feels calm and serene and I feel secure in us. I feel happy and I want to hug him and hug the world and laugh and laugh. I can feel the magic. But when I am home, the gremlins come. Each week, they seem to grow stronger. The more these emotions grow, the stronger the fear. He sees me as happy and joyous - but when I am back in this house, anxiety spikes through my veins often. And as I am forbidden to chew on my nails anymore, I chew on my lips until they are shredded and bleeding and chapped, until I can't bear to look at them in the mirror, and I can't see how he will bear to kiss them. The fear is still here. The walls. Except... the fears have shifted. Instead of worrying about how I will destroy him, how my love will poison him... Now I worry about him hurting me. Which is a strange shift after the past few relationships. I am worried that he is going to leave, without warning and without reason. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious about my face with its non-symmetrical features - my strange nose and open lips and uneven eyes. Even my body, which I am normally proudest of, is far from its usual shape, and I feel hesitant to show it off. When will he get tired of me? He is a beautiful boy who is friends with the most stunning alternative model ladies, and I keep waiting for him to look at me with puzzlement, wondering what he ever saw in this plainjane changeling girl. Even this anxiety causes more anxiety - because nothing is more attractive than self-confidence. I never FEEL more beautiful than when I am peacocking, when I feel strong and proud and alive. This self-consciousness is ugly and it makes me feel incredibly ugly inside, and I am afraid he will high-tail it if he sees. I even have trouble opening up to him, fear blocking all of the words inside of my chest. I have so much that I want to tell him - dreams and fears and laughter and wishes. But the words die inside of my throat, smothered in blushes, and I can't get them out, no matter how hard I try. When will he get bored of my silence, of these conversations that I can't contribute significant thoughts to? I have them... Fear just keeps me from saying them, a crippling shyness that makes me want to hide my face in my hands. I feel broken in a different way, and I don't want him to see it. I am scared to death for him to see it, and be disappointed. That pretty gem that sparkled in the sunshine of the window, but is cracked and dusty when you finally cradle it within your palms. And then he will put me back on the shelf, wash his hands and find another gem, another glittering beauty. Maybe that will happen, now that I am finally his and the challenge of the hunt is over. I can't fathom how he can possibly want me. I honestly... I can't see what he sees. And then there is the evil, vile voice that whispers, "Maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's not real." That's the worst voice at all, and I make sure I squash it down the moment it arises, hands clamped over my ears. But it still murmurs when I least expect it. Part of these fears come from too much free time, and not enough motivation. These days spent home are spent wasting time - watching television and hanging out with family and reading - distractions at every turn. I am not doing anything significant with my life. I haven't been doing any shoots lately. I haven't been working very much. I haven't been writing or crafting - no creation. It has all been stagnant, these hours blurring together until it is time to fall asleep, and stagnation always brings a state of depression. I am not doing anything beautiful with my life. I am not fulfilling dreams - the dreams have fallen away until I can barely remember them. I am not creating, using art as the alchemy to transform pain into beauty. I am not planning or working hard, pushing myself to my limits. I am not opening myself up or diving into spirituality - I am not visiting friends and laughing over stolen nights of endless conversation. I am not writing letters and eating fresh fruit and feeling the joy that comes from simplicity. I feel lost. And ashamed of these emotions. And just plain fucking terrified. I don't know how to fix it. But I know that my Sir deserves so much better than a pet who is as silly and sad as I feel right now. I wish I could be the kind of girl he deserves.

I had an incredibly vivid dream while napping, one that is still curling through my mind.

It started off in an abandoned house, a gang of young adults and small children relaxing in a brief moment of safety, having found a haven. The children were curled up on the ground, dozing off, and I stood next to a fellow warrior man, clad in black with blades at his side and a gun in his hand. His name was Hunter and he was fierce and beautiful. We heard the noises - the footsteps and the shrieks and the windows began to rattle with the smack of hands. I pulled my gun and other adults knelt down to wrap arms around the children who began to wail, sobbing with terror. Hunter fled the room and I followed, heading to a defensive position between the outside and the inner room of youngsters.

