What ifs and regrets

The few weeks since Justin passed have been a roller coaster of emotion. I have received the kink items that I requested from one source, and I have received his wedding ring, collar, boots, and jacket from his dad. They are all here, in the closet or on my dresser. I feel more at peace just being able to touch these items, to feel the energy, Justin’s energy. They are bringing me comfort.

 

I’ve been struggling with the what ifs and regrets. If he had stayed here in May instead of going home, would he still be here? If he had, would I have survived the emotional and physical toll that caregiving while working was taking? I know that the what ifs are futile. There is no answer to them. But I can’t help the circular thoughts.

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Just Not Today

It’s been two weeks since Justin passed away. Three weeks since we last talked via email and text the night of the event that sent him to the hospital. There has been turmoil and even some ugliness involved that I am beginning to let go of. It’s funny the difference between people who were close to Justin, who spoke with him recently, who have known him and been close to him for the last six years versus those who knew him in the past or have only really known him since he left AZ to go back to NC. I have to remind myself that each person only knows their small piece, but not the whole. I also have to remind myself that the Justin who left AZ for NC in May was not the same Justin prior to the deepening depression. He was a man with a mission, a man marking time.

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Peace

I am blessed to have a Tribe that loves me. The question I keep getting is, “What can I do for you?”. The reality is that there is nothing I need other than time. The one thing I want, the one thing I’ve wanted for a very long time, no one can get for me. And that is the way it is.

 

Justin breathed his last three months to the day after John. This house seems overridden with darkness. The world has stopped, but I’m the only one who seems to have noticed. I can’t sleep, but then I do for a bit. I was jolted awake this morning by an image of Justin’s boots, his motorcycle boots that it was my job to take care of, on a shelf with a tag on them and the thought that I had to get them. His boots aren’t here where they belong. And that is weighing on me.

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I Love You..

Some people process by talking. Others process by going inward. I do a little of both of those, but I mostly process after going inward by writing. I’m still processing and will for a long time to come, I think. And so tonight, I am writing. Both to process and to inform. This is not a happy writing and it doesn’t contain good news. In fact, it contains the worst kind of news. But I just don’t have it in me to start contacting people personally, so tonight I write.

 

It has always been amazing to me that people I’ve never met in person want to read what I have to say here. When Justin and I came together right here on fetlife in late 2008, and later announced his move to Arizona, every few months, I would get private messages asking me when I was going to post an update about us. People often told me that they enjoyed watching us because we were so real, and because we had a spark of some sort. It always felt a little intimidating to me, but Justin’s philosophy was to be out in front where people could see him and hear him. And so I was required as his slave to be very public about our lives together.

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My Dance

Although I’ve had a couple of short, fun, play-type situations in the last two years, it’s been just over two years since I’ve had a full scene. When I played prior to that, it was typically pretty heavy, a bit of edge play, usually there was blood, always there was heavy impact, lots of whip action (my favorite thing), and deep energy exchange. Coming out of a consensual non-consent relationship, it’s been a struggle to figure out what my boundaries actually are, what I want from play, and what my limits feel like they should be. Outside of the typical limits most consensual players have, my only true limit has been no sensory deprivation – I can’t have my face covered or I can have a panic attack. But redefining limits is something I’m struggling with a bit.

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Sex, SM, and the newly single girl

Disclaimer: this writing is me thinking out loud. It’s not about fishing for compliments, it’s about processing some stuff. While it’s always nice to get those compliments, I’m much more interested in helpful suggestions/advice, and thoughts from people who experience this stuff in a similar way.

I had an interesting conversation Friday night with someone whose friendship and support and words of wisdom have been important to me over the last couple years. We were talking about life, death, and the end of relationships, and where I feel I am in my healing process. In the course of the conversation he said, “You need to get laid.” I laughed and said, “Well that’s a given, but I’m not interested in sex with a random person, so just how do I go about that?” He spoke then of only doing things and interacting with people who raise his vibration, not lower it. I’ve been ruminating on that thought.

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Life Moves On

I’ve had a rough few months dealing with grief and emotions and the difficulties of life. But I’ve had some revelations during the last few weeks that have begun to lead to some positive outcomes. And life is looking brighter.

I’ve been learning about caregiver guilt. It seems that when one has been a caregiver for a long time, one begins to feel responsible for the success and failure of the patient. Add in surrendered slave, and it becomes one big ugly emotional mess. I’ve been practicing the art of letting go. I’ve been working through guilt and I’m finding relief on the other side of it.

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In the Shadows

People come into our lives for a reason. Sometimes, we never know the reason and sometimes we can figure it out. I’m learning a lot this week about love and letting go. I’m trying hard not to own things that aren’t mine to own, and to take responsibility for those things that are mine to own. The latter is typically easy for me to do, but the former is much harder.

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An uncollared slave or just a girl?

From March 1, 2009, until the evening of May 24, 2014, I lived as a collared slave. My life focus centered on my master. Over time, I became conditioned to always think in terms of what he wanted. If someone invited me somewhere, my response was always, “I need to ask permission.” When I shopped, I didn’t buy things I necessarily liked, I bought things he liked. When we were apart, I texted to let him know I arrived and texted to let him know I was leaving. I cooked and ate because he wanted to eat, not because I was hungry. When I was assigned travel for work, I always said, “I need to check the schedule at home before I can commit.” I always fixed his plate first at gatherings, got his drink, made sure he had no further need of me before attending to my own needs. Even in downtime, I was ever alert to orders and requests. Continue reading

Finding Normal

I was asked earlier today if I’ve written anything else about what is happening in my life, and I realized that I haven’t. I’ve been hibernating, and that is something I promised myself I wouldn’t do much of. There’s a lot of stuff that has been going on for awhile now, and I’m still really processing the changes that have come. But I realize that things have been a bit cryptic, and so thought writing might both clear some things up for people who have followed our journey from the beginning and maybe help me with some of my own processing. This writing may ramble a bit as it’s sort of stream of consciousness, so read at your own risk. Continue reading