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.