Tom and picking my nails
I can be very self-destructive. I admit- I'm not a poster child for "see, even healthy, normal people are into BDSM." Tom could see this. Even living in a coffeehouse as compared to me having been kicked out of college for having a nervous breakdown and back at my parents' house, Tom had his act together better than I did. There was much for him to work on; he did pick his battles though. One thing he concentrated on was my nails. I don't bite my nails; I pick at them. And I'll find a nail that's longer than my fingertip and I'll pick and pick until I have enough to rip. I've ripped serious enough to expose the quick. I will do this in boredom sometimes, but when stressed, anxious is when I'll do it and really hurt myself. I still pick sometimes, but rarely as bad as I did before Tom focused his domming efforts to get me to stop.
One time, I picked my nails enough that Tom punished me for it.
I'd gone back to the college to see friends. I found out after the fact that various friends were trying to find me, to warn me. I still have the dress- maybe some time I'll put it on and post the picture so you all can see. Yes, it's pretty revealing. I was made up, gothed up, in the dress. The trip to campus security, the ticket written out saying that I was banned from the grounds, trying to find a way home, finally finding a friend who was heading towards Detroit and who would take me with her. I'm surprised I didn't bloody any of my fingers; I had ripped so bad while in a daze. It was a few days later that I managed to get to Gotham next. I had a gift for Tom- I forget now what. But I told him, "I have a gift for you, but it's entirely not meant to get me out of trouble for what I have to admit." So I showed him the ticket and then I showed him my hands; enough days for my ripping episode not to show simply hadn't passed. He took the gift- damn, I wish I remember what it was. Maybe I'd written something for him? He lead me away from the bar, to the booths. With the handle of my leash, he gave my back several swats- Shawn lectured him. Sure, I've gone through situations as stressful, if not more so, since that day, but no, I've never picked my nails enough to hurt myself like that since that day.
The Queen getting Vala sober and eating again
In "Out of the Night: Book One," first things first- The Queen has to get Mearr medical attention, get her sober, get her eating again. She's dangerously underweight. I admit, you see most of her recovery in summary- Vala really didn't want me sharing too many of those gory details and he allowed her to give that stage direction. Amusingly, one reviewer who didn't understand BDSM had expected me to show Vala at a 12 step meeting. But during those six months that she didn't want shown, he had a lot of work to do. Of course there was simply getting her detoxed, all those chemicals cleared out of her body. She's still prone to falling asleep, needing to takes naps- even more than two decades since the last time I took cocaine, sometimes I need to nap like she does. Eating again, now that's the scary thing. I'm not sure there's such a thing as "too skinny" in an anorexic's mind- I know I never found that as I was trying to figure out how to lose more weight when I was already 30 pounds underweight- dangerously underweight. The Queen would eat with Vala, tailoring the meal choices to her likes, to what she needs (although I'm sure they'd both most enjoy her main protein source being his cum). He would reward her for eating, for asking for food. "Good girl." "I am pleased." I know Simon would bring her teas- herbal teas, homeopathic teas, different teas that contain just a bit of caffeine so she still has that need carefully met, without her having the chance to indulge in overstimulation. Of course, healing from either drug addiction or anorexia are not overnight propositions- in "Gates of the Garden: Book Two," you will see how he continues to care for her. The mixture of eating from a bowl on the floor- during formal meals- as well as more casual times of eating, learning to enjoy eating again, however one is allowed to do so. Sometimes I wish I hadn't gone vegan- I desperately miss my Master taking a bite of food on His fork and feeding it to me.
Shaman getting me off mini-thins
Beyond how Vala is based of my struggles, I've shared directly about some of the difficulties in my life. I just talked in depth a few days ago about how my first marriage went wrong. Part of how I badly dealt with that was mini-thins. Don't know what they are? More power to you! I wish I didn't know what they were; I still miss them, every single day, and it's been almost 13 years. A legal stimulant, I'm led to understand that mini-thins were first marketed as an asthma drug, but they went over-the-counter for some reason and people realized that they both helped you stay awake and lose tons of weight. I know exactly where to go to buy myself some- not all gas stations carry them like they used to. But I know the twin thoughts of "Shaman will look at me and know I'm on mini-thins" and "He struggled so hard to get me off them the first time" keep me from getting in the car and driving the 30 minutes to buy them. Well more than that, but on bad days, it's only those thoughts that hold me.
A story told to me and a story to balance...
Shaman and I'd gone to our friends' Dana and Paul's. A fetish friend they knew from online was coming over to visit. She seemed nice enough, but I must admit I don't remember her too well. It was told me later that day that she'd been rather confused that Shaman "allowed [me] to sleep when [I] should have been taking care of Him." I forget who it was that told me, but He explained, "When she's with me is one of the few times she can get good sleep without worrying about who's watching her son."
This also happened at Dana and Paul's. Another visit, another day, I was fighting sleep. Sleep just wasn't a good thing. I wanted to be awake, to please Shaman. He told me I should rest, but, but... I took a mini-thin. Instantly, the sensations rushed through my body. My brain felt so big, like my skull couldn't possibly me big enough. And then my eyes opened wide. I looked at Shaman; He knew, He wasn't happy, but He knew why I'd disobeyed. However, like too much of that time in my life, I don't remember what He did, although maybe most importantly, I do remember His displeasure.