nakita

I never try to be insensitive. I’m not that great at understanding social cues but I do my best to be a nice person.

Lately I’ve been forcing myself to be independent. It’s scary and terrifying but now that I have no one to lean on, I really have no option. Which shows me that I really shouldn’t lean on people so heavily when I have them. 

I thought that a lot of my problems were centered around sex, but maybe they aren’t. I do have problems around sex, sure, but I think I have more problems around relationships than I realised. 

In the past two years, I went from single to being in a relationship with an incredible man who I love very much. But because of my past relationships, I doubted him a lot. A lot of the men in my life haven’t been great - so I painted this man with the same brush. I tried to believe that he was full of good intentions, but my subconscious always made me doubt him. I doubted him and cause him pain, because of the men before him that caused me pain, and this makes me so miserable. He has only ever been wonderful. He didn’t deserve that, and I sabotaged what could have been a beautiful, strong, healthy relationship because of horrible people in my past.

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Yesterday, I did my first full-service sex work job in about a year. It was fine, it went well, it was a bi double with a good friend, the client was respectful and I got paid. I didn’t get triggered, I didn’t feel dissociated, it was a nice experience and it was also just work - the way I like sex work to be.

Two years ago I was doing sex work full time and I loved it. About a year ago, I stopped, because of a bunch of reasons, but one of the main reasons that it was just messing up my relationship a bit. Not because my guy didn’t want me doing sex work, quite the opposite! But because I couldn’t handle HIM doing sex work. And if I can’t handle him doing it, it wasn’t really fair that I could do it. At first I was pretty frustrated with this, but after I stopped doing sex work, I realised that it was having a negative effect on me - or I thought it was anyway. Right now, I’m not really sure what was going on. 

Looking back, I don’t think that me doing sex work was the problem. The problem was that I had issues with him doing sex work - and at the time, I couldn’t figure out why. I still can’t exactly pinpoint it, but in doing a bit of soul-searching, I’m starting to understand it more. 

To me, sex work is just work. I go, I do the job, I come home and forget about it. Sure, some clients stick with me when I feel like I’ve made a real difference to them - for example, when they really needed a deep and meaningful conversation, when they needed to rant to a stranger, when they just needed some physical touch and affection. I feel great that I could provide that for them - but then I go home and I love myself, or I love my partner. What I give the client is real, sure, but it’s a service, it’s a paid transaction, and as much as I would love to be able to help everyone, I just can’t give that away for free because it would suck my soul out of me. And if I didn’t do sex work, if I hadn’t met that client, I wouldn’t really be missing out that much. 

So why do I feel like if a partner is doing sex work, they’re giving their client something and taking it away from me? Why do I feel like I’m being pushed away, like I’m missing out? Like I’m being replaced, or rejected? 

So I need you to be honest with me. I find it hard to read between the lines.

I am always so anxious that I’m not wanted, that I’m intruding, that I’m trying too hard, that I’m not trying hard enough. And people aren’t telling me to leave them alone because they don’t want to hurt my feelings, or they’re just being polite.

But I get so confused by this. Half of their actions tell me one thing – they’re standoffish, they only do the bare minimum. But then they say that everything is great! And I get so confused. Doctors and therapists tell me that my anxiety is irrational. Partners and friends tell me that my anxiety is irrational. And I know that I do have irrational anxiety. But anxiety is also a normal emotion, a normal pathway. It’s fear. It’s a primary response that has evolved to help us survive.

So if someone else is causing me anxiety – I need them to be honest. The truth, even if it’s harsh, hurts a lot less than constantly being fearful, constantly being confused, constantly questioning myself on whether I’m normal or crazy. Because I really don’t know. When I’m receiving mixed messages – be it from others or my own brain – it’s the worst feeling in the world. Not knowing if I’m having a normal or irrational reaction, not knowing if I’m crazy or not tears my heart into more pieces than genuine heartbreak does.

