03/10/2014
I lost all of my good sense. I pushed *way* too far. I contemplated disobeying. And worse? You want worse? Oh, lucky you, it got much worse than mere contemplation. I *threatened* blatant disobedience.
Definitely the epitome of the word "worse".
It hadn't set out to intentionally be a defiant brat. Actually, I intended to comply and had been for days. I haven't felt well and have fought not to let my physical discomfort and emotional stress dictate my mood or influence my reactions to others. And, for the most part, I'd been doing a decent job of this.
But then along came today. I decided I knew better than everyone else and my way was the 'right' way. When, looking back, in all actuality, my way was complete nonsense to the point it could have been comical. It was irrational and could easily be compared to a 5 year old throwing a "cuz I wanna" temper tantrum.
Now, had my father been physically present with me, if this little melt down had happened at all, it would have *very* quickly ended. He would have tolerated it just long enough to slap me across the face or yank me down across his knee. It never would have gotten to the level it did. I wouldn't have had time to dig in my heels, get emotionally attached to my irrational argument or turn our night into a battle of the wills.
Unfortunately for me, and Daddy's patience, we were not together physically and the night was a disaster. He tried to reason with me originally, not at all forceful, more suggestive. Which I imagine to me was an invitation to push it a bit further just to see how far I could persist before he jerked me back into my place. He truly was incredibly understanding and took into account my current physical and emotional status. He reassured me, he made me laugh, he tried to distract me, he remained positive. Unfortunately, I didn't take the bait and allow him to calm me down.
I flipped my atypical 'bitch switch' and let him have it. Informing him rather abruptly that I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted to do, which directly conflicted with what he (and any normal person) wanted me to do. I told him flat out "NO" multiple times. I screamed at him. I swore at him. I let loose with all of my festering emotions and my father was my target.
After unsuccessfully trying to talk me down via instant messenger, he told me to call him. It was 10pm at this time, and he was home with his children, and should have been in bed. I refused initially to even call him, perhaps the last sane brain cell I had left was trying to warn me of what was coming. He repeated himself, over and over, mandating I call, which only irritated me more. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like my Daddy repeating himself any more than he does. I relented and called, with as much sass, disrespect and abrasive bitch tone as I had been using in our online 'discussion' (tantrum).
At any other time, the moment I heard his tone of voice when he answered that call, I would have shut my mouth, back tracked immediately, apologized emphatically and begged for forgiveness.
Nope.....not today.
I went right along with my tantrum as I had been online. Arguing with him, talking back, swearing, screaming, threatening, interrupting him. I was a mess.......and WAY out of line.
When I finally shut my mouth for more than 10 seconds, he let me have it. He spoke in his lowest, most intense and firm tone of voice, ensuring I had to listen closely to him. Not one time did he elevate the volume of his lecture; and he knew from the sobbing he was eliciting that he didn't have to.
Though Daddy raising his voice at me is effective and will provoke a response, it is actually his lowest tone that will shake me to my core. It is always his tone, not the volume of his deep, steady, resounding voice that pulls at me and draws me to him.
For the next 10 minutes, he verbally took me to task for my disrespectful tirade and all of its implications. It would have literally been easier for me to have been chained to a wall and whipped all day long than to hear that scolding from him. Every word he used was chosen carefully and said with emphasis. It very quickly began to break my heart and I felt overwhelmed and ashamed and so very sorry. The weight of the emotion was crushing. It was quite literally a roller coaster. First my anger-fueled emotions controlling my tantrum and then the stark reality of those bitter disappointment & guilt emotions gripping me by the throat and pulling me back to reality.
I *hate* making my father talk to me like this. H-A-T-E it! And every single time it has happened, every single time I have pushed him to this point.......after licking my wounds, I promise myself that I will never do it again, that I know better, that I've learned my lesson this time, that I will not ever put us through this as long as I live. And yet, somehow, once again, I had done it.
Dad did not yell. He did not swear. He did not berate me. He did not threaten. What he did do was remind me very bluntly of our dynamic, our rules, our relationship, who was in charge, and who had willingly agreed to submit. He expressed his deep love and concern for me. He reminded me of my family, friends, bright future. He told me that I am his property, his daughter and giving up is not an option I have. And for that matter, when it comes to obeying my father, there is likewise NO option. What we have, what we want, what we are in absolute.
I knew he was right. I knew I was wrong. I knew I was letting my overwhelming emotions get to me and effect my demeanor. I knew his mandate was more than reasonable and truly what I had to do, the literal only option I had for a positive outcome from this hell. I simply today for whatever reason, had enough and had to lash out......I didn't want to be rational. And as badly as it stung my heart, thankfully for me, I belong to an amazing man who allowed my lashing out for a brief period before busting through my defenses, taking me firmly by the upper arm and yanking me right back to reality.....to sanity.....to Him.
