Writing an Unsendable letter

I’m sneaking out to write this. Sorta a unsendable letter in keeping with the rules Autumn enforces. Though I think she is right on this, that no good can come from me sending this. If he wants to be left alone, email him is out of the question. But here I can write freely, somewhat. I know he has read this blog at least once. That knowledge had me in full panic. Not because he read it but because he denied ever reading anything I wrote. Maybe that changed after he said he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t want me to know for whatever reason.

Google+ is sunsetting in a few days time. I’m in full panic. All of his words are going to be lost, all his poetry, all of what I have desperately held on too will be lost. Half of his work is already gone with groups closing. It feels like a slow death. I am losing my past, my guidance, my inspiration, everything. I know its not wise to put someone in that place but even with all my troubles, he was, is daily reading. And soon it will be gone. Autumn attempted to ween me off. Its not going well.

Soon it will be done cold turkey. I’m scared. Even if I couldn’t maintain a relationship with him, I at least had access to his works. Not ideal but better than nothing at all. He hasn’t published any chapbooks. I would have bought them, all of them.

Now I’m facing a world without even the stability his words brought. The problem with why I am still holding on is because in a way I am where i want to be. To worship the man I love with all my being, to adore, to be at his feet learning his wisdom, to hold to him inside of my being as I struggle to that better person that his life theough example encourages me to be. That’s the kind of slave I am. Except I have DID and Autumn refuses to be a slave. She sees danger long before I do.

I know this can consume me. In a way, I want to be consumed by the devotion. But I am only speaking for myself and not all the other parts.

I am losing this when G+ shuts down for good. I will only have my memories. I know I have to let go. That I should have let go a long time ago. But now I know what I am, what submission means to me, how far I want go, how much contact I require, how much I need someone in physical life. I am grateful to learn these lessons. Yet I mourn my loss. And it is my loss as I, we, failed him over and over again.

I know it wasn’t good match. I have too many issues, caused too much trouble, did wrong too many times, wore out his patience. I wasn’t alone in this but I bare the repercussions of it. I am left in silence of a past looking on, rooting for his success, rooting for his dreams and wishing him happiness at every turn.

It is unknown if I will ever met anyone like him or someone to draw out that depth of desire. Autumn will safeguard against this. I know she believes this is a dangerous path to walk. I still believe it is possible to walk this safely.

I don’t need Autumn’s reminders of all that went wrong. His absence in my life is more than enough testament. My own lack of obedience damns me. I have enough to flog myself with for the rest of my life. Somehow I will put that away. Somehow I will let that go.

We ran. I ran. She ran. For what reason, there were many. I wasn’t ready for any of it. I didn’t understand myself nearly as much. Fear does live inside of us. But so does laughter and joy. As does happiness and pleasure.

What I really want to tell him is this; I hope you are safe, well and happy out there. I hope you look up at the stars at night. I hope you stop to smell the flowers when you can. I hope you still love and are loved in return. I hope you refuse to let me and my past damage your future. I hope you find those girls of your dreams. I hope you keep going forward. I hope you never give up. I hope you keep writing because you are brilliant and the world will lose much if you choose otherwise. I hope that you have enough. I hope all your good dreams come true.

Truth is I’m not doing okay.

I’m just not doing okay. I feel like I lost something essential to my existence. There is no drive to do anything. Very small acts of service are barely keeping me afloat. I made Red Lentil Dal yesterday, homemade and it was good. I was proud and pleased that my husband liked it. He enjoys good food and it made him happy. It’s one of the few things I do that I hear anything close to praise and I recognize how much I need that, that praise. I have so many issues with praise it’s ridiculous. The rest of my life is empty.


A few months back I cut a good deal of my on-line social life off. I stopped writing. I stopped blogging. I closed my blogs. I’ve been running hard out away from someone when I’ve been conflicted about them. I know I’m all messed up in the head. I know I don’t react like expected. I know I’ve created more mess and dramas in my life than I ever wanted.


