The Fog

It’s often hard to explain mental health issues to people who have never been afflicted or interacted with someone afflicted by them. They just don’t have the capacity for understanding, or at least haven’t with the explanations I’d tried to give before now. Lately, since my new diagnosis and this life-changing drug, I’ve found the best way for me to describe my personal journey. 

All my life I’ve been walking in a fog of anxiety and depression. A dense, damp fog that surrounded and clung to me like a thick blanket drenched in cold water. Even though I knew there was more to life than anxiety and depression, I couldn’t see beyond that fog. 

Over the last six years, as meds that worked were introduced, I took a few steps out of the fog, revealing shadows of the life outside. They were dark and blurry, indistinguishable at times but visible none the less. After the worst of the side effects brought on by the introduction of a beast called Lamotrigine, every week when we upped my dose, I took another step out of the fog. 

I still struggled each time we increased it. The thoughts running through my mind did not always sound like me, I had insomnia and nightmares when I did sleep. Still, I took a step out of that fog every time.

A weight lifted off me, giving me the ability to control my emotions and my thoughts that up until then had free reign inside that stifling fog. 

It was liberating.

My bipolar diagnosis was like finding the key puzzle piece that brought the picture of my life together in a way that finally made sense. The medication was a lifeline, a refuge, a trail of bread crumbs leading me to safety.

I can regret the choices made in my darkest hours, I can’t for the life of me regret the moments that led me to this place. The realizations, the freedom and control that have come from it, have been worth it. 

I believe people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. I thought he’d be a life time…maybe he was simply here for a reason…to help me find that missing piece. 

I should walk away, but I’ve still sent ridiculously long emails begging for another chance. I betrayed him in an unforgiveable way and should let him go so that he can find someone who deserves the investment and care that he gives…but I can’t seem to. 

Has anyone else out there betrayed someone they loved and then struggled so hard to watch them walk away?

How did you move on?

How did you let go of the line that bound you together? 

Bitches be crazy

I never wanted to be that crazy ex-girlfriend who can’t let go-..

Yet here I am. As much as I’ve tried to give him the distance he wants, as much as I understand his desire to move on… I can’t seem to let go.

It’s strange. I’m known for being a light switch. When I’m done, I’m done. For some reason, with him, I can’t be done. I can’t let go of the one man who offered me the world, the man that I betrayed.

I can’t accept that, not with the way we came together. That, in my mind, was fate calling out to me… connecting the dots and bring two parts of my life together in an unimaginable way.

May be it’s the submissive in me who can’t let go. Maybe she is clinging to the anchor in her storm. Maybe she is the one who can’t seem to breath with the knowledge that he wants to move on.

He’s not wrong, our relationship hasn’t been stable. The same betrayal that broke us is, irrevocably, the same one that gave me a life changing diagnosis.

I didn’t know that I was bipolar. My doctor didn’t even know, but a new med triggered big changes that led to things I’d like to erase from my life, from our lives.

“Try as we might, happy as we were, we can never go back”

I would give anything to go back. I would do anything to try again.

He want’s to move on.

I’m struggling to let go.

Fate or Coincidence

I found him first, and then he found me

Two worlds collided, the reason unseen

He’d call it coincidence, and I’d call fate

Whatever reason we met for our date

He led with his mind and I, with my heart

Yet there was chemistry right from the start

He’d meet every argument with research and fact

I relied on instinct, prone to overreact

He knew what he wanted, and I was unsure

He’s filled with confidence, where I’m insecure

His life, like his home, is uncluttered and clean

For me it’s been complicated, a sight best left unseen

For him, everything sits in its chosen place

Yet my cluttered life I still struggle to face

He gave me everything, and I threw it away

A few bad decisions I regret to this day

He’ll never forgive me, I’m not sure he should

I’d still beg on my knees if I thought that he would

It’s hard to imagine how things could be

If I’d never betrayed him, or if he’d never met me

There’s no going back, as much as I’ve tried

My life feels so empty, I’ve no tears left to cry

Still life goes on, at least so they say

One step, then another, I’ll soon find my way


2F21B6A0-B8E1-4838-847E-08EA2C29462F.jpegEvery time I sit down to write, I think about this blog. Its name, “My Little-Known Truth”, speaks to me in more ways than the journey you started following years ago. I think that’s why I stopped writing here. When my life took a turn, when the focus was no longer on that side of me, it felt like this was not the place to be putting down my thoughts.

