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littlesarbonn -> Why am I a submissive? (5/12/2006 5:27:00 AM)
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(I wrote this article some years ago and just found it today. I still find it quite useful.)
Why am I a submissive? There are a lot of times I actually wonder about this particular question, and I realize the answer is pretty simple: I couldn't be anything but a submissive. I discovered early on that I'm not comfortable with my own freedom. While I might be the first one to argue for someone's personal rights, I often find myself snickering because I wouldn't be the first to argue for my own. I like the idea that my freedom is squelched, that there is little I can do without my mistress's input and final decision. Freedom is for others, not me. That's what makes me a submissive. When I wake up every morning, the first thought is that I am owned by another. When I go to bed at night, my last thought is that I am owned by another. During the day I am forced to focus on other items that have nothing to do with ownership, but when the first quiet moment comes along, I go back to my thoughts of being owned. This wasn't something that came about overnight. At one point, I was a masochist who liked receiving pain because it was a fetishy thing to do; I was, in essence, serving myself and my own twisted desires. At a later point, I discovered that there was more to this than just receiving pain; there was a surrendering of my will to another for the time that this playing happened. Then after what had to be a very long time, I discovered that serving another individual to the point of surrendering everything that I am, everything I was, and everything I will ever be could be the ultimate gift of submission. The reason I bring this up, is there seems to be some confusion (judging from some recent mail I have received) about what this really means. Because I have totally surrendered, or that I desire to totally surrender, doesn't make me an unthinking entity that just goes through the motions. As a slave/submissive, my surrender means that I am an extra appendage that my mistress didn't have before, that I exist for her desire/pleasure/needs or whatever else she decides she needs from me. My personal motivations and desires do not turn off; they become transplanted to my owner so that she may best utilize them in a way that would be best for me (in her scheme of things). I do not resist her will, but that does not mean that I do not have apprehensions or fears of what she wants, desires or may one day require of me. I do not fight back, but that doesn't mean I am silent either, that my personal reasonings are suppressed or that I do not have a will of my own. As most people know, I am quite boisterous with my opinions, but if it came down to a confrontation between her thoughts and mine, hers would win without a fight from me. For me, submission has been a continuous path to the state of slavery I am in today. It is my thought at the moment that it has reached the zenith of its existence because I am there now; it is my belief that this view will change as I continue to grow even further in my submission. If you read some of my ramblings from two years ago, you would be surprised that they came from the same person. I am constantly learning new avenues of exploration as a submissive, and my beliefs are becoming more varied as time goes on. I do not advocate any particular type of submission, because I don't personally believe there are any real different types. I think there are just stages that we follow, and eventually we stop when we feel comfortable with the level with which we have reached. I continue to travel because I always believe there is more to the journey than the destination, but that's just me. Many people live fruitful lives at various rest stops, and many others have reached the end of the road long ahead of me and live quite comfortably there while others have turned around and come back the same roads of the past, often passing new travellors in the process. Why submit? Because we wouldn't have it any other way. There are always those who will point their fingers and laugh just as much as there will always be those who point their fingers and wonder how they, too, can reach such a station in life.
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