Body Writing to Recognise my Slave Identity

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In the previous post, I mentioned that I wasn’t doing too great and my dissociation and depressive thoughts were far stronger than the feeling of serving as a slave, or the feeling of an orgasm; the depressive thoughts were starting to become my truth. Miss Lois and I had last been in touch at 6 PM and at 11.30 PM I sent her another string of messages that…

Well, I might as well share what I said, lol. These thoughts weren’t exactly unusual. I have probably written Miss Lois an entire novel with thoughts like this. In fact, I’m very open about my struggles to the rest of the world and I have been seeking help for years, so there’s no need to worry, really. Plus, I am in a slightly better place nowadays.

So I was having a breakdown when I sent the following message.

Me: “The feeling is so strong. I’m only seeing visions of failure and blood and after all these years death won and I’m just another name frozen in time, lost to a disease that can’t be cured and you’ll move on like the rest of the world. And there I am, telling myself ‘I told you so,’ because I was never meant to survive. 

I don’t want this and these thoughts are not true, but it’s pulling me in and I can’t not feel it. And it feels like I’m failing just for allowing these thoughts again while I should be strong enough not to. While I should just accept that I’m feeling it and stop hating and blaming myself. 

I’m scared. I can’t remember ever feeling scared like this. Like I’m scared that I will disappear and it will take over forever. 

But I can never disappear because it probably needs me to live so it’s fine and you’ll help bring me back or I’ll bring myself back or other people will help bring me back. I’ll make it through, I’ve made it so long it can’t possibly win now. It’ll be fine, I have no reason to be scared.”

Miss Lois is the only person I really allow these thoughts to come out to and she doesn’t have to be online for it. In fact, it probably wouldn’t work at all if she were online (unless she told me to tell her all my thoughts). And afterwards I just kind of pull myself back together, telling myself ‘lies’ of I’ll make it etc. that I don’t actually believe in the moment, but try to hold on to anyway. Although once I’ve sent my thoughts, the breakdown often continues, so sending them isn’t a fix exactly.

She once pointed out that I just seem to hate myself a lot. Even if you look at the text I wrote here, I’m blaming myself for not being able to stop these thoughts, while in reality I probably can’t change it and am trying to get out of it… so I shouldn’t have anything to blame myself for. That’s one of the things that has changed now. I don’t seem to blame myself as much anymore.

Anyhow, I slept that night, although not very well and woke up at around 8 am, when she sent me another message.

Miss Lois: “You are strong and you will be fine. It is hard but you are strong enough to beat it. Are you feeling better now?”

Me: “I don’t know, Miss. It’s fine.”

Miss Lois: “Did you sleep ok?”

Me: “Yeah, it was alright, Miss.”

Miss Lois: “You’re blocking your feelings out right now? Are you feeling numb?”

Me: “I suppose so, Miss. I don’t know how I feel but it’s fine. Am not breaking down or anything.”

Miss Lois: “Did you hurt yourself?”

(I hadn’t ever physically hurt myself since being in contact with Miss Lois in terms of cutting oneself. And even before I met her, I hadn’t for at least a year prior. But I had mentioned thoughts about wanting to, especially since these thoughts only seemed to be getting stronger.)

Me: “It’s all good, it’ll be fine, Miss.”

Miss Lois: “You are trying to shut me out.”

When she said that, it was the first time I felt anything that day and it was a feeling of shame and guilt and worry. I didn’t want to shut her out. I didn’t want to upset her or be rude.

I apologised, trying to explain what was going on with a lot more words than my previous answers had been.

Me: “I’m sorry, Miss. I don’t intend to. It’s not you, just my general state at the moment, I think? I’ve shut everyone and myself out. I’m in the ‘I need to do it alone and it’ll be fine because I’m always fine’ state.”

(In the past, typically after a breakdown I’d go completely numb and would need about three days to get back to some sort of normal. I would not feel anything or know how I was doing and I’d generally just not be much of a functioning human. I also wasn’t of much use for socialising during those times.)

Miss Lois: “I want you to get naked, put on your hood and your gag over it, wear your stilettos and take a picture.”

Every time I feel depressed and she tells me to do something all of a sudden, mainly getting up, getting naked and taking a picture, I’m like… urgh, why…

Then she told me to use a rope or a belt of some sorts to put around my neck, as I don’t own a collar for the reason I talked about in this post. These things are all she says in those moments. Simple commands and I follow them without question (that did take a while before I just started doing, rather than asking something first. I do ask a question if I’m not entirely sure what she means.)

Side note, I have pretty much never used this belt, if at all? Apart from this one time here where it served a different purpose than it’s primary function haha.

The question after was how wet I was, which was quite (a little surprising to me considering I had wanted to do anything but get up and get naked, and still felt too cold right that minute.) She also asked me how I felt and I didn’t know. I never know how I feel when I’m numb or feeling depressed. It’s all just a little blank.

She then wanted to know what she was to me without mentioning titles.

