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Hit Me Baby One More Time: Coping Through BDSM

CW: self harm & sexual abuse

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Written by Alice Ayres.

CW: self harm & sexual abuse

I’ve always enjoyed physical pain. When I was five years old and played Super Mario on Nintendo alone in the trailer I shared with my mother and would fail at defeating Bowser I would crack the rectangular controller against my thigh until things felt “okay” again. During this time my brain couldn’t process the changes around me. My parent’s divorce, my father’s alcoholism, my mother’s suffocating anger, the molestation I had experienced by another child years older than me.

I took my mother’s rage and absorbed it and it helped me create my own. I went through phases of feeling my rage surge through me so fast that I can only describe it as feeling like sugar granules in my bloodstream grinding into the walls of my veins. I mostly kept it to myself until the rage turned into wounds on my body. Starting off at age 16 as little knicks to help give me a small haze of joy inside the hurricane of my heart. 

I [felt] my rage surge through me so fast that I can only describe it as feeling like sugar granules in my bloodstream grinding into the walls of my veins.

Recklessness gave way in my early twenties. As it does for most late bloomers with unprocessed trauma. I was ready for center stage. Ready to make people a little uncomfortable. My lack of shame proved that I had no problem walking around like a Creed song and “Arms Wide Open”, for a lack of more self deprecating term when I started cutting more often. Working at my soul crushing office job, I took an OxyContin and broke open a plastic letter opener with some derivative cash advance logo and used the blade to light my lower right leg up deeper than the lyrics of the song I was listening to at the time. 

While I had no true feeling of shame, I did carry a lot of guilt and confessed what I had done to a co-worker and broke down. While I enjoyed the pain physically a lifestyle like this, for me, was unsustainable. The co-worker feigned fake concern and a manager was involved. No care was provided, no HR meeting, no band-aids. I was demoted and shelved into an entry level position with no discussion. What a bitch.

I switched out my cutting addiction for some more crowd friendly ones. Namely alcoholism, benzodiazepines and cocaine usage. Everything’s a party until you’ve been doing this song and dance on and off for a decade and left a shell of a person. The only logical thing I could do was get sober. 

Everything’s a party until you’ve been doing this song and dance on and off for a decade and left a shell of a person.

I got sober. Two weeks later I met a guy on Facebook. A month and four days after my sobriety I got married by Elvis in Nashville, TN to another sober individual I didn’t even know. Six years and two kids and living a very legitimate suburban family life and I was in misery. The weight on my chest sending me into argument after argument and waking up every day numb and joyless. I didn’t know what I needed, but this wasn’t it. The sobriety had stuck at least. Needless to say, we separated. 

A couple of weeks after we split I went on my first date.  A pity date. A man I met on Tinder and became friends with agreed to take me out. I look back on this time with an awe at how innocent I was. The date was fun but I knew statistically I wasn’t going to marry this person or even date him. I love a good mental gamble. However, was a casual encounter off the table? What would it even be like? 

I went back to his place to see his dogs. I thought that was it but he picked me up and carried me to his room and I didn’t realize how much of a game changer this would be. The next day my ass was covered in purplish pink bruises from being spanked by heavy hands (thanks R). I would take photos and look at them in darling admiration and watch them slowly disappear.

I found my healthy version of coping with existence… I felt free.

I found my healthy version of coping with existence. I felt like my soul had been massaged. I felt free. I felt a sleepy sort of peace. 

I’ve continued to find my peace through various experiences. To say I can take a beating would be an understatement. I’ve been spanked, paddled, caned, cropped, beaten with a belt….leaving basket weaves on my heart. 

As I sit here in this moment I remember my weekend activities. I can feel the tissue under my chest and back sore with inflammation from being pressed upon and held in place. My children come home from visiting their father to see their mother smiling, happy, and joyful. This makes me a better person. More caring, sane, empathetic. I thought at one point I would have to snuff this candle out and live a more normal life. Then took the candle and poured the wax down my chest. 

Alice going down her rabbit hole.

About The Author

Alice Ayres is your internet darling residing in Nashville, TN. She is a sober, vegan mother who dabbles in Shibari, writing and figuring out her place in this world.

Follow on IG: @xo_littlehell | Follow on Twitter: @xolittlehell


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