I’ve kept what I’m about to say rolling around in my head all week. I needed to make sure it wasn’t some flight of fancy, some temporary brain damage that would be completely undone with a look, a word, or a memory. All these days later, I think I’ve entered a new world. I’ve got a lot to say about this, so, as always, have patience with me.
The other night, when I finally let the anger out, I lanced a festering wound. The moment I finally admitted how angry I had been by the circumstances over the past seven weeks, I felt better. Did he read it and feel bad, become angry, or hate me? God, I hope not. To cause him to have a negative emotion bothers me. But do I worry about it anymore? Not too much.
This entire time, I have been scared.
Scared that what I know we both felt wasn’t real. Scared that I would be forgotten. Scared that I would do something to make him hate me. Scared that if I moved on with my life I was breaking my word when I said I would wait.
I’m not scared anymore.
At the end of his personal nightmare, if he can’t remember my love that will be very sad. But I can’t worry about that anymore.
If he hates me, then our love probably never had a shot at making it anyway.
Putting down my grief is not breaking my word, it’s surviving and, hopefully, thriving.
Let me be clear about something. My love for him still sits firmly in my heart. If he called tomorrow, I would fall all over myself to be with him. From where I stand in this moment, I think it will be true six months from now or more. The reality is that I can’t say what my life will be like six months from now, but if I am unattached, yes, I would kneel for him again without hesitation.
I don’t like the feeling of “moving on,” but I can say I’m moving forward. I’ve laid down my grief. I’m still a little bruised. If I probe my feelings too much, I feel the pain, but as long as I leave it alone, I feel ok. I’m not scared anymore. I’m not overwhelmed and lost anymore. I’m not devastated; I’m no longer a grieving mess.
I did something momentous the other day. I logged out of our Tumblr account.
I haunted that site for weeks, posting pictures that I knew would turn him on, posting pictures that spoke to me about our love, and posting every picture of a majestic lion that I came across. It became a shrine to something that no longer exists. I couldn’t bear the thought of logging out and leaving the space. I can’t remember the password, and I knew that if I logged out, I’d never get back in on my own again.
But I don’t want to go back there unless I’m invited in. Do I anticipate that happening? Not really. But I can’t stay in that space – the physical or mental space – anymore. I held on to it for too long, and it damaged me. I posted for a long time because I hoped he would look at it and smile. I hoped it would bring him comfort. But what about my comfort? What was there to bring me comfort?
I cried before and after logging out. But not the wrenching sobs I would have cried a week ago. I cried the tears of a woman saying a final good bye. And then I dried my tears and signed up for my own Tumblr.
I have a unique point of view (as if you hadn’t figured that out, already), and I like expressing it visually.
A Sexual Being – click it, click it! You know you want to!
I’m officially addicted, often posting from my phone throughout the day. My youngest almost saw a shot of a woman with balls all the way to her nose this morning. I have to be more careful.
If he was willing, I would be happy to be his friend, especially through the mess that is his life. He’s smarter than me about these things, so I know he’s not willing. Once this is over, if one or both of us has moved on from the other, I would still be happy to be his friend because he’s a good man, one of the best I’ve ever known. But I can’t predict the future, and I have no idea what he wants – from me or for himself. A few days ago, I would have twisted myself into knots trying to figure it out, worried it would never happen.
I won’t do that anymore.
There is no one to take care of me but me. I may be the quintessential submissive woman who craves a man who can Dominate her, care for her, and protect her, but until that day comes, I’m all I’ve got. I won’t let my own grief destroy me; I can’t.
To be sure, I’m not interested in a new relationship. Any one who gets mixed up with me would be a rebound, and I don’t want to do that to myself or them. I’d rather lay low for a while until I’m ready – the hard part is not worrying about how hard it’s going to be even when I am ready.
Let me be clear, I have very strong urges. I haven’t had sex since September, y’all. Could I use a good fuck? Oh hell yeah. Do I want a Sir? No thank you – I can’t completely submit without love, and I’m not even gonna go there right now.
Vanilla is fun to play with. I have a very good vanilla friend – he makes me smile a lot, and he’s completely safe to be with; thousands of miles will do that. An old flame apparently feels a little lonely because he’s sent me random text messages lately. I don’t quite know how to explain that I’m a different woman now. It doesn’t matter; my feelings for him are ambivalent at best. He’s a good fuck, though and fun to tease.
D/s players are good friends and great to learn from. That’s about it. My submissive sisterhood has supported me from the beginning, and I adore everyone I’ve met so far. Dominant men make me nervous, but as long as I keep them in the realm of friends, I can handle it.
I’m sexual, but not searching. I have a strong need, but I’ll let my head lead me not my cunt and definitely not my heart (not yet).
And I really need to figure out this little girl side of me.
I had a change of heart about yet another song this week. It’s amazing what can happen when your mind is opened to new possibilities – you start to see everything in a new light.