отчужденность
There’s a curious detachment that arises out of this experience.
I noticed it first when I wore almost nothing to the queer rave, though at the time I ascribed it to the natural high—of being out for the first time in years, of trying something a bit daring, of submitting in a public place. (And what a high it was, make no mistake.)
Yesterday I wore what could only be called a servant’s uniform, or perhaps even a seneschal’s; it was absolutely not vanilla. And we went out at lunch time, to the post office, to get lunch, to take care of some medical appointments. This is a full-body uniform—in no way titillating, or anything like that, but nonetheless very conspicuous—and I had no feelings about it. I chose to wear it as part of my submission for the day, and then we were heading out, so I wore it out. I don’t even know if I attracted any glances or looks for wearing it; it wasn’t on my mind.
If someone looked at me, they weren’t really looking at me, just a presentation of me. While I dress to communicate certain things, this.. hardening of my exterior, as I learn to give up my ego, means that what people say or make of those things don’t say anything about me. It’s strange.
Similarly, the behavioural modification inherent in referring to someone previously close-and-same as “Miss” in deference, habitually, instinctively, might have once made me feel.. I don’t know, self-conscious? Or something? But when it comes as part of submission, it’s just another part of how I choose to yield, and thus doesn’t feel like a hit to me.
I feel like I need to take some care here not to detach so completely that my submission doesn’t arise from my own core. I don’t think that’s what’s happening — I think instead I am perhaps learning some humility? But it’s clear, writing this out, that there is a risk that I could shear away from this and wind up fragmented. Need to concentrate my selves.