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.

Lies

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

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.

Anchor

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.

Try as we might…

It’s been years since I’ve come back to this blog, and even longer since I’ve sat down to write for it. Time and again, however, I keep coming back to this piece in my life.

You see, for the last few years I’ve been lying to myself. I’m good at that, so much better at lying to myself than to others. I’ve been telling myself that the BDSM I crave was a symptom of my anxiety and a side effect of a rough childhood and some PTSD.

I’ve been getting help for that mental Illness over the past few years. At first I craved the bondage as a way to fight that feeling of being wildly out of control. I needed the pain to pull me out of the anxiety and back into the moment. I struck this up to a damaged psyche.

When my meds started to kick in, the need for those things was lost in the haze that comes from a chemical recalibration. I found myself in a vanilla relationship that seemingly met my needs. For a time I thought I was ‘cured’, that my mental health took me from the place of needing pain and control from someone outside myself.

Over the last few months, the last year really, as other pieces in my life started to fall into place and that need slowly arose again…I started seeing the truth in the lie.

I started to see that my relationship as good as it was in some ways, was doing extreme damage in others. I had been afraid to voice my need because I was worried about my partners feelings. I’d started caring more about him and his feelings than me and my mental, emotional, and physical needs.

Isn’t that something so natural for those of us who subscribe to that submissive mindset? We’re hard wired to tune into that other in our life, and to put their needs before our own. In the hands of the right person it can lead to us feeling whole and complete, but in the hands of the wrong one…it can do unparalleled damage.

Have you ever wondered why romance and BDSM novels always seem to feature a rich and powerful man who rules his world and dominates those around him with a fearless authority? It’s because we have been preconditioned to believe that rich, arrogant, and confident means together, powerful and in control. We believe that those things make a good Dom, but I don’t agree.

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what I want or need in a partnership. Like many people, I’ve changed over the last few years and will continue to evolve over the rest of my life time. I know now that I will need a piece of BDSM in my life, I’m not sure I could live without it any longer.

However, I need other things too.

I need to find a man who knows himself, very well, so well that when he comes into a relationship with me he is uncompromising in retaining that separate identity. He needs a life and passions outside of me, and must have a strong desire to constantly better himself. He will need to be as dedicated to me as I will be to him, and yet he ok on his own without me.

Above all else, I need to find myself first. To look in the mirror and not only recognize the woman looking back at me, but to be happy and confident to wear her smile into public. I need to be ok alone, to focus on my writing and my work, and to start thriving and not just surviving.

To the Dom of my future, I hope, I hope very much that you are out there waiting for me. I hope that when you meet you will see me across a room and know without a doubt that you want to meet me, to get to know me, and to see me shiver in ecstasy under you.

I hope you will be patient with me, and I hope that by the time we meet I will be ready for you.

Until then….

I’m going to delve into the world of self bondage and possibly find a play partner who can help me scratch the occasional itch while I find myself.

And then what?

So what do you do when it ends? When there is no hope of reconciliation and you realize that you have a choice……Do you wait and hold out hope that something will find you? Or do you put this part of yourself in a box and ignore the voice screaming at you from inside.

And what do you do with the symbols of what that mean? Do you keep them or give them back? Will one day you want to have them or are they poison to the happiness you know you must seek out

How do you change the way that you looked at the world?
Do you ever find acceptance again?