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

The Goddess and her Warrior

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There are a few things in my life that will make me hang my head in shame. A few moments where I made the choice to turn away from what I know is right and good and do something I said I never would.

While with my last boyfriend, I made many of those choices. In hind sight it was a clear indication that I should have left, but I was depressed, lonely, and lacking the self respect that would dictate that I deserved a whole lot better.

At this time in my life I was frequenting a site designed to put prospective Dom’s in touch with subs. I was struggling with the interactions here, yes they were very entertaining and very exciting, but they were much more hardcore then I was prepared for at that time in my life.

I was lying, pretending to be single when I was not, and I met someone, a man who said that he was more of a Dominant personality, than a Dom. Everything about him lit me on fire. His picture, his philosophy, the way he talked to me. Everything was crafted and designed to make me feel like ‘a Goddess’, and he my warrior.

It started as emails back and forth, very soft, generic getting to know you things. Who we were, and how we saw the world. He was a father, with two girls he loved more than anything. He asked me to meet him and for a while I made my excuses.

When the urge to meet him was more than I could bear, I told my boyfriend that after he got home from work I would be going out with a girlfriend. True to form he didn’t really care, having plans to play video games with one of his friends.

All that day my heart pounded in my chest. He continued to text me, with each text charming me more than the time before. Every word making me feel like the seductress I had forgotten I could be.

Just before I was supposed to leave my conscience overwhelmed me and I sent him a text saying he shouldn’t meet me. I told him how horrible I felt for lying to him, but he deserved better. In response he called me, pulling from me the situation and for a moment going silent on the other side of the phone.

After a while he told me that he’d been in that situation before, and he understood how I felt, but this connection was too special to ignore. I can still hear his voice in my ear telling me that he HAD to meet me, that he couldn’t live his life not knowing if this connection transcended the written word.

In my weakness I went.

As agreed, we met in the parking lot of a coffee shop, I pulled up beside his truck after nearly turning around more times than I could count. Guilt was flooding through me, but when my eyes met his, softer eyes than I had imagined, I was too consumed with excitement to care.

We talked for what seemed like hours, and it was probably not too far off. He sat in the passenger seat of my car and stared at me in a way that sent shivers to the most sensitive parts of my body.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he told me reaching out to trace the line of my jaw. It’s funny how one person can tell you your beautiful, and it can come out flat, devoid of the passion that gives the words meaning. While another can whisper the words and they strike a cord in you. He hit that cord, repeatedly, and every time without fail I would melt beneath his gaze.

We walked inside for coffee and when we came out he leaned back against his truck. “Come here,” he told me, opening his arms for me to step inside them. When his arms folded around me I was rewarded with a hug that has matched no other my life.

Instead of enveloping me in his arms, he used his outstretched arms, clasped together behind my back, to pin me in place while his squeeze went a long way to illustrate the strength with which he would exert his will over me. It took my breath away and made me feel small, weak beneath his hand, fragile knowing that he could break me, but he wanted me whole.

His hands moved across my body without that gentleness so common in new lovers. Instead he explored my body confidently, possessively, as a man who knows that he has all the power over you, will. It was electric, my first experience feeling that rush that comes with possession.

A dozen times he asked me to follow him home, and a dozen times I said no. In the end I did not go home with him that night, eventually I did, but not that first night.

Instead I went home, and slept in my bed that night dreaming of this Samurai Warrior who promised to love me and make love to me, in ways I had only imagined.

In hind sight I don’t think I would have strayed outside my relationship with anyone else. The pull of this man was so much more than merely sex. He wanted me, all of me in almost all of the ways I was craving.

He wanted to take care of me, to live with me, wake up beside me and love me. He reaffirmed I could be desirable, that I was loveable and that I was worth so much more than I was getting.

I was lost.