the marks of a slave

[eastern sun]

Can you see how attached to my own pain I am?

 

[FloggingMolly]

this thread fascinates me

 

[eastern sun]

this thread fascinates me

Hey, Molly. I'm kind of afraid to mention it, because I've managed to create a very safe little corner over here in which I can speak my mind, but I'm really curious what people think of some of the stuff I say.

It is often the most refreshing thing in the world when my husband calls me on my bullshit, especially when I'm laying it on pretty thick. It makes me breathe a little easier, and step a little lighter.

Once in a while, I think I capture the elusive stuff of life in crystallized phrases, like flower petals caught in glass. But sometimes I feel like I'm trying to build monumental pyramids out of grains of sand, and I am both awed by the sheer audacity of our human ambition and desperate for someone to introduce new building plans or call off construction altogether.

Thanks for reading. I love to write.

 

[eastern sun]

A friend wrote (and allowed me to share) . . .

"It is the hunger that breeds the loneliness. When the hunger is not recognized and held and fed. Not for it to be satisfied .. but for its existence to be celebrated and mutually enjoyed."

 

[eastern sun]

I live in the seattle area, so it rains here for much of the year; but just before it rains really hard, the air pressure drops here, just like a hard rain anywhere else. That's when my ankle reminds me.

It reminds me too, everytime I misstep,

everytime I shift my weight just wrong,

and some times it reminds me for no apparent reason.

Everytime I have to walk swiftly to keep up with my children, because I can no longer run, and everytime my wife accidentally bumps my foot hanging off the end of the bed as she's getting up in the morning, I get a clarion reminder;

That I have been reckless, and am likely still very much a fool.

I've heard it said that it's a wise man who can admit he is a fool, but I don't feel any wiser, just... older.

If you don't mind, Stag, I'm going to pull up a chair and join your circle of reckless fools. We can rock on the porch and watch the rain and tell each other the stories of our scars.

Scars make for great stories.

 

[Lizzie_Borden]

One impact of "slavery" in my life is the way injury is woven into the fabric of my responsibilities. I enjoy the sensation of performing mundane activities against a background of pain.

Actually that's not quite accurate. I enjoy fingering tender bruises while I'm supposed to be listening to a presentation, or the sting of burning flesh while I'm doing dishes or folding laundry. These echoes of erotic impact resonate through my everyday world, bouncing off the walls of ordinary activity, and layering them with hidden energies that make me feel alive and whole.

I admit it. I like feeling like a slave in the grocery store and the conference room. And pain (and other visceral pleasures) offers the most potent reminder - its message imprinted in my flesh.

Hmmm, I do that too. I'm utterly fascinated with marks and bruises and things. And I love pressing my fingers against the spots that are sore, but don't have marks, especially the ones under my jawline where he's grabbed my throat and held on tight.

Because we're not together always, it makes me feel like part of him is still here with me. I can feel his presence, moreso than usual. It makes my heart happy.

 

[catalina_francisco]

Be kind to your ankles, (and knees for that matter) because even if you're out of shape, you won't realize how much you used to run, or even turn quickly, until you just can't anymore.

soo... I guess that's my relationship to that particular pain. I am more prone to feeling humiliated by it when I'm more depressed, as I have been rescently.

I find my pain (not the BDSM sourced pain) frustrating. The way it limits me, of late more each week, just makes me feel like screaming some days. This past week I have been in chronic back pain which is accompanied by crunching and clicking sounds with as little as a sneeze or deep breath. I want it gone, but that is not going to happen, so I am working on pushing through the pain to do as much as I can and trying not to think how little time the things I have done would have taken in the past....now the simplist thing takes much much longer and means I don't get done all I plan. Think my cat has sensed it as she has been extra affectionate and sitting beside me when I sit down, banging her head against my arm or laying her head on my arm and climbing onto my lap which she never does. Asked her for a massage but she didn't respond.

Catalina

 

[Keroin]

I'm kind of afraid to mention it, because I've managed to create a very safe little corner over here in which I can speak my mind, but I'm really curious what people think of some of the stuff I say.