"I can't stand to hear them cry," he admitted, relief in his voice at having left the noise. Danger was better than listening to that noise. And danger was out there, and we were about to battle for our lives.

Then the dream shifted, and we were in a giant submarine. It was an enormous room with vaulted metal ceilings, a large circle in which hundreds of pallets had been spread out in various rows, like a starburst. People were reclined on the pallets, groups of youngsters in black and purple, the same colors everywhere because we were a family, this was our gang. I recognized faces as I walked by, people whom I had bled and cried for, whom I had laughed and smiled with.

But I walked the pallets, looking for Hunter, eyes searching constantly. When I did find him, he stood at the edge of the circle, dressed in the same black, but with a tribal mask over his face - horns and bones and leather. Several other people were around him, wearing the same kind of masks, but none as elaborate as his. A ritual had just finished, and he removed his mask when I approached. He wasn't the type to grin when I approached - he was too strong for that - too hard and edgy. But I could feel his calm pleasure at my appearance, and that made me grin. I wanted to soak up his strength, his savage courage and his dedication to the unit.

I heard startled gasps, and I looked over his shoulder to see that one of the giant submarine hatchway doors had begun to leak. Not just leak - water was pouring through the edges, and over the pallets. And chaos reigned. People were screaming, and I looked around frantically as I lost sight of my family members, the young men and women whom I loved with a primal ferocity. People were going to drown - we were all going to die, buried in a tomb under the waves.

And Hunter grabbed my hand, moving forward with that same courage, wrenching open the hatchway door. Not trying to stop the flow of the water, but hastening it. And I gasped in a giant lungful of air, just as he dove and pulled me with him, his legs kicking and his fingers painfully tight around my palm. And we swam, swam upwards and upwards and upwards, and I couldn't breathe and my chest was so tight and I couldn't see and I was going to die, but Hunter didn't stop swimming, didn't stop kicking his feet and dragging me along.

I woke up the moment our heads broke through the surface.

I recognize this Hunter - I have dreamed of him in many forms, both male and female. He is a part of myself, the subconscious personality that is Strong, a warrior bred to fight and curse and battle and never give up. The part that I have always hidden down. And now, my heart yearns for that. Yearns for Myself, yearns to find the wild vitality and tenacity, the primal Self. I don't know how to find It, how to embrace it again and become whole. Because it has the power to keep me from Drowning under the waves, the waters of fear and doubt and walls and anxiety. The riptides of the past. Instead of drowning, I need the Warrior Side to emerge and keep me kicking, keep me floating, keep me swimming ever upwards, always searching for the sun.

I need to find that part of myself again.

It is always interesting to see Sir interact with his roomie.

I know a part of their history - I know that they dated for a long time. That she was the Mrs. Bones to his Mr., that they had a love of intense passion. And I wish I had the courage to ask what happened, how they ended. Just to try to figure things out between them.

When it is just the three of us, it is absolutely amazing how much focus he has on her. It is like... there is no other person in the room for him. She is the one he speaks to, and though his arm is around me, his eyes stay fixed on hers, like they are trying to soak in her presence. I am not there. When we go out shopping, he will pick up little presents for her, like cupcakes and makeup, just as he will for me. When they chitchat in the hallways, it lasts for forty-minutes. It is... Just an interesting connection.

I am not speaking out of jealousy. Or fear, or insecurity. Because there are no jealous feelings - I do not feel envy and I do not feel resentment or anger. I like his roommate. She makes me grin and I think she is beautiful, and she is friendly, and I think she goes out of her way to make me feel welcome, and I appreciate that more than I can possibly say. And I don't sense anything sexual there - which means there is no fear. I don't sense the desire for them to get back together It is easy to say that they are best friends - but it is more than that.

But it does bring up feelings of sadness. Because I sense a bond there, the complex kind that defies words, deeper than anything that Sir and I have. And it makes the walls go up - reinforced distance. Because how can I form a bond with someone who feels so utterly connected with someone else? I can't. My past won't let me. I spent years doing that. It hurts too much.

