Yeah, so, I had my first appointment this week with the psychotherapist.

She was nice, we got on OK, I’m supposed to see her again in two weeks but I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again. I don’t think I can.

I feel like shit. Have done since I saw her. All the progress I’ve made on how I feel about myself is gone. I now feel even worse than I did.

The voice in my head is back, worse than it was before. Now it’s on loop, constantly –

Stupid, ugly, fat, lump, blob, and on and on.

And I was feeling pretty good, I’d got my sister to cut my hair, she’d dyed it and I was starting to get back a bit of spark. All gone now because of how I feel about her and how she looks, which is ridiculous really. I’ve never felt this knocked back by how someone looks like this before. And I think it’s because, if I could choose how I looked, I’d look like her. I can’t talk to her about how much I don’t like myself, I can’t sit across from her and tell her I’ve never liked me.

The words that spring to mind are Amazonian, Valkyrie, a warrior princess, she reminds me of Lucy Lawless as Xena, (except she was dressed obviously). She totally fits the definition of statuesque – attractively tall, graceful, and dignified. She’s a couple of inches taller than me, (I’m too tall to be short and too short to be tall), long, caramel coloured hair, with blonde streaks, perfectly co-ordinated outfit, effortlessly stylish, not beautiful, but striking. And an accent, not sure what, but European, I’d need to talk to her more to be sure.

And now I’m left feeling like a ridiculous lump, trying to be something I’m not and I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to try anymore. I feel like I should hide away back in my corner and stop pretending I’ll ever be more than nothing.


The guilt and anger at myself builds over the space of a few days, after a week of feeling good, slowly the bad thoughts and feelings creep back in.

I’ve only myself to blame, I let you in, I was the one who couldn’t refuse you when you found a gap in the wall.

And slowly, stone by stone, I let you further inside, into my mind, into my heart.

Now I don’t know if there’s enough left to rebuild the wall.

Friends say ‘You’ll meet someone else’, and I look around me and ask them ‘Where?’ They have no answer.

I really wasn’t going to write about you again, I thought maybe this time…but no, here you come again creeping into my thoughts.

I just wonder how long?

How long until thoughts of you are a rare, fleeting occurrence?

How long until I can forgive myself for being so stupid again?

How long until the need goes away?

How long until the wall is fully rebuilt?





Boobday #52

Shitty year, shitty week, shitty day.

Friday has rolled around again, as it will, and I’m glad this year is flying. 2016 has been mostly crap and I really, really hope 2017 is better.

After the election earlier this week today I heard Leonard Cohen had died. I’d say there’ll be some party going on.

Anyhoo, here’s my contribution towards trying to make the world a small bit happier. And at least it is Friday.


You can find more Boobday over at Hy’s blog




…but I’m a cynical, old bitch

Wicked Wednesday #42



How do you define romance? What to you is a romantic act or an example of a romantic personality?


I’m pretty sure I’ve said more than once here that I don’t believe in romance. Perhaps I should clarify that statement.

I don’t believe in romance for me. If it works for you then I’m delighted. I think it’s a glitch in my personality, I just don’t like sharing some parts of me with others.

I would define romance as the crap you see in films, on TV or read about in novels. Mostly the characters are young, pretty, have money, freedom – those things which make romance a possibility – being whisked away for a romantic weekend in Paris, an intimate dinner in a favourite restaurant, a tasteful, but expensive gift. Hearts and flowers, and even if things aren’t quite perfect, they soon will be. I rarely watch romantic films, I can’t connect to the majority of characters or storylines and I can’t let go enough to just enjoy the story. The same applies to romantic fiction and erotica, there’s no connection. I might read the occasional chick lit if I find it in the charity shop and I’m in the mood for fluff I don’t need to think about, and I do like to read short erotic pieces on blogs, but I don’t have the patience to read much of it. I do read a lot of fiction but I tend to stick to horror, fantasy or books about serial killers. No connection with the characters but I find I can let go more easily.