You're a poet. It's always an interesting exercise for me to read this thread because I am pragmatic, not given to navel gazing, and likely to find much of what you write self-indulgent. But I always tune in and read when you post something because you have an intriguing voice. Slightly hypnotic, actually.

And I believe that if the only people we listen to are people who think exactly the way we do, then we starve our brains. So carry on.

Be kind to your ankles, (and knees for that matter) because even if you're out of shape, you won't realize how much you used to run, or even turn quickly, until you just can't anymore.

I am in the process of watching Superman face his kryptonite: age.

He's been hard on his body. I've witnessed some, but by no means all, of the damage. If he could go back in time, I know he wouldn't change a thing, but, with four months to go before the big five-oh, he's paying the price.

I'm eight years behind him. I live with chronic pain and it will get worse, just like L's, though I take a more active role in negating mine through exercise, stretching, hot baths, ART, chiro, etc.

My relationship with pain is complicated.

What's really going to hurt, is the day L can't walk or play sports anymore. That day is going to break my heart.

 

[eastern sun]

Hmmm, I do that too. I'm utterly fascinated with marks and bruises and things. And I love pressing my fingers against the spots that are sore, but don't have marks, especially the ones under my jawline where he's grabbed my throat and held on tight.

Because we're not together always, it makes me feel like part of him is still here with me. I can feel his presence, moreso than usual. It makes my heart happy.

Yes. I understand that.

And I think all the photographs people post of their bruises and marks is a mix of exhibitionism and the same desire to hold onto what is really a series of brief, but intense, experiences.

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to make it all "last."

There's no way I could live in a continuous "scene" 24/7 without major repercussions to my immune system.

Instead I string my experiences into a necklace I wear as proudly as my collar.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I love your necklace.

 

[eastern sun]

scar story

This is from my youth . . . .

We were doing dive rolls during a ferocious theatrical workout. We kept piling more logs on to the picnic bench in order to increase the challenge - reckless fools that we were.

The first of my last two leaps was stunning. I've seen a picture of myself - laid out like supergirl - flying over those logs.

And then they put another log on.

I hit my edge; and - reckless fool that I am - used anger to fuel my next run.

My toes caught the log, and as I tucked to roll, I brought the log down right into my face. Man, that hurt. I had a huge hematoma over my brow, and two black eyes by the next morning.

We performed in a women's prison a couple of days later. And, there was a very dramatic moment when I took off the half-mask I was wearing to expose my battered face. The women loved it, and a number of people came up to me afterwards to tell me about their husbands and boyfriends.

I couldn't convince them my black eyes were an accident. And it didn't really matter how I got them anyway. The mere sight of this prison actress with two black eyes took them where they wanted to go.

 

[eastern sun]

I find my pain (not the BDSM sourced pain) frustrating. The way it limits me, of late more each week, just makes me feel like screaming some days. This past week I have been in chronic back pain which is accompanied by crunching and clicking sounds with as little as a sneeze or deep breath. I want it gone, but that is not going to happen, so I am working on pushing through the pain to do as much as I can and trying not to think how little time the things I have done would have taken in the past....now the simplist thing takes much much longer and means I don't get done all I plan. Think my cat has sensed it as she has been extra affectionate and sitting beside me when I sit down, banging her head against my arm or laying her head on my arm and climbing onto my lap which she never does. Asked her for a massage but she didn't respond.

Catalina

I have been the luckiest mom in the world, because for some reason my daughter was born with "healing hands." When my migraines would hit, she would come - just like your cat - and put her two-year old hands spot on the acupressure points I had learned about in college.

Over the years, meditation has helped me cope with chronic pain. During migraines, I've gotten to the point where I have the "headache" with all its accompanying symptoms but no pain at all.

The biggest problem lately has been that I've been stubbornly unwilling to meditate. It's like I want to hold onto - and feel - all this pain without release.

The pain of aging - and abuse - doesn't feel so cathartic, though.

