Originally posted on Fetlife.
Today I experienced my worst nightmare. I made a post on Fetlife that somehow got a quite lot of attention along with a flood of comments from total strangers. My soul is screaming with agony and regret.
I’m weak. I don’t remember the last time I felt strong. I’m a coward. I can’t remember the last time I felt brave.
It takes me a massive amount of emotional energy to appear comfortable around other people. I’m like a duck, effortlessly gliding along on top of the water, but beneath the surface my legs are frantically flailing in a way that is anything but beautiful. When I get home from most munches or parties, I want to cry. I’m not sure if a lot of people who know me are aware of this.
I still go. I force myself to go. It doesn’t matter if I want to. I go. I need to go.
I rarely feel safe. The only times I get to experience that glorious feeling of safety is when I’m surrounded by the small circle of people who truly know me.
Feeling safe and understood is a fucking addiction. I need it so badly. I’m an addict. The lengths to which I will go to get it are extreme. When I don’t have it, I’m terrified that I will not be able to find it. When I have it, I’m afraid of losing it and feeling its absence. Why does feeling safe have to have so many fears tied to it?
I know this is why I put myself out there. I need to make my circle bigger. I need to feel safe in more places. I need to feel safe at more times. I honestly feel so pathetic admitting this out loud for people to see, but it’s the truth that I live.
I’m so scared… even when I feel safe.
I don’t know how to adequately portray this in a way that doesn’t seem so fucking selfish and needy. I need the people who are close to me to create this safe space. But I don’t take without giving. When someone makes me feel safe, I fucking love them for it. I would walk through hell for them. They just have to ask.
This does relate to what happened earlier. I made a post hoping to possibly have some theoretical discussion with the people who know me and maybe a few people that are friends of the people who know me. I’ve been making quite a few posts lately and those results made me feel “safe enough” to do it again.
Instead it pulled me as far away from safety as I could imagine and threw me into the shark tank. A few people who know me are aware that I have been a kink blogger for over 10 years. In that time I’ve written close to 3000 posts about Femdom and BDSM but also gone largely unnoticed over that entire span. In the past, I had rarely, if ever, posted my writings on Fetlife. My early experiences on Fetlife were primarily in the discussion groups. Those experiences felt toxic as fuck. You would watch the regulars. If someone posted an opinion that differed from theirs they would jump down their throats. If someone who wasn’t part of the central clique posted something that was in agreement, it would be completely ignored. If someone within the central clique posted the same thing, there would be 99 supportive posts of agreement in response to them. Not a part of that central clique? There were two things you could be: A pariah or invisible. I didn’t stay active in groups for very long.
I’m sensitive. I have thin-skin. If people insult me, I take it personally. It hurts me. I feel bad about it. I don’t walk around with keyboard courage. I spent years of my life trapped in toxic jock culture pretending to be a tough guy. Why would I ever want to go to the places that I am supposed to belong and have to again pretend to be tough?
In my lifetime I have learned a lot about invisibility. When I was a young child and the target of bullies, invisibility would have been amazing. To not be seen. To pass by unnoticed. That would have soothed my damaged soul.
At some point, my desire came true. I became invisible. People didn’t seem to see me. I struggled to make friends. What I once viewed as a super power became a horrible curse. I wanted nothing more than to be seen… nothing more than to matter to someone. The problem I ran into is that if you are invisible for that long, you grow accustomed to feeling invisible. You stop expecting anyone to see you. You stop expecting anyone to notice that you are there. The invisibility eats you away from the inside.
This brings me back to where I started with writing this. I lost my invisibility. I feel seen. I wish I was invisible. Right now that would feel like a super power.
I know that some of you may have been there when I taught a class or led a discussion. I may have seemed calm and collected (maybe?). That is never actually the case. I’m terrified. I do believe that I have things to say or to teach that people want to know. What I don’t believe is that they actually want to hear those things from me. I know this is a part of my damage.
Lately I have been posting a lot about my fears and my struggles. I believe this is because I know that if I am going to be seen, I want people to see the real me. Pretending to be strong is exhausting and I’m so very tired.
I’m probably going to keep posting writings here even though the thought of it worries me to the point where I feel sick. If I keep swimming around in the shark tank, there’s a tiny chance that someone will see it and want to be my friend. That would make my circle bigger and then maybe tomorrow I can feel safe.