It hadn't set out to intentionally be a defiant brat. Actually, I intended to comply and had been for days. I haven't felt well and have fought not to let my physical discomfort and emotional stress dictate my mood or influence my reactions to others. And, for the most part, I'd been doing a decent job of this.
But then along came today. I decided I knew better than everyone else and my way was the 'right' way. When, looking back, in all actuality, my way was complete nonsense to the point it could have been comical. It was irrational and could easily be compared to a 5 year old throwing a "cuz I wanna" temper tantrum.
Now, had my father been physically present with me, if this little melt down had happened at all, it would have *very* quickly ended. He would have tolerated it just long enough to slap me across the face or yank me down across his knee. It never would have gotten to the level it did. I wouldn't have had time to dig in my heels, get emotionally attached to my irrational argument or turn our night into a battle of the wills.
Unfortunately for me, and Daddy's patience, we were not together physically and the night was a disaster. He tried to reason with me originally, not at all forceful, more suggestive. Which I imagine to me was an invitation to push it a bit further just to see how far I could persist before he jerked me back into my place. He truly was incredibly understanding and took into account my current physical and emotional status. He reassured me, he made me laugh, he tried to distract me, he remained positive. Unfortunately, I didn't take the bait and allow him to calm me down.
I flipped my atypical 'bitch switch' and let him have it. Informing him rather abruptly that I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted to do, which directly conflicted with what he (and any normal person) wanted me to do. I told him flat out "NO" multiple times. I screamed at him. I swore at him. I let loose with all of my festering emotions and my father was my target.
After unsuccessfully trying to talk me down via instant messenger, he told me to call him. It was 10pm at this time, and he was home with his children, and should have been in bed. I refused initially to even call him, perhaps the last sane brain cell I had left was trying to warn me of what was coming. He repeated himself, over and over, mandating I call, which only irritated me more. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like my Daddy repeating himself any more than he does. I relented and called, with as much sass, disrespect and abrasive bitch tone as I had been using in our online 'discussion' (tantrum).
At any other time, the moment I heard his tone of voice when he answered that call, I would have shut my mouth, back tracked immediately, apologized emphatically and begged for forgiveness.
Nope.....not today.
I went right along with my tantrum as I had been online. Arguing with him, talking back, swearing, screaming, threatening, interrupting him. I was a mess.......and WAY out of line.
When I finally shut my mouth for more than 10 seconds, he let me have it. He spoke in his lowest, most intense and firm tone of voice, ensuring I had to listen closely to him. Not one time did he elevate the volume of his lecture; and he knew from the sobbing he was eliciting that he didn't have to.
Though Daddy raising his voice at me is effective and will provoke a response, it is actually his lowest tone that will shake me to my core. It is always his tone, not the volume of his deep, steady, resounding voice that pulls at me and draws me to him.
For the next 10 minutes, he verbally took me to task for my disrespectful tirade and all of its implications. It would have literally been easier for me to have been chained to a wall and whipped all day long than to hear that scolding from him. Every word he used was chosen carefully and said with emphasis. It very quickly began to break my heart and I felt overwhelmed and ashamed and so very sorry. The weight of the emotion was crushing. It was quite literally a roller coaster. First my anger-fueled emotions controlling my tantrum and then the stark reality of those bitter disappointment & guilt emotions gripping me by the throat and pulling me back to reality.
I *hate* making my father talk to me like this. H-A-T-E it! And every single time it has happened, every single time I have pushed him to this point.......after licking my wounds, I promise myself that I will never do it again, that I know better, that I've learned my lesson this time, that I will not ever put us through this as long as I live. And yet, somehow, once again, I had done it.
Dad did not yell. He did not swear. He did not berate me. He did not threaten. What he did do was remind me very bluntly of our dynamic, our rules, our relationship, who was in charge, and who had willingly agreed to submit. He expressed his deep love and concern for me. He reminded me of my family, friends, bright future. He told me that I am his property, his daughter and giving up is not an option I have. And for that matter, when it comes to obeying my father, there is likewise NO option. What we have, what we want, what we are in absolute.
I knew he was right. I knew I was wrong. I knew I was letting my overwhelming emotions get to me and effect my demeanor. I knew his mandate was more than reasonable and truly what I had to do, the literal only option I had for a positive outcome from this hell. I simply today for whatever reason, had enough and had to lash out......I didn't want to be rational. And as badly as it stung my heart, thankfully for me, I belong to an amazing man who allowed my lashing out for a brief period before busting through my defenses, taking me firmly by the upper arm and yanking me right back to reality.....to sanity.....to Him.
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