When my last ex broke up with me – I hated him for all of the lies he told me during our relationship. But I am forever grateful that at the end he confessed everything to me. We never want to hurt other people, whether they’re a lover, a friend or a stranger. But with the truth comes closure and peace, certainty. There’s no second-guessing. With truth, you receive all of the information, so you can fully process the situation in your head from facts. And once you’re able to process a situation, you can gain closure and move on from it.

I never like to think that people are lying to me. But when I receive mixed messages from someone, and then with the added mixed messages of anxiety in my head, I have no idea what I’m meant to think. And I know that I can be so easily manipulated, which terrifies me.

I made myself a new little computer corner. I feel like this is going to be a much more effective workspace. I’m sitting here right now because I’ve been meaning to do some writing for a while now. 

A few months ago I went away overseas, which meant that I needed to stop doing therapy. It had felt like I had only just started therapy, like I’d only just started learning about this new way to think.

Only a few weeks before I left, I’d finally completely come off of benzodiazepines. I’d been prescribed them daily for nearly 4 years, so I had well and truly become addicted and dependent on them. So when I came off, it felt like a heavy protective blanket had suddenly been ripped off of my heart and my brain. I needed to learn how to analyse and process my emotions again. I still do.

A whole bunch of other things have been happening too. Weight gain. Nausea and insomnia. Nightmares and flashbacks. As well as troubles with life and work. These days, I’m struggling to even check my emails as it causes too much stress and anxiety for me. My mental health is worse than I was before I started taking benzos. I just now have the experience to know that benzos aren’t the right choice for me from here.

I’m struggling with direction in my life, maybe because I’m struggling to do anything. A friend today suggested an app - I think it’s called “productive”. Basically it’s like a checklist for doing certain activities every day. She said she just puts things on it that are important to keep her healthy - like eating breakfast and drinking water, and something kind to do for a stranger each day, like thanking the bus driver or writing a nice comment on social media. So even if you didn’t make any “big” achievements that day, you actually did. You looked after yourself. Because that’s really important.

I need to live in the present more. Mindfulness, I guess you can call it. I dwell so much on the past and the future, and that’s part of what causes me so so so much anxiety. I then go on to explode emotionally in the present, usually projecting that onto people who are close to me, and often making more problems than fixing them. 

I don’t want to be anxious, and stressed, and depressed. I want to be happy, more than anything. I can remember some specific moments of happiness in my life. My most memorable one was two years ago, on my birthday, with a person who is very special to me. It was the first time I had felt true happiness in a long time. But just thinking back on that causes me stress, because I connect up events so much in my head, I over think, I over react. I just want to accept things for what they are, and enjoy them for what they are. But does that mean caring about them less? It seems like it. Is that what other people do? They just simply don’t care about things so much? And so...they are happier? But if you don’t care about things...what is the point? 

But back to living in the present. Right now, I need to be hyper aware of my actions and reactions. For a while I’ve been causing both others and myself a lot of pain by acting and reacting far too emotionally. I can blame this on benzo withdrawal as much as I like, but I’m still the one doing these things, and I’m the only one who can change them. Sure, I could completely withdraw from everyone until I am “fixed”, but how many years might that take? And really, is that going to get me where I want? I doubt it, because a lot of my goals involve other people. 

Whenever I’m faced with a decision, (like of how I should act or react to something), I have two options. One option will generally take me towards my goals, and one will take me away. Often I instinctively go for the one that takes me away, because that’s usually the way my emotions will drive me. It often feels like the easier option, a quick fix. At first glance, it will look like the correct decision. I also always tend to self-sabotage. Not on purpose, of course. Events in my past have taught me that I deserve pain, and heartache. Or even if I don’t deserve it, I’ll get it anyway. Even if I try my hardest, I will be used and hurt. All that I’m good for is being an object for others to take out their frustrations on. I’m good at that! And I like being good at things. I also like to be wanted. No, I need to be wanted. And if I’m wanted by someone who wants to abuse me, then that’s good!