I know you can have romance without all the bells and whistles, sometimes it only takes a small gesture – doing something nice for someone you love – even if it’s taking over making the dinner or giving them a silly card just because.

One of the problems I have with romance is that romantic gestures have been few and far between in my life, for most of it the closest I got was a bunch of roses (which I hate) and a box of Milk Tray (which I also hate). And this was more of an obligation than a romantic gesture – last minute at a petrol station job because his sister had reminded him it was Valentine’s or Mother’s Day. There were never any other signs of romance. In twenty odd years we went for dinner once, to the pub maybe three or four times, and to the cinema once. We had two family holidays to visit relatives here in Ireland. Never any spontaneity or just because…and blah, blah, blah.

Another problem is Disney. Ever since I saw Bambi, stupid I suppose, but I don’t believe in happy endings. I always preferred the bad guys, still do. They always get the best lines. And Hollywood romance is always bullshit. I do like the girl in Brave though, I would have loved to have been able to watch her when I was a kid. And I love her hair!

Now I find I’m too cranky and cynical for it. I don’t have the patience for games. I find I don’t know how to respond if someone does something nice, I always wonder what they’re after. I don’t like surprises, or having money spent on me, it makes me uncomfortable. For a little while things were OK, like I say, silly little gestures, but I started to feel uncomfortable about things again.

I don’t do well with people getting too close to me, unless they want to fuck me. Too many times ending up in situations I didn’t want.

If you’re interested in me you don’t have to be romantic or pretend to love me, because now I’ll probably just laugh in your face.

More Wicked Wednesday here.


One of my favourite things

Kink of the Week #13

Kink of the Week November 1-15: Struggling

Woman struggling against bonds

Image courtesy of Understanding Flutterby

There is a large dedicated fan base within pornography that gets off on watching people physically struggle against their bonds, whether that be ties or a another human being holding them down. The videos are really focused on the act of struggling and often features women (yes it seems to be mainly women) bound up on the floor and left to struggle.

The thing is, I kind of get it. Not the watching the videos. I have done that and despite them being oddly mesmerizing I can’t say they got me off, but the act of struggling, well is a different matter altogether.

However this is not about me, but you. So tell me lovely bloggers does struggling turn you on? Just to be clear I don’t mean mental or emotional struggle but the physical act. Do you like the fight of your body against the things that bind you? Does what you are physically struggling against make a difference; rope, chains, cuffs or the force of another human being holding you down? Do you love struggling beneath a partner as they take their pleasure in you?

I would really love to hear from people who get off on the topping aspect of this kink. What is it about watching your partner physically struggle that gets you going? Do you like to restrain someone and then sit back and watch them fight it out? Or maybe it is the act of being the bigger, stronger partner, feeling their smallness beneath you fighting you that is hot for you?

Also what about within the context of other BDSM play. Do you like watching your sub/bottom physically struggle against their restraints as you spank, whip, paddle or crop them. There is of course also the dreaded tickling does that come into this type of play for you?

This is most definitely a kink for me. I like to be tied but there’s not much give in rope, far better to struggle against someone.

Everything about it feeds into my other kinks – about being made to do things, rape fantasies, con non-con, being overpowered.

There’s the knowing that I’ve zero chance of winning, the rush of adrenaline, a little touch of fear, knowing I’m going to ache later, probably have marks – so many things that turn me on about it.

Feeling his muscles moving under his skin, the raw power, his weight pinning me down, hands holding my wrists as I try to get away, both getting out of breath and getting hornier by the second.

Sometimes there would be slaps, face or arse depending on my position, although it’s harder to fight when you’re face down.

Sometimes I’d give in, others I’d keep struggling even while I’m being fucked, beg him not to, whimpering, all the things I knew would make him fuck me harder until we were both spent. Lying there trying to catch our breath, smiling, me calling him a bastard, him laughing.

Fuck, I really miss it.

More Kink of the Week here.