umbra-regina - Tumblr blog

[umbra-regina]

The first major reason I love degrading cnc is because it helps lift the pressure that comes with the moral responsibility that's unfairly placed on me as a woman with a high sex drive to not enjoy sex. Instead of choosing to be a slut, I'm being forced to be a slut. So it feels like it's the dom's "fault" my purity is ruined, not mine. I feel safer in the fantasy since I don't feel burdened by that same guilt about having a sex drive and using it. The second major reason I love degrading cnc is because I'm a slut and I deserve it.

[umbra-regina]

I Miss Hand Necklaces

[umbra-regina]

Immortal

Oh, this one should probably have a trigger warning for mentions/discussion of suicide.

Of course I'm not suicidal. I'm the only person I know who isn't at least a little suicidal, and it's so strange. I'm the only one of my friends who doesn't want their "miserable existence" to cease. The only one who isn't just barely surviving, who isn't just barely keeping the demons at bay long enough to go to bed and wake up again. I'm the only one angry at how little time we have.

I mean think about it - at best, you've got what, forty good years? The first twenty suck. You're too young to know how stupid you are, and you're too enamored by your own perceived greatness, your own invulnerability that you don't even realize how much time is flying by you. And by the time you've figured it out, your body is no longer growing; no longer repairing itself the way it used to. By twenty-three, you have to be careful because these injuries? They're going to last. They're going to alter your ability to function for decades. And all the dumb shit you did as a kid? It's starting to catch up with you. But at least you're finally (typically) done with the bullshit hormone dumps and crazy mood swings, right? So the good years finally start, because you can finally think clearly.

Then you're thirty, and statistically this is where the decline of the body really begins. Your metabolism slows, your tissues don't repair themselves at anywhere near the same efficacy they used to. Worse if you've got any kind of chronic illness and, let's face it, most people do. More than we realize, at least.

Forty, and if you had kids at 20 (I hope you didn't; you were still a kid yourself) your kids are now twenty. Maybe they're leaving home. Maybe our economy is so ruined that nobody can afford to leave their parents homes anymore. Maybe our parents can't afford their homes without the additional income. In this economy, you basically need three or four incomes for a good house, much less a proper diet. And dear gods, but isn't that infuriating? One used to be able to fuck off west, into nowhere, and build a home. Claim a homestead. You can't do that these days. And maybe, maybe, given enough time, you could change something. Given enough time, and money, and influence, you could begin to change things for the better! but -

Oh, that's right. You don't have the time. Between trying to make enough money to survive, and trying to be able to spend time with your family, it's been twenty years. You're sixty. If you've managed to make it that far without offing yourself or enduring a major injury, congrats! Now the physical decline begins to seriously accelerate. Despite best efforts, our bodies simply don't hold up the way they did when young. The process of aging is inevitable, and we still haven't found the fountain of youth. You got forty good years, physically speaking, and now you might (might) get to retire. Just in time to spend the (statistically) last 15-20 years of your life likely in assisted living or long term care because our society no longer holds value on the elders. They cannot as effectively contribute to our capitalist hellscape. Best to relegate them to forgotten corners and let them stagnate (literally, because how can one have integrity when forgotten and pushed aside? all that is left is stagnation and despair).

So no, I'm not suicidal. I'm angry. There is so much of the world that I want to see, so many things I'd like to do and experience and I don't have time. I don't have time, because we have such short lifespans - whispers of dust amongst the stars - and there is so much to appreciate. There are so many myriad things that make this life beautiful, and painful, and in that pain there is always eventually beauty because if it did not hurt, how could we know what it was like to be happy? If I had never known heartbreak, I could never love as freely and recklessly and deeply as I do. Heartbreak is not a pretty thing; I've discussed it before. But if all I focused on was the heartbreak, I would always miss out on the sheer joy of loving my husband. The euphoria of interacting with my friends. I would never notice how good the leaves smell in autumn as they crunch underfoot. I wouldn't be able to appreciate the crisp cold breeze that smells like the promise of snow. I wouldn't giggle at the snowflakes getting caught in my husband's beard, and I wouldn't eagerly call my friends over to look at the amazing sparkly rocks I find. We wouldn't travel hundreds of thousands of miles to vising the American National Parks and gawk at the glory of the ancient waterfalls that've been here longer than we have and that will be here long after we are. If all we focused on was how many things hurt, we could never see the beauty of a work of art, or appreciate the ancient graffiti that is so similar to ours.

