I don't even know where to start or if this is even going to make sense. I've written and deleted more posts in the last couple months than I have in nearly two years of blogging. Today I'm just going to keep writing an maybe something will click by the time it's over. Since I have no idea whether this post is going to end up being something or not, you're not going to hurt my feelings if you decide to skip this post. I just need to get it out.
A couple months ago I hit a funk. I got moody, my appetite took a hike, insomnia kicked in and motivation and focus were nowhere in sight. When I couldn't shake it after a week or so, I thought I might be sliding into depression again. Steve and I talked and since neither of us really wanted me to have to go back on medication again, we decided to try to work it ourselves before it got the point that I had to go that route.
He has been amazing. He gave me space when it was clear I wanted to be alone, but if it started going too long, he'd drag me out of the house (figuratively) to go do something so I didn't sit and just wallow. He kept after me to eat. He made sure I got enough rest. He's offered a lot of grace with my slip ups, probably more than he should have in all honesty. He pampered in little ways.
Between everything he was doing and getting past all the stress of the holidays, I thought I'd start to feel more like myself. But I didn't. All of a sudden I was mad at the world. Everything irritated me. It was like PMS in overdrive. Snappy moved right in and took over. Steve's patience started to wear a little thin.
It came to a head last night. He asked me about something that I was supposed to have done and he had been asking about for a few days. I brushed him off. Out came the paddle and an order to strip down and turn on my stomach.
I just could not do it. In my head, I kept telling myself that he was right and it was needed, but something in me just kept right on refusing. After a minute or two, he realized something was up and asked what was wrong. It's hard to explain something when you don't quite understand it yourself. But he was persistent about the fact it was going to happen so eventually I gave in, but not without a bit of attitude.
That spirit of cooperation flew right out the window with the first swat. I fought him the entire time, which is unusual. While there have been some occasions where I've fought him at first, I usually settle down fairly quick and give in to the fact it's going to happen. That didn't happen this time. I kept fighting, right up until the point I jerked away from him and slid across the bed.
I lay there for a few minutes expecting him to tell me to come back any second, but he didn't. He just stopped. He was quiet for a bit and then he asked what was wrong. All I could think of was that I just wasn't in the right frame of mind for it and that it hadn't worked.
Instead of leaving me all soft and sweet, it irritated me. I was mad at him for spanking me. I was mad at him for stopping before I got to that point where softness and sweetness kicks in. Even more than that, I was mad at myself. I was mad that I had got in trouble. I was mad that I hadn't been able to cooperate. I was mad that I couldn't give in so I could reach that soft, sweet submissive core that used to be so easy to find.
We talked for a while about it, but I'm not sure whether we really got any where. He didn't try to spank again. I'm not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. So now I'm even more confused and out or sorts than I was to begin with.