I have a feeling, dear readers, you will get tired of me long before I tire of this topic. I almost posted again in the middle of the night, but I knew sleep was what I needed more than blogtherapy.
I woke up this morning and didn’t cry. I’m too numb. I cried all of my tears last night. I soaked my pillow. I wept quietly. I talked to myself. I verbalized my darkest thoughts.
“I’m alone and empty, alone and empty, alone and empty,” I chanted softly, over and over again.
“I hurt, this hurts, why does it have to hurt so much?” I moaned.
And then, as always, I found a little bit of hope to hold on to. I could imagine seeing Him again and feeling His arms around me. I cried more because I know my hope may only be wishful thinking. I am grieving and I know it. I don’t want to survive this grief, I don’t want to move past this grief. What if I move past my grief to find that I’ve moved past loving Him? That numbness is easier?
I was weak last night. I emailed Him. Nothing major. I didn’t pour out my feelings like I’m doing here. I wouldn’t do that to Him. I expect no response, but I never do. Not because I’m not worthy of one, but because He’s stronger than I am and has so much more to focus on. That’s the point of this, right? Redirect His focus to where it needs to be.
Apparently, I haven’t cried all my tears yet. But I’m still numb. And hollow.
Part of my heart is missing. I’m incomplete, and I know many won’t understand this feeling.
Before Him, I was a fully functioning, half in love, masturbating woman. Many of you remember that. I had my issues, but everyone does. I had no idea that there was a piece of me missing, that I wasn’t complete. And then I found D/s, I fell into my submissive nature, I opened myself up to that – with Him. As my Dominant, my Sir, He fulfilled me in ways I didn’t know existed and could never have fathomed that I needed.
A part of Him wrapped around my heart. His love and His Dominance filled that unknown empty part of me. Now that He has stepped back (rightly so), that hole is glaringly obvious, gaping like a wound, tattered. That part of Him that was intertwined with me was ripped away and only ragged edges are left.
The wound could mend itself, knitting together to leave a scar. But I don’t want to walk this earth incomplete and scarred. I would rather have the missing piece back and stitch it in slowly. There would still be a scar, but I would be whole.
The clear-headed among you will point out that maybe, one day, someone else could fill the whole. And right now, I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone else. I want the man who makes me laugh in the middle of my tears. The man who believes that I am an amazing woman simply because I do what’s right in this life. I want the only man who can compel me to kneel and obey, to submit. I want the only man who I have ever been able to show every vulnerability I possess, lay myself bare for, and trust with my life. I want the fucking fairy tale. And until He tells me there is no chance of it happening, I will continue to want only Him.
But, in the meantime, I will respect His needs. I will sit back and try to hold the hole in my heart closed and staunch the bleeding a little. I will stay numb because the pain is in the background and the tears are lessened. It’s the best I can do right now.