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

Don’t mistake me

After a week of illness I am back, and ready to tackle a subject I have been hesitant to touch on as of yet.

There is this misconception through out the vanilla community, women to be specific, that to be submissive is to declare a war on feminism. They believe that submission in one such as me means that I believe I am not the equal to men; that I believe my worth, intelligence and value as a worker or even as a human is less than that of my male counter parts.

To them I shake my little blonde head and smile indulgently.

I am by no means a weak woman. I know my worth to my family, my friends, and my employer. I know that in any vanilla relationship I am well worth any emotional upheaval I may put you through.

Just because I give myself over to a man after careful consideration, does not mean I believe that every man out there is my equal, let alone my superior.

I guess you could say I am offended by this misunderstanding. I struggle with websites that insist I call everyone Sir, not because I wish to be rude, or even that I would be less than respectful, but because as my Dom would say:

“You bow your head to no one but me.”

I am very selective with giving any part of myself away, I do not trust easily, and because of this I believe it is worth more. When I gave myself to him, he knew that it was because I saw in him those special traits I could see in no other.

Weakness is not valued in Doms, nor in subs. What thrill is there in dominating anyone who will lay down to anyone who claims to be a dominant? Isn’t there some unique pleasure to be obtained from receiving the submission of one who demands respect from the world?

Do not mistake my submission for weakness…..I will surprise you.

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