Winter

They came over me, the ghosts of my past. Flooded through my heart the minute I drove into town. I walked into the first house I ever felt like was home and felt his hands close over my heart.

My body curled into the couch where he kissed me with a passion that scorched my soul. I showered, velvety suds rinsing down the curves of my body. Like all of the promises he made me over the course of our relationship. I lay in the bedroom five steps away from the walls that contained our affair.

The next day my heart only had a small tear. Something I could ignore. Something I did ignore.

Laughing with a friend in the car, watching beautiful cotton clouds in the sky. We pass a house, one that reminds me. Someone else is nearby. And suddenly I remember the texture of his hair in my fingers. The ice blue of his eyes drinking me as I writhed underneath him. I remembered what it felt like swimming in him. I remembered every false word that took root in my heart. Growing there, a barren tree of promises.

A lightening struck forest.

Here in my chest.

There are moments that it feels like I’m breathing in ice. Cold burn searing my lungs.

Tonight it doesn’t matter how many blankets I pile on this bed. It’s freezing next to me.

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Winter

Release

You let me go and it felt for so long like I was Drowning

It felt as if the pressure of my own heartache was compressing my organs into Ash

I was so blind at the time to see the truth of the situation.

That I am supposed to love you. Was supposed to? Who knows. I do love you. And your body is like art for me. It reminds me to feel, it devastates and lifts me.

I still wake in the morning and think of you, silly right? I still send you happy for your day.

But in the moments I need you most, you aren’t there. Who knows that you ever would be.

A revelation came to me today, I was becoming overwhelmed by the amount of text messages I was getting. Hoping with each new alert I would see your number.

Not your name because its far to dangerous to have you saved in my phone.

All of these messages were from people who have always been by my side. Before you, through you, after you.

Then I realized what I was doing, I realized that I’m in my favorite place. A metaphorical ocean of love and I’m pining for the shore.

I wrote this a few days ago and thought about deleting it. But, it’s an honest description of how I felt. I always want to detox and cleanse after I’ve been hurt. Unfortunately I did that with previous writings that I now miss. I’ve done that my entire life.

In this much calmer mid frame I’m in, I am happy to report multiple things.

I just bought my ticket to Hawaii for training in 2014! Whoop. 9 days 8 nights. Maybe this French/Irish girl will get a tan.

I graduate this weekend, finally! After a year of waiting. I have the most adorable dress and my eye on a new pair of shoes! I deserve it I think.

My first full pay check is this week. My first one in a loooooooooong time.

Thursday my friend and I are going to New Orleans to hear a band play. It’s always a journey with this girl.

Friday is hell day so I’m not talking about it.

But overall my week is awesome. I have to miss a lifestyle class I’ve been waiting for. But, maybe it’s good for me to put some distance currently.

Sending you lots of love, cause you gotta get it somewhere.

A

Release

Confession time

So to start this off, I have a bottle of sangria in my belly right now. Is this the best time for blogging?

Fuckifiknow

#1: this whole no orgasm issue sucks fuckall. I want to cum? I don’t care? My vagina is in revolt? Or maybe I really am the ice queen and I just defrosted for a short while.

#2: I feel ugly as fuck. Seriously. I don’t feel attractive at all and it shows. Even though, even fucking though, last night I felt people checking me out. Then I get home, try and take some selfies. I hate everything: my face, my hair, my boobs, the lines I’m getting around my eyes. I get a few I like. After literally 50 fucking pictures, I post one on fet and wake up to a message from someone saying the picture is shit.

It’s shit.

And I liked it and I thought I looked nice. But it’s shit. So it makes me feel like shit. Because my self worth is in the fucking toilet. Fuck the toilet it’s in the sewer now.

# … What the fuck number am I on? 3: Something’s got to be wrong with me. Really. There’s nothing to expound on. I’ve got to be a delusional cunt.

#4: I still can’t believe I had to close my business. For fucks sake.

#5: it would be so easy to do this every night, drink myself into god damn oblivion. Just the fan moving air over my skin feels incredible. I’d like to go swimming.

#6: But, I won’t do this every night. Because I have enough wrong with me. I don’t need to turn into an emotional alcoholic grenade.

#7: I’m tired of being the brave one. The problem solver.

#8: But, when I close myself off there comes a time when I feel like I could literally burst. That there is so much inside of me. Love, caring, compassion, insight. If I don’t find ways to give it away I might pop.

#9: Hopefully I can sleep through the nightmares. Because fuck me if I imagine there is anyone who will take my call.

In the mean time. I really do hope things are great for you. Really.

Confession time

Pursuit

There was this moment, so many weeks ago. I stared down the hall feeling a bit like a deer in head lights. My heart, thumping against my chest. Wicked wicked thoughts running through my head.

I saw him, we made eye contact, I turned on my heel and ran. A quick glance back proved my butterflies right. He was chasing me. I squealed with utter delight and dashed into another room. People probably thought I was ridiculous, a grown woman running away from her lover.

I don’t run quickly in the best of times, I surely wasn’t a gazelle in my wedges and dress. He stalked me down the hall and through a common area. Fires licking behind his eyes, I cornered myself on accident. Only space between us. I battled between keeping the game going and curling around his ankles.

Battled with myself.

It literally only took moments, but the pure joy I felt. The freedom in knowing he wanted me enough to pursue me as I ran. It was a heady experience and I still giggle about it. That moment was a perfect example of the joy I felt being his.