That’s what happens in my head anyway. This probably explains why I was drawn towards BDSM. A lot of my abuse stems from sex, so me entering sex work also makes sense, especially since I entered sex work immediately after my first dom/daddy left the country and broke up with me. When I was a child I wasn’t really wanted - except for sex. It’s all I knew. So now I turn to sex as a coping mechanism. I know that this is something I need to work through. Because I love sex, I love the connection of being intimate with someone I love. It’s so so special to me and it makes my head calm. So I need to fix this problem that I seem to have with sex. I know there’s more to me than my abuse, but I don’t think I’ve really learnt what that is yet. I think I really need to work through what happened to me when I was younger before I’ll be able to understand who I am. 

So, decisions. I need to stop and think about every emotion I have. Every action I go to instictively make. Is this the right one? And that’s so fucking taxing. I’m sure we make hundreds of decisions a day. And I’m pretty sure I often chose the wrong ones. But I know that after a while, making the right decisions will come more and more naturally to me. I hope so, anyway. 

I’m really panicky about it. I guess because when I stopped working last year, I realised how burned out I was and how upset SW was making me. But that was full service in a brothel in Sydney that was full of drugs. And tomorrow is sensual massage at a really nice appointment-only place that I’ve worked at before. Daddy is totally supportive of me and wants to help me get over this roadblock so I can keep moving forward and become more relaxed with sexual stuff - making porn, him doing sex work, and just fun play stuff with him and other people. 

I don’t exactly know what I’m scared of. I guess I’m scared of it going horribly and needing clonaz, which makes me feel like I need clonaz now or in the morning before I start. But I know I can’t do that because I’m nearly off and I don’t want to fuck things up. But I know that it’s pretty unlikely that it’s gonna go horribly.

I was super nervous. Like, really really scared. I’ve been coming off clonazepam so I overthink things a lot. My sex drive has been super low, which is both frustrating and depressing. 

This threesome had been planned for a good few weeks. Five years ago, I would have been so excited that I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything. I love cock. And anything more than one cock is just a dream come true. Multiple cocks ganging up on me is one of my oldest and ultimate fantasies, and that’s exactly what this threesome was going to be. 

The day before yesterday, I knew I should have been excited and horny as fuck, and I just wasn’t. It really got me down. It still gets me down. I want to be a whore, I want to fuck and be used. I want all of that and more, so badly. But I don’t have that instinctual lust for it, that drive that you can’t hold back. I knew I would love the day no matter what, but oh god, I miss that build up so badly. It’s like those few seconds just before orgasm, that’s just as good as the orgasm itself. Those few seconds, knowing that your body is about to be electrified in pleasure, thus making those few seconds so goddamn pleasurable in themselves. That’s how I always used to feel a day or two before a good session, and before yesterday, I felt nothing.

Instead, the nervousness without that excitement and pleasure had the full capability to take over. I had nothing to balance it out, to bounce is back against. 

Daddy took me into the spare room that he’d set up. He knows I get scared of looking at people so he taped up my eyes, and put my headphones in my ears and taped that all up. At that point I got strangely clingy. My sight and my hearing was gone (which I loveeeeeee, sensory deprivation is the best) but I needed to know that daddy was there. When he was putting my cuffs on, I couldn’t stop touching him with my other hand, with my legs, with anything I could. And it wasn’t gentle, I love you, I’m super excited kinda touches, it was I’m scared as fuck, please don’t leave me kinda touches. If he moved away I remember I’d reach out to try find him. My music wasn’t playing, but my headphones were in so sound was pretty muffled. 

He started tying me to the bed, which was nice in a way because I like being restrained, it means I have to let go of everything. But I got really scared. Daddy wasn’t even being mean to me. He was being really nice. I started crying, really crying. I’m still not completely sure why. I think it was because I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. I was locked in my own mind and that was all I had. I guess I’m terrified of my own mind. Plus, I was already scared because something new was about to happen. I had met Sam a couple of times before, Daddy and I have fucked with him once before, but being on a much lower dose of medication, my mind was much less sedated. 