I abandoned the belief that I am a slave. I abandoned that part of me as well. I am struggling to function now. I feel like I hacked off my arms. I lost something that day.


I took the idea that maybe I’m too co-dependent and that needs working on. I took the idea that I can survive without a Master and I am finding now that my purpose has always been something set outside of myself and never for myself. In rejecting being a slave, I’m not even able to find comfort in the idea of taking care of myself because I’m kept in holding for a Master to come. I find I have no comfort standing alone. I find purpose fleeting once accomplished. The task on hand only matters when it has nothing to do with me.


I know I’m not doing okay. This isn’t like depression, not any depression I’ve ever experienced. It’s like I’ve been infected with the “I don’t care” but it’s focused on me. I know I’m still grieving losing Master.
Somehow I got too tied up into what he thought of me. But I rejected being a slave. But I rejected him. But I rejected all of this. I rejected embracing being co-dependent. I rejected and I rejected and I rejected.


What’s the point? I just not doing good. I don’t know how to kick my ass enough to care. I don’t know how to break out of this cycle. I don’t know how to give a shit about myself. Fake it till you make it hasn’t started working. I’m faking it badly. I’m tired. What if I was wrong? What if I can’t cut that part of me without losing everything that I am? What if I really do need a Master?


How can I be wrong when being a slave is a choice? I choose to walk away. I choose to cut that part of my life out. I choose. I’m finding I didn’t have the parts to replace what I cut away and they are either atrophied or not growing fast enough.

Five days after my birthday…

She watches a man place a well-thorned rose with the softest of petals in my window and wonders. She walks to the window and steps outside the retrieve the rose making sure she was alone before cupping her hands around it gently and lifting it to her nose as she inhales and smiles knowing there is a good place to keep it… and whispers so softly, “Everything deserves love”.

True that day and every day that’s come after.

Utter Obedience

Offerings from our Writing Workbook: February 2016
by: The Peanut Gallery which is all of us. 

Utter Obedience

I had no conception of what it meant. I had no way for forming it’s shape.

I was agreeing and not understanding one bit. He has a point, I am swift to anger and that needs to change. I miss his hand on my life. I should have asked a ton more questions. Questions I more likely will never have answers too. Like why did he force girls away? What did they lie about? Why did they not want to go? Is that what I could expect too? What made the good ones, good?

His expectation of obedience within his limits upon meeting made it hard to open up and talk. It was domineering. It was not conducive to inspiration. It was traumatic. I’m not the only girl who’s ran. Plenty have run before me and plenty will run after me.

Only now I am starting to understand. Utter Obedience to him is the price to stay in his life. Is he worth it now that I know what it means?

Why am I not worth bending for? Oh but he did bend, very much so. But not on that single topic. I see now he gave me chance after chance after chance. I was blind to the meaning.

My first fears have bloomed, come to fruit and ripened. My love has caused hurt. My presence has caused hurt. I have caused hurt. I have caused my own hurt as surly as if I beat my head against a brick wall.

I didn’t understand that I didn’t understand.

Utter Obedience carried out to the max degree is a terrifying thought. I ran. How can he want this from me, from any women?

I never stopped till now to ask questions. Do I want to give obedience, utterly? Does it scream in me to obey?

I can only weep at my answers.

Now I am numb to whole idea of submission. I am numb to the idea of obedience. I am numb to the idea of D/s. I am numb to it all. I see my life stretched out as a wide yawn of time and I am afraid it’s bleak. I lost a dream at his feet.

The reality of it is far more than I can handle. I should be glad to know the reality of myself. Yet I am sad. My innocence was ripped away. I am afraid I will go on walking in life with a hole inside me that has no hope of ever being filled.

I am not naturally obedient. I am a rebel, a contrarian. I ask why before I do. I look at the issue, topic, task before I decide if I am going to follow through.

You told me it was forever. That I could never have another Master, that not even in death was this bond broken. Why? That even if the silence stretched out forever, I could never seek another. Why?

