I got up this morning and wrote a page of daily journal. Not a massive, decisive triumph, but the first time I’ve been able to do that in almost a fortnight.
It’s taking me longer than is traditional, but I AM managing. This sickness is receding, it’s dying, falling away from me – finally.
Every day’s another skirmish – some days I knock the shite out of the monster, other days the monster knocks the shite out of me. I am, however, winning on aggregate. Losing the occasional battle, winning the fucking war.
I’ve kept diaries on and off since I was eighteen; kept this daily journal (pretty much) religiously since the summer of 2007.
A Domme friend suggested this course of action. She felt that, as I was living as a 24/7 slave, I should try to open myself out as flat as I could for my Owner. So, each day, I took a snapshot of where my head was at. The plan was, my Owner could read through this and we could discuss any issues – positive AND negative – arising from this.
The reality fell rather short of this. At one point, She cut all my hair off – then didn’t even glance at my journal for two entire months. That relationship died, less than a year after that.
When I got into my next 24/7 relationship, I was still keeping the journal and opened it (and myself) up for my new Owner. Again, this one threw herself into it at first, then lost interest.
So where does that leave me? I’m still taking a daily snapshot of the inside of my skull, I’m just not sharing it with a living soul just now.

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