The reality, my reality, is that no one really knows my truth, because I’ve rarely let anyone know the real me. I don’t think I really knew me until a few short months ago. It’s hard waking up one day to realize you’ve been lying to everyone. Literally everyone, including yourself.

I’ve led a segmented life for as long as I can remember. When I interact with my family it’s in groups, because no one can get along, no one wants to come together. My friends don’t know my family, only the stories I’ve told them. I have different groups of friends, none of whom know anyone outside their group.

Even with my relationships I’ve kept things with them separate from everything else. It takes a certain length of time before I’ll introduce them to friends, another length of time before I’ll subject them to the disaster that is my family. Generally speaking this is fine, but sometimes it’s an issue especially when they think it’s because I’m holding back.

The truth is I am holding back. Its been like that forever. If I look and try to find the why, now it’s clear. I’ve been living a series of lies, each segment of my life will see a part of me, but no one sees the whole. I tell people what they want to hear, I do the things they want to do, and I pretend to be the person they want me to be, because it’s easier and safer than being me.

So, who am I? I am a broken woman from an abusive home. Outside of that I’m not quite sure.

As a child I would spend hours, days, months, years, pretending that I was one of the characters in the stories I wrote. I convinced myself that I looked different, came from a different place, with different parents and a different life. So much so that I can remember looking in the mirror and being surprised to see the girl reflected there.

My mom switched my last name several times. Legally I had one name, but she would use her own last name when she talked about me or registered me in things like school or extra circular activities. At eight, a year after she married my step-father, they used his name for me at school and outside of it, but it was never legally mine. In twelfth grade, the school forced them to change it back to my legal name or I wouldn’t graduate. That was the start of my lies, one that continued into my early twenties when I took my god parents name (not legally), because it was a way to escape my unhappy story.

I’ve pretended for so long that the things that happened to me didn’t. For many situations I’ve got myself convinced that what I remember isn’t real, that it didn’t happen. It did. I’ve hid mistakes I’ve made and told half truths about them to a few people, but never the real story because the truth is fucked up…really fucked up.

I feel the need to tell the truth. I think it’s a part of fixing the things inside me that make it hard to be a good partner, a strong woman, and an effective employee. So, although the tone of this will change, I will still be writing things that are connected to what I’ve written in the past. I plan on posting some of my stories, and some other pieces of my life. This is no longer going to be about one piece of me, but all sides.

They say that people want to read about the journey. So, this is my journey, my story, my truth, unabridged and in all it’s fucked up glory. I hope you’ll stay, I hope you’ll walk the journey with me. Most of all, I hope that something in here resonates with you; because that’s the piece that connects us. Everyone has different struggles, but we all struggle, and sometimes all we need to know is that someone else out there is struggling too.

Until we meet in real life, you can call me Cordelia.


He had me at “Triggers”

I’ve talked to my fair share of men online. I’ve swam through the rough waters of plenty of fish, I’ve prowled Craigslist like an alley cat on the hunt for a piece of tail. I’ve put myself out there on A Submissives Journey and CollarMe, and three times now I’ve come back to Fetlife.

In all of those relationships there have been some common themes. They never last, and something always happens to to give me an excuse to push myself away.

Then I lie and say that I did things I didn’t. I go on another hunt for someone else because the first one didn’t quite meet my needs or because I tell myself it just won’t work.

Looking back I can see that for what it was…immaturity and a critical lack of communication.