 

[eastern sun]

You're a poet. It's always an interesting exercise for me to read this thread because I am pragmatic, not given to navel gazing, and likely to find much of what you write self-indulgent. But I always tune in and read when you post something because you have an intriguing voice. Slightly hypnotic, actually.

And I believe that if the only people we listen to are people who think exactly the way we do, then we starve our brains. So carry on.

Isn't it funny? I am also the pragmatic one. What might that imply?

Lit is most definitely my hot bubble-bath with aroma therapy moment, though; and after soaking in my own reflection for a while, I make a point to wander over to the Cafe to read your posts, and always enjoy both your voice and your laughter.

(By the way, what is your relationship to pain? and what is ART?)

 

[eastern sun]

Which brings me to the reason for starting this current rash of story-telling in the first place . . . .

About a week ago, I'm with my stepmother, as she's watching me carry the laundry basket down the stairs in a limping, ankle-preserving fashion, and I feel the need to explain that up until now I've only been doing limited loads of what my husband and the kids needed for the day because I couldn't manage the stairs, and the basket, and etc. etc. And my stepmother interrupts me to say, "it kind of begs the question . . . why aren't they doing the schlepping?"

And I look at her with a smile and a blank stare, and I can't even open my mouth to make a humorous excuse, let alone explain the reasons why.

Because I am convinced she won't like the answer. In that moment, I can imagine her response, and even I don't like the answer. In that moment, I see every problem in our little family stemming from the simple fact that I have been taking on the role of the slave. In this modern house. In this modern world of expectations.

I watch the pain I've been nursing for two weeks collapse into simple, unadulterated injury, and the noble body I've been living in shrivel into a dry and aging bag of bones. I see a mother who does all the chores, and children who will never know how to care for themselves. I see a mercurial father who is difficult to please. I see half-hearted efforts behind my bold plans and big talk, and the scattered mess of an entropic household strewn around my stepmother as she sits on our couch.

And I cannot possibly explain to her how it has made me happy. How my husband and I have carved a strange but workable relationship that has lasted far longer than any of my father's marriages.

But a nagging doubt is released in the wake of her question. I spend the rest of the week noticing inequities in our relationship, dropping critical comments to my husband, until finally on Sunday he calls me while I'm cooking a late dinner, to come upstairs and fix the mouse on my computer.

I go, but not before saying "you want me to turn off the fire and stop cooking so I can come upstairs and help you with your Oscar bets?"

I didn't make it to the stairs, before he became enraged, "no, go back to the cooking." And I am swept into his rage which begins with the lack of courtesy I've shown all week and ends with classic accusations of ingratitude. "You like this food? Well, I bought it. You like this house? Well, I bought it" as he's throwing things my way.

And I am standing at the stove, washed in that energy, feeling almost purified by the force of his emotions.

My son, for the first time in his life, takes his father's side, saying "Mom, you shouldn't have said what you said."

"What did I say?" All I can remember is the brilliant energy of his anger.

"About stopping cooking to fix the computer. Every time you point out how me and dad force the wrong priorities, it makes us feel guilty. And it makes us mad."

I was floored. "Forcing the wrong priorities."

"Slavery" doesn't fit into neat expectations of social behavior. Seen through any lens other than our own, it looks warped, distorted, perverse. Forcing the wrong priorities.

But does that mean we're wrong? And need to change?

Maybe. But what exactly is the problem?

We can hide our anger, our aggression, our cravings, our lack of courtesy and gratitude, within this structure we've created. And we human animals frequently do. Whatever kinds of codes we live by. But it's not an inherent problem with the structure, is it?

I don't think so.

 

[eastern sun]

It's just that . . . if you're going to build a structure that others might not understand, you better have each other's backs.

I called him early the next morning to apologize.

And started mending the rifts in my faith.

 

[rida]

Which brings me to the reason for starting this current rash of story-telling in the first place . . . .

*snip*

But does that mean we're wrong? And need to change?

Maybe. But what exactly is the problem?

We can hide our anger, our aggression, our cravings, our lack of courtesy and gratitude, within this structure we've created. And we human animals frequently do. Whatever kinds of codes we live by. But it's not an inherent problem with the structure, is it?