Miss Lois: “What am I really to you?”

I couldn’t really find words or sentences. I had some sort of vague memory of feelings or words that might describe what she was to me but I felt like I didn’t know how to access anything at the moment.

Miss Lois: “Ok, let’s start. What are you?”

Me: “I’m a slave, Miss.”

(Side note, I used to answer these questions with a question mark like, “I am a slave?” and she’d always ask why it was a question.)

Miss Lois: “Is that what you say because you’re talking to me? Is it really the first thing that comes to mind?”

Me: “It was the first thing that came to mind when you asked the question, Miss.”

(I guess it’s a funny thing. Of course, I start liking things she does and believing some things she does. It’s part of her shaping me like she wants to, but then how do you differentiate whether I’m saying it because I know it’s what she wants to hear or because I truly believe it? Sometimes I don’t know myself but I certainly try to be as genuine as I can be.)

Miss Lois: “Then take a marker pen and write it on your body as big as you think appropriate.”

We’d tried markers quite a few times by now (like in this post) and the purpose always seemed to be for me to come to terms with my identity more.

(Yes, I wrote this one and all the following the wrong way around for taking pictures in the mirror lol)

She wanted to know how that felt, which was good in the sense that… it made sense without that I had to make sense of it. It felt right without question and it felt like I was recognising a part of me. I was recognising that I exist.

She asked me to tell her more about how I felt like I exist.

I thought that I was currently unable to feel because I wasn’t really there. I couldn’t really see myself in this life and everything felt unreal even though I could literally see all the things in my room. But my slave part didn’t really get caught up in all of that. It was still there even though there was no sense- but I didn’t need to make sense of it because it just is.

She asked what I’d be without it.

I felt like I’d be lost and floating, completely detached from everything. With it now, it felt like there was a little anchor keeping me here. My body also couldn’t keep still. My feet were touching one another as if they were holding hands and when I wasn’t writing to Miss Lois my hands were squeezing each other.

Miss Lois: “You’re scared?”

Me: “I don’t feel it so I don’t know.”

Miss Lois: “You are scared to vanish completely. That’s why you keep moving, to physically feel something. But the knowledge that you are a slave keeps you from vanishing.”

She also pointed out that when we started talking I was convinced that I was not a slave, about a year and a half ago. She wanted me to tell her about my realisation that I am, but I couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed. Today it just came to me. The feeling was just there, immediately. One specific moment did come to mind, which was the time when she told me to write ‘slave’ on both my wrist and to wear it for a day about which I wrote here.

Miss Lois: “Who gave you the gift of the realisation that you are a slave?”

Me: “You did, Miss.”

Miss Lois: “And what does that mean to you?”

(Ah, and then we were back at the original question)

I said that it meant everything and that I still didn’t think there were words to describe it. I compared it to the feeling I felt when I realised I could love people after all (when I accepted I was gay instead of straight). It also meant that I’d do my very best to make her happy.

Miss Lois: “This state that you are in, the disconnection is also an opportunity to get even more control over your mind and subconsciousness, to shape you. You are disconnected but more open. Because everything is gone and blocked out, only your slave self is here.”

Seeing her say that reassured me somehow because I always worry when I’m in this state and actively avoid people because I don’t want to be a bother to them because of the state I’m in. Being in this state makes me feel guilty, but she didn’t see it as a bad thing at all. She saw it as an opportunity, rather. I suppose a ‘normal’ person would have said I should be scared of how she was saying she could get more control but all along I wanted her to have that control so…

She once again asked me how wet I was, which was wetter, although I’m not sure why. She then asked what else should be written on my body and I suggested ‘I serve Miss Lois’ and ‘slut’ because that’s what my body seemed to signal by getting wetter, I thought.

She asked me to check how wet I was and then to write the word on my body.

Miss Lois: “How wet are you now?”

Me: “A little more wet I think, Miss.”

Miss Lois: “So you are indeed a slut.”

(lmao)

She then told me to write ‘I serve Miss Lois.’

Afterwards, I realised that I would have put it somewhere else instead, in between ‘slave’ and ‘slut’ and that I’d also written it in slightly bigger letters than the other two. I mentioned that I felt like I owed her my life, not literally, but in the sense that my slave part would still be ‘dead’ without her. And by this point, or perhaps it became especially evident today, we figured out that my slave identity had become an anchor for me. And at this moment in time, it was only strong enough to resist floating away like the rest of me, because of her.

By this point, I had also stopped moving as much as I was before. I Felt slightly calmer than before, probably because of connecting more to my slave side. It felt like a relief and a surprise because when I’ve floated away that becomes my reality in that the emptiness and the bad feelings are the absolute truth. They are inescapable and so when I get out it’s like… woah… I never thought that would end. The pictures on my wall also seemed more real compared to earlier.

Miss Lois: “By writing down the truth on your body you regained some control as you are closer to what is real and the pull of the lies (aka the emptiness and the bad feelings) gets less strong. Like you are getting closer to the shore or a raging river. And it was me who threw you the lifeline to hold on to.”

