TRUST and the catharsis of tears.

trust and tears
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Trust is the basis of everything, not just in kinky relationships but everything.

In my post Happiness is only real when shared I sent you to read a good friend of mines post on Fetlife. He spoke about the different layers of trust and his personal struggles with them. I know that not everyone is on Fetlife, but this was a post that I wanted the world to see. Well, a wider audience at least… So I asked him if I could share it here, and he has agreed that I can post his original post here.

Where would we be without trust?                                                                                          It is vitally important in all walks of life, you trust your doctor, your dentist, your mechanic, your bank, your friends, but it’s even more important in the games that we play – we trust that someone won’t bring a third-party into our play when we have expressly said not to (yes, it’s happened to me), and after all how many here would allow someone to do the things that they do without at least a modicum of trust?
And that’s the thing isn’t it.
Now I personally find it incredibly difficult to trust anyone – I know why this should be, I know where it stems from – I have spent too many years with counsellors and there is just too much in my past that influences it, I have tried not to let my past define me but in many ways haven’t been overly successful. For me trust now comes in three flavours (shall we say), there is trust, Trust and TRUST. The first, well that is just your bog standard ‘I trust that you will not fuck me over Mr Mechanic’, Trust is a step up from that and most friends are at that level, they’re the ones I would go to with personal issues and the ones who know a lot of stuff about me and I guess that for most people this what they would consider to be trust, but TRUST, that is reserved for the special ones, the people who know more still… and if you get to that final one and then betray it, well, you know.
TRUST is also the level I need before I can relax and fully immerse myself in a scene.
Several years ago Mistress Magpie wrote a piece in New Statesman about a sub she had who visited her regularly and who wanted to be spanked to tears, she mentioned how that person was incredibly stoic, and how it took time to build up mutual trust in order to fulfil that need until the day came where she broke that sub and they were indeed able to cry. This article came out around the time of 50 shades – and was written in direct response to it, it was a direct ‘this is what is wrong with everything in that film’.
Three guesses who that sub was – if you said me, then go to the top of the class.
And that is the thing, I need to be spanked/beaten/tortured to tears, I need to be broken, because there is something incredibly cathartic in those tears and god knows I need that catharsis, I need the full sobbing with snot running down and yet I can’t do it.
In scene my TRUST is broken.
Now I Trust the person that I play with, I Trust them implicitly, and I allow them to do all sorts of things to me, playing with limits, putting me through emotional torment and horrors galore and seriously head fucking me – believe me, they wouldn’t get near me with sounds if I didn’t – but Mr Stoicism, that side of me who blocks me from letting go and embracing TRUST and tears just wont back down – I can get close, I can get to the point where I THINK I am going to cry … and that’s it, nothing follows.
And this is frustrating, I find that EVERY time I play now it is almost like there is a part of me that is separate, looking on with calm dispassion, feeding me truth to dispel the things that are said in scene and thus dispelling the fear that I need and preventing me from fully letting go.
I find that I now completely disassociate from a scene.
This is what happens when TRUST is broken.
And it is being incredibly unfair on the person that I play with! She knows what I need, and she tries incredibly hard to give it, she has worked hard to improve her CP, she acts the complete bitch because she knows it gives me pleasure, she will grind heels into my flesh and torture me endlessly and she knows that I get satisfaction, pleasure and relief from seeing her … but she also knows that without the catharsis of tears (hmm, sounds like a bad novel) then I am unfulfilled. And whilst she has never said anything about that, other than on those occasions when she thought maybe she had succeeded, still I feel bad for not being able to TRUST her.
Now you could say that maybe I don’t actually need to cry anymore, that maybe that part has passed and I am on a different path now, and yes I will grant you the possibility even whilst I don’t really agree – I have my reasons for saying that. I will also grant that after last year maybe that has caused me to back away emotionally but I thought that with time and the same play partner (and off and on I have seen this person for over a year) that maybe it would return. So far there is no sign of that and so I am resigned to the possibility that, just maybe, it isn’t going to happen.
Trust, you know, it is important!

TRUST and the catharsis of tears was written and originally posted by slave lytton.

The darkest hour is just before dawn.

Nobody looks good in their darkest hours. But it is those hours that make us who we are.

Disclaimer: This is one of the darkest times and therefore the hardest posts for me to get out of my head. I have made peace with so much of my past, but I am unhappy with my behaviour around this time. It also heralds the start of my complete emotional collapse and subsequent recovery. Needless to say I am not surprised it has taken me three weeks of procrastination to face these words.
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The darkest of times were approaching, but Christmas was over and I had M home again.

