broken brained, family update, From the heart, musings of pixie heart

It’s just how we role around here!

It’s just how we roll around here!

I’ve been sat doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been packing to go away on a business trip with a kitten. But I don’t think we’re normal in this family, and I don’t just mean odd, I mean bat crap crazy and stranger than a jumper in July.

What bought this sudden realization to me? A conversation twitter about how I had pack 4 pairs of unicorn socks and 12 pairs of panties for a 2-night trip! But then I also have pack 20 collars, 3 stuffies and a massive tube of lube. I know I’m not normal, and I’m fine about, no really.

I’ve never been what you call ”normal” and from an early age I was labelled ”special”. As a little kid I thought that was a great thing to be, but as I got older I found out that ’special ’ is not such a great thing to be. I was, in fact, a very scornful thing and meant that you were different. It relegated you to the same place as black sheep, funny uncles and those sent to the sisters of mercy.

As I got older it got changed from special, to special needs and I was know to be challenging. Now I should say that my special needs, were nothing more than being dyslexic and struggling to learn my 3rd alphabet. The challenging part was a form of ADD and the fact I was from a home with 2 abusive parents. But I was seen as the problem and got told to stop making excuses and buckle down. But I simply could not do it, being normal hurt, like I was being squashed into a mould that was too small. It had round edges and I had sharp, jagged points. It led to me acting out, getting kicked out of schools and very nearly getting sent to a youth offenders place.

Luckily my nana and my priest (I know right!) saw that I was different in a good way. My Nana and father Michael went in and batted for me, somehow managing to get me one final chance. I got sent a PRU and got help and guidance. I learnt to embrace my quirks, funny habits and being different. I learned that yes I am strange, odd and special, but that can be good and beautiful things.

So fast forward to today, and sure I’m still that odd, different and quirky girl. But I’m doing good. I am succeeding, living a happy and stable life. Sure I could clean for Ireland, I freak out if I have to sit by a bin and have a break down if bird flys over my head. But every day I get up, I know I make people happy, make them smile and make their lives a little bit better. Maister always says I’m his special girl, and that makes me so happy and proud, and I’m ok with that!

broken brained, From the heart, musings of pixie heart

Raw.

Raw.

I sit, numb and bleeding. I feel the tears rolling down my check , on to my t-shirt, but I make no noise. I don’t remember how I got here , or why I’m crying, or what is hurting the must. Is it cut arm my arm or the ache in my heart. I remember picking up the razor and pushing in tonmy skin, the burn I felt as if sliced in to the flesh, and the sense of calm that I felt as I saw the blood running out of me.

I remember the physical pain I felt with him. The pushing , that turned to shoves, that led to kicks, that led to me cowering on the floor. Him towering above me, anger burning in his eyes, fist clenched. I remember the slaps that turned to punches. Never leaving a mark on my face or any place people would guess how I got them. I remember the occasional slaps, turn to daily punches , that led to beatings so bad I could not move properly days.

I remember the mental pain he could inflict. The little put downs that turned to viscous name calling. How his words could maim and injury much more than a fist could any day. I remember the ways he controlled everything, losing friends, contact with my family. I remember the fear, pain and terror I felt, when he lashed out with those vile words. How it felt to believe them and the sense of total worthlessness. I remember the sobs that would rise up through my body , after he told my I was scum, stupid or disgusting.

I remember the fear and disgust I felt from the aggressive coercion to take part in or perform sexual acts that I did not want. I remember the deep feeling of shame , disgust at myself and the hopeless resignation I felt after the sexual violence. The searing pain and the loss of blood after fishing’s went wrong. The look of pure madness on his face when I told him no. The terror of being held down and raped, over and over again. The belief that I was not going to live till the morning. The look in my fathers eye when I had to tell him what he did to me, that will never, ever leave me till my dying breath.

And still , I rose again , to fight on , to live another day.

But some times, like now, all the memories come flooding back. Sitting in my mind and festering. Till they have to come out, some how. Yes they are less painful, not so bright, fading each day. But they are still there and on days like this the still feel raw, jagged and bright. They had to come out, and though I know the cutting is wrong, I chose that , over hurting those I love.

