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? 

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

Doms can be dicks….

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
Anaïs Nin

It’s time to do a little venting. I’ve been on Fetlife for a while now, and I’ve had the benefit of meeting some really amazing people, I’ve also met my fair share of dicks…..Today was a day for dicks, and yes people, some of you Doms can be dicks.

Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m the only sub-like person out there who doesn’t want to hear or read the word cunt in your first five messages…..maybe I’m crazy for needing to be actually turned on before that word become acceptable….is that really too much to ask?

Am I a dirty slut? You better believe it, but am I a dirty little slut for just anyone? No, that would make me an idiot, and my mama didn’t raise no fool.

I like so many subs out there, I started off on my journey not knowing my worth. However, after just three short months I’ve learned two very important things, that as a sub I am much more desirable that I once believed I was and that I have the right, and the opportunity to be discriminating.

I am offering you a gift. My submission is worth more than you know or can imagine. I am worth every minute that you put into getting to know me, and I am worth any effort that is expelled in gaining my submission. Don’t treat me like I’m not human, unless I ask that of you. Don’t call me a slut until I’m willing to be one with you, and don’t for a second believe that I have to do what you tell me unless I want to.

So, in closing, please don’t demand that I ‘describe my cunt in detail’ before we have actually had a conversation, there is so much more to me than that. Please don’t get pissed off at me for not giving you my first name and my phone number with in our first three messages…..and please keep in mind that if you actually want to see what is underneath my night gown, I expect that you actually try to gain the attention of the mind that is wearing it.


Thousand Dollar Daddy : Part 3

If I close my eyes, I can still remember his voice, the way his words were almost loving at first. He sounded affectionate, telling me how I was his, and he would satisfy my needs unlike anyone I had met or would meet again. He wanted me to call him by that name I loved, and I did, loving each and every second of it. He talked about how he would use me, and at first it fed every desire I had.

As our ‘relationship’ progressed, he became frustrated with me. He didn’t like that he couldn’t call me when it pleased him, that I still cared what my boyfriend would think. He demanded that I find a way to house sit more often. Then he told me my body was his, that my boyfriend wasn’t allowed to touch me and if he did, I was to tell my ‘Daddy’ right away.

He wanted me to write him an email every day, that he would get before 11am. Telling him exactly what I had done that night, what I had thought, what I had eaten, what I was thinking. He wanted me to exercise a certain amount each day and give him a record of what I was eating. He demanded videos of me doing….well things I didn’t want to see myself doing.

It didn’t sit right with me, it made me think I didn’t have it in me to be a good sub…..that if I were good I would do all that he asked and say screw the consequences. Only that fiery, stubborn woman my mother raised to not take any shit from anyone raised up her head and said um….NO.

My rebellion started small, I would write really generic ‘journals’ to him, or not exercise and say I had. I would wait ten minutes then twenty to text him back. It’s not surprising that with my change came another change with him.

I quickly moved from his sub to his slut. He was no longer ‘Daddy’, I started to call him Sir with a certain amount of disdain I’m sure he heard. It was no longer him that would fill my belly with his seed. No I was his breeding slut and anyone and everyone he wanted would use me, fill me and leave me in a heap at his feet. He was going to show up at my door one day and I would be kneeling at his side to service anyone he chose.

He’d go into detail about the men he would let use my body. Tell me every little detail about what they would do to me what they would say to me and how they would look at me. He’d expertly wind me up and then make sure by the end of the conversation I knew that he was the alpha and he could treat me any way he wanted. Every time, every time I would get off the phone or close my email feeling dirty, like a piece of garbage.

My excitement faded, our conversations and texts still could send me over the edge but the after glow was less of a glow and more of a growing resentment and disgust.

Towards the end I could tell that he knew this wasn’t working for me. Every conversation was getting just that little bit more aggressive, and every text a little more derogatory, but it took getting my phone bill, for the reality to set in. When I read the balance due I think I had a mini heart attack….over $1000 to have some guy half way across the world talk to me like I was some stupid, worthless piece of trash that was there for a quick fuck and nothing more.

I didn’t feel special, I didn’t feel like it was me he wanted, I felt like any ‘slut’ would do.

To his credit he offered to wire me money to cover part of the cost of the bill, but by that time I was so upset, so disappointed in myself I was too proud to accept his hand out. During our last conversation I heard a baby crying in the back ground…..hurt and angry I confronted him on it. Turns out his wife just had a baby…..and he never worked in North America.

Two words to describe him:

Douche Bag

One word to describe me:


The whole charade was all of 3 months, maybe…..and even with the bad experience I was hooked…..seriously hooked….there was this rush that came from ‘belonging’ to someone. A surge of adrenaline that raced through me a lightening speed when I heard the words, “You’re mine”. I knew I wanted that.

Yes I was still tied down by my boyfriend, but what I wanted was becoming clear……I wanted a man. A man who would be able to take control over more than just his own life, but guide mine as well. I didn’t want to be a piece of meat, I wanted to belong to one man and feel that possessiveness and have it mean something.

And so my search began.


Thousand Dollar Daddy : Part 2

It’s funny how the internet turns even the most shy and introverted people into flirtatious, seemingly outgoing social butterflies. It’s even more interesting how people evolve online. At first this dominant male tested the waters, he gently pulled from me one secret after another, sharing my excitement with obvious delight and telling me he felt the same.

I enjoyed the thought of submission, he was a dominant male who wanted someone he could share that with. I wanted to relinquish control, he wanted to show me how to harness that desire. I was excited by the prospect of impregnation, he wanted nothing more than to fill my belly and mark me as his forever.