All I had to do was obey. It sounds simple. It sounds easy. Yet it’s not easy, it’s not that simple. It is hard hard work. Having to tear down each wall, each part of me that I try to protect. That I would be open and vulnerable, flayed wide open without a safe word, without a safety net, nothing to keep me safe.

He’s always on. He never second guesses himself. He doesn’t see how to do this differently. I thought maybe I could show him. I was wrong. Instead he showed me so much more. He exposed me to me and left me soul scared.

Live. Be happy. Pursue your dreams. Obey your desires. Obey your desire to serve.

I am having to learn a lot more. Learn to speak honestly. Learn what honesty is. Learn to live with integrity. There is really nothing more to do but learn the lessons and go on. I am not the same as I once was. I can never go back to being that woman again. She is gone.

A Hidden History

There is another blog that we own that I tend to ignore its existence, Formely Aries’ slave. Isa wrote in it from July 2007 till June 2015. It’s a raw and rough record of two D/s / M/s relationships. It’s an incomplete record of chaos, pain and heartbreak. Isa moved it to private at some point. I know parts of it was here and then removed. I’ve been looking it over, seeking clues to the past. I want to say it’s enlighting but it’s not. It is a bitter pill to swallow actually. This was us at that point in time.

But a lot is recorded, even the day our heart broke so badly that the body physical spiralled out of control with rising high blood pressure. I look back now and suspect something rather sinister was at play. Everything Isa was, was tied so deeply to an identity of a slave that walking away meant death. Fighting an unconscious death wish isn’t fun.

Somewhere in those years, I came out again to fill in for her as she collapsed internally. I’m talking about this because I’ve got a problem I’m still trying to solve. What do I do with Isa? What do I do with her desires and her natural inclination to submit, or rather to revolve around a single person as her all?

If anything that blog is proof Isa can recover and love and trust again. If anything that blog shows how much she’s grown. Dreamwalker’s tale isn’t included in that blog and not much of it is here on this one. But it’s all over her poetry, the whole story is written in every line of her poetry. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I know she was thinking ‘third times’ a charm’. I’m not sure she ever asked, what kind of charm.

And it occurs to me that I could be asking a different question: what to do with Me? Considering it is me that prevents Isa from being herself as she sees herself. Only one of has a choice, oddly. Isa is what she is, it’s not a matter of choice. But, me, I have a choice. Choice also means having responsibility. What do I do with the part of us that I feel is still unhealthy?

You know, it’s too ingrained, Isa as a submissive/slave. It’s too much a part of her foundational identity. So how do I nurture her towards a proper and healthy expression of her submission, safely without destroying the integrity of the identities in the rest of our system? How do I do that while keeping us safe?

An excerpt from Formely Aries’ slave

First Collar
Posted on September 17, 2010 by Isabella LeCour

While reading a posting about D/s lifestyle and collaring I had a flash back to my first experience of a collar. It happened back in high school. Me and my boyfriend at the time were holed up in my bedroom. We were talking and going through my stuff, for something, needle and thread I think. He reached out and grabbed a black velvet ribbon, deftly wrapped it around my neck and admired it. He told me he liked to see me that way. So simple the words he used, the eloquent expression of desire. I was so moved by his desire that I turned that ribbon into a choker style necklace and wore it proudly the next day. I remember taking it off when we broke up. It had become the symbol of our relationship and I never wore it again once we broke up. But I have never forgotten the experience nor have I been able to shake a preference for chokers. Every choker I wear, I remember him and that velvet ribbon.

It may not be a first collar in a traditional sense in the lifestyle. We were just teenagers with no sense of BDSM, at least I was not and I was the one more sexually experienced. It is instead the first time I submitted to another’s will with a passion. It does strike me as ironic that this memory would be enshrined in myself. I wanted to give everything I was or ever would have to him. Those were my first stirrings of my deep dark submissive passions.

Those feeling were unleashed. I sought them out and like-minded people. I have wore collars for other’s since then. The feeling of belonging is similar yet nowhere near as strong. The shear rightness of it, of my submission has never changed. Kink has been in my soul for a long time.