All my collars are broken.

I always thought that if I ever got a collar it would be one of those heavy metal ones that you need a key to take off and it would be absolutely indestructible unless you fall into a kiln. The kind you have to have forged before you can buy, not just click a button on a website that sells mass produced jewellery manufactured in China. I thought I would have something heavy and cold. It made sense because that's who I am too. Heavy and cold. I thought I would have something that couldn't be damaged no matter what I did to it; something I couldn't get myself out of even if I wanted to.

As it turned out, though, my collar is none of those things.

First of all, it isn't *a* collar. On websites that sell mass-produced goods, it's always better to opt for the twelve pack, especially if suddenly you've stopped caring about how consumerism is wrecking society because of the unbelievable bargain. That's kind of like my submission. It's cheap and you aren't assured any kind of artful quality, but it's too expensive when you realise what you're buying is completely unnecessary. It's an indulgence you can only afford with disposable income, but it's not so decadent that one would think you're rolling in cash. It's the adult equivalent of having just enough money to buy the cheapest, most sugary candy they sell at the corner store. It's a cheap indulgence. Like my submission.

And because it's cheap, we got twelve collars. It bothered me at first. The comfort of having another to replace the one I'm wearing was uncomfortable. I'd rather have the burden of the responsibility of keeping impossible things alive for an unreasonable amount of time. Cheap doesn't break on me. I'm the girl who bought a plastic choker on the side of the street for loose change and wore it around my ankle for two and half years without it being damaged. I put on a gold nose ring one day about two years ago for exactly one evening, I could never find it again. It's still, at large. And so it bothered me that he thought we needed twelve. I was sure I would never make it past one.

But I was wrong.

And I found I don't like things that are unbreakable; I don't like that promise.

He breaks my collar all the time. He pulls me by it and he chokes me with it. He doesn't care at all about breaking it. There's not a moment when he displays care towards it. He doesn't expect me to tend to it either. Not remove it to shower or run or anything. All he expects is that I wear it, no matter what he may do it to it. And so it didn't take long to get through twelve. And all twelve of them are in various states of repair using things I never thought I could use to fix jewellery. I never thought I would ever try and fix jewellery.

But that's kinda like my submission too.

You can be cruel to it. It wants cruelty and disregard. It wants to be treated without care and expected to repair itself and keep functioning perfectly even in damage. That's the impossible expectation that keeps me hooked, not the promise of something unbreakable.

Things break.

And I don't like being an unbreakable thing.