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


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.


The Local Scene

The past few months have been a real eye opener for me. Since parting ways with my Dom/vanilla bf, I have found myself in a very interesting position. I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to keep the BDSM side of my life, and that I eventually want a real life relationship that will encourage both my vanilla and my sub side. The difficulty then becomes how does one go about finding it…..

I’m sure a bunch of you will have read some of my experiences with other Dom’s. I’ve had my fair share of the ‘online’ Dom, the ‘I’m single-but’ Dom, and the every popular ‘I’m totally dominant, I had a girlfriend who liked me to spank her’ Dom. These guys aren’t for me, and if you’re out there looking for something real, these guys aren’t for you. I was so afraid to step out into the ‘community’. I was petrified that I would be found out, that someone in my every day life would see me and ‘out’ me so to speak. I’ve avoided munches and group events for years thinking that it would disgust the people around me and ruin my career…… And then I just fucking did it.

Three months ago I took a chance and found some local events on Fetlife, the Facebook of the kinky side. I went out to an event called Rascals, and since that day, that moment I stepped through those doors and saw people like me, enjoying what I do with no shame and no guilt, I have been glad that I did.

I went afraid that I would be found out, and realized very quickly that everyone takes their privacy very seriously. You aren’t even allowed to be seen with your phone, they aren’t allowed on the premise. I went afraid that in not knowing anyone I would be shunned and ignored, in fact I was passed from one person to the next and introduced to nearly everyone within moments of arriving.

I’ve made a few faux pas since moving out into this world, some because I didn’t know better, others because I was afraid of being alone, and what that would mean to me and others. In the end though, it’s been a great experience. I’ve met some amazing people and for the first time in a long time I’m becoming more comfortable in my own skin. I’ve even got a chance to write for FetVancouver. Life is starting to come along.

So to all of you too afraid to step out from behind your screens, suck it up buttercup. There is a big ol’ kinky world waiting for you, and yes we are all just as fucked up and scared as you.

Today, I am all that I am.

Image found on Facebook

Image found on Facebook

Slowly but surely I am crossing the line between a woman playing at BDSM and a certified, submissive with masochistic tendencies. I don’t know why this surprises me, I’ve been dancing this line for the past eight months.

Some days I struggle, obsessed with the fact that this would not fit any ‘normal’ definition of a relationship from my family’s perspective. While others like today, I declare myself to him over and over again without so much as a second thought.

Those thoughts are always there, both the good and the bad…..I might find myself jealous of his female friends, or insecure around certain fantasies we share, but at the end of the day I know where I am meant to be. If not at his side, then just one step behind.

Some of us are leaders, we approach life, love and work with a strength and passion that is hard to mistake. While some of us feel insecure with that kind of responsibility and we shy away from the lime light. For me my place is in his shadow, striving every day to make his life a little easier, even when I fail miserably and stress him out with my insecurity.

There is nothing wrong with that. How can you know the light if not for the dark? How would you know good if there were no evil? To every yin there must be a yang, and he is mine.

Today I know who I am, I know whose I am, and I know my place. With Him.

The Goddess and her Warrior


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.