Me: “Yes, Miss.”

Miss Lois: “Now finish the sentence ‘I owe Miss Lois…’ and write it on yourself.”

(Side note, we often had conversations too in which she pointed out that what she is doing with me could be considered brainwashing and if I wasn’t afraid of this, lol. The answer was always no.)

“I owe Miss Lois my life, my reality, my lifeline.”

She then wanted to know if it mattered what I look like without the mask, which I thought it didn’t at the moment. She pointed that that was currently under the mask was what I look like when I wear my own mask (as she referred to me that remained after everything else had drifted away, as a mask I’d created for myself.)

I said that whatever else that is usually there below the hood, including all the troubles and worries, were now temporarily removed.

Miss Lois: “They are removed because you are stripped down to your essential truth, a slave and a slut. That is what you are and what you really are at the moment. And all the other good things, writer, friend, athlete has to migrate to this foundation, away from the fake self that doesn’t feel anything that you created for yourself. Nothing else matters as nothing else is real.”

Me: “Yes, Miss.”

Miss Lois: “Do you really understand that? Nothing else is real.”

Me: “I feel it, so yes Miss.”

(Funny how I check if I feel it to know it is real, while I don’t feel half of the time lol)

Miss Lois: “And I can see your true reality as clear as no one else can, much better than you can yourself. That is why this state you’re in is a good gateway to your soul because you can understand and realise what is real and what isn’t.”

(I have no idea if this makes sense to anyone else? But essentially, it felt like we’d dissected my emotional state and identified 1. my normal self who is a friend, a writer and an athlete, amongst other things. 2. the being that feels nothing and can’t identify with anything at all. 3. my slave identity. Number 2 is the lie. Number 3 can pierce through the lie and bring me back to ‘earth’ and the future goal would be to connect 1 and 3, so they are no longer separate (which nowadays, it really isn’t as much anymore!)

Miss Lois: “And more importantly, you actively understand that I understand your true reality much better than you do and by doing so you open the access that I have to your mind and soul even more. And you actively decide to do so.”

In other words, I trusted her. Over the last one and a half year she had shown me that she wanted what was best for me, knew me better than I knew myself and actively helped me feel better. Of course, I wanted her to have more access to me.

Me: “I like how you can find the benefits in every situation even though I immediately tend to put it down as a negative, Miss.”

She asked me if the marker I used was easy to remove. I wasn’t sure. In the past, it had stayed on for a while.

Miss Lois: “Very good.”

(It makes me smile when she tends to say ‘good’ or ‘very good’ or ‘great’ in response to me telling her that something hurts a lot after she asked me if it does or not. And this was kind of similar, but less negative for me lol)

Me: “Nothing about wearing this mask, the ball gag and the belt is comfortable but at the same time it does feel comforting, especially the belt.”

Miss Lois: “Because it holds the fake reality at bay.”

She then told me that she wanted me to put four of the binder clips on my labia- two on each side- and to connect two pairs, one on the right and one on the left, with a string so that I’d be able to pull a pair off by pulling at the string.

(By this point I was feeling submissive enough to barely even feel the dread. I just started doing what she wanted me to do.)

Me: “How long should the string be, Miss?”

Miss Lois: “You should be able to masturbate and also quickly pull them off.”

(Doesn’t that sound like fun…)

Then she said that she got a call and had to, unfortunately, leave very soon. She told me to finish the second pair and to keep it for next time but I suggested I finish what she wanted me to do and to report to her after. She agreed.

Miss Lois: “Yes, put them on and send a picture. Then get yourself to just before the orgasm and just a the point when you come, pull one pair off and then the second one during the orgasm. Take a picture of your pussy afterwards.”

(Side note, we had also experimented a lot with pain before and how this could also bring me back down to earth… so I suppose that’s why she was making it so painful for me (considering I HATE these binder clips, they hurt so much.)

She added that I could take off the mask whenever I felt like it after I was done and that it had been very good to talk today. She said that I’d done well and that she’d enjoyed it very much. (The latter part always feels the best to hear)

Me: “Thank you, Miss. I feel much better than I did before.”

Me: “Don’t know why I bother changing sheets…”

I enjoyed the orgasm more this time compared to other orgasms, as well as the pain. It wasn’t bad pulling them off and at the same time, it was really bad.

I dressed to see friends afterwards and felt a bit worse again when I came home. Taking off my clothes, it was a bit startling and nice to see the writing on my body. It reminded me of how I had felt earlier. It helped remind me of my slave self and that anchor and I still did much better than I’d done before our conversation.

Xx ML

Truth
When I think of my truth, I think about acknowledging that I’m a sub-slave. When I get lost and negative thoughts find their way to the front of my mind I need to remember and hold onto my actual truth so I don’t lose myself. Writing that truth down on my body, therefore, as written above helps. Other reminders such as a collar or going without panties, as a rule, can provide something similar.

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