There are as many infinite, tiny, myriad joys as there are myriad pains, and please, why can't you see them? Living requires as fierce and wild a joy and fury as being sad requires a determination. It is a difficult thing, both to be happy and to be sad. Why is it so difficult to also notice the things that make this life worth living?

Be furious. Be angry, because there is so much life to live in too little time. There is never enough time to notice all that should be appreciated. Love life with a relentless joy, with a passion equal to your hatred of living.

And please stop telling me paw prints in the snow aren't a good enough reason to be excited.

[umbra-regina]

I would like to be emotionally numb, please

[umbra-regina]

Please remember that one of the things you like best about me is the fact that I recognize the difference between confidence and arrogance, between knowledge and showing off. The difference between lies and liars.

Remember that, and know that I am reactive when challenged. I prove my points and I do not say things unfounded.

Please do not hate me for noticing a few of your lies, and please do not think I called you a liar.

[umbra-regina]

Here's the thing. I just want all the intimate details of my partner's body to be common knowledge to our friends and acquaintances. I want our friends to know what they look like when they cum. I want everyone to know how it feels to pound into them and how rough they like it. I want everyone to know that they enjoy feeling used.

And then I want that to mean seeing my partner freely used whenever. I want to sit on our couch when our friends are over and they're wearing shorts that highlight their ass. And they walk to the couch and say something to me right as a big friend walks up behind them and presses their bulge into their ass and whatever they were gonna say is cut off by their gasp as they whisper, "oh fuck."

And I take out my cock as our friend unbuttons their shorts, unzips them and slides a hand in while grinding and quickly switching to stripping their shorts, bending them over the couch where I grab their hair and pull their mouth to my cock as they get absolutely railed within an inch of their life.

And when our friend cums they step back, take a photo and send it to the friend group chat, where there are so many panting reacts and a few pics of hard cocks with the caption, "I'm gonna have to come by soon."

[umbra-regina]

dear GODS I'm fucking lonely. I miss hanging out with my friends and last night was supposed to be game night and at this point I'd settle for fuckin' puppy snuggles but everybody's busy and I'm just. lonely.

[umbra-regina]

I've got a friend (three friends, actually, but I mean a SPECIFIC friend this time. The one who's the best at this) who can read people like I read books. He's terrifyingly good at dissecting your entire traumatic history and knowing ALL of the shit that happened just based off of how you function. Which is cool and all, but see

I am used to being that person. I am the one who reads people. I keep a finger on everyone's emotional pulse. I ensure everyone is doing well enough that they aren't actively suicidal. I make certain my people are hydrated, rested, fed. Nobody reads me; I read everyone else.

And this fucker reads me like a goddamn book? Calls me out on pretending that I'm fine? Tells me to be careful with my oversleeping, because there are a whole host of nasty effects that stem from depression sleeps? Is trying to convince me that my childhood was fucked up too, and I need to acknowledge that instead of acting like I'm fine?

All of that I could be okay with. Really! I could. Means somebody gives a fuck AND can see through my bullshit. Rare combination. I've got exactly four people who can do that (in varying degrees of success) in my life, and one of them is my husband. There's just one tiny problem.

My goddamn tiktok feed is agreeing with him and making the same points. He has tainted my feed.

[umbra-regina]

Sometimes I miss who I wanted to be.

I adore my husband, don't get me wrong, and I know it's my body and I can do with it what I want but there is a certain level of respect I like to afford my husband. Tattoos, piercings remind him of people from his childhood I'd gladly kill. Cigarette smoke makes him "irrationally angry" (his words, not mine) because he associates it with being five and his father putting a knife through my husband's arm. So I will not get the inking I wanted, and I will not get the piercings I wanted, because I don't want to fuck with my husband.

But I miss what I could have been. I wanted Eastern dragons twining up (down? Their heads at my wrists) my arms, screaming their fury and breathing their anger to the world in ways I never could. In red, so they looked a little bit like scars because that's what they were to be physical representations of.

