How Does He Take Care of Me?

I got a comment from Blondie, which I have taken the liberty of c/p to respond to in a post. There was also a related comment about addressing the issue of responsibilities in D/s relationships, but I'm going to address that one separately.

"I was always under the impression that the Dominant is supposed to care for his submissive, to know how to take care of her, how to make her feel safe and loved. And in return, the sub gives him herself, all of herself. She trusts him. But for some reason, with the pain and loneliness that you feel at times, I don't see that he is taking good care of you. Am I wrong about what I thought? Am I wrong about how I feel when I read your beautiful posts? You don't have to answer me if you choose not to. I will still be reading your very poetic and wonderful posts."

I think that things start getting very murky when we begin talking about what a Dominant is "Supposed to do". Sure, we all have ideas, but this is about his ideas of what he's supposed to do--I agreed to that a long time ago. Do I always like his ideas? Nope.

He's human, and he doesn't always excel at Dominance. Sometimes, he makes me want to beat my head against a wall. However, I'm no shining star of slavery.
Honestly, his hobby sucks. Seriously. I feel like it wreaks havoc on me--its his way of checking out, and I hate that with a fucking passion. Sometimes I feel neglected, and I don't like that in the least little bit.
Can I deal? Sure.

I don't think that he always takes good care of me, and I know that I don't always give him all of myself. Is that not, however, somewhat the nature of human relationships?

As much as I struggle with the extremes of my emotions, I am...An emotion junky. Pain, rage, joy, sadness, love, experience--they feed me. One of my greatest fears has always been complacency, numbness, distance from feeling. Ironic, given that I feel everything so ridiculously deeply.
Pain tells me I'm alive. Anger reminds me that blood still beats in my veins. Hurt...Hurt keeps me from hurting him. Control keeps me safe and chases my demons away.

He takes care of me by feeding my need. And sometimes that feeding is...Unpleasant. Sometimes he doesn't, and I don't like it. But that's part of being the one who isn't in charge.

And he's there for me. I know that no matter what happens in my life, when the chips are down, when the sky falls, and my world disintegrates into dust beneath my feet, he will be there like the rock that just won't give up. No matter what.

No matter what I am or what I become he will not abandon me--he might beat me and force me to change, but he won't give up on me.
No matter what I tell him or what I am capable of, he will still claim me, still keep me, still love me.

He knows the deepest, angriest, darkest, most twisted parts of me. He knows all that I am and what I have become. And he still wants me. He still keeps me. He still loves me. He accepts me for who and what I am. Always.

There will never be anyone else for me. Never. No other human being will ever step as far inside as he has. Ever. So we deal, and neither one of us is always ideal

There's a whole hell of a lot of something to be said for all that.

Taking care of someone is a subjective experience. Sure, I hate the fucking hobby with all my heart. But it's a hobby, not a deal breaker. In fact, there aren't any deal breakers from my end--that's part of the arrangement.

Love is beautiful and gracious. It is also messy and ugly. Love is peace and war played out on the ultimate battleground of the heart, and it's not always an enjoyable experience.