My strange addiction

I'm going to ramble today. I hope no one minds.

It's Wednesday afternoon. I have many odds and ends of things to do, including work. Just finished one project, though, so I'm rewarding myself with a little break. My concentration is off, anyway.

There is an interesting pattern to my weeks, when they run according to schedule. Mondays are a whirlwind of anticipation, then sensory overload (the good kind), then oblivion. Tuesdays have a strange, other-worldly feel to them. I'm still tender, usually quite sleepy, and although I'm functional, I have a sense of still being in that other realm, the realm of peace and unreality, where my whole world is one room, one other person, and sensation. Little fazes me. Given my preference, I will stay in all day and evening and not venture out.

By Wednesday, I'm definitely back in reality, and that restlessness is rearing its annoying head once again. I'm distracted, once again aware of bills, noisy neighbors, chores, things that need my attention. So I go through the day, tick things off the "to-do" list, do a killer workout and bid any lingering spanking soreness good-bye for another week.

Thursday is tough. Thursday, I'm in full withdrawal mode. I'm craving attention and stimulation, and the smallest irritants make me want to shoot quills like a porcupine. On Tuesday, if I'm out and about and someone cuts me off on the road, I calmly brake and wave them on. Of course you can go ahead of me! Nice car, BTW. Have a super-nice day. But cut me off on Thursday, and I'll want to impale you on your car's tailpipe.

Friday is a turnaround day. I'm looking forward to being with John, to getting away for a couple of days, to his comfortable companionship and love, so my mood lifts for the weekend. And then Monday, the cycle starts over.

Last month, Alex Reynolds wrote a blog she called Be Here, Now, which discussed her tendency to be all over the place mentally, rather than staying in the moment, in the here and now, and how she's learning how to do the latter. This post resonated with me, because this is exactly how I am. My mind is constantly leaping ahead, flitting around from one thing to the next. Because I live alone and have done so for so long, I am deeply internally focused and it's hard for me sometimes to not go inward when I'm with others, and space out about God knows what. John has often gotten annoyed with me because he can tell I'm only half-listening to him, while my mind is on any of 15 different other things. I don't mean to do this and I don't like that I do it, but I can't seem to help it. It's not like ADD, I don't think -- I can sit still, I can focus on work or a book or whatever, but my mind wants to go places.

I've come to realize that one of the few times I'm in the moment is when I'm in a spanking session. When I'm with my top, as I've mentioned before, the world goes away. I'm in a protective bubble -- there are no phones, no bills, no appointments, no responsibilities. Ever since I read Alex's blog, I've had a heightened awareness of this. And whenever I find that I'm with Mr. D and my mind is starting to go elsewhere, I catch it and simply say to myself, "Be here, now," and I come back into the bubble.

In this bubble, I'm not nervous and neurotic and insecure. In this bubble, I am beautiful and sexy and confident. I am a deeply passionate woman, unencumbered by day-to-day trivia that tires me, ages me, wears me down. A former top used to tell me that, right after an intense spanking with the tension drained from my face, I looked like I was about 20.

It's like my father used to say about his drinking. When he drank, he felt like he was taller, funnier, handsomer, a better dancer.

I'm someone else, and yet I'm not. I'm a better and happier me, a more aware me. But it's not reality. I mean, it's really a part of me, but it's too separate and pure to maintain.

It's times like these that I more fully understand what drives addiction. Granted, with drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, etc., there is physical and chemical addiction. But mine is emotional, and in its way, just as powerful. I crave it as fiercely. That bubble, that serenity. That complete hedonistic basking in attention, in pain, in pleasure. That escape.

There, I said it. It's a form of escapism, no different from chemical substances that others seek in order to get away from reality for a little while. Granted, it won't kill me, give me cirrhosis of the liver or lung cancer. My indulgence in it harms no one else. But I still feel the effects of its withdrawal and I have to come to terms with that, each week.

Mr. D told me that, if I ever get into a bad place again like I was over Christmas, I am to call him. But this neediness isn't like that bad, sad wreck of a place. It's a cranky internal demand for attention, a rebellion against real life. I wouldn't call him over this. I may feel like a whiny brat, but I'm not going to act like one. I will acknowledge the existence of that side of me and deal with it.

I really don't know who will relate to this. Those who live in DD relationships, who get spanked all the time in a consenting partnership of one sort or another, may not comprehend the sense of withdrawal and the clamorous need. Those who are spanked infrequently and never know when the next time will be, might be thinking, "What is she bitching about? She only has to wait a week in between!" This isn't bitching, even though it may seem as such. It's pondering. It's coming to terms with my patterns, my needs, and yes, my emotional addiction of sorts.

Anyway. I told you I was going to ramble. Reality came back last night with a rude thump, when I spoke with John on the phone. From his first hello, I could hear in his voice that something was off. John carries a lot of cash with him, which has always made me a little nervous. He keeps it in his pants pocket in a small binder clip. He's never lost that clip before... until yesterday. One little slip, one moment of unawareness or distraction, and poof! $500 gone.

He didn't even sound angry or frustrated, just sad and tired, and my heart ached for him. I hate when bad things happen to him. I want to fix them and I can't. And then, selfishly, I wanted to go back into my bubble, where I'm unaware of bad things. Where I no longer feel the toothache that's been nagging at me for months. Where I don't miss people. Where I don't worry.

Meh. Enough already. I'm going to get ready for the gym now. I'll even end on a funny note. He may kill me for this, but I'll chance it!

Mr. D is a very busy man with his business, and constantly on the road, on the phone, etc., multi-tasking and working long hours. So if we have any communications during the week, it's usually just a quick line or two via email or text, or a brief call. And sometimes with his messages, I can tell he's distracted.

Yesterday after I blogged, he sent me this: "Absolutely loved your blob."

I laughed myself silly over that one. Even called him and said, "Reread what you just wrote to me." He did, while I howled hysterically. God, I'm obnoxious. :-D

How does one withdraw from spanking/endorphin addiction, anyway? (And don't say cold turkey sandwiches, Danny, or I'll fly to CO and kick you.)