In light of recent events, of having something I've been hoping for denied to me, and facing yet another rejection of sorts, I've composed my reasoning to place blame on myself. The output being of course, there are two potential problems, that of motivation, and that of methodology. As I refuse to believe the null hypothesis that my options of a D/S relationship are naught. Not at least, in this city, or community. I am however, so, infuriated, exhausted, and weary of scouring the depths of my networks to find someone.
The reasoning, as you might suspect, for this comes from the maelstrom of harsh feelings that develop as a result of being heart broken for no reason, outside disappointment.
The former, being my motivation. I pursue this with such fervor either in bias and flowered vision, or in honest devotion to a found purpose. I've, to date, a single experience to go on, and one that has been said to have been abusive, negative, ill-suited/ and ill-dated, and a terrible experience to build as an example. Yet, it is my only sample. My ex, colloquially known as Voldemortress. Only in that setting, can I remember not yearning for a purpose. My purpose was decided, and it was her. The question is however, do I see that now, years later, through my apologist imagination of what was the experience, or is my memory infallable enough to remember my emotional states in truth. If true, then searching for a D/S relationship continues as it was the only thing I've ever found to make the question of my life seem to make any sense. If False, and my memory and judgement is clouded, then I carry on through a perfumed cloud, hypnotized by something inevitably an illusion, and the journey continues on, innevitably to whatever end it may come to.
The later, being the methodolgy, in which case fair criticism is well and fair deserved. I've long suffered a nursing wound of two inhereit character sins, That of Sloth, and that of Cowardice. I've build up a fabulous cachet and array of excuses and inconvienances to allow myself failure. Promising a scowering of depths of only the shallowest of areas. If my drive and purpose in life is listed above, then how can I allow myself such grievances as this? For someone so inclined to a pursue the dynamic and relationship of a D/S style, as I tell myself I am, I have very little to actually show for it that puts myself at risk. Attribute that the uncomfortability of being introverted, and hard to approach, intimidating and alone, standing for one's self, perpetually an outsider due to circumstance.
Yet, I have felt this before. This disappointment and unwarranted ache. I was 11, and had mistaken carefree affection, for honest desire, and in pursuit found myself dancing over landmines to a much harsh audience of middle school kids. I feel now, as I do then, wondering what I did wrong, and why, for no apparent reason of my own, I'm facing the feelings of rejection and disappointment. Albeit the individual verbiage hits an uncomfortable similarity.
In honesty, the idea of my prospects for salvation going from sole, to nought, does bring strong waves of depression in the idea of having to, once again, start over from scratch. To face only the same harsh disappointments, over and over, gives rise to great jagged and shaggy outcrops of depression and demoralization that it makes one consider even the desire to make said journey.
In saying as much, I apologize for the cryptic nature. It was ever my style of italicize my vernacular to my mood, therein. In sadness, it leans towards the metaphorical, dramatic, romantic, and fatalistic.
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