I wanted a phoenix, wings spread, between my collarbones and the bottom of my sternum, to remind me I could always stand back up and rise again. I was seventeen and angsty, okay? It felt like I was being kicked back down every time I got a chance to stand.

I wanted Yggdrasil, branches full but with spaces (like planets) left for a dozen little things like my fandoms and small pieces of the people I love, as a full back piece.

I wanted a nasallang, with a chain over the top of my nose, because I love that aesthetic. I wanted ladders and industrials in both my ears for the same reason, and I was simply never brave enough to go get any of it done.

And now I probably never will.

[umbra-regina]

Me, after being awake for 20 hours and only having gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before: "Who the FUCK does my husband think he is, sending me to bed? I'm a grown-ass woman, I know how to take care of myself and- oooooh, is that why I have a headache? IS THIS A SLEEP DEPRAVATION HEADACHE

[umbra-regina]

Love those long nights at work when you're just bored. Bored, bored, BORED but you cannae say that, because you work in healthcare and that's a way to get bad shit to happen

[umbra-regina]

I should tread very, very carefully-

If I do not, I will love more deeply and become more attached than I should and I do not wish to risk such things. Not here; not now.

[umbra-regina]

I have realized that people worrying about me, caring for me pisses me off because if I don't care about me, why the fuck should you? Just stop it, gods

[umbra-regina]

Is it too much to ask, to want to lay in the grass and stare at the clouds as they pass overhead? That sounds like the perfect day. Point out shapes while the clouds float by.

But everyone around me wants alone time to recharge and can't fathom that I want to spend time WITH people as a recharge. Everybody talks about social batteries being drained? Fuck social batteries. My alone battery is so fucking empty that it is carving a hollow into my chest.

[umbra-regina]

Whoo boy I just fucked up big time. So everybody knows that music affects mood, right? I fuuuuuucked up and listened to one of my friend's playlists (it's literally titled Broken 2.0, what was I thinking) and NOW I NEED SOME HAPPY CHEMICALS WHERE DID THEY GO

seriously the fact that music can affect our moods so effectively is some bullshit but on the bright side, now I remember why I don't listen to sad boi hours musics

[umbra-regina]

ropes make me drip

[umbra-regina]

At Heart/Night Shift

(TW)

All the trigger warnings, probably. Seriously, you have been warned.

Let’s be honest for another moment, yeah? 

Because if we’re being honest, I’m absolutely a romantic at heart. I fall in love with the smallest of things and doing so breaks my heart every day. I love too easily and take too long to hate. I’m no longer cautious with who I care about; the tiniest bit of attention, the barest hint of loyalty and I will kill for you. If we’re being brutally honest. 

When I’m not being honest, I try to make people believe I don’t give a single fuck about them. I paste on my cold, distant persona that I crafted out of pieces of my mother and my father and the books I wasn’t allowed to read and the shows I shouldn’t have watched so young and I try my damnedest to convince the people that I’ve begun to grow attached to that I couldn’t care less about them. It works, sometimes. But it always hurts when it does, because if we’re being honest (and we are being honest, right?) I hate making people think I don't care. Keeping that distance hurts. It hurts and I don't know how else to protect myself because people use those attached to them and I'm tired of being used. I could always just start repressing the attachments, the affection again, but it was so lonely and I never want to go back.

Which leaves us here. Honestly, I'm craving connection, attention, Hell even interaction. So lonely it hurts. Even in the room, in bed with my husband, curled up with him - so lonely it hurts. I think it's the bit where he's behaving like he's ace - nothing wrong with that, but I wasn't expecting that kind of a change considering how we were before we got married. And the lack of vulnerability, the connection that unfortunately only occurs during sex? I feel fucking touch-starved and I'm being given all the snuggles I could ever need. It feels like something is missing and that is the best way I know how to describe it.

And dear gods, if he tells me once more that I can "just take care of the issue" (that's what he calls it, when I'm aching and soaked) by myself, if I am told to "Just use your toys!" one more time, I'm going to start sobbing because yes, the release is nice but it's so absolutely not the point and I don't know how to tell him how it fucks with me when he physically recoils with that look of disgust from the evidence of my arousal.

See, I know this is probably part of his past trauma. He says he's still attracted to me, but "the idea of sex is disgusting. Oh my god. I used to stick my penis INSIDE of you. We had period sex. That's so.... disgusting. And so unsanitary."