So as I sit, watching the blood and tears dripping to the floor. I remember it may feel raw for awhile. But with time it will fade to a faint scare, never truly leaving me, but becoming a scare, left to remind me, that I too, will rise again.

I wrote this after a meeting with my therapist a couple of years ago. I never thought I would ever think of , let alone hit the publish button on this. It is a real part of me and is as the title says, pixie laid raw at your feet.

Thank you for reading,

Hugs,

Pixie x

broken brained, From the heart, musings of pixie heart, social

From the heart – broken brain update

Hello, hi , hay! So I have not been posting that much or writing much. Normally when that happens , well it’s down to life is busy or I’m working or I have important stuff happening. But not this time people. This time it’s because I don’t or haven’t seen the point. My depression is back and my anxiety levels are through the roof. I’m not coping well, I’m angry, confused and tired. I feel invisible, unliked and ugly. I am hurting , sore and had started hating myself again.

I don’t hide that I have mental health problems, well illness. But I fight it , every bloody day and for the most part I’m winning. But over the last few weeks, not so much. This has largely been bought on by my mum being sick and her death. But the have been other thing at play to. My gp changing my meds with out consulting me or my physiatrist or me, has thrown me off balance. He changed my antidepressant to normal to modified release. Meaning that in the morning I would get a massive high, a huge kick of happy , that by 2.30 pm was leaving and by 5 pm was leaving me flat and on a downward spiral. He cut my main anxiety meds from 5mg 6 times a day, to 1mg 4 times a day. Meaning my anxiety level went from liveable, to through the roof and frightened to level the house. He increased my thyroid meds from 200 mg to 350mg straight away. Meaning I got even more anxious, slept less and felt every so slightly manic. Added to this he stop my anti inflammatory med and took out 2 levels of my pain medication plan. Leaving me trying to cope on less pain medication than I need , not wanting to jump to the really high levels.

Now normally I can cope with a depressive bleep, but I have been dealing with loss and grieve, for people I loved or had very mixed and complex feelings for. Not knowing how to feel or deal with, well it all started to get to much again. I was going through the motions each day, but not feeling anything. I was numb and confused. It’s when this happens that the anxiety and ocd side of my kicks in . I also start to get paranoid and start seeing things in other people’s behaviour towards me that makes me even more paranoid and sad. People not replying to msgs , cos they are busy and stressed , to me is them saying I hate you, get out my life, your a vile bitch and I hate you. It’s not the case , but in my head it was or is. It’s like the worse form of rejection and it hurts. Then the voices start to come back, telling me I’m worthless , hopeless , ugly, vile and a waist of oxygen. Trust me they frighten the fuck out of me.

I got to Thursday last week , and I was dragging my bum out of bed , and just going through the motion of being me. To an outsider I looked like I was doing good. That’s cos I have , over the years got good at putting on a front of being good. I had to, or thought I had too. I don’t like bringing people down or being a pain. I mean I’m the sad sack , why should I bring them down with me, right. I stop a sling things, or for help or for support . I but inside, every time I see someone happy , it twists the knife and kills me a little more.

By Friday , well the pain, hurt and yucky feelings got to much. They left me feeling so sad and anxious, it becomes like a physical pain. So strong it takes you breath away and brings tears to my eyes. I was hurting so bad I started to lash out at people. Not hitting or slapping , but with spiteful words and hurtful actions. I grumped at people on twitter, I thought ill of people and refused cuddles from my darling kitten. Things came to head when uncle Fred ask me how I was doing, and I just broke in to a thousand pieces. Thankfully or sadly , depending how you look at it, he and kitten knew I was not well. The called maîtser, who came home from work. Took all my. Tech away and made me take my meds for anxiety attacks . I was tucked in bed with little bear, I cried and feel asleep in her arms.

