One more step

Who knew that listening to my heart breaking would be what I needed to strengthen my resolve? I’ve listened to a recording I made immediately after things slid sideways twice now. It’s been I think a month now. Time is a bit tricky thing for me. I rarely remember well in time scales.

I’ve also been taking OTC potassium and B12. Potassium I need as my blood pressure meds are stripping me of it and I’m getting daily cramps without it. And B12, taking just one did a huge number on my mood. All the cotton balls and cobwebs in my head vanished. Yes, I know it all points to having a major thyroid disorder.

I’m still doing hardcore distractions. I started giving Isa space again but I’m sick of the tears and I’m tired of waiting for her to be sick of the heartbreak. The irony to all this is, it was her that had the last phone call, the one who said she couldn’t do this anymore, the once who had the final call in the end. She thought it was me causing all the problems.

It’s not that she doesn’t love him, it’s that she loves herself too. Enough to say this isn’t good or healthy for us. Before now I hadn’t given her the chance to grow and learn. I hadn’t given her trust. How do I translate this? I’ve learned to trust my heart.

So much has changed for me. I don’t want to assume anything is still the same. It kinda needs to be double checked. A couple things keep drifting about my mind. That D/s relationships are unique in that they affirm certain conditions. Like a commitment in intimacy not normally found in relationships, a commitment to accept the influence of a partner,  adherence to a hierarchical order, and valuation of set defined values.

There is a whole lot more thought going on in D/s relationships. These past experiences have shown me a weakness of mine. I crave intimacy as if I was drowning. I lost the one person who I believed I could be myself with, tell them anything and not be judged for it. And I held on to that belief with everything I could all the while denying reality was showing the opposite. Gods, honest has a heavy price.

I’m moving forward at a slow pace. Sifting out the fantasy and reasonable, the dreams and reality. I’ve learned about myself if I take to time to examine it. I’m taking the time to repair each hole in me, not just a rush patch job but a well detailed repair work.  He was a giant highlighter that marked all my holes. hehe Oh, the damn puns.

On that note, have a glorious week everyone.


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I’ve got this burning need to write a scathing poem about a special someone being a coward and I know I’d have to lump myself into that as well. I just slump down looking at the paper feeling at a loss as what to say when I’m really very angry at me.

How do I admit that I know my parts are all parts of me? Which means I’m hurting pretty bad emotionally. That I’m in love to the point where the level of sappiness makes my own ears bled? That I’m so lost in discerning reality from fantasy at times because what I want ends up coloring things. That my paranoia has hit the worst I’ve ever been in, well ever. I know that’s the reason I see threats in simple phrases, that under ever rock is a snake – mean that metaphorically. I’m on an internal high alert because the stakes are higher than it’s ever been.

So many good people and I end up wanting to take a pinch off here and there and combine my own person out of them and call him, well, mine, of course. And the sad part is it wouldn’t be fair but to see him as he truly is and not as I wish to see him.

I want the soul searing love and passion that can fry out the brain. I want to touch and to feel and taste every part of him and still want more. I’m at my core extremely greedy. And I know I’ll never ask. To live a life of want but never have – god it’s so weird to be able to answer what one wants. To go up to the order window and place an order without all the restrictions that swim around inside me, to speak out-loud what one wants – gods, how many take that simple process for granted?

How many times have I said I love you and the only response is ‘good girl’?
And oh I get it, dare I demand anything and I get nothing. Of course. Lack of respect..etc.

sigh I don’t want to get wound up. I’m bleeding on the pavement of life here. I need stitches. This is gonna scar deep. I’m a coward is so many ways. Would of, could of and should of all count the loss. Yet the biggest one is, what do I do now?

What do I want out of my submission? What do I want out of life?
What is worth fighting everything for?
What do I believe in?

What can I grab that has the strength to pull me forward?
Love? I don’t think so. It hurts too damn much.
Anger? That just might do it. Pissed off Alpha bitch who wants to chew on your ass for a bit..before she makes you piss your pants in front of her.

I can hear you laughing. It’s okay. It make me chuckle too. It’s a bit weird for me too. Because that is what the world sees for the most part, that Alpha bitch. The softer part, I wore on the outside for such a long time because everyone loved her more, everyone wanted her around, wanted the soft and compliant little thing. And here I am, snatching her away, putting her in her proper place. I feel like an ass for doing it, like one of those ugly angler fishes that dangle the shiny light before swallowing it’s prey.  Except there is no prey and it’s my own pride I’m swallowing down.

I’m the coward. All these parts are me and have always been. They are me. And I’m pretty sure my arguments with myself are far more entertaining that would be otherwise and I may have a different access to my subconscious but it’s a lot in there to work out. But the most interesting thing about this all is I get the choice – yup I get the choice from here on out on who I am going to be.

I have the power. I’ve had that power all along.

You want to know something really weird?
I’m not allergic to trees but boy oh boy Isa sure is!


