A sense of slave sulk

I am struggling to write things.

Not that it appears like that, the posts are coming, the words are flowing;  this is the easy bit.

Not that it is difficult, like all these things that happen, I have bits of memories that disapaear, that come floating back in conversations with my owner, on the edges of dreams, flashing images in the middle of something unrelated and those special memories of moments that I hold close to my heart, some I share I some are too precious, too new or too raw.

The reason it is difficult, is I am struggling.......................I am really struggling, with a real sense of distance, slavesulk, of scary feeling of dislocation, all is not rosy in my slave garden, but I have to write the other stuff before I get to the not so good stuff, and it hurts......it really hurts and and I am lost.

But I have to write, but as yet I have not got to the part for which I cannot find the words and for that I am grateful, because when I have to find those words, I do not know how I will say them. to say them will mean I have to feel and address the emotion behind them and I am scared.