Maîtser knew what to do, he always does. He came home from work, checked my tech and meds . (I used to hide things that upset me and I have some times stopped taking my meds when I’m poorly). He phoned my cpn and got him to do a home visit. They looked and saw what had happened with my meds , and my cpn phoned and dealt with my gp and my meds. They got my an appointment to see my head doctor for Monday and agreed on a plan for the weekend. Basically I had to do as I was told, rest and let myself be looked after. I think not having to think about stuff and being looked after was really what so needed. I went to bed on Friday, took my sleep meds and slept for 13 hours straight. I spent Saturday playing with my dogs, watching Disney films and cuddling my babies. Sunday I wrote a little, went out for a roast dinner, played with my babies , cuddled kitten and wrote a little more.

Well Monday morning hot hear, and I was a terrified again. I still had in my head that I was having some sort of phycotic break or something worse and that oil was going to be made to stay in hospital. Aunty May came with me, even coming In with me (I seriously thank the nhs needs great aunties as a way to help look after people with mental Health problems) . After 20 mins of chatting and looking at things, the verdict was in. I’ve not gone mad, or lost the plot or need to stay in hospital. What is wrong with me then? My mother died, my dr changed my meds, triggering a depressive blip and I could not cope with it. Simple! We have made a plan on how to deal with this. It involves medication, therapy , hard work and time. But I have a plan, and when I have a plan , well it sort of makes me see I can and will get better.

But I have also had to realise some pretty hard truths, that really have hurt to come to. The are people who I have hurt, and they may not want me around for a while. That some people may not want me as a friend or in theief lives. That people sometimes only have time for the happy , funny and silly pixie. My behaviour has made me open to critasism and reproach . That some people say one thing and mean another. That I am only human and myself, and that even if they say not , that is not enough or what they want. That others are more their. Up of tea . And even though it should not matter , that my bad mental health, is not something they want to deal with or have in their world. I have to except this and move on but it hurts like hell and it is the thing I’m struggling to except, and will take a long time to deal with or get used to not being enough, but I’ll get their. It is hard to except , it hurts and is going to for a long time. But I guess the is worse things than losing people you thought were friends and liked you. It just hurts and makes me feel invisible.

Well that’s the end to this mental health ramble . Self pity and whining will be kept to a mom I promise and normal pixie is back soon, just not yet.

Hugs,

Pixie

From the heart, musings of pixie heart, social

Things I don’t believe in….

Things I don’t believe in….

Ok, ok I know I seem to be doing down beat blog posts this week, I know ! But this is less down beat than the tittle would have you think, ok? It kind of came to me this morning, laying in bed after a rather lovely morning fuck. Maîtser was humming one of ‘are songs’, Dream by Gabriel , and as I snuggled in close and started drifting back to sleep and my own dreams, I was hit by thoughts of my nana. I have been thinking a lot about her recently, with my own mother coming to the end of her own life. I was really close to my nana, and she taught me so, so ,so many things. Like how to clean house, how to take care of babies and how cook for 14 people without breaking a sweat. But I also remember all her ‘funny’ ways of looking at the world. To an outsider looking in, she was a very simple creature. A country girl, a wife, a mother and housewife. But she also was a feminist, peace protester and loved learning. The 3 things I remember her saying the most often were, always have a dream , nobody is perfect, and I just want them (her family) to be happy. This got me thinking about how she always refused to believe anything was perfect, and then on to the things I don’t believe in. So I thought I would write about them.

Perfection and paragons – ok so this kind of a stolen one from my nana (sorry nana!). But I really don’t believe anyone or anything is perfect, I just don’t. Growing up in a very strict Orthodox (Russian) / Catholic household we learned the bible forwards, backwards, upside down and standing on are heads. So I knew the words ‘he, who has not sinned cast the first stone’ really well. My nana used that to stop arguments, and my daddy coming down to hard on us, when we did something wrong. But my belief goes a little deeper than the bible . I also think that it is impossible for things to be perfect. They may seem it or look it, but if you dig a little deeper the is always a flaw or an imperfection. I also think that some of the most beautiful things and people in the world have imperfections. In fact , those imperfections , make them so much more wondrous. Don’t get me wrong I always aim for as good as humanly is possible, but by excepting things having flaws, it save heaps of time and a hole lot of worry.

