If Anyone Cares to Listen

Hello again… 

Once more, I am at a loss for how I should start this. I guess I want to talk about how I found myself on this site in the first place. 

     Well, I haven’t always been the biggest fan of movies. Not that I didn’t like them per se, I just often didn’t feel the need to make a conscious effort and put one on, let alone muster up the patience to watch it. However, I’ve noticed I have a bit of an unfortunate habit. I often find myself paying special attention to specific actors. Now, of course, there is your standard set of “handsome” actors like Brad Pitt… Henry Cavill… Michael B Jordan… and way too many more. But none of them have ever caught my interest… You know who did, though? James “Fucking” Spader. (Why is he so freaked out in every role 😭) And you know what made it worse? It was in the series “The Blacklist”... if you know anything about that show, you’d know it’s not necessarily old, meaning this attraction towards him wasn’t even while he was in his “prime”. James was 53 at the start of filming. While a majority of girls my age probably would’ve had no interest in him… I just couldn’t get over his mannerisms… his cadence (that god damn voice ugh!!! fgjbjgsafb). 

     …Anyway… I say all this to say… I thought he was really fucking hot for being older than my dad… which is worse somehow when put into perspective that my dad isn’t like 46 or something and is instead 64 while James is 65 (currently). I have an insatiable thirst for older men, it seems… I mean, my favorite actor is still Mads Mikkelsen ( god… I could literally talk about that sexy Danish man for the rest of my life…).  Long story short, my newfound love for James Spader led me to the movie “Secretary”. A classic at this point while still feeling so… niche. I love that movie. It was my introduction to what BDSM could really look like. It solidified something in me that said, “Yes. This is what I want.” Anyway that’s kinda how I found myself here. Looking for… something…

     I’d never thought about the amount of control you could truly give someone… I never thought about what the day-to-day could look like with that kind of dynamic. Above all that… I never thought I’d find “My Mr. E. Edward Grey.” I hope that I do someday. I hope that someone someday somehow comes to understand me the way he understood Lee… I hope I get to understand someone the way Lee understood him. I hope he loves me… the way he loved her. I hope I love him… I hope he lets me love him...

      I hope to do so much for him… I hope to humiliate myself for him… to praise myself for him… to cook for him… to beg for him… to adore him… to desire him… and for him to adore and desire me all the same.

Sidenote:

I’m considering adding some of my older poetry to the end of these, meaning they’ll probably be poems completely unrelated to the post, but I still want to include them. I'm no master poet, so sorry if some of them suck lmao. Let’s start with this one: 

(This is about manipulation, abuse, and a repetitive cycle, so if that is an uncomfortable topic for you, please consider this TW.)

I fell in love with the devil

He told me what he was to my face

If I'm not a fool, what am I? 

I refuse to escape

I crave his burning touch… even now

His wings stretch out to wrap around me,

To keep me safe from when the winds whirl

His glowing eyes still haunt me,

And trap me in my own world 

I crave his insatiable lust… even now

I cry, but I stay 

I stay so I cry 

They all look at me differently, 

And he still calls me “mine”

I crave his false trust… even now

I find comfort in the fires of hell

At least the burn stays the same

They all look at me differently,

And I need to call his name 

I crave his violent disgust… even now

He hates me

He loves me

He needs me

He'll never let me down

And I worship him… even now

     So… I’m not exactly sure how to start this, so I’m just gonna keep writing until a topic emerges from my thoughts. I guess I’m here to talk about me… my life- my experiences so far. And apparently, I’m going to be doing it all with terrible grammar, punctuation, and spelling. If it looks even halfway decent, be sure to thank Grammarly for it because I assure you… It’s working overtime to correct my thoughtless mistakes. 

     I guess I oughta’ start with an introduction. 

Hi,

     I’m Nevaeh. I’m 19 and a freshman in college. I’m a Psychology BS Major who is pursuing Neuroscience. Specifically, Behavioral Neurology. Because of this, a lot of people will assume I’m “smart.” Hell… they might even say it to my face… I don’t think I am, though. I think I’m smart enough, sure… but I don’t find myself aligning with some sort of ideal of “higher intellectuality.” I am simple. More often than not, un-extraordinary. Unremarkable. I don’t say this to be demeaning. I believe I am very capable. I believe that in time, I may be deserving of the title of brilliant. I believe that one day my work may be considered “Groundbreaking,” but for now, I leave those extreme titles to those who have put in the work.   I am very young compared to a lot of people here, and I acknowledge that. I guess that’s a part of my story… what I struggle with. 

     I believe that I’ve always felt like something was wrong with me. Even without the external berating of my Christian mother and her hypocritical rhetoric. I cannot blame her for everything... Nor can I truly blame my father. I made my fair share of incredibly ridiculous and ill-advised decisions within my own realm of responsibility. I cannot always place the blame on others. I guess I liked to believe that I knew what I wanted. And while that may be true… when it comes to balancing those things with the reality of being a child, I must admit I failed. I suppose it’s only natural to want to be mature… to want to be respected… to make your own choices. But I guess I only acknowledged the negatives far too late. It’s like I chased my own trauma in a way. Two steps ahead, before anyone could even think to pull me back in. Though I was aware… so was he… and sure…. He’s more at fault than I am… but still… at fault we both are. 

     Maybe that’s the reason I still carry so much guilt. Perhaps I still fear being too naive. To impressionable. To willing. But for me… that’s the whole point of what I want. I want to trust someone. I don’t want to think so much… I want to be eager and ready and waiting and pleading… I want to be loved just as much as I want to be violated. I want to worship and be worshipped. I want to have control without being in control.

     I know what I want… but when will I get it?