Please know I’m not typing this in a place of regret and remorse. It’s a wonderful, fond, beautiful memory that I cherish.

It leads me to thinking though, *snarky smile here* the over thinker thinking, how unexpected. I so desire this sort of playfulness in my life. In my relationships. I desire someone who will chase me, pull me into dark rooms and have moments of passion. I want that. I want to capture the joy of simply being. Being exactly who and what I am.

I want to be dizzy with love. The way I am when someone is dizzy with me. Not when there are condescending undertones and friends rolling eyes. I want something honest.

I want someone to give me what I give them!

It’s incredible how light my heart is today after the wonderful healing Sunday I had. It felt amazing to work, grocery shop, cook, then laugh with my room mate and her boyfriend. I feel myself filling out my body again. My soul reaching out into my limbs.

Something else I’m feeling. Excited. I know! This is my favorite time of year, it all starts 9/9. My best friends birthday, my birthday, Samhain, Yule. Exciting times are approaching.

There is no regret in my heart tonight, moments tinged with sadness. A face, touch, voice missed.

But I am whole. I remain kind and loving. Tonight I am remembering to be gracious and show gratitude. I am becoming reacquainted with myself and that’s a wonderful place to be.

Love and light.

A

Pursuit

Sunday night

After Saturday I was done: with BDSM, submission, dating, everything. Id made up my mind that I was going to work, find a bunch of fill-my-time hobbies and that’s it.

Sunday I sent out an S.O.S. I needed something. To be held, to just close my eyes for a minute and think of nothing else but the arms around me. To bury my nose in the chest of someone who cared. Even if just for a little while.

Just a little while.

“So would it be inappropriate to request some cuddle time from you?”

That was my text and I was not disappointed. Less than a handful of hours later my friend was there at the door. Concerned I’m sure, having been made aware of the previous nights unease. Though in hindsight what set me off about being at the club, was hearing someone else jokingly refer to him as Sir. Silly isn’t it? Such a simple word, something he doesn’t even like to hear. All I could think was “Daddy doesn’t like that word.” But, I’m not his and he is not mine.

Regardless of my feelings about Saturday, as I lay curled up in the arms of my friend fighting the sobs crushing my chest, just talking. Talking. Talking. I realized I could say anything I wanted and they would listen. I could say anything and I did. It opened up and spilled out. I revisited things even after we discussed them, I listened. We shared.

Hours passed, then I finally relaxed. We discussed the lifestyle. What it was like when we started, what it would be like in 50 years. Why I don’t want to go back. Why I’m so finished. Why I’m going to miss it and why I won’t. We talked about me being broken, raped, used, neglected, forgotten, passed over, denied, abused. We talked about my abuse. My family and friends. About why I moved here to this new town.

Then we just lay there quietly, warm arms around my waist. Kind hands on my cheek, on my cheek. A bigger deal than you realize, for me to allow someone to touch my face. I was held and it was ok to talk. It was ok not too. I didn’t get a boat of “what you should do is” or “if that was me”. I got an understanding nod of the head and my knee patted. I had a friend share a platonic intimate loving space.

I fell asleep in bed after an entire afternoon and evening of being cared for. Of sharing laughs so hard we cried. Of crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. I realized the true depth of a friendship. So I’m here today, a little less battle weary. A little less hurt. I still miss him, that man. The one I think about at strange parts of the day. I still hope and wish for a text or phone call. But maybe the need isn’t as severe? Maybe after being allowed to poke around the rubble I found some peace?

Maybe one day ill want to be a part of the dynamic I love so much. Maybe ill trust it again. Maybe so.

Sunday night

Moving day

It started with lots of energy and as I pulled out of my hometown and turned onto the interstate I dissolved into tears.

I’m moving.

Two hours away from my family, my friends, the only town I’ve known as an adult.

I’m exhausted.

My back is spasming right this very minute. Luckily I had a moving van, and my own two hands. Making more than one trip would have been a disaster. My mom helped me as much as she could.

I’m still mourning.

The end of one phase of my life: a relationship, a friendship, the two year anniversary of my dads death. The swift determination that youthful foolishness can no longer be a part of my existence.

I am hopeful though.

Excited even.

Looking forward to this next amazing chapter.

So for now I’m just keeping my head up high and moving forward.

Moving day

A letter

Dear D,

I had this wild fantasy for a minute that this was all a cruel joke. That you and my loved ones had gotten together in this elaborate scheme to throw me off. That your vicious words were only a ruse to lead me astray.

Reality isn’t that though, is it? Because you let me go, before it got too serious. You caught your head and determined I was unworthy. That I need space to work through the “obsessive, overwhelming, light speed” partnership I created.

This is my letter to you, that I’m sure you’ll never read.

You never fell in love, so I can’t say this product is from you falling out of it. But you told me you did, didn’t you?

You told me I was amazing, everything you’ve ever wanted, the girl you dreamt of, your soul mate. Interesting that I’m the one with the problem.

Me.

Not you.

I’m mostly writing this because after three days of calm. Even after I found the profile you created on a dating website hours after we broke. I’m angry.

Angry enough to call you these nasty words slithering on my tongue.

It’s just ….

You’ve already taken so much of my energy. And writing this is the last of my process, this is me letting you go completely.

My best,
A

A letter