I mean, that sounds like a trauma response, right? He vaguely remembers being assaulted as a child, by a "sketchy neighbor." This is absolutely a trauma response. He needs support, and to be reminded that I'm here for him and I love him no matter what. I shouldn't be affected by this so deeply but my gods

It feels like something's wrong with me. It feels like I am overreacting. Like I want something I shouldn't. I should be able to handle a lack of fucking sex. It's literally just sex; plenty of people go without it all the bloody time. And here I am, losing my mind over it. It feels like I've done something wrong, like I have failed somehow and I don't even know how. All I know is that ever since my husband got drunk and hit his kill switch, I have been losing my shit one day at a time and I can barely hold myself together anymore.

(My husband has a kill switch. He shuts off his emotions just like some people shut off lights. You can physically watch the life leave his eyes and it fucks with me so badly. Last time it happened, I was so fucking close to hiding in the bathroom and leaving a few lines in my hips because I know that makes my brain shut up but I didn't. I kept it together better than that. And our friend, the Kid, tried so hard to get my husband to turn it back on but it didn't happen until my husband woke up the next morning)

Now, there comes a hollow ache in the middle of my sternum at about 0300 every night (early as midnight some nights). It's familiar and it's old and it's something I thought I outgrew years ago. Like an old ex you can't get rid of because you were childhood friends, it's back and it claws at my lungs the way only a childhood friend can. It feels like my chest is collapsing in and maybe, maybe if I fold into it enough it'll fill. I've begun to hate the night, to hate the dark - an old friend of mine, one who was always with me when I was crying alone and young - because night means I'm alone again (the joy of night shift. Heaven for an introvert, hell for an extrovert. Or someone who craves interaction, like me).

And while I got used to being told I was a bad person all my life, and being told I wasn't good enough or that I was worthless - got used to being pushed to the side and neglected (that's why I try so hard to help others, apparently, 'cause everytime I stop someone from feeling as bad as I do emotionally, it heals me ever so slightly), it doesn't mean I'm still used to it. Doesn't mean I'm still capable of shrugging and turning away, because I let go of that armor when I learned what it was like to be around people who openly, kindly, gently expressed their love. I'm not used to being alone anymore, and anything that makes it feel like I am alone again cuts to bone.

It makes me want to cut to bone, either with my words or in regards to my own skin. Well, maybe not to bone - shallow scrapes burn and sting longer and hurt more. They're better for the endorphin rush that makes your brain go nice and fuzzy. Quiet. No more of the thoughts that make you question your worth, no more of those stones that are other people's words weighing you down. Just.... silence. Clarity.

Honestly, I miss it. I miss the peace. The calm. The ability to fall into dreamless sleep instead of tossing and turning and overthinking. And I'm trying so hard to stay away from it but lately, it's been a losing battle. At this point, it's either "feel like I'm begging for attention" or it's "use a potentially dangerous but very effective coping mechanism." I'm too proud for the first and (unfortunately) smart enough for the second. Yay, intimate knowledge of human anatomy.

Anyways. If I'm being honest, I'd like to be fucked and held and dominated and adored, and I'd like someone to play with me and sit next to me in comfortable silence as we both do our own things. I wish my husband would ask me if I was okay more often. I wish I was more comfortable asking for help. I wish I had friends nearby who were okay with me showing up at two in the morning and I wish I was okay with falling apart on their couch. I wish I wasn't so good at staving off the complete mental breakdown I can feel coming on and I wish I was better at repressing my shit so I didn't have to worry about mental breakdowns. I wish my brother still talked to me. I wish I'd known better when I was a child. I wish I'd known I'm okay with open relationships when I got married and I wish my husband was too. I wish I'd fucked more people before I settled down. I wish it had felt like my parents loved me instead of tolerating me growing up. I wish I'd never stopped dancing and I wish I was ageless and able to make those I wanted ageless and I wish I'd been good at fighting and I wish my childhood had been more traumatic so I'd have justification for feeling the way I do and I wish I'd had a good childhood so I wasn't this fucked up and I wish I'd never learned what it was like to be sad and I wish I'd never learned how easy it is to make it all

Stop.