Begging

I think my issue with begging is that if I retain the mindfulness necessary to do it justice, I lose the pleasant state of being wherein I need not think, which is a highly desirable portion of my submission, and since words have great power with  me I prefer to choose important ones carefully, which takes thought. Anything that I would feel important enough to truly beg for would deserve such forethought. Also, since I hold words so dear, when I struggle against that mindlessness and stumble over my words it shames me to a degree and I don't like that at all. I feel stupid that I haven't been able to come up with better words to articulate that need/want better and that I have, in my blundering, shamed that which I ask for and my Sir, whom I ask it from. 

I do beg with actions. I'll rub my cheek against him, press it to his feet sometimes. When he's caning or spanking me or the like I'll often lift up one side of my bottom to ask for more there. I whimper, I whine. I pout and sometimes feel like I get those big pleading eyes ... but verbally, I totally fail at begging. My mind goes blank and there's nothing there but "please". While I do so enjoy that state, E has expressed a desire to hear me beg with more than whines and whimpers on occasion. So, he has asked me to come up with at least ten ways for me to ask him to allow me into his bed as a starting point...

Would it please you for your girl to sleep in your bed tonight, Sir?

Sir, have I been good enough to sleep in your bed tonight?

May I please get into your bed, Sir?

Please, Sir, may your girl get into your bed now?

Sir, your girl is tired. Does she have permission to get into your bed?

(and at this point I think I'd just fall asleep on the floor, but to continue the exercise..)

Sir, is there anything that I may do to be allowed in your bed tonight?

How may I earn a place in your bed tonight, Sir?

Please, may I sleep in your bed tonight, Sir, so that I may rest well and better serve you tomorrow?

Please, Sir, would you allow your girl the pleasure of sleeping in your bed tonight?

(and as I fall asleep on my knees....)

I'm sleepy. Can I come to bed now?

So. There are ten. I feel as if they're more formally asking than begging, but I refuse to lessen my self worth, grovel or attempt to promise things I don't intend to follow through with in order to get anything I want, nor do I think E would want that of me. I suppose that's why I feel that I need to have my wits about me at least partially in order to properly "beg". 

Exploring My Submission: Journaling Exercise #15 & #16

Has your submission evolved over time? If so, how has it evolved for you and if not (or if you are just starting out) how might you see or imagine it evolving in the future? 
My submission has changed and, yes, evolved over time. I’m still discovering aspects of it and I feel that I always will be. I don’t think I’d be happy if I felt I had figured it all out and there was nothing left to explore… at least not at this point in my life. Maybe when I’m 90 or so. ;) It’s ever shifting, even from day to day. And each aspect of my submission is changing. Like the sunlight shifts through a stained glass window, the light shines through different colors at different strengths and at different angles every day, so is my submission. 

 Have you found your submission has changed with different partners/relationships? If you’re involved with partners of both sexes, does your submission relate or change based on gender or does it depend on the person? 
The person and my connection with them has everything to do with how I submit. Also, see above. But, yes, it always depends on the person, the gender, the environment, the weather. LOL It is all about action and reaction with the one I submit to, but also within myself. 

Truth & Mercy

Let not mercy and truth forsake thee; bind them about thy neck, write them upon the tablet of thine heart. 

So shalt thou find favor and good understanding in the sight of God and man.
Proverbs 3:3-4 21st Century King James Version (KJ21)

This verse was brought to my attention via a post in a group I am a member of on Fetlife. It resonated and so I dwelled there with it for a while and read what others had said about it. One had used it in a collaring ritual with his submissive, another found historical references to relate to the Dominant/submissive dynamic, others saw no connection. I, being the lover of lexis that I am, wanted to first explore the meaning of these two oh so important words that the Bible says I should bear on my neck and my heart. 
mer·cy

 /ˈmərsē/ noun
mercies, plural

1. Compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm

- the boy was screaming and begging for mercy

- the mercies of God

2. An event to be grateful for, esp. because its occurrence prevents something unpleasant or provides relief from suffering

- his death was in a way a mercy

3. (esp. of a journey or mission) Performed out of a desire to relieve suffering; motivated by compassion

- mercy missions to refugees caught up in the fighting 

truth

 /trooTH/ noun
truths, plural

1. The quality or state of being true

- he had to accept the truth of her accusation

2. That which is true or in accordance with fact or reality

- tell me the truth

- she found out the truth about him

3. A fact or belief that is accepted as true

- the emergence of scientific truths

- the fundamental truths about mankind 

Thank you, Google! I love the diction in this scripture. To take these and bind them about my neck and write them upon the document that is my heart means so much. It is one thing to hold things in one’s heart and keep them dear, but with mercy and truth, to make them a part of my heart, not just in it. To not hide them only inside, but to wear them proudly on my neck and let all know that these claim me and that I claim them. Mercy; this is compassion, forgiveness, kindness, understanding, benevolence. Truth; this is fact, honesty, sincerity, genuineness, certainty, uprightness. I am to not only accept them and give them in their entirety. I am to make them a part of who and what I am and how others see me. 

