The swirling has had at me again. I know I need to settle down and simply trust that it will all be fine in time. I know I need to trust that Master has found us a really good doctor, and that the doctor will, with enough time, show me the path out of the darkness. I know.

And still I feel so uncertain; so frightened; so lost; and so terribly angry. That swirl of emotions makes for a wicked stew that boils over at the drop of a hat. It is particularly difficult for me to hang on and keep the lid on things when in session. I go into it with the resolve that I will keep my mouth shut, and simply be good, but the anger (especially the anger) is so close to the surface all the time, that a little pain pushes me right over the edge to rage, and then the monsters come banging out of the closet with a roar. Not good. Except that it gets the NEWS out where He can hear it I suppose.

Yesterday was a day where I just simmered from the earliest moment that my eyes opened through a day that seemed to be a series of frustrations strung together in a string. I just did not seem to be able to accomplish any of the things that I set out to do. I knew that I was feeling prickly, and tried to avoid contact as much as possible, seeking to minimize the potential for conflict. It was as if every square inch of me was covered in raw nerve endings... I wanted, but did not want -- I was purely a mess. Withdrawn and needy all at once.

Eventually, in the late afternoon, He pulled me into the bedroom for a spanking. I could feel the anger rising, but said nothing. Simply went along. But, He knows me really well. We've been together awhile. So, there were restraints. Probably a good thing. Even as He began with His hand, I could feel myself beginning to spin into the darkness; could tell that the tides were rising that would carry me into deep waters. I begged for Him to go slow, but He was impatient, wanting to know what we were waiting for. I couldn't tell Him. I didn't have any answer to give Him.

When the first cracks of the strap landed the anger exploded. I was immediately furious. I struggled against Him, against the restraints, against the strap. I shrieked, I swore, I declared that I hated Him, hated this, wanted to leave, wanted to simply go away, didn't want to do this... None of that had any effect at all, except to harden His determination to take me where He would.

Eventually, I broke, sobbing: "Why did you let them do this to me? Why did you let them do this to me? Why? Why? Why?

And: "You promised me it would be alright, and now it isn't ever going to be alright, and now you are looking for someone else, and I AM SO MAD AT YOU!"

Exhausted, shaken to my soul, terrified, horrified at the revelation of the secret I'd carried all these weeks, I lay weeping and gasping, unable to muster anymore energy. I was sure I'd ended my life in that moment.

He drew me to Him, held me tightly, rocked me until the sobs quieted, and then began to talk me through the sense of untangling the emotional knot that I'd gotten myself into these last weeks. He told me things I knew: that He'd believed what medical professionals had told us both -- that the outcome would be much better than what we've experienced with all of this; that He wished He'd understood sooner that my surgeon didn't understand the complexities of this or He'd have moved sooner to get me to another doctor; that He was convinced that this specialist WOULD find the answers -- given time; That we would get through this together, and be fine.

Then He backed up and reiterated things that I needed desperately to hear from Him: I am His; He's not looking for someone else; I'm not leaving Him; He won't hear that from me. His diagnosis: I am feeling disconnected and uncertain of our connection. I am not sure of Him. I am having trouble "sensing" His presence with me; His love for me; His place in my life; I need more regular reminding of our bond.

So... Out came the hairbrush paddle. For anyone who doesn't know this particular beast, the hairbrush paddle is a creation from The Toybag. It is solid oak, heavy, smooth, and absolutely unforgiving. It is, as its name implies, exactly like a hairbrush without any bristles. I hate it with a passion. The prescription for now is that I'll be paddled daily for a week along with corner time, and that this routine will keep me more clearly mindful of who I am and to whom I belong. He seems convinced that keeping me continually with a sore and bruised butt, and in constant anticipation of daily paddlings will limit the tendency to crank up into emotional hurricanes.

He knows me well, and I have no option but to bend to His will. I'm sure He is most likely right. Whatever, I think about it, He will take me through it, and it will take me a week closer to what comes next. At least I am no longer angry about a secret I cannot share.

swan