Not sure what to call this post.
It’s shark week and I’m feeling mushy as fuck right now.
Let’s get this over with.
I have an odd relationship with love. It bothers me. It confuses me. I usually fight against it. Being in love for me means that I’m weak. I’m vulnerable. Someone outside of me now has my heart and can do with it what they please. It means they’ve earned my trust. It’s scary as shit.
I still can’t say that I loved my ex-Daddy, not because I didn’t…but because saying it out loud releases it into the Universe. I’ve given power to it.
When my husband and I started dating, about four months in I had to consult with my aunt to see if I was in love. It was a strange feeling. I cared for him. But did I love him? What the hell was love exactly? Was it like the movies? I hoped not, those people were fucking hopeless. Was I supposed to be head over heels? I didn’t feel that way either. I approached being in love the same way I approach everything in life- with intense scrutiny and a healthy dose of skepticism. Six months into our relationship and my husband took a deep breath and said he loved me. By that time, I had analyzed the situation and just laughed. “Of course you do,” I told him. I had already figured that out. Duh.
Being in l-word with the ex-Daddy bothered me because it happened so fast. And hard. And relentlessly. There was no time to psychoanalyze myself. I became that girl who grinned silly when I saw a message from him. I didn’t expect it. I couldn’t control it. It didn’t help that he projected those same feelings back to me. Neither one of us could say it to each other. We knew the consequences.
He was the second person outside of family that I’ve ever l-worded. Period. Just like my submission, my love does not come easily.
(Full confession: I started off typing this post feeling fine and now…thinking about him…tears are in my eyes. Goddamn it. See? This is why you shouldn’t fall in love.)
My friend was trying to explain how she felt about a couple she had a threesome with. “I could never be with her as an individual, but I still really, really care about her, you know?” she texted. She was having trouble articulating how she felt. I got it though. “Sounds like you are polyamorous. And they are too,” I wrote back. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” she conceded. I can tell other people when they’re in love. I can validate that for them. I can tell them to not be scared, give them rational advice, hold their hands when they make the leap.
I can’t do it for myself though. It’s not how I’m built.
I’m not sure how to end this post and that’s rare. I feel broken. Is that normal? Post-break up? I didn’t feel that way with my first Master. I mean, I was upset, but not to this extent. Nor when the play partners I really liked fell through.
A kinkster that I’m friends with asked me if I had taken a bubble bath recently. He knows it’s a favorite activity of mine and usually I take one every night. I confessed I hadn’t taken one since Sir and I called it quits. He asked if I had been in littlespace. Nope. “No coloring, no Disney, nothing? No orgasms??” he queried. I was almost ashamed when I confirmed that I had been hiding from myself. No coloring, no Disney, no orgasms.
It hurts to be turned on. That can’t be normal, right? I don’t feel worthy enough to be turned on. Wait…that doesn’t make sense. But that’s how I feel. I don’t feel safe enough to feel little. The world feels scary and I can’t shake the feeling. It’s stupid–I’m a boss lady. I make decisions and bark orders all day long. I conquer and defeat for a living. I shouldn’t be scared. Right?
I feel prickly. My battle weary armor is back on and it’s fucking heavy. I fight the urge to be bitchy and withdrawn all day long. I’m a fantastic actress- so I grin and crack jokes with my coworkers and fall apart in the bathroom on my lunch break. Close my eyes, take deep breaths, push those nasty feelings deep inside.
I then reapply my makeup, continue working, go home, be a wife and a mother and then fall apart in my cold, empty bed. I cried in the shower yesterday. Ugly crying, too. Hands on chest because it hurt so fucking bad crying. It only lasted 60 seconds. But still.
I made a new subbie friend. 🙂 I asked her today if she thought Doms hurt the same way subs do. She said they did and I want to believe her. But I can’t. He can’t possibly be hurting the same way I am. I’m angry at him. I’m angry that he was who he was and that’s who I fell for. That he was mature and responsible and was honest when he couldn’t devote time to our relationship. I fucking hate that he and I had a mature conversation about ending things. Even in the end he exceeded my expectations. I hate that I feel weak because of him. I hate that he would be disappointed if he knew I felt that way. I hate that I know that about him.
(Aw, fuck. Now my eye makeup is ruined. Sigh. Must. Stop. Crying.)