Miracles – now this is going to sound mad, coming from someone who thought she could not have children, who had non identical twins girls. But the reason I don’t believe they were a Miracle, is simply the fact that non identical twin girl do happen. Mine are not a one off, the are a fair few around. I also don’t think people ending up millionaires from winning the lottery isn’t a miracle, for the same reason. I also hate, more than words , when people say to me, ‘oh it’s a miracle you turned out so well” or “ it’s a miracle your still alive” . Everything I have or have gotten in my life has either come from a lot of hard work, or a great deal of hardship and loss. I have the great fortune to of inherited, a pretty large amount of money, when I was younger. But I only have that due to losing my god mother to breast cancer. I have had 3 really good jobs and I am respected in the fields I have worked in. But again I worked really hard to get there.

Respect your elders and betters – No, no, no! this is just not true. I believe that you should respect everyone, without exception. But people can lose that respect, and telling me I need to respect them, just because they are older or in a ‘better’ position than me. oh and while we are the subject of respect I completely disagree with the idea that respect needs to be earnt. Bull squirt! Respect should be given to everyone freely without exception. But as I said, I also believe that respect can be lost, and it can be lost very easily, and then it has to be earnt back.

Sorry is the hardest word to say – Again to me this is Bull squirt! Sorry is really easy to say. What is hard , is saying sorry and really meaning it from the bottom of heart, or that you were wrong, when you are wrong. My ex said sorry every time he beat me or sexually abused me, was he sorry no. sorries that are hollow and meaningless are in fact an insult to the person receiving them, or at least they are to me.

Swearing show how unintelligent people – Well then Mastier is stupid! (No his not, I’m not saying that maitsier) . So many super clever people I know swear like dockside navy. Steven Hawkins swore. Swearing is actually good for you. it’s a great way to relieve stress and realise happy endorphins .(ok can I may of made that part up)

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger- again, wrong on so many levels. Not wanting to make things about me, but things that have nearly killed me (yes I mean kill me!) have in-fact had the apiarist effect. Physical health stuff has left me with arthritis, lung damage and poor hearing. My ex beat so badly that I have had 6 operations to fix what he broke. Sexual assault and rape left me so frightened and depressed that I tried to take my own life. It also gave me ptsd, extreme anxiety attacks and full of triggers. But all this has left me with a need to slowly rebuild myself. It taught me to be open, caring and forgiving , as well as making me pretty mentally tough and determined to live. So I guess it is a-least a little true.

So that is what I don’t believe in, but I do believe in loads too ! So to close I will leave you with my grandads and mr Walt Disney’s saying “you gotta have a dream to make a dream come true”

Hugs,

Pixie

Dreams, by Gabriel

From the heart, musings of pixie heart, social, Uncategorized

The little things that mean so much.

Over the weekend I was struggling with some stuff. My sisters were being spiteful and unhelpful. My body decided to not like me and cause me to be in shit load of pain. (I had to take oral morphine on Friday night). MY work load is crazy busy, with only being 2 weeks till Crufts. Adding to the stress was my mother being vile and falling off the waggon, again! All this left me feeling low and very tearful. Luckily, I have great support at home and we found ways round all of it. I also with permission reached out to people on twitter. It was Saturday night Sunday morning, that I read a tweet by @Girly_Juice about how her Daddy had ordered her a pizza, as she was too emotionally discombobulated to figure out how to get food and feed herself. (we have all been there). It was a lovely, caring and extremely romantic thing to do, and proves he is a great Daddy. It also made me think about all the things that my family do for me that show how much they love me. yes, they are big some pretty big thing, like going to treatment with me or going to therapy with me or stepping in when everyday life overwhelms me. But the things that mean the most, are the little things. I said to maîtriser that I was grateful for all the little things that he and the girls do to help me or to show me I’m loved. He liked this a great deal, deciding that I should make a list of 5 things for each of the family, as a kind of giving back and mindfulness task for me. So here goes!