I had collected him from the marina, and we had reunited physically as soon as the opportunity arose. We celebrated a joyful post-christmas with the boys and saw the new year in together. The next time I saw him, a week later, something was different. The warmth was gone, he was stiff and frosty. No matter, I thought, he must just be tired from work. My plans for a move were coming together, my work transfer was imminent and when I was home I was packing. Life was busy, but from my side life was good.

I was to work three days in Devon and stay with M for the two nights in the middle for the first 3 weeks in my new post, before I moved down with the boys.

The first week was lovely. The second week I woke up on the first night to M panting another woman’s name. It was disconcerting, and it played on my mind as the darkest hours slipped away and dawn arrived. I asked him about her over breakfast. He raged, accused me of snooping in his tablet and phone. I hadn’t, I wouldn’t, why would I have? I hadn’t fully trusted him, but I had alway thought that was because of everything I had been through with P. How could I trust anyone I was that intimate with?

After work he had calmed enough to have a decent conversation.

He told me how my accusation had made him feel, how hurt he was and how someone had snooped his phone before when he was less than trustworthy. It had made him angry to think I didn’t trust him “after all we have been through together”. I was sorry that I had made him feel like that, genuinely. My question had hurt him, come close to harming us. We went to bed, I curled up in his arms. Safe, content. Mostly….

It was a night when I could not sleep. Something wasn’t quite right…

So I got out of bed, slipped out of the room with his tablet and guessed his password. My heart in my mouth I went through it. His messaging apps had contact with women talking about intimate moments they had shared, since we had become a monogamous (at his suggestion) couple. His deleted files held pictures, more messages from women I knew, had talked with recently…

I hated myself straight away, knew that it was wrong.

I put the tablet down, went back to his arms and pondered while sleep eluded me. I now understand that we set our own bar in life, but at this point I was so beyond broken. M was my safe space and I adored him. I had broken his trust by going through his tablet, I could forgive him for his lack of honesty. My intuition had been right all along but now that I knew the truth I could let it go, we could carry on as we had been. I slept fitfully that night, the shame of what I had done will never leave me.

After a few hours of disturbed sleep I woke with M, we went about our daily business.

I returned home that night, collected my boys and put them to bed. That evening M didn’t answer the phone. The next evening he called me, asking if I had been through his tablet. Of course I lied, he hung up on me. I called him back, got a tirade of abuse all of which I had earned. He hung up on me again. A short text stating he didn’t want to talk to me. He would decide when he was ready to talk to me.

I could literally hear my heart shattering in the deafening silence that followed.

What followed was me trying to pick up the pieces of my broken heart, but in the jumble of shards were piece of Ms deceit and Ps abuse. I had protected myself from the true extent of the abuse with the safety blanket of M and now I was alone to deal with all of the bad things that had happened, which were all my fault. After me breaking M’s trust and rifling through his private space the next thing that was my fault was my inadequacy as a wife. If I had been better at that he wouldn’t have abused the children, he wouldn’t have needed to rape me…

At the darkest moment my phone pinged.

It was my former manager, now training as a counsellor. A random message asking how I had been enjoying the start of 2017 so far. She was the first person I spoke to about my realisation. Very briefly I recounted how P had taken what he wanted from me while our infant slept on my chest. Two minutes later I had the rape crisis website on the thread. She wasn’t an expert in trauma (or anything at that point) but she was certain that if I called the help line I would be able to get some support. Three days later I called. I remember the gentle voice at the other end of the line even now, I spoke carefully. I didn’t think any of this was Ps fault, I knew that if I had been a better wife it wouldn’t have happened. As I was about to move counties I was given the contact details for my soon to be local support service. I emailed and waited, with instructions that I could call the national team back at any time.

M and I were soon talking again. He was to help me move, and though it was bitter-sweet I will be forever grateful for his support.

Over the months that followed I was able to turn the love that I felt for M into friendship rather than romantic attachment and I am genuinely pleased to have him as a friend and confidante. He soon got a new girlfriend, and he still hasn’t told me that it is the lady whose name he said in the middle of the night. Then again, I haven’t told him about all that I found. The months that followed were interesting, exciting and beyond scary… but those are stories for other posts. For now I am just pleased to get through this one.

abstract break broken broken glass
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