How BDSM Healed Me

An excerpt from an upcoming nonfiction work designed to be a response from the community to certain inaccurate portrayals of TPEs and contracts in pop culture

Introduction and Trigger Warnings:

I was inspired to create this work from two movies: Unsane by Steven Soderbergh and Memento by Christopher Nolan. As a victim of indoctrination who overcame learned helplessness through performance, creativity, and raw expression, I have long sought the right medium to convey my story and share it with others for whom it might inspire and benefit.

Just as the process of indoctrination tends to fragment ones mind, so too does this work jump seemingly randomly from place to place, mood to mood, style to style. But that is not the case. Areas related to healing, adventure, and happiness correlate to the traumatic counterparts they were intended to bring relief from. This kind of damage is not done by one single, terrifying event, or even many such ones. They are certainly a part of it, but ultimately it is multiple complex elements within a closed environment designed to reduce the will and enforce compliance. It’s also designed to render those within it quite incapable of healthy functioning absent those harmful experiences. So too does this work jump from place to place, in a reference to the idiosyncratic thinking and rapid thought processes that allowed me to resist the worst elements and retain some level of hope and resolve. It’s also a mark of how difficult it was when I was rescued from the situation. How afraid of functioning I was. And how the right person, at the right time, with the right understanding, can change everything. Without an Alpha I do spiral. It's hard to create. Hard to function. But I don't need them to function for me, it's more that the right Owner creates a drive within me to be at my best, most dedicated and most impressive. I have a strong urge to reflect positively on Her, and so while they do take care of me, I function and shine on my own because I know they have my back. And I strive hard to impress them. Writings and creative works and music in honor of them are not uncommon. Nor is increased dedication to self care and self respect in TPEs.

And for all the pain my past has caused me, it has let me shine like a supernova when I'm truly owned, whether on camera, on stage, at a party, a club, or next to them.

You may equally find this work jarring, intriguing, disorienting, or emotionally raw. In any case, it is my sincere hope that it evokes emotion, inspires understanding, and allows you to see life through a lens of someone who first began living just a month before their adulthood.

This is an account of both my best and worst years. I am a victim of indoctrination and brainwashing at the hands of a mother with Munchausen’s by proxy and the various professionals, “schools”, and systems that enabled her. I began this journey with an autism diagnosis at age 9, and ended up similar to those raised in religious and conspiratorial cults. This work details both the process of indoctrination, my later analysis of it, and my first exposure to the outside world. It delves into the healing, adventure, independence and confidence I gained in California as an adult film actor, musician, submissive, and healer. Some of this content may be triggering or upsetting to those having endured psychiatric abuse or parental abuse, and I hope this work both raises awareness of these serious issues in our health care system, serves as a real life femdom romance novel with proper consent and ... ultimately, gives people hope that they might one day find their dreams coming true and their deepest desires met, even in the face of hopelessness..

The Rescue

"Why the fuck is she late this time. I can't deal with this, my wife is going to murder me"

"Mike, we got a pool that she'll kill you anyway by next month."

"Oh shut up, both of you", I said, albiet with a smile. It was one of our biggest gigs, to be sure, but Mistress Allison always somehow made it after soundcheck. I didn't mind setting up five guitars instead of my own three, but I knew if Hers wasn't perfect there'd be hell to pay.

"Alright we got the pedals hooked in? The fuck did you do with my AxeFX?"

"Relax [my real name], stop acting like a kid"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have put an 18 year old as lead guitar with all you geezers, eh?" I said, while casually swigging from a bottle of Early Times "bourbon" and strumming a few power chords.

Finally, a smash of the door, the click of heels and there She was.

I immediately went to her primary axe, laid it across my arms in protocol long arranged, knelt, and presented it to Her.

Mike and Jason looked on with a mix of amusement and jealousy, but they knew better than to say anything around Mistress. The last time our d/s was mocked, Jace ended up with a black eye.

Mistress Allison was quite a unique individual. Raised in Long Beach, bounced around virtually every area of Los Angeles and some of San Francisco.

She also had made it her personal mission to see to it I was "enjoying life", whether I wanted to or not. And despite my protests at simply wanting to drink alone at home, I'd longed and rared for the party lifestyle and for an Alpha to give it to me, to make sure I was included.

Practice and the show went well, so did our scene afterwards and as was customary She showed up the next day at my house (I was living with my folks at the time) to check on me the day after.