When I found myself back here, I knew I didn’t want to get to that place again. I don’t want to fake submission, I don’t want this to be another thing in my life I regret not giving everything I have.

So there I was, prowling Fetlife personals when my mind wandered back to a Dom who has checked in with me off and on for the last three years. I’m so used to hunting that I didn’t immediately return to old contacts, I just went searching for new ones.

I sent him a message, and this time when he responded I didn’t throw him some empty one liner. Fetlife messages turned into emails and I was slowly pulled towards him.

Intelligent, articulate, and thoughtful Doms are more rare than I’d like to believe. To find someone who was insistent on knowing me, my thoughts, my kinks, and my faults felt good.

I copped to hunting for men to scratch unfulfilled itches. I admitted that I lie and self sabotage, and that I am bad at communicating sometimes.

Up until that point I was interested, sort of… He was nice, but it felt a little too nice at times. It wasn’t until he pushed to understand the triggers that sent me off into that bad behaviour that he really captured my attention.

The thing I love about Daddy Dom’s is the investment level, the interest they take in a subs health and well being, their mind and their heart. I’m not saying that other Dom’s don’t, just that in my experience there is a level of care that comes from a Daddy that I haven’t found anywhere else.

He asked hard questions, he had some amazing insights into my experiences and my thoughts. He captured my attention in a way no one else has….at least not in a very long time.

Offering the kind of power exchange that seemed to make others uncomfortable, he effortlessly pulled me into his world and with each email made me desperately wanting more.

He told me he expected an investment from me of 110%, because with anything less…why bother.. and before I knew it I was walking away from something else that didn’t quite measure up, because what he offered was so much sweeter.

So here I am, standing at the door to a whole new world. Looking out into this exciting and frightening wilderness that until now has mainly been in my dreams and stories.

The beautiful thing is that this Dom isn’t out there waiting for me. He’s standing a few steps behind, letting me wander out ahead into the jungle to explore all the things my heart has been craving…

All the while he’s acting as the anchor that keeps me from drifting out too far. He is the roots that keep me grounded as I reach for the sky, and that North Star on the darkest night that leads me back home.

I’m looking forward to the new me he will help to create. I am looking forward to embracing my submission in ways I’ve only ever dreamed, and I hope you will follow me on my journey.


Fog Drifts Through Pine Trees Canvas Print / Canvas Art by Bill Hatcher

My life right now is a lot like a long walk through a dense fog. The damp, cold air clings to me, like the disappointed hopes and unfortunate realizations that seem to haunt me these days. The hurt I caused clouds around me, making it impossible to see much more beyond the tree tops in the distance.

Those trees, with their sharp edges and clearly undefined details, are the only representation of the hope I have. They act as a lighthouse in the distance, a reminder that the forest is calling for me. The right relationship is calling to me. I know the forest will welcome me when I get there, that it will accept me as I am, or at least I hope.

I know I can’t live in the fog forever. Each day it presses closer in on me. Each night my blood runs a little colder. Each day I push further and further into the dense blanket of grey around me searching for a burst of colour, searching for some beacon in the darkness.


On mornings like this when I wake up long before the sun with my heart and mind racing, with panic weighing heavy on my chest, I wish that I was bound next to someone.

I know that it’s not particularly safe and things can go wrong to be wrapped in rope while sleeping, but I feel that there would be some soothing element of being tethered someone or something next to me.

A reminder that I’m not fighting these demons alone. An anchor in my storm, connecting me with earth and reality, ideally to Him. That vision in my head of the man who would want control over me, over all of me. The good, the bad, and the overly anxious.

For now, I lie here alone although there are people near. I am lost in the chaos that writhes inside me, lost to this feeling of worry, this lack of control, this loneliness.

Where is the line between needing this as a balanced part of life and using BDSM as a crutch?

Is this a normal part of the power dynamic I seek? Or am I misreading my need?

It’s so hard to tell sometimes.