I drop like a lead balloon.
The rational part of my brain knows this. It knows drop takes otherwise manageable concerns and self-doubts and amplifies them into incapacitating fear and overwhelming insecurity. My rational brain knows the magnitude of these feelings has little foundation in reality. It knows the emotional tailspin will level off and fade away.
But unfortunately, the rational part of my brain can’t speak sense to the emotional part of my brain because the emotional part of my brain is too busy curled in the fetal position, crying in the corner. Sometimes, my emotional brain is a whiny little bitch who won’t listen to reason.
I try to warn my emo brain the drop is coming, and that it’s not entirely real. I try to steel myself against it.
But still it comes, and I drop hard.
It confuses my reason and fucks with my already tangled emotions. It exposes and amplifies my worst flaws — those flaws I tirelessly mediate and compensate for in hopes of maintaining the appearance they aren’t in my possession. I’d prefer to keep pretending they simply don’t exist.
But drop sets them out in sunlight, not to cleanse them, but to let them throw distorted shadows across my level ground.
The worst part of it all is that my drop is more about my own insecurities than it is about anyone else. It’s about me. Me. Me. Me.
Yes, in part it’s genuine care for my partner, fear that I might have hurt him physically or emotionally, concern that maybe I haven’t met his needs, guilt that perhaps I’ve used him too hard or taken too much.
Of course I love him, I care about him, and I want for his well-being. But I want more for myself. I care most about what the effects to him might mean to my well-being. I fear any of those things, alone or in combination, might mean that I will lose him. It’s all about me, isn’t it?
My drop is about insecurities made manifest in real or imagined forms. It’s about the worst of them, not the important ones that could ultimately make me more introspective or proactive in being a better person, a better partner, and a better dominant.
Perhaps those opportunities exist, but I sure as hell can’t see them now. I can’t see anything beyond myself or the ever-present possibility of losing something I value. Me. Me. Me.
My rational brain knows this line of thinking is an awful downward spiral that neither begins nor ends with truth.
But I can’t save myself from being dizzy in consideration of all the many ways our night was made of fail. My fail.
Rational brain knows better, but emo brain won’t listen.
She will listen, soon. Not now though. She’s too busy with her whining and her crying in the corner.