Maîtriser:
• Lunch time phone call, that always starts with ‘How’s my girl?”
• Sitting with me to do help me with my homework on Tuesday nights and Sunday afternoons.
• Works from home for on Thursday, to look after the babies, so I can go to college.
• Sits with me while I do Lego or crafts, writing and talking to me.
• Deals with all my finances, so I don’t have to and, so I don’t need deal with family members asking for finical help.
Babe:
• Will wash ad dry my her when I’m stressed.
• Encouraged and help me plan written and verbal pitches for course ideas.
• Goes to Doctor appointments with me.
• Make my ‘little’ dinners and lunches.
• Will sit with me when I’m freaking out and helps me figure out why and helps me calm down.
Kitten:
• Always willing to cuddle in bed or on the sofa.
• Always has words of comfort when I’m stressed
• Has stood up to my sisters when they are being super mean.
• Lets me fuss over her when she’s poorly.
• Will sit with while I have a bath and make me giggle about stuff.
Little Bear:
• Always able to make me giggle not matter how crap feel.
• Let me tech her how to cook and clean house.
• Act silly and asks me to explain things.
• Lets me fuss over her and always asks if I can do things with her.
• Put me as her next of kin.
So, there it is. To be fair I could have come up with hundreds for them, but I think he wanted me to really think about them carefully. What it makes me see that I really do love the bunch of nutters!

From the heart, Poly life

I’m a little, but….

What springs to mind when you think of a ‘Little’? Cute little girls and boys, in rompers, with dippers, Sippy cups and pacifiers? Brats, throwing temper tantrums? Submissive baby girls and boys with their Dominate care givers? Well you would be right and wrong, because like with all kinks the title ‘Little’ is not a one fits all title. The are the, stereotypes and for me I never thought that I fit any of them. But after talking to people and doing a little reading up on it, I came to a shocking discovery about myself, I have a little side, however I had kept it so well hidden from myself and others, that to look at me you would never know!

I guess looking back on things I just did fit in to the serotypes I had in my head. I mean I’m not a baby girl or a brat. I’m not into age play, I don’t want to call my Dom daddy and I don’t like being treated like a child. I don’t want a Sippy cup or pacifier, nor do I want dippers and onesies. I’m not a girlie girl, more of a tomboy. I raced motor bikes, boxed, and played rugby. I have always been the grown up one, take care of other people and keep everything running smoothly.

But after reading some great articles and talking to some fabulously stereotypical littles, I did a bit of a 360 on the little idea. When I talked to Maîtriser about it, I admitted to him and myself that I thought I might be a little, just not your normal run of the mill little. A pixie type little, different and unique like every other little or person in the world. So, we talked some more and researched a lot more together and we found are fit. We decided to try adding in a care giver / little aspect to are dynamic. Little by little and see how it went.

One of the first things Maîtriser had me do was sit down and make a list of things I felt made me a little. Top of the list was my love of colouring books and Lego, my love of unicorns and fairies, my love of Disney and Pixar films. Then I came to my habits o being shy and getting over excited by things. The was my hate of having to be in charge, the fact I love him ‘looking after’ me and that if left to my own devices in will getting in to some sort of trouble.

With this list we decided to make a few changes to day to day life. First thing we did, at home was bring all the things I did in privet, that I classed as ‘Being little’, out in the open. I learnt that it was ok to sit and colour or do Lego. We also added a few rules like a bedtime, holding hands when outside and being given weekly spending money. It was also around this time that I asked Maîtriser to take over my finance and gave him a little more control over my day to day life. We also discovered that I have a love of thing like kinky sleepovers, love being called princess and having my cloths picked out for me.

That was 18 months ago, and I will now proudly say ‘I’m a little’. I have found it to be a very freeing thing, but I keep it hidden from the outside world. I have found that I’m not in to age play, adult baby thing or being bratty. I also don’t see myself as a typical baby girl. What I have found with my little space is that it is the place I go when I’m stressed or not coping with the big bad world. It is a place I get to be me and breath. It’s when Maîtriser takes over the thinking for me and looks after me. it’s full of lights, laughter, and cuddles. It’s a place I can be free and silly. But above all it’s unique and everything I never knew I needed.

musings of pixie heart, social, Uncategorized

Looking back.

