A Safe Place

It is extremely important to me to be a safe place for those I call mine. I want them to have the space to be themselves around me — the good, bad, and kinks/fetishes. I am really good at accepting people because it makes me feel good, it builds me up. When I call someone mine, I want the whole package, right down to their soul. I want them to come to me with their problems and fears. I want to know what makes them smile during the day and what brings them happiness. I want them to feel safe being open and vulnerable with me. That is part of my package.

When I can’t be that, it somehow takes away from my dominance.

It helps me to feel needed.

I NEED to be needed.

Maybe, in a way, it makes it easier for me to accept my sadistic side? A fair trade, of sorts? Or maybe it isn’t that at all… maybe it simply gives me confidence and a foundation to stand on.

I was told I am abusive.

I was not a safe place for them.

I was also told that I am not a good friend.

All from the same person.

Being told I am abusive has really done a number on me. It has been a fear of mine since I realized I had a sadistic side. I like being mean… I love being mean. And, because that darkness resides in me, I fear coming off as abusive in an unhealthy way.

I will not be my dad.

So, I broke it off with them.

It was a short lived relationship.

I tried.

I really tried.

And, I failed.

It was a learning experience, so at least there’s that.

I am incredibly thankful for the people in my life that assured me of what I am and what I am not. I have a feeling I would have had a much harder time, if it wasn’t for them.

(For those who are wondering, I still have the girl I mentioned here and the boy I wrote about here–they are two of the people that helped me through this mess.)

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