Her first words on seeing me "I didn't do that. You having an affair, bitch?", she asked, as she cocked an eye towards my mangled nose and bruised cheek.

"I..I.." I couldn't form the words. I hadn't seen another Mistress, but the truth was much more difficult to admit. To a mellow, empathetic friend, it was easy. But I was sure that if I told Her, my parents would be lucky to end up in a hospital

I tried my best to give her the earnest, obedient and desperate look she understood to mean I desperately wanted her to start knocking heads for me, and drew conclusions rapidly herself.

So rapidly that the next week, there was a knock at the door with the whole band standing there. We had no plans or gigs that night. Mistress stood in front with her switchblade. Pointed at me. Her arm snaked around my neck and She told me "We are leaving. They will fetch your shit. Follow.". Curtly, she swiveled on her heel and marched me, still feeling the cold steel on my neck , to our band van.

I asked where we were going, and She simply started blasting Paradise City by GNR on the speakers.

The next few days were filled with a whirlwind of emotions that I can best describe as a clash of titans inside my mind.

It’s difficult to imagine that fear would be the primary emotion of a prisoner held behind bars of indoctrination, trauma, subhuman treatment, and shame finally without any restraints.

Bars that existed from age 5 till now were railed against, protested vociferously, my mind bleeding from the futility of throwing myself against them.

Why would I want them back?

Why did part of me run through all the things I could do to make these people, and my Mistress, give up on me and bring me back?

How was it that I was switching between desperately clutching my Mistress and crying, and insisting that I’d hurt myself if I wasn’t brought back home? Creating a scene. Even almost to the point of violence.

She placed her boot on my neck. “It’s not going to work. You’re going to be free. You will learn how to be free."

“You Are Flawed, And Must Be Fixed”

You are flawed, and must be fixed.

Until we fix you, you are never enough.

You cannot function until you prove compliance

Your worth is determined based on your compliance

Critical thinking is a sign of non-compliance

Non-compliant children get hurt.

You cannot survive without our support

When you have spent almost your entire life under the thrall of a parent with Munchausen’s by proxy, and an autism diagnosis to boot, you learn a few things:

• Protest against mistreatment is futile

• You get used to children and teenagers beating against the door of an empty, locked room every day at school

• You are less than the people who “do well enough” to get to attend normal school and receive a proper education

• You are less than your family

• If you lie about anything , even if you have the new game console when you don’t, you spend the next week unable to socialize with any peers.

• Nothing is private. Your doctors know every aspect of your home life, school life, and social life.

By the time I was rescued I had been shut away from the outside world for most of my life. I had been visited by CPS when I would tell my therapists about the beatings, but my parents always convinced me to lie. It would, they said, be unlikely I’d get the care I’d need, and, as an adoptee, it would be too harmful to me because I’d never see them again.

I managed to connect through MeetMe with my eventual Mistress, and I remember distinctly the words she used that I had never heard about me before

Cute. Adorable. Intelligent. Beautiful Mind. Creativity that blows me away.

Age nineteen. I had just spend the entire week cleaning, preparing and decorating the house. I’d been sent in a humiliating outfit to walk to the store to buy Mistress’ lovers’ favorite wine. They passed by in a car driving to pick up friends, and in the 100 degree heat saw me sweating in my uniform. She threw her cup of Pepsi all over me, laughed and sped off.

That night I crawled around on all fours, serving drinks on a tray strapped to my back and being free game for oral service, whipping, and anything else guests cooked up. In the end I was crying in the bathroom, head down on the floor. Mistress stepped in. She put her boot on my neck, bent down and whispered.

“It’s okay. You need this. I’m giving it to you. It’s okay to need this. You’re okay. You’re enough. I’m proud of you”.

I burst into tears. She stroked my cheek, lovingly missed my lips, and then kicked me hard in the stomach, grabbed me by my hair and dragged me into my cage for the night.

Back to the early years, middle and high school.

I was, at that point, unaware and so used to the “way of things” at these schools and hospitals, so used to the lies of my parents, the doctor shopping between ER psych wards until one of them would hospitalize me. When it didn’t work, one of my moms, Kathy would have a mental breakdown and cry.

