My Pieces of Darkness

I read this post and the comments over at Porn Girl’s place and it got me thinking about my own experiences with telling people about my past.

I have told many people bits of my past over the years. I keep it simple and only tell what is necessary for the situation. There are people that have been sheltered and telling them my history either opens their eyes or they shut it out. It seems like a lot of people do not want to see the bad in the world. I don’t blame them, there are days when I wish I couldn’t see it.

I hated it when people would look at me differently after they found out about my dad. It was almost like they forgot who I was and I suddenly became the girl with the convict dad (or whatever it was I decided to tell them). It seemed to define me. People pitied me, and I really hated that. I stopped talking about it because I didn’t want to be under that shadow.

I also hold these pieces close to me. I hoard them. They are my precious pieces of darkness. These are the path to my soul and I am not about to let just anyone in. No one has all my pieces, and I’m not sure if I will ever be able to share them all with the same person. They are mine, they are all I have. It is irrational, I know.

Having said that, I have taken the risk and shared some of them with B, a lot more than I normally share. It was worth it, but it was also really fucking scary because he saw more than what I shared, and that is totally unfair! And uncomfortable. And unbelievably nice.

Yesterday, I shared a little bit with a few people, and… I didn’t feel alienated. It was pretty amazing. Now that I think about it, I think it actually made me feel like I kinda fit in. Strange…

Advertisements

Haunted

For the past couple of months, I have had someone on my mind. She was a friend from a lifetime ago. I made quite a few mistakes with her and it is coming back to haunt me.

This girl, let’s call her Kelly, looked up to me. I honestly have no idea why. She was older than me and, trust me when I say, I wasn’t someone to look up to. I was emotionally detached, I took risks for the thrill, I was a mess.

I can remember the first time I met her. Kelly had ran away from home, after going from friend to friend she ended up at my boyfriends house, where I happened to be. I don’t remember if I noticed at the time, but I can clearly see it now, she thought I was awesome. Kelly lied about some things to make herself look cooler — kids do that. I knew she was lying but I didn’t care, she was nice and troubled, just like myself.

I had the power to set her life in a different direction. I’m not joking, I had that power. I knew her for years. She loved me. She wanted to name her kid after me, but after being persuaded by her (crackhead) family, decided to use my middle name for her daughter’s middle name — still a huge honor for me. Kelly’s eyes would light up when she saw me… I never really noticed. I mean, I knew how she felt, I wasn’t that blind. I was too caught up in myself to see what I could have done for her, or what she could have done for me.

I was really young, though. I didn’t know the power I had.

I turned her to drugs and let her go.

At some point, after I let her go, she started using needles and got Hep C.

She died eight years ago.

And I have no way to say I’m sorry.

Nude Knitting and Seeing Change

I had my second weekend without the kiddos. It is strange not having them around. The house is so quiet. There is no one to look after, no reason to hurry, no one to feed and water, no interruptions, which is relaxing. On the other side, I miss them. I miss their laughter and hugs. They are my art buddies. I miss them telling how to do things on Minecraft (that I will never actually do) — I think they just like telling me things I don’t already know. I miss their company, even though it comes with a lot of extra work.

It is all so new, I’m not sure what to do with myself.

So I left my vibrators out. I watched tv. I played a video game. I knitted. I spent quite a bit of time naked. You know, just because. This is me slowly spreading my wings.

I did chores around the house, as well, but that’s boring to talk about.

I really want to get to a place where I am comfortable being alone. I want to figure out who I am with out all the distractions that pull me in different directions. I can’t recall ever having the opportunity to do this, or giving myself the opportunity.

I also have done some self-reflecting (I know, totally surprising). I have a list of things that I want to change about myself and have wanted to change for a while now. I get so frustrated because it feels like I’m not changing, at all. However, given what I have been through the past few years, and my whole life for that matter, I probably shouldn’t be too hard on myself. And, after looking back, I have come so far.

I read some posts from my old blog. I was so sad back then. I hated myself in all ways, I didn’t feel like I mattered or deserved better. I was broken. My place was being used because that’s all I was good for, that’s all I could do right.

I am not that person anymore. I am so much more… I was so much more.

Sure, I still have bad moments and I fall. It hurts. And it is ugly. However, I don’t feel helpless anymore. I hate that I fall, but I don’t hate myself. I don’t feel guilty all the time. I fight harder. I see clearer. I have goals. I am changing.

Healing

So, I got what I wanted. I am divorced and he is out of the house. The air isn’t so heavy anymore. I have room to spread my wings.

Not that I’ve done any spreading.

I have a lot of envy flowing through me right now. I want a lot that I don’t have. I really don’t want to feel this way, I wish there was an off switch. The most logical thing to do would be to go get what I want. The problem with that is, what I want is too far out of my reach, at the moment. I have all these excuses not to reach for anything else and I’m probably just scared. But maybe not. Maybe I’ve lived too much to waste my time with reaching for things that won’t be there.

Yeah, I’m probably just scared. But, jaded, too. Not a great combination.

It has only been two weeks, though.

I just want friendship. That’s it. Someone to celebrate with. To have a drink with. Someone to say, “You did it! You’re so amazing and strong!”

But, I am who I am, and I am here, alone, by no fault other than my own, so I’ll raise my glass to myself.

Cheers. You did it.

Finding My Colors

I don’t want notches on my belt.

I want a soul.

I don’t want a store of jewels.

I want one or two priceless jewels to keep in my pocket.

That is what I am about.

Intense, all in, long-term, intimate, out of this world special.

Let’s go deep, and when we get there, I’ll take you deeper.

You can’t get there just playing around.

Maybe it was the way I came into D/s. Maybe it was the way I endured. I don’t know, but it is what sits in my bones.

I am obsessed with it.

I’ve done the “temporary” (vanilla) thing. It is emptiness that attempts to fill up lonely space.

But, here’s the thing, if that jewel was in my pocket, safe and sound, I would love to find a female sub to call my own — temporary with the possibility of taking that other spot in my pocket.

I can’t seem to make myself do it the other way around, or any other way, so it is what it is, and I’m good with that.

Gut Wound, Vomit, and Packed Bags

I have been struggling over the past couple of weeks. It started out as a minor cut, just a scrape really. Yesterday, it was like a gut wound. And I threw up. I hope that was the peak.

The amount of stress I have endured over the last year has taken its toll — I look in the mirror and I see a tired, old woman staring back at me. Of course I am emotionally unstable. I’ve done my best and, let me tell you, I know my best, while still messy, it could have been a lot worse. Thank goodness I have some common sense and ambition, eh?

So, the scrape turned gut wound…

I can deal with scrapes. I can deal with a lot more than a scrape, but when you add more to it like having to work from home while taking care of two kiddos (both ringing in your ear at the same time), a refrigerator leaking (I fixed it all by myself, btw), I had a thing going with a girl which was put on hold, and an ex-husband telling you he is moving out in two days (surprise! you get to sort through 17 years of accumulated stuff in two days, when we could have done it over a week or two if he hadn’t been such a douche). Feeling disconnected from myself and B… Seeing my kids hurt…

I wasn’t able to hold myself together.

I don’t have a lot to hold on to these days, and I deeply wish I could hold B… if even just metaphorically.

Am I better now? No, I am still a mess. I need rest. I need to connect. I need to rebuild. It will take time but this is the first step through a new door. Bags are packed. Goodbye to what was and hello to a life I will paint with the colors of my choice.