I don’t really looking back at things in my past, a lot of them are painful and some are, still just to raw and hurt way to much. My childhood was pretty harsh. with a mother who chose not to be there, a daddy who was ill and being painfully shy. my teens seemed to go by in a blur of fighting, bullying , getting kicked out of schools and ill-health. When i got to adulthood i was with the same guy for a most of it. he was abusive (to say the least) and it led to and contributed to the anxiety disorder and serve depression i already suffered from.

But my life has not been al doom and gloom. As a kid both my perants worked full-time jobs. Me and my sisters were pretty much raised by my Daddy’s mum, my Nana. who was just the most amazing woman i have ever known. She was kind , caring, sweet and funny . She always let me be myself and encouraged me to do stuff that made me happy, Cos that is all she wanted , to see her family happy. She also had am amazing way of helping me calm down when i got angry or anxious. i have a form of ADD, but only found out this a few years ago. but my Nana saw how frustrated and anxious i would get. When i was angry she would send out to my granddah’s work shop and he would give me off cuts of wood, a hammer and nails. i would sit and bash nails till i either calmed down or till i had tears streaming down my checks . then i would get cuddled and hugs from my Nana. if i was anxious she made me do something really easy to do , but that i need to think about what i was doing. Cleaning grandahs boots and shoes, cleaning the silver , ironing sheets , folding towel or scrubbing the floors. Sound like free child labour , but it allowed me to calm down and belive it or not i still do it to this day. Ha the Boss man knows I’m not doing good if i ask to clean his boots or if it’s ok to do some ironing. .

I also have some pretty awesome memories of university . It’s where i meet Kitten and Babe. It’s where i first openly lived as bi-sexual and that in its self is an amazing thing to be able to do. It is where i found my love of pin-up style and all thing burlesque . it is where i developed my love of london. I was for the first time in my life away from home without my sisters or my mother or my daddy. I love my sisters and daddy to death , but they can be a little sifulling. when i think of uni, it is full of bright colours and loud music, laughter and happiness . It was full of friends and i loved freely .

it is when i discovered the fetish scene. I was young to be on the ‘scene’ at only just 19 and i was shocked and amazed by what i saw. people from every walk of life. In all shapes, sizes and colour. I also met Kitten’s Dom, who took me under his wing , looked out for me and also would sit and explain things to me. I had a huge crush on him, but kept quiet as i had a boyfriend. but i did have him as a friend and what a friend he was.

Well fast forward the years and after the bad stuff happened Kitten, Babe and their Dom swooped in to look after me. i was really not in a good place , but all three of them took care of me and loved me so hard, it helped me put me back together again. when i got back to feeling like me, i remembered the crush i had on the Frenchman and they all came flooding back , only a hundred times harder times. to cut a long story short we kind of got together . First on a D/s level, to help with control issues and a need to for me to feel owned and loved. it was everything i needed at the time.

Then came the physical side of it. I had so many hang up, issues and bad memories from my ex. It was so hard to not focus on them. That is when he came up with a canning plan. Instead of looking back on bad stuff, we would look forward and make new memories. A new me and a new us. so that is what we did and is what we are doing.

We have a new tradition of on the anevesy of us becoming a couple. We had gone for a walk by a local pond that is deserted most of the time. he gave me my collar, i gave him a blow job and we had a very nice fuck. i had to walk back to the car in a very short skirt and a vest , with no panties or bra on. Then the is the memoir of are first christmas together as a poly family. We kind of had 3 that year one at the start of december that we spent with are community. We then had are actually christmas day with are families. But then a few days later we had are family christmas as a poly families. It was spent in jammies, watching films, and cuddling.We took the dogs out for a long walk, i cooked a roast and we did presents!

So now i do look back, but only a few years. Since i have had the Boss man and the girls in my life , things have just gone from strength to strength for me. I’m now running 3 business, i teach people and i can fully support myself. i have embraced my bi-sexual , poly and submissive side. i have become i wife and a mother, two things that make me feel whole. put above all i feel love and love back as hard as i can.

I wrote this and it should of been posted for wicked wednesday , but my Wi-fi palyed up and refused to let me post this till now! Put i thought i would post it anyway!

Hugs,

Pixie x x x x

Wicked Wednesday