I don't think so.

I'm glad you brought back the above posts. I've been thinking about it since I saw it the first time because I often struggle with similar thoughts.

When something triggers my pity-party, it is as if the fact that I don't want my marriage any other way, that I don't want my Hubby to be any other way, suddenly clashes with the reality that for the average woman in an average marriage, it would only look like an unfair hell. And it is hard when in a middle of it to focus on all the positive part of the relationship, especially since those tend to be of the "not spoken in polite society" variety.

The fact that no matter how sick I feel, I'm still the one expected to carry the household chores, on top of a full time job, are visible and obvious. But the fact that I have the freedom to have lovers and fuckbuddies and I can talk about it with Hubby and that he actually helps me deal with it all, is not.

Never mind: if what I consider the good of my marriage was as obvious as what looks like the bad of it, it surely would not help with gaining a positive judgment from society at large. Notwithstanding that we, Hubby and I, are actually, truly, really, happy together.

After all, should not be the happiness of the people involved the only "right priority" of a relationship?

As my grandma used to tell me when I would compare how things were in our house, to how things were in my friends' houses: "This is how things are in our house. That is how things are in their house."
At times, I wish I could muster the same conviction.

I called him early the next morning to apologize.

And started mending the rifts in my faith.

 

[catalina_francisco]

After all, should not be the happiness of the people involved the only "right priority" of a relationship?

As my grandma used to tell me when I would compare how things were in our house, to how things were in my friends' houses: "This is how things are in our house. That is how things are in their house."
At times, I wish I could muster the same conviction.

A good statement. Happiness often disappears or becomes confused dissatisfaction when one compares ones self, life, possessions etc., to another's. Society does keep promoting it as a good practice though despite the evidence otherwise.

Catalina

 

[Keroin]

Isn't it funny? I am also the pragmatic one. What might that imply?

No idea, lol.

Lit is most definitely my hot bubble-bath with aroma therapy moment, though; and after soaking in my own reflection for a while, I make a point to wander over to the Cafe to read your posts, and always enjoy both your voice and your laughter.

(By the way, what is your relationship to pain? and what is ART?)

Everyone needs their place, their bubblebath.

Pain...

I'm a masochist, I get off on pain, but I am also an extremely active person who hates anything that gets in the way of movement. As I said, I live with chronic pain, mostly self inflicted, and that gets in the way of full mobility, which pisses me off. Pain and sex go together naturally for me, and yet, up until about 5 years ago I had to live with endometriosis and ovarian cysts, which made sex painful in the 'I don't want to do this' way, (and at times, I physically could not do it), much of the time. Irony, gotta love it. Bruises, abrasions, lacerations, those have long just been a fact of life for me, I don't get sentimental or romantic or nostalgic about them - well, maybe once or twice. But I love my scars.

ART is Active Release Therapy (Technique). The practitioner and the patient work together to pull scar tissue off muscles. It's very painful but, for me, very effective, since the bulk of my pain and mobility problems stem from a build up of scar tissue - primarily in my right shoulder and hip. I'm right handed, so when I hit the ground, it was almost always on my right side.

 

[Keroin]

Isn't it funny? I am also the pragmatic one. What might that imply?

No idea, lol.

Lit is most definitely my hot bubble-bath with aroma therapy moment, though; and after soaking in my own reflection for a while, I make a point to wander over to the Cafe to read your posts, and always enjoy both your voice and your laughter.

(By the way, what is your relationship to pain? and what is ART?)

Everyone needs their place, their bubblebath.

Pain...

I'm a masochist, I get off on pain, but I am also an extremely active person who hates anything that gets in the way of movement. As I said, I live with chronic pain, mostly self inflicted, and that gets in the way of full mobility, which pisses me off. Pain and sex go together naturally for me, and yet, up until about 5 years ago I had to live with endometriosis and ovarian cysts, which made sex painful in the 'I don't want to do this' way, (and at times, I physically could not do it), much of the time. Irony, gotta love it. Bruises, abrasions, lacerations, those have long just been a fact of life for me, I don't get sentimental or romantic or nostalgic about them - well, maybe once or twice. But I love my scars. I have a lot of mixed feelings about pain. *shrugs*

ART is Active Release Therapy (Technique). The practitioner and the patient work together to pull scar tissue off muscles. It's very painful but, for me, very effective, since the bulk of my pain and mobility problems stem from a build up of scar tissue - primarily in my right shoulder and hip. I'm right-handed, so when I used to hit the ground, it was almost always on my right side.