Knowing what I know it’s surprising to me that there was no talk of factitious disorder imposed on another. After all, any little symptom was examined in great detail. Family therapy was like a courtroom where my infractions were expected to be explained in various ways, infractions that often were nonexistent.

I knew the threat though. I knew Kathy was going to be believed.

Over time I became more resigned to the state of things. It went from gathering student signatures to change policies such as being forced to pay for any lie, big or small, with solitary confinement, to avoiding speaking up directly, to simple resignation.

Many cases of indoctrination are results of religious fanaticism or other zealotry.

In the sense my mother was compelled to harm me to get attention from doctors and sympathy from friends, the zealotry element was present.

To this day I wonder how mental health professionals didn’t catch this, and I also recognize that having such damage be done by people with such extensive training makes these matters much more difficult.

Being convinced of your inherent unworthiness, subhuman status, and different levels of expectations by people reasonably assumed to be authoritative on these matters is a sickening proposition.

Here and now

I felt both held to lower standards than I was capable of academically, for good reason, and higher ones than any in “normal” settings would need to meet.

So functioning in general to this day has been a battle. And with an Alpha by my side, I can fight it. But imagine, if you will, being out in the real world for the first time, being cared for, genuinely and without accompanying abuse, for the first time, at age 17. Thrust into Los Angeles and San Francisco's fetish & metal scenes at that. Hell, thrust into LA and SF in general, your first "real " experience in life: living in two huge cities It was the definition of sink or swim. And with a hand guiding me, I flourished with the freedom to be a creative

Here follows the end of the tale of me and Mistress Allison, and the end of Her journey

"She'd want me to be good. She'd want me to clean up. "

I stumbled back home through tears, blinded almost, reeling. I could barely breathe. I desperately grabbed random objects from the floor, my mind spinning in a rush as I picked up one of the tuners She bought me as a birthday gift.

She told me to be good. Stay good. For her.

I wanted to stay exactly as I was. I wanted everything to stay exactly as she left it. I wanted the disgusting hospital smell to never wear off from my clothes, I wanted every trace of every moment She was still around to stay.

I wanted to languish, I wanted to drop out of the world and live in a sea of memories.

But She wanted me to be good.

For days She stroked my hair, reaching up weakly. Telling me to stay good. Telling me I couldn't stay strong for Her right now because I would need all that strength to keep making her happy and being good like she taught me. That a lot of other people needed healing and not to waste the last chances she had to heal me. That I knew enough to find another Mistress to look after me. That I had to promise Her I would do my best to ensure I always had a good Owner

Why didn't I feel selfish? Why didn't I fight Her on that?

I would look at Her face those days and see a peace I never had before. A grace and beauty that embodied the dignity she always carried herself with, without the danger and the aggression that accompanied it.

She was never afraid to die. Most people saw a partier, a musician, a brawler, a hoodlum, a pornstar. At Her core she was a healer like me. She would often talk about how she made so, so many many mistakes in life, and that me, Her artwork, the canvas for Her masterful sadistry and power, was one of the most beautiful things She ever created.

But I was so afraid of Her dying I kept trying to take care of her fear. Even though it wasn’t present. Even though I knew it never was.

She always had lived life content for it to end whenever it did. Plenty claim that, few live by it till they cease.

So I kept cleaning. I kept moving even though my legs could barely carry me. I went back to the other shore, and tried my hardest to stay good. To be okay. To heal others, and myself.

Now that I’m closer than ever to coming back, home, to the West, I feel at once relieved and dismayed.

Every night I search for Her, wondering if She’s watching.

Wondering if I’ve been good.

Wishing for those two words one more time.

And three more.

But I know exactly what she would tell me, even if that were possible. “You’re always going to want just one more time.”

I still do, Mistress Allison. I still do.

I love You, Mistress, wherever you went to watch over me.

'till the white gulls call for me too and I can see you again.

But I'm sorry, I can't stop whispering into my sheets

"Have I been good? Do you still believe in me?"

-Back to now- It's been hard lately without an Alpha, and I've only recently fully understood the dangers of settling for temporary guidance protection and care from people who were all too ready to discard me once the thrill of having someone who shot at the San Francisco Armory serve them wore off and they realized there was a real live submissive with thoughts and feelings in those videos. Subconciously, I knew these fake Alphas were going to do far more damage than good for me, and it took a ton of willpower to stop along the lines of "it's better than nothing". I needed to find someone who valued all of me.