Broken Fantasy

[shysnale]

Hi Folks.

I remember one of the most interesting post I've read here was about the fantasy to be 'broken'. I'm sorry I can't remember the poster name, even after a search. Anyway, I believe this belong to a particular category of rape fantasy that includes the hostage fantasy. I wasn't sure if it fits in here or in the BDSM forum. It probably lies between the two.

I am a huge broken fantasizer and I would like to share that with you.

Anyway, what is being broken? What does that mean to you?
To me, be broken is to get rid of myself and have a wonderful fresh air filling up my head. I could walk in the street and look at everything with brand new eyes.

So, be broken means the structure of your personality have been destroyed.

Try something right now.

Close your eyes.

Think about a gigantic monstrous octopus.

Now take a deep breath.

Count until 10, and try to see what happened in your head when you pictured the octopus.

You did classify him. Yes you did. Your mind let the image appear, then the image did create an feeling in your body, and, as every time your mind is facing something new, it felt the need to put it in a particular category, so the thing (the monster), cannot disturb your internal peace anymore.

When you were little kids, you had feelings, but you did not always know how to put a word on them. It is only later on you learned that there was something in common between a butterfly and a fly and you did create the category ‘flying insects’, which itself belongs to the category 'insects'. You can see categories have a hierarchy. They all contain each other like boxes and refrain each other. It has a basement, and from that, it's built itself into that person you are today. The categorize phenomenon did not always work on things. It also worked on social situations. Discussing your future with your parents for instance is a social situation, or negotiating a loan in the bank or even getting drunk in the pub, all these are social situations. These situations might be rich of subtle nuances, but your pathological tendency of labelling them precluded you to see the beauty of them. Do you know the English band called ‘The Moody Blues’. They wrote a magnificent song called ‘Nights in white satin’.

On line says ‘Beauty Id always missed with these eyes before,’

You did categorize everything, even social situations. Having a coffee with a mate is one category of social situation. But you can’t see the beauty of it anymore because the labelling power is blinding you. You hardly look at your friend anymore. You most of the time just listen to the categories of behaviour your mind has catalogued for this kind of moment.

This system of classifying everything may sound harmless but it’s not.

It did sometimes hurt you.

How?

Simply because just like the first time you put your hand in the fire, the feeling of pain was no more just a feeling, it became a word. Also, as a little kid, you went through some social situations that had people on the edge, and you have been snapped when you tried to categorize them. The butterfly did not say anything, nor than did the fly when you were pigeonholing them. But your first friend in school did. You did not even intend to hurt him or to judge him, it's just that old habit of branding everything that took control of you and made you say to him 'you are curious'.

Unfortunately, the last time he heard that word ‘curious’ was when his mom did slap him on the face because he came back from the garden with his shirt tear off. ‘I told you not to try to open the door of that shed! You are so curious! So this little kid did associate the word ‘curious’ with pain and took it as an insult. He did react badly when he heard that word and he snapped you. Why can you still feel the pain of that memory today? Because it happened too fast. It is like printed in your memory. That is called a neurosis.

It is not impossible to cure. One of the most classic ways to cure a neurosis is simply to relive it. I've done it successfully on several memories that annoyed me. I am not saying I cured my entire mind because that would take ages, I'm just saying I cleaned up few stuff.

You can cure a neurosis by remembering it. If you are serious enough, if you really concentrate when trying to relive that painful moment, you will finally see that little emotion, that nasty little feeling that surprised you and escaped your categorizing mechanism. It (the nasty quick feeling) was the reason of your pain. Now that you see it clearly, your mind can rest because everything is clear.

This (all I've been typing in this long post). Is crappy ignorant beginner psychotherapy theory, but it will be good enough for me to explain my fantasy.

We are all shit scared of the great unknown and we all tend to put things in brands. All of us. It's like a disease because it also happens when we're surrounded by people, and it limits our behaviour, sometimes influences our behaviour in nasty reactions, sometimes it just precludes us from enjoying someone trying to be nice.

So. That labelling machine has to be destroyed. But if you want to destroy it using the meditation technique I've described above, you'll be dead before you’ve done half of the work. So you may need to trick things a little bit by finding a master. Someone that helps you get down the obscure stairs of your conscience, someone that helps you dive in the scary memory of your past.

Your pain is way too complicated, you won't get in touch with its source by yourself, only that mysterious good looking guy that drugged you and chained you to the wall of his cellar can help you.

Why?

Because everyday he's entering the most intimate part of your body with his big venous cock in front of other prisoners, when he's spanking you until you cry, when he's forcing you to sing the most ridiculous songs while you’re choking with his huge penis in your mouth, only then you are facing a feeling that is so STRONG AND INTENSE that your stupid little pathetic categorizing moron neurosis won't know what to do with it. Your mind will basically be lost.

After six months of pain, the most horrible thoughts have crossed your mind. You cannot live like this anymore. You just want to die.

One day, your master, the most hateful man you ever met comes to you and tells you 'it's ok baby, I have finished my work with you', and he throws your clothes in front of you while unlocking your chains. You weakly put your clothes on; you are trembling and start to climb that stair he points you. The stair leads to a long corridor with a red wooden door at the end. Your master says 'this door leads right to Bayswater Road! Take it! You are free!'

You open the door, and get beat up so bad you cannot move anymore. You pass out.

You awake in the darkness. All you know is you are naked and it's really cold. You can feel you are lying in a floor made of old pavement and some sticky thing that smells like puke. You hurt real badly.

You try to think.

You can't.



Even the act of thinking hurts. Now that's it. You have lost all marks. You don't know anymore who you are. That terrible combination of pleasure and pain you went through for six months is so confusing that you basically just don't know who you are anymore. You let a never-ending scream come out of your bleeding mouth. You collapse.

Next thing you know you are lying in a bench in Hampstead Heath central London park. You are dressed up, you are clean, and your body doesn't hurt anymore. It is a pleasant day, kids are playing and birds are singing. You find an envelope on the bench next to you. You open it.



My Dear Cathy,

Now that's it, you are free. The thick mental frames that wasted your life are broken for good. Do not even try to think back. A brand new life is waiting for you. I have spent most my life finding and curing people like you. I know you would like to thank me, but you'll do that when we'll meet in heaven. Right now the only way you can thank me is to keep our secret and send me another patient I could cure. You surely have a sad person in your surrounding. Send this person to the 'Smoky John's Inn' pub dressed with an orange scarf on a Friday night, and I will take care of her.

Dr Camberwell.



Then you spend the rest of your life in utter happiness.



Now tell me, if you went through this, would you send a friend to Dr Camberwell or not?