Now, sorry but I have to jump in on your last story. So, you do all the chores and such? The kids do not help out or take a fair share of the work?

I understand the relationship you and your husband have chosen and that it makes you happy. I understand that you enjoy taking on these tasks and that you feel pressure from the outside world because you don't conform to societal norms. But, you see, I was raised in a household where there were minimal expectations for me when it came to household chores and when I finally left home I was fucking crippled by it. I couldn't cook, I didn't know how to do laundry, balance a chequebook, make a pot of coffee, etc, etc. It was so freaking frustrating. As a kid, yeah, I loved not having those responsibilities, but then suddenly I'm in residence at university and I realize how handicapped I am because of it. It took me years to acquire the everyday skills my friends had learned just growing up as kids who were expected to cook dinner, clean house, do laundry, etc. And, frankly, it was embarrassing, and I was angry that my parents hadn't done more to make sure I was competent at these tasks.

Sorry to rant but I feel strongly that kids should contribute to the household as part of their education.

 

[eastern sun]

Now, sorry but I have to jump in on your last story. So, you do all the chores and such? The kids do not help out or take a fair share of the work?

I understand the relationship you and your husband have chosen and that it makes you happy. I understand that you enjoy taking on these tasks and that you feel pressure from the outside world because you don't conform to societal norms. But, you see, I was raised in a household where there were minimal expectations for me when it came to household chores and when I finally left home I was fucking crippled by it. I couldn't cook, I didn't know how to do laundry, balance a chequebook, make a pot of coffee, etc, etc. It was so freaking frustrating. As a kid, yeah, I loved not having those responsibilities, but then suddenly I'm in residence at university and I realize how handicapped I am because of it. It took me years to acquire the everyday skills my friends had learned just growing up as kids who were expected to cook dinner, clean house, do laundry, etc. And, frankly, it was embarrassing, and I was angry that my parents hadn't done more to make sure I was competent at these tasks.

Sorry to rant but I feel strongly that kids should contribute to the household as part of their education.

Yes, I agree with you, and appreciate your perspective.

In our household, the females do almost all the domestic chores, as well as taking care of the car, plumbing, maintenance, yardwork, and other typically "male" domestic responsibilities.

On the other hand, I haven't worked a full-time job since I became a "slave," and there is some understanding here that this is how the labor has been divided in this partnership.

My greatest concern is always the impact of our choices and behavior on our children, which is why I worry out loud about the models we are presenting. We look a lot like the immigrant and old-world families in our neighborhood with their gender-based structures, but it is not lost on me that our kids are growing up in a modern city where gender roles are flexible.

My daughter is totally following in my footsteps, and we have had conversations in which we speak of her freedom to choose other kinds of relationships (where housework is divided more equally, the mom works outside the home, etc.).

My son is also a good cook, who has shown willingness to learn domestic chores "as needed," but your comments are not out of place. He also feels the pinch of not knowing, and it worries him as he begins to contemplate an independent life.

 

[eastern sun]

Never mind: if what I consider the good of my marriage was as obvious as what looks like the bad of it, it surely would not help with gaining a positive judgment from society at large. Notwithstanding that we, Hubby and I, are actually, truly, really, happy together.

After all, should not be the happiness of the people involved the only "right priority" of a relationship?

As my grandma used to tell me when I would compare how things were in our house, to how things were in my friends' houses: "This is how things are in our house. That is how things are in their house."

At times, I wish I could muster the same conviction.

 

[Keroin]

My son is also a good cook, who has shown willingness to learn domestic chores "as needed," but your comments are not out of place. He also feels the pinch of not knowing, and it worries him as he begins to contemplate an independent life.

