I am a masochist. It is a seed we’ve been deliberately and lovingly watering for years. My partner and I are always experimenting and evolving our pain play, but I never knew how deeply it ran through me until recently. I didn’t realize how much emotional pain I cause myself unnecessarily and how I struggle with stopping.

It’s as though I have to keep up a level of emotional anguish at all times or I start to panic. I often refer to it as a dull, familiar, almost comforting, always there pain. Not one I purposefully feed, but do out of habit and fear. A security blanket that just happens to be infested with parasites and always leaves me feeling a little gross and itchy.

Still, giving up that familiarity meant risking a type of pain that was nothing like taking the flogger across my back. Physical pain fades quick. Emotional pain though, cuts deeper. More intense. More intimate.

I was way more in touch with my pussy than I was with my emotions when we began, so we started there. Beginning with the physical vulnerability, which I found easier, inevitably helped break through years of emotional walls and distortions I constructed out of self-preservation.

Over time I have found it has gotten easier to share my darkness with my partner. Our dynamic has forced me to, in the most healthy ways.

This visceral openness recently tapped into a kink vein. Exposing such deeply buried secrets about myself is an entirely new level of exhibitionism and masochism. It is unearthing years of guilt, shame and trauma and shining unflattering spot lights on it for my partner to look at with me for the first time. There is something almost painfully vulnerable about not being able to preview some of these things before I divulge them to him in real time as it bubbles to the surface, but our rule of transparency doesn’t allow me to keep any of it to myself.

Channeling this incessant desire for pain into healthy aspects of my relationship with my partner helps me give less attention and energy to the unhealthy coping mechanisms I have chosen in the past.

It isn’t lost on me that I have an entire world waiting for me when I can fully learn how to accept and love myself. The journey there certainly isn’t easy, but it sure can be sexy as fuck.

2 Replies to “The discomfort of confession”

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