I had had some alcohol, and quite a lot of weed. I was planning to have a couple of clonazepam too, but I’m trying really hard to come off them and I didn’t want to mess anything up. But my thoughts were still running wild in my head.

Lately, I’ve been getting a lot more triggered by sexual things, people talking about rape etc on the internet and TV. I always used to push my past shitty experiences completely away. I used to say “Yes, those things happened, but it’s in the past, I can’t change them, so there’s no point thinking about them. I want to forget them.” But I guess that coming off clonaz, and doing therapy, has kinda forced those memories back into the forefront a bit more, and I know at some point soon I’m going to have to deal with them or they’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.

I don’t know if it was the sex I was scared of, or if it was Sam. I’m so scared of people. So when I meet people, I put up really big walls. This is something I’m definitely working on, though. But in this situation, being tied to the bed, unable to see or hear, I couldn’t put any walls up. 

Sam arrived. Daddy said he needed to go downstairs to let Sam in. But I was crying, that kind of terrified cry, balling your eyes out, that you just cant stop. My chest hurt, my heart was pounding. I asked daddy to tell me that everything was going to be okay. He did. He told me it was going to be so much fun, that I was safe, and that I was going to be spoiled. He told me to relax, and try really hard to just give in and enjoy myself. I told him that I needed half a clonaz. He said he would give it to me when he came back up later. He put a blanket over me, shut the door, and left.

So now I was just alone in my head. There was music playing in my ears, which really helped. I don’t know how I would have been if I didn’t have music. Maybe it would have been no different. I don’t know. I don’t know how long I was left there. Maybe 20, or 30 minutes. But I had so many revelations in my head. I pushed and struggled with my thoughts. I’ve never been able to focus on my thoughts so well. It was hard though, because I’d never felt like my thoughts could take over so easily, either. 

I managed to calm myself down and stop crying. I can’t remember the exact order of what thoughts went through my head. But after a while, I do remember separating myself from my thoughts. Trying to unhook from them, or hook to new thoughts, to lead me down the road that I wanted to go. My main feeling - I was scared. I didn’t entirely know why. But because I was scared, I was crying, trembling, nervous. Not excited like I should be. I was anxious that because I was scared, I wasn’t going to enjoy this wonderful experience that daddy wanted to give me. I was scared about being scared. I didn’t want to go down this road. I wanted to be a whore. I wanted to be used, I wanted to be a slut. 

I remember repeating to myself over and over, I want to be a slut. I want to be a slut. I began thinking about other girls who welcomed sex with open arms and open legs. I wanted to be a sex addicted whore like them. I tried so hard to focus on those thoughts. To go down that road instead. But I was fighting so so hard with the scared little baby that really felt like it was attached to me. I was trying to be someone else. How could I be someone else? How could I let go of who I was, and be a slut? It was like playing tug of war in my mind, that’s the best way I can describe it. But it was so much more than that.

I began to think more about what I’ve been learning in therapy. About accepting thoughts and feelings, but not getting hooked on them. I thought about accepting that I was scared, but that I could also be a slut. I didn’t need to be like someone else. I’m me. Why can’t I be a scared little slut? What’s wrong with that? Nothing, I realised, absolutely nothing. That was who I was. I was a scared little slut. I began repeating over and over in my head, “It’s okay to be a slut and still be scared.” Over and over and over. I was still scared, but my thoughts stopped fighting so much, they stopped taking over. I could focus on my breathing a bit more. I remembered a bit more about who I am when I fuck with daddy. I’m his little girl. I love cock, and I love to fuck and be used, but I’m just a little girl, and it’s completely normal for me to be scared. I’m not that out-there, over-the-top, up-for-anything kinda whore. I’m a cute scared little baby slut.