Tryst Terror

(Note: I published this on FetLife on my PlaySmart profile at the end of May. The camp being discussed was in early June. I'll publish how it turned out, too) 

I'm terrified of going to Twisted Tryst South - leaving a week from tomorrow! Holy crap! But I'm an emotional exhibitionist, so I'm hoping that by sharing my terror, I'll get a better handle on it. Or at least be able to ask for help. Or maybe just not feel the need to hide it. 

My husband went to Tryst last summer, and had an amazing time. I did not go. Because... 

I came down with my mysterious neurological vertigo suddenly after a weekend of camping in March 2009. We spent the weekend lodge-and-tent camping in the Texas hill country, complete with tiny birds pooping on our tents, me falling out of my hammock, and us swimming in a river that was too murky to see the bottom with who knows what kinds if bacteria getting in my ears. Sunday evening after we got home and rinsed everything, as I laid down to sleep, I got suddenly ferociously dizzy, and I have literally never stopped feeling dizzy since. 

My vertigo cost me my job, my career as an IT Manager, our house in Austin, and countless movies and TV shows and live music shows and orgasms and... and... and... There is no part of my life which hasn't been affected. 

Since then, I have said many times "even though I'm 99% sure my vertigo wasn't caused by camping, I will never go camping again."

Then after my husband had such a great time at Tryst last year, I heard myself still saying "never", and I don't like saying "never", and I don't want to be someone who chooses my actions out of fear. So it quietly bugged me, and I quietly wondered if I would, in fact, choose instead to go, just to face my fear. 

Then in February, I exchanged a few flirty emails with someone who I have good reason to trust isn't a destructive sociopath, and found out he was going to Tryst South. I told him my story, explained my vertigo (bottoming in play makes me dizzy) and my camping fear, and expected him to respond with something along the lines of "that sounds hard, good luck with that", and to himself to roll his eyes and think "whatever, ya whiny hypochondriac!"

Instead, his response was astonishing: his reply was along the lines of "I love psychological and physiological play, and pushing people to the edge of their bodies where they are no longer consciously in control of their responses. That sounds sexy to me, and if you'll let me, I'd love to play with you in that space." 

/blink /blink /blink 

What? 

It was a total mind-fuck for me, for someone to find this thing that I hated and feared about myself, and have someone say he found it sexy. And not some crazy psycho, but someone responsible and sexy as fucking hell, who genuinely enjoys pushing physiological boundaries like that. It was ... Astonishing.

My husband could never play with my vertigo like that. Of course not. Everything it has cost me, it has cost him too. It is way too loaded for him to find anything sexy about it.  

But I read him the response, and we both cried at how redemptive it seemed, and I asked him if I went to Tryst, could I be uncharacteristically clingy and needy and possessive of his prioritization at camp? (Usually at events, we do our own things in an egalitarian way, and neither of us is higher priority)

He said yes, he would be there for me to lean on anytime I wish.

So I wrote the sexy sadist back back and said essentially "this is the least sexy, most actually scary thing I can imagine, but I believe it will be okay doing it with you, so yeah, I'll come to Tryst and we'll play with my vertigo."

And then I almost threw up. Isn't what always happens when you make the right choice? /grin

A few weeks later, someone asked what I was most looking forward to about camp. I told her the story, and said "the thing I'm most looking forward to about tryst is arriving, knowing that I'm doing a thing that is so brave that I can't believe it's me doing it, being proud of myself for just getting there. Everything else is gravy."

I assume that what will most likely  happen is that I'll freak out on the way there, then again for an hour after I arrive, then I'll have it all out of my system, and tell the hubby to quit hovering over me like a creeper and go have fun.

Then I'll almost certainly do what I do best at kinky events: run around brain-drunk and loopy without inhibitions and try to smooch all the presenters and everyone else I find attractive. Bottom with the sexy sadist, followed by a long damn recovery nap. Co-top a few sexy masochistic women with their Doms guiding me in the scenes. Offer to let a lot of people grab my boobs. Try to get men with non-American accents to whisper filthy ideas in my ear. 

Y'know, me stuff. Like I do. 

But if you're there at camp, and I seem withdrawn, or confused, or generally look like I'm in deep sub space constantly, this is why. 

Please feel free to tell me you think I'm brave (but only if it's true!), and offer me a hug. That would be great. 

(I got lots of hugs on FetLife for this writing. Everyone was very sweet. And several people sought me out at camp for a hug, too)