*sighs* I don't know how to talk to him about this. I don't want to seem jealous or insecure, because those aren't my feelings. It just... Makes me sad. And wary.

Another weekend being sick - a mopey, sniffling, snotty and coughing girlthing. The sick part isn't too bad - that was the cost of getting to be a good pet and take care of my Sir when he was feeling under the weather. Getting to snuggle up and pet his hair and make him tea, and worrying at his cough, and blushing when he chuckles at my worry.

It was a good few days. I got to make Sir breakfast and dinner, and while I am not sure how delicious it actually was, he still ate every bite and praised it, until I was a glowing melty starchild. He cleared the dishes, and I wanted to jump up and take them from his hands.

He praises me and thanks me for every thing that I do, and I want to kiss his lips and shake my head. Because all of these are things that I should be doing, all of these are things that make me happy. I like to serve him. I want to serve him better.

I want to learn to cook epic food that will make his tastebuds dance - kneel down and watch him eat from between lowered lashes. I want to clean up his home - not because it is any sort of dirty, but because I want to think of ways to make his life easier. I have trouble expressing emotions, especially topsy-turvy ones that keep going through my mind. But at least with actions... I can show Sir that I do care. I can show him that he is important to me.

I want to be a good pet. I want to submit to him. I know that sometimes I speak without thinking and my voice comes out a bit flippant, but luckily, he can tell that I don't mean anything disrespectful, or that I don't know my place. I just get too excited and happy. And there are times when I don't say "Sir", and I expect him to punish me, but he gives me a stern look and a kiss for my sheepish smile. I don't think I would mind if he punished me, though. His disappointment would hurt worse than any physical pain.

But at least it would feel better than becoming a truly spoiled pet. It is nice to have someone care enough to punish you when you do wrong, and train you how to better do right. Discipline. Sometimes, I fear I need too much of it. *sighs*

You woke up sad today. A heaviness in your chest, spreading out like ivy, vines tangling and overgrowing until it is hard to breathe around the green. It began last night, staying up late in order to talk to Sir, but the silence was deafening. You laughed, shaking your head and feeling sillier than usual. Drunk promises are like no promises, simple words that flow like water. A lesson learned over the years. But you don't get the chance to talk to Sir very often when you are apart, even if you are spoiled and get to see him several days a week. So the disappointment is foolish.

But the sadness comes from some place deeper. This weekend, you have spent too much time with your eyes closed, examining each brick in that wall you have built, fingers catching on rough stone and feeling the memory buried in each one. The large stones, the ones you can't even begin to chisel yet: the terror in your father's eyes when he gasped in his last breath; being alone when your starbaby died in the one place he should have been safe, and your lover and your family refused to talk about it; the night when your first boyfriend came home drunk from the bar, his pockets filled with the numbers of other ladies, and you cried in the bathroom after he took sex that you didn't want to give; the other secret that you've never told anyone.

Then there are the little bricks, the ones that cradles so perfectly inside of your palms, those little moments that have added up into sparkles of pain and shame. When your first boyfriend C would get angry and push you against the wall, punching the plaster beside your face. Or when he was upset and you tried to comfort him, and he lashed out, grabbing you and locking his arm around your throat and you couldn't breathe, and you fought because you thought you were going to die in his pickup truck outside of his parents house. You learned then how to be scared when lovers got angry. How your bestfriend doesn't believe he raped you. She is still best friends with him. The boys who cheated on you. One after another. When you comforted the girl you hated, the one who slipped into your ex-master/Curly's bed while you were dating - she told you about the night you broke up. "I was there with him, when he called and broke up with you. We were cuddling. He told me it was like kicking a puppy." When Curly left and told you, "It's because you lost your magic." You learned then how to keep the real girl locked inside, always show everyone the magical glittering Starchild. Or with Matt, when you were honest and opened up, he got angry and you fought. How you turned the most happy and motivated man you've ever met into an angry-sad-gremlinthing.

