:3

"The sculpture in the image is “Das Schicksal” (Fate), created in 1905 by Hugo Lederer. The sculpture portrays fate as a ruthless woman dragging two vulnerable bodies by their hair.

The work is currently located in Ohlsdorf Cemetery in Hamburg, Germany."

Now say, "I love being treated like this." Stop fucking crying. Look at me. Say it with me: "I. Love. Being. Treated. Like. This."

Very good. You love being treated like this? Yeah? Say it. That's right, you do. You're doing so good for me.

All right, look at me. Focus. You ready for another? Say, "I want more."

Say it. "I want more." Good. Say, "I deserve it." Tell me you love being treated like this. You want more. Again. From the top. Again.

Breathe through it, you can keep going. Again. Don't stop, I'll be done soon. Keep going. Again.

Like, getting to watch it spend several minutes stumbling over its own words.

Explaining how it thinks it feels and how it's struggling to know how it feels. It's just so unsure and it doesn't know what it wants. Maybe it doesn't even think it wants this, it's concerned and worried and anxious. And, in the first place, it's not like I really have any power over it. It doesn't have to do anything I say and so it doesn't really matter what I have to say because it can do whatever it wants.

Then in a gentle but commanding voice I tell it to tell me that it really likes being here.

And it takes a few seconds. I watch it as it puts the words together. Make intentional eye contact. Just a bit of added pressure. Not speaking. Just waiting. And it manages to say it. And I smile and praise it a little.

Then I tell it to tell me that it's actually so very excited for me to tell it what to do, for me to touch it and play with it, and for it to get to be my toy.

And, a little bit faster with each order and more confident in its responses, it repeats each thing I tell it to say. Stumbling between them, looking away from me, and occasionally rubbing its knees together and making cute little noises.

Like you've been kidnapped, and you have tried everything to escape but it soon becomes clear that this is impossible. So you just become angry instead, fighting your captor at every turn. You scream. You kick and hit. You try to break things. You throw your food.

And every single time, your captor just picks you up and places you in the same damn corner, neutral face, neutral voice, and says "five minutes."

Of course, you don't stay in one place. You run only to be picked up and placed back in the corner, the timer restarting, "five minutes." And again and again and again. Until you've exhausted yourself. Meanwhile, your captor has not shown an inkling of anger or impatience. They could do this all day.

You're a wreck, sitting slumped in the corner, face red and blotchy, hardly keeping your eyes open, and they haven't even done anything to you.

You almost want them to finally lose their patience, to shout at you, to hurt you, so that you can be proved correct. So that you can tell yourself they really are cruel and terrible and you were right to fight them all along. It does not make sense to you that someone would keep you hostage to take care of you. This gentleness is foreign to you. It has to be fake.

Finally, you've stayed in the corner for the full five minutes. They walk over to you, and kneel down.

"Do you know why I had to put you in the corner?" They ask.

You do not respond, but they don't mind.

"I had to put you in the corner because you kicked me. We must use gentle hands in this house. Do you understand?"

You nod faintly.

"I would like you to say sorry now."

"S'rry." You mumble, but it's enough.

"Good girl! Thank you, sweetheart. Let's go and have our lunch now, hm?"

A caregiver who understands you're only little and you will need time to adjust, of course. You're only misbehaving because you are lost and confused. You've been lacking structure and guidance for so long. They can see the little one underneath all the bravado, the one begging to be loved.

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post-work playtime 😇💕

24 hour update