Ironically, E once screen-named himself these two words. Truth and Mercy… So this verse is just made a bit dearer to me.

In this house…

There is no respect for any of my decisions in this house.  Today everyone here has belittled me and/or rebelled against me. My mother has treated me much disregard. My children have ignored my instruction to the point of open defiance, forcing me to discipline them, which eventually brought them to tears, which infuriate my father who actually had the audacity to question if I knew any other method of getting my children to do anything other than spanking them. 

He who spanked me until I was 14. He who broke the paddle on my butt. He who repeatedly used the OH so despised line “This hurts you more than it hurts me.” He who spanked me for voicing my opinion, claiming it was “talking back”. He who took belt, switch, and paddle to me for the tone of my voice or a C in math class. This man DARES to ask me if I know no better way to control my children than to spank them.

I am rebuked for raising my voice to my children, yet he does so both to them and to me. I am preached to about how time outs don’t work time and time again when I choose that method of discipline. He asks me repeatedly if I enjoy hearing my children cry. They’re almost 4 and 5. They’re going to cry some. Over and over again I am made to feel like I am a horrible mother… in THIS house.  And yet, at church I am praised for how I handle my children. E’s mom has humbled me more than once by saying I am a wonderful mother. Even my ex-husband praises my parenting. When I’m out of this house, I can almost believe them, but, when your own parents so disdain you, it makes it difficult to believe. 

Sometimes I feel as if this house is consuming me. Every episode of this evident display of scorn, trapping me a bit more, more firmly ensuring my position here… Sometimes I feel like Cinderella. 

“Do the laundry. Make the dinner, but do it MY way. Sweep the floors. You missed some here. Take out the garbage. Wash my car. It’s streaky; do it again. Beat the rugs. NO, like this. Where’s your dad’s other sock? Dust the furniture. There’s dust on the floor, sweep it up. That couch is too far to the right, move it back. Mop the floors. You put the chair back in the wrong place, fix it. Hang the clothes, no not that way. That shirt’s backwards. These pants are on the wrong hanger. This shirt is wrinkled; did you leave the clothes in the dryer again? YOU HAVE TO DO BETTER.” All still circling in my head. Never good enough.

I still have the time my mother made me scrub the bathroom floor with a toothbrush vivid in my memory… and I’m still waiting for it to happen again. I’m 25 years old and my parents alternately treat me like a troublesome preteen, a lack wit servant, and an utter failure and disappointment. Ever so rare is the shining jewel of a grudging compliment… usually on my food. My mother has even deigned to call me a whore simply because I’m fond of high heels.  

If I decide to pursue school again, I am told that I don’t give it my all and that I should try harder. If I decide to not to pursue school again, then I’m told that I’ll never make it in life. I’m repeatedly told that I’m lazy and selfish and sometimes I just want to evolve into the doormat they attempt to make me, but I know how that ends. 

Six years ago I made a foolish attempt at marriage to escape this, and yet found the same, but worse, in the man that I had chosen to marry. I divorced him so that my children could grow up without seeing their mother put down every day. I divorced him to spare them the anger and the violence in their father’s derision of me. I fled so I could stop being the doormat, and yet here I am again. 

If I leave this house, my parents’ financial support stops. They’ve made that clear. I have no job. No degree. Little in the way of income from child support and I know of no other relatives that would take my children and myself in. My mother has come to recognize that their behavior is affecting my children and has done a bit better, but my dad refuses to admit that he has anger issues. He rejects the idea that there are other ways than his that are affective. 

I don’t know how to alter this situation. Some days are actually nice. Some months are actually pleasant… and then I do something to set things off again… either that or they can no longer ignore my blatant incompetence. I try to keep the kids shielded from it as best I can and they seem to only know that Grampa is angry and shouts a lot. I didn’t want this for them. I didn’t want this for me. Acknowledging that I’ll never make my parents proud is hard enough without my children having to witness their grandparents’ disappointment in me. 

I count the days and the pennies now…  Two years. Just two more years. Please GOD just two more years until we can escape this house, finances right now just won’t allow it… hopefully by the time my son is in kindergarten that won’t be so. 

P.S.: Yes, I know this is a rant, but I had to get this out and just leaving it in a Word document on my computer didn't seem like it was enough.