Hm. See I guess, for me, the old model of female does the domestic stuff (and is expected to) while male does 'other' stuff is fine if you're an adult making that choice but kids of both sexes can only benefit from learning and doing (and being expected to do) all types of household chores. It's not unmasculine to cook and clean. At all. When I met L, (and he is most assuredly an alpha male), he lived alone, his house was freaking spotless and he cooked his own, healthy and delicious meals on a regular basis. To me, that's sexy as hell, a man who is totally self sufficient. He grew up doing chores of all varieties, eventhough he had an older sister.

It just makes life easier, when you can competently take care of the everyday stuff by yourself. And it's not so much just about learning the task, it's about getting into the habit and routine of doing those tasks on a regular basis. Training yourself to accept them as second nature.

Anyway, I'm not coming down on you, ES. I know parenting is a hell of a job. I just know I wouldn't want a kid to go through the frustration and embarrassment that I went through, especially when it is so easy to prevent.

 

[eastern sun]

Hm. See I guess, for me, the old model of female does the domestic stuff (and is expected to) while male does 'other' stuff is fine if you're an adult making that choice but kids of both sexes can only benefit from learning and doing (and being expected to do) all types of household chores. It's not unmasculine to cook and clean. At all. When I met L, (and he is most assuredly an alpha male), he lived alone, his house was freaking spotless and he cooked his own, healthy and delicious meals on a regular basis. To me, that's sexy as hell, a man who is totally self sufficient. He grew up doing chores of all varieties, eventhough he had an older sister.

It just makes life easier, when you can competently take care of the everyday stuff by yourself. And it's not so much just about learning the task, it's about getting into the habit and routine of doing those tasks on a regular basis. Training yourself to accept them as second nature.

Anyway, I'm not coming down on you, ES. I know parenting is a hell of a job. I just know I wouldn't want a kid to go through the frustration and embarrassment that I went through, especially when it is so easy to prevent.

One other major factor in all this is the asperger's that apparently runs through the family. My brilliant fifteen-year old son only learned how to tie his shoes a couple years ago. I can't tell you the number of times I have found it easier to just do it myself . . . .

In my mind, there has been an ongoing debate since he was three as to whether his deficits were due to organic issues or parenting. When it became pretty clear that organic issues were a significant culprit, all the parenting mistakes I had focussed on for years and years were, if not excused, at least cast in a different light. Instead of being the cause of everything that was wrong in his life, our parenting could also be seen as a source of tremendous support over the years, giving him the foundation to form friendship bonds that a lot of other kids with his condition have difficulty with.

The truth is probably much more complicated. But these issues are, and have been, a source of tremendous soul-searching for me.

 

[Keroin]

One other major factor in all this is the asperger's that apparently runs through the family. My brilliant fifteen-year old son only learned how to tie his shoes a couple years ago. I can't tell you the number of times I have found it easier to just do it myself . . . .

Well, this is significant. Obviously.

Sorry, from the sound of your original story I got the idea that the kids just didn't do chores or weren't expected to do chores. Specifically this bit...

I see a mother who does all the chores, and children who will never know how to care for themselves.

I was also wondering why you were doing all the schlepping, with four young hands at the ready.

But, questions answered. Carry on.

 

[eastern sun]

Sorry, from the sound of your original story I got the idea that the kids just didn't do chores or weren't expected to do chores. Specifically this bit...

I was also wondering why you were doing all the schlepping, with four young hands at the ready.

Don't be sorry, Keroin. You're right. That line implies that they don't do chores (it was meant to be a negative perspective you could take in light of the circumstances). And they didn't help me schlep the laundry while I was injured and I didn't ask them to.

You and my stepmother and a whole lot of people would share that question, which is precisely the point.

How can I adequately explain how we come to be in that position? How I justify it to myself?

I don't intend for everything I say or do or think to be acceptable in everyone's eyes. It isn't. And I don't mind being challenged, because it might make me aware of something I'm not paying attention to, or sweeping under the carpet with all the other "hard to get rid of" things.