What many of my close friends know, is that I’m an abuse survivor – both physical and emotional/psychological. As far as my childhood, I had a wonderful therapist, once I finally recognized I needed it, who helped me heal a bit, and grow enough to take steps to repair relationships with my abusers and myself. When I became sexually active, the effects became quite noticable. Inability to stay in just one place, desire for very violent, rough sex. One of my friends in college found it quite interesting and chose me for his psych project. Delving into the dark areas of this kitty to see what was going on in her, and comparing it to the available statistics of abuse survivors. Some become perpetual victims, some become the abuser, and some become like me – not a victim, but a lover of pain. The thankful part, is that I was able to turn it into something that was abuse, so I thought. About this time, my fiance decided I was a bit too wild and needed to be tame. My violence fetish became a tool against me and my roving eye became a reason to punish me. Sex became a game of revenge, foreplay became a means of punishment and I was locked into the pattern again. My parents saw it, but due to my history, I was blind as hell towards it, because I didn’t even learn to see the signs of it.
Over the course of the next 3 years, had one safe playmate, that helped me move past the issues I had with that relationship, but my mistake was moving in with my fiance, things took a massive turn for the worse. Lots of fights, that I couldn’t manage to spin in my head. I was destroyed, broken and just a shell of everything that I ever was. Then, something happened. During one of our last fights, he decided to throw me on the ground and choke me. It was the second time I ever experienced opening my lungs and mouth to breathe, and nothing enters. When he let go, he said my lips looked good blue. Later, it was that I shouldn’t have forced him to do that. I decided at that moment I needed to leave.
So, what does this have to do with this little kitty’s sexual perversions? Well, recently, a playmate mistook my collar for my hair, in the heat of things, and used my collar to pull my head back. I enjoyed it. It also scared the living shit out of me, because of the story above. The first time I allowed a guy to touch my neck was 3 years ago, in massage school. I didn’t even make it through a half-hour session before I had to have my therapist stop because I was crying and screaming.
With all this, it has made me wonder about my use of collars. My therapist questioned whether it had anything to do with the abuse. Originally, it didn’t. Started with a couple of studded collars, and a patent leather one with an o-ring in the middle. It was an accessory along the lines of a choker. After the incident, I stopped wearing them, because I literally felt like I was choking when I wore them. After a year, I started wearing a new style, that had spikes. A means of getting over and protecting myself. Over time, it resulted in the feeling of choking with them from any massive hurt that someone emotionally pressed upon me. After the Pup and I ended our friendship, I felt like I couldn’t breathe any I thought about it. That’s the last major time I had any issue with it. Now, it’s just people commenting out their ass about why I might be wearing one. Most just compliment it.
Maybe this is something I needed, the spark I need to change the pain into something more useful to me, instead of what I normally carry around. Hopefully, this will bring some more healing, and I’m also a bit more interested in persuing my bondage fetish again.