There are the bricks that aren't caused by lovers. The ones caused from the past. High school spent without real friends, just days spent writing and losing yourself in books. One of your "best friends" used to go to parties, alcohol and green and laughter, normal high school stuff. You gathered the courage one day to ask if you could go to one with her. She couldn't meet your eyes when she said, "You wouldn't have any fun at those things." And you felt swallowed up by the shame of being too dorky to be invited. Times when you felt so sad in the middle of lunch, and you would start crying, silent tears coursing down your cheeks, in the middle of a crowd and no one would see. Long-sleeves to hide the kiss of razorblades, dozens and dozens because the pain made things go silent for a bit. That night when you swallowed a bottle of pills, and tried to fall asleep but your heart was pounding too painfully hard. That became gossip too, and your "friends" wouldn't stick up for you, laughing at the jokes about the suicide attempt. So you quit school the last month of your junior year, and never went back.

There is that special brick that comes from after high school, during those college years when you did silly videos to support lovers. The unit that was your family, the first people you felt truly connected to, the pirate boys and pirate lasses, years of fun and adventures. And later, you found out what they really thought of you. How they would pull up your videos for new members to watch, laughing and making rude comments. Or when you made the bad decision to get involved with J-no, a way to kill the pain after Curly left and your heart was broken. And you met his friends, and they didn't even know your name. "He just calls you Porn-star," Kain said with a shrug.

Stupid little shameful moments, painful little bricks added one to the other, until you learned not to let people get close. Because you would see their joy and their beautiful hearts, and your world would shatter when the truth would emerge, and they weren't magical after all. They were cold and gremliny, and they hurt you, over and over again. And it became too bad, too much to handle and too much to deal with. So you just let the wall go higher, encouraged it, whispered it to grow taller and stronger. Keep everyone out, keep out the fake people, keep out the not-true friends and the not-true lovers. But they all turned out to be not-true.

You have spent this weekend looking at these bricks, examining each painful little moment, even the super tiny ones that brought shame and anger and sadness, all of it that built up high to create this level of fear. Things that you have been pushing down, pretending you have dealt with it all. But this weekend has been spent digging and prying and reliving.

And you feel raw and vulnerable and scared and in pain, and so very alone. But that's the point of breaking down walls. You have to deal with the consequences. And you are strong enough to handle it alone.

Frightening exhaustion, a close brush against becoming burnt out, I've realized I need to start taking care of myself. Start treating myself decently, that whole 'learn to love yourself' concept that I've never quite seemed to master. So here are a few rules I am set on following every day (except the days in which I visit Sir). Hopefully, I'll stick to them. >.<

Rules
1) Exercise - 500-1000 crunches a day, 30 lunges, 50 punchy things
2) Eat healthy - scale way back on all of the recent junkfoods. This means fruits, veggies, smoothies - simply clean foods that make the body happy
3) 4 glasses of water and 2 cups of green tea a day. Pop limited to 1 per day.
4) Connect again to my spirituality
5) Write at least 3 times a week
6) Meditate every day
7) Create something little, even if it's just crafting a sentence of prose.

This is my first post in a new space. A sanctuary for emotions and thoughts that have been repressed for years, a place to dream and a place to bleed. Writing has always been cathartic, pain transformed into letters and beauty and the most intense passion for the world. I set down my pen when I put up the walls, and each new experience only seemed to slap mortar onto the bricks.

I am changing that now. This isn't the first time I've desired to knock down the walls, uncage this heart. But now, I have motivation. Now, I can see with my own eyes how desperately it is needed. Now, I can see how badly I need to comb through my soul, glue back pieces and heal into something glittering and shining, a supernova trapped in the skin of a girl, able to dance to the heartstirrings of the universe. Completely whole and connected again.

This will be my asylum, padded walls to cradle raw emotions and keep the madness of numbness away. No judgments, no apprehension. Just Truth.

And all of the knowledge and learning that comes with that.