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It’s about the journey, not the destination

Things are still pretty weird for me. Sense January I’ve had Isa ridding shotgun for most of the time. Silly chick doesn’t like cages. Well, she doesn’t like it when I shove her in one so she gets a fit and slams the damn thing on my shoulder and dares me to move it. Did I forget to mention we fight like sisters?

Switching is still, uncontrollable. Both of us are task oriented; she deals with sex and emotions and I get logic and life. Truth of the matter is, I had all the anger too. It got packed away inside of me to the point where not having feelings was a relief. And I’ve spent the last few months with Isa sitting on my shoulder, sharing herself with me, allowing me to feel anything other than anger.

I’ve also spent the last few months crying my soul out. The both of us actually. Every fresh hurt and pain became a way for older hurts to leak out for the first time. The more I allowed myself to cry, the more I allowed myself to feel, the safer it became to have and experience emotions. I think I understand the depth of the meaning in the phrase cathartic release. I’m not all wringed out yet. Still plenty wet inside.

Sorry Dreamwalker. I needed you to be the sadist you became. And you did so, so very well. I failed to count what this would cost your soul in the process. I don’t know how to make amends for that. I had to let go.

Having a relationship with us is difficult. More so when one is in the dark like my husband was for years. I have to say, he’s tenacious. But even he can make me smile. He’s a damn BRAT! And he keeps me on my toes. The way I feel about him is complicated but I do have feelings about him.

Everything I’ve ever loved, I kept hidden, first from the world at large and then from myself. And keeping it hidden went so far as to hate it. Because in the weird twisted thinking pattern I was stuck in, if I hated it then no one would covet it and take it away from me. No one would realize what I deemed as worthless was actually priceless. It’s a pretty core idea I’ve had and it’s shaped me in numerous ways. And in this case when I say me, I mean the whole, all of us, The Peanut Gallery.

I’m finding myself for the first time.

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This is not a fire drill. This is real life.

Crap. Welcome to Friday. I have a splitting headache and I mean that literally and punnilly.

For a little while I thought I had it all together. Having all the baskets in the same egg and everyone is one and all is everyone. And now I am again standing alone, just one and all others are sleeping under the dome. But I’ve grown. These feelings are itchy and uncomfortable. Jealous of myself strangely, it’s true. Everyone loves Isa but me, I’m left out by the door.

I have a stronger sense of self than the rest. Think that’s from all the time I’ve spent with mop in hand cleaning spills. And now I’m here, alone, again, working to shut off the blaring alarms that have been sounding for a few days now. If I give Isa an inch, she’ll run and take the whole mile and keep on going.

I’m frustrated. I’m reading over the journals and freewrites and checking on work and it’s like reading something from somebody else. I know she wrote it and I know she is ‘me’ in a sense. It’s a pretty big mind fuck. I’m her opposite and it shows. When I show up, people tend to get really offended.

I’m not trying to upset them. I just want things my way and I don’t really bend on that. It’s the constant clash of authority that drives me nuts. And worse is the inability to stay put. I don’t even count the hours missing anymore. I count in days and months and lucky if I can backtrack moments.

I used to think I only came out when there was trouble. Cause Isa leads with her heart every time and there is always a mess to clean up after that. Normally I’m putting her shattered ass back together again, just like I always have.

This time, tripped five massive Red level alarms in the space of hours. A couple of ’em I hadn’t seen tripped in, oh my – a few decades at least. I know my protocols. I know what I am to do. And I know I’ve been in this very spot before. This time, I can feel.

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I’d rather look forward

I almost forget today is Friday. I’ve skipped / ignored quite a few of them already. You know there is something special about gratitude and taking the time to express gratitude. For a moment I’m not looking backwards finding negatives but searching for positives. And it is the positives that I need listed and reminded of far more than most things in my life.

Right now I don’t want to face something out of my past. I just wish I could forget it, bury it back under as I’m struggling with dealing with the emotions of it. But I wonder, is it possible to be grateful of the future as much as one is grateful of the past?

Or is that what hope is made of? Gratitude for and of the future?

I’d like to explore this thought, how to carry gratitude into the future, how to face the future with gratitude. I won’t feel so much like I’m driving life backwards through the rear-view mirror.

I’d like to start plotting my course forwards.


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Does size matter?

Daughter:  Your brain is small.

Mom:  What?

Daughter:  Yeah, your brain is small. Too small for the big ideas and inspiration.

Mom:  My brain is small?

Yeah: Yeah. Do you know dog and cat brains….

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I woke up this morning an’ popped out of bed feeling okay about myself and things. Expressing myself helps.

Despite what we are, I found something funny. I learned what kind of pains are good and what kind of pains are bad. And for an emotional masochist to say this, I think is very good progress. I think I’d rather be wearing stripes on my skin than what I feel inside.

Not all pains are created equal.

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