After a while I told him my darkest secret, how I have fantasized about calling someone “daddy”, not acting like a child, maybe the young innocent but not a child. I didn’t think that this would turn him on, but he latched onto it unlike I ever expected. All of a sudden I was “his”. He told me I was not to talk to anyone else, that I wouldn’t need to any more. He demanded my phone number, reassuring me when I questioned him that he was in California, and it wouldn’t affect my phone bill, and fool that I was I gave it to him.

It took me all of two messages before the phone number raised the first red flag. One common denominator in the men I’ve met online, is that each and every one of them has underestimated me. When his phone number showed up with an area code I didn’t recognize, it didn’t take me long to look it up. Even if a phone number is unlisted, you can find out where someone is just by looking up their area code, and as I expected…not on this continent, in fact half a world away in Australia.

I wish that I could say I ditched him….I wish I could tell you I realized he was lying to me, but I can’t. In fact when I confronted him and he took the defensive route, I listened to his weak excuses, about how that was his home country and he was here on business. His company pays for it…yadayadayada.

By that time he was like a drug, a secret, dirty, delightful drug that was releasing unknown and previously unfelt endorphins in my body. The fact that he didn’t live near me made if feel safer. So when he continued to message me…..I replied. Having him in my life made it easier to ignore the fact I went to bed alone, it made it less stressful that my partner had absolutely no interest in me, and it made it possible for me to ignore his drug habit…….

Then he started calling me, at first it was ten or twenty minutes during the day, but when I started house sitting, he would call at night, and it was all too easy to forget.


Thousand Dollar Daddy : Part 1

There is something about the honesty that I promised you that has stilled the pen in my hand. The truth is much more embarrassing than I care to admit, and I’ve been hesitant to put this out into the universe, because it means I have to finally face all of the skeletons in my closet, but also because the one person in my real life who will read this might look at me with different eyes.

You see, all of my life I’ve pretended to be good…most of the time I was good, so good that when I finally started to drift from my moral ways, no one noticed, or really believed that I would do those things, or cared that I was drifting because “they never had to worry about me.” Over the last 5, no 8 years, I’ve walked a path I didn’t think I’d ever find myself on…and although for the most part I recognize it as looking for myself, searching for my identity, the way I went about it is not something I’m proud of.

Remember I was lucky, none of my stupid stunts ever left me physically wounded…..emotionally perhaps, embarassed to no end, to sick with guilt to look at myself in the mirror but never physically worse off than when I started. I’ll go into how I found my way to the few sites that led me on this path in another post, for now I want to tell you a little about the first man I thought of as my Dom; although not the first man to lie to me, he was the first one whose lies affected my life. Significantly.

At the time I was in a relationship, a bad relationship. My boyfriend spent his nights in front of the computer, playing video games or watching porn. He spent every night on the couch…..every night on the couch. I would get the occasional kiss, but he wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t sleep with me, didn’t desire me. I thought at the time it was a natural progression of our relationship, but hindsight has shown me that the relationship wasn’t much to begin with, and I was holding onto the strings because I was afraid of what would happen if I struck out on my own.

I struggled with the idea that anyone could love me, accept me with all the faults I have, with the twisted fantasies that are so far from my once mainstream life that I felt like a pariah. I thought my boyfriend, with his addictions was the best I could ever hope for, the truth was he wasn’t a bad man. He paid our rent, on time most of the time, my EI and side work kept our other bills paid and food on our table, we were roommates, but the pretense of our ‘relationship’ was eating whatever was left. Unemployed and lost, I turned to the internet to find some semblance of human contact that would fulfill the ever growing need within me.

On one of my many days alone I happened upon a website that spoke to a certain fantasy that was floating around in my head. was a sordid source of delight for me, hundreds of men who pretended to desire me, desired my body and wanted to do the one thing that was consuming my thoughts, filling me with their seed and making me theirs in the most permanent and carnal of ways.

At the time, I believed that my destiny involved becoming a mother, conforming to societies designs for me as a woman. My heart wanted to be wanted in that way, to be with a man who desired more than anything to be in me, filling me and making me his. My reality was the total opposite….a man who spent every payday he could at the strip club, not interested in sex until he’d been there all night, then coming home to request a blow job; which he would enjoy with his eyes closed, and his hands at his sides, and if I was lucky a quick few minutes that were all about him, and never about me.

This site was addicting, as a writer it was easy to craft something that inspired responses, I’m good at weaving the tales these men wanted to hear. I teased them and tempted them with the stories, role play and images they asked for and in return they gave me what I needed most…..attention.

It was here that he found me, he had my attention instantly. With every word he typed he demanded my full attention and soon I was talking to no one but him. He told me that he was a sales man traveling the West Coast for work, which worked out great for me, all of the attention without the stress that he would turn up at my door. I wasn’t interested in cheating, I just needed to be wanted.

He was everything my boyfriend was not, taller than me, broader, strong, hairy…..don’t ask me what it is but a man with hair on his chest has always been a turn on for me. He looked like he could squeeze me, hold me down and have his way with me. He had a thick dark beard and a smoldering look that even in pictures stole my eager breath. We exchanged pictures, emails and instant messages, he told me that I was sexy, that he loved my body and coaxed, enticed me to be more daring for him.

At first he was everything I wanted him to be, charming, erotic, attentive, seemingly devoted and just dominant enough to get my feet wet…………at first.