Tag Archives: Recovery

Truth

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Re-read that again.  And again.   A few times.   Until it becomes real for you.  You’re worth it.  ❤️


Mwah ha ha ha…

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It Works if You Work It

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The first time I ever thought about sharing anything in Alcoholics Anonymous was at an open discussion meeting and there were two topics.  I have no recall what the first topic was but I sure remember the second which was, “having a hard time sitting with feelings.”

It wasn’t a round robin style meeting so I sheepishly raised my hand, which was the hardest thing to do being riddled with social anxiety.   However, the desire to get this out of me was stronger than the fear of whatever people might have thought after I spoke.

I began speaking.  I told everyone in that room that I did not know how to live life without trying to change the attenuation of my emotions, be it trying to intensify them or tone them down. Still other times I was flagrantly running away from them through multiple substances and behaviors.

Then I began listing them one by one trying to be as honest as I could:

I’ve self-medicated using alcohol, marijuana, food, sex, relationships, compulsive cleaning, compulsive shopping, compulsive exercising, workaholism, surfing the internet,   rocking out to loud music, speeding in fast cars and last but not least when all else failed isolating from people.”

Then I noticed the room was so quiet I could hear a pin drop.  I wondered if I had shared too much.  I felt my face feeling red and hot. My mind raced like it always does projecting what people may be negatively thinking about me. I wanted to crawl out of there.

I closed out with “thank you.”  It wasn’t until the next person began sharing that my face stopped feeling as hot.  I felt more honest that day, as if I had released a giant weight. It’s one thing to unburden oneself in the privacy of a therapist’s office and have them normalize my behavior but it felt like a more genuine process in front of peers.  You never know if you can trust a shrink, after all they are getting a paycheck.  I wasn’t sure the response I would get, if any.

After the meeting ended 5 people approached me to shake my hand and thank me for my share. I was taken aback. One of them, who later became my fiancé said,” thank you so much for your share, you just shared my exact story.

I’ll never forget that day. That was the day I felt like I wasn’t the only leper anymore.


Puppet

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I try and pinpoint the exact moment when I realised that my emotional movement was being controlled by his dark choreography.   I wasn’t aware until the merciless incessant tugging, left me tangled in the cords, unable to move.

It was then I knew, I was dancing for the Devil.

Liberation first begins with the realization one is captive.

I cut the strings.

I am bound no more.

To all the girls and boys out there who have become insidiously ensnared.

Freedom is within your reach….it always has been.


Miss Scarlet, in the Library, getting f***ed with the revolver

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Clue, don’t cha know.   I should get a clue by now.  That fantasy is way better than reality.  Always.

I have been in a relationship with a vanilla man for 5 years now.  I know that it’s “healthy” for me.   But I’d be a liar to say I don’t miss the intensity of what I had living the D/s lifestyle.   I was never in a 24/7 TPE.  Pfffft.  I was too feisty to submit beyond the bedroom.   I have pangs to return to kink from time to time, especially when I read others’ blogs. It brings back memories. Some good, some not.  I still make my pilgrimage back to my blog on alt.com to see what my buddies are up to, even if they don’t see me looking.

I think the most fucked up thing I ever let my Dominant do was to shove his Walther PPK .32 caliber handgun in my pussy.

When I showed Lee the photos of that, she didn’t even blink.  She was more interested in how I felt about sharing this  with her.  Typical. It’s always ‘how do I feel’.  Hell I don’t have feelings much these days, I feel empty.

What’s to feel about it? It’s a photo.  I have many more in the same vein.    She asks the wrong sorts of questions, it seems.  Or maybe I’m the one just not saying  enough.   For instance I never told her that I recently called my former Dominant.

Two steps forward and ten-thousand light years back……least that’s how it feels tonight.

Everyone knows Miss Scarlet was a whore and everyone knows Professor Plum was doing her.


Flashback

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3…..2…..1….. 

 

heart races

stomach drops

blood runs cold

it’s happening again!

eyes shut tight

paralyzed with terror.

please not here, not now.

 

I’m teetering

400 miles up

on this tight rope

I’m walking.

no one

can hear me scream

but me. 

 

1…..2…..3……

 

don’t say a word

just breathe

in and out.

act normally

open your eyes

touch the ground

it’s not happening.

 

Ghosts look so very real.

Hard to discern

no imminent harm

in pursuit of me.

After all these years,

they still besiege me,

unexpextedly.

 

 


In plain sight

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I stand there before You,
aching for Your
love.

Your affection.

Your approval.

i can’t believe after all this time,
You’ve
never looked at me.

in my pig tails and patent leather
shoes
,
standing in the doorway
wistful and willing.

but You cannot see me.

for i am hiding behind the wallpaper
where all
little girls hide,
the ones who survived.

layers upon layers cover me
redecorated as
years pass,
yet i remain forever unchanged.

frozen in time
beneath this woman
veneer.
waiting and hoping,
will you take me home?


Speed

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Volume blaring

wind kissed skin

motor runs high

I’m free again.

Out stretched road

with miles of driving

no boys in blue

feel like I’m flying.

Push down the pedal

a little more

on a lonesome highway

my spirit soars.

 

photo:  mine,  I-91N Deerfield, MA


My name is “No”

1A7E9E33-5E9D-4E91-88AD-0AA32703F629.jpegDon’t ask me for my number.

Don’t ask me to call you sometime.

Don’t ask me if I like Shibari.

Don’t ask me if I’ll send you a nude pic

Don’t ask me to sext with you at work.

Don’t ask me to phone you at 3 am and call you Daddy, with my panties pulled down as I touch myself.

Don’t wonder to yourself if I’m thinking about you as I type these words.

‘Cause my former self jumped off that blue bridge over the Connecticut River that night and ended things in the icy waters below.

Nice to meet you, my name is ‘No.’


Compass Rose

It’s still the same I suppose. Every spring as Easter approaches. I drive past the various Churches, with their steeples acting like beacons, sending their Celestial signal up towards the heavens. I pass there aching to go inside.

The ache rises in my chest as I pass, and then my heart sinks as I sit glued in my seat. My blood runs cold as I nervously think that ‘maybe I am unforgivable’.  How dirty I feel. Less than. Not quite good enough to stand next to any of the people donning their Sunday best.

I ache for closeness with Him like I once had. The only One who ever deserved my whole heart, who ever deserved my obedience and love.   He was the only One who would never betray me.

I can’t remember when I had stopped talking to Him.   Some call it praying.  But it was more than that to me.  It wasn’t rattling off a bunch of rote prayers, though that was how I had begun.  We were close back then.  It was like a friend that was sitting at the foot of my bed, just as real as you are reading this now.  I’d talk about everything.  Then listen.   Oh yes, He would answer.   He spoke through my intuition, I believe.  Sometimes I would ask for a sign.  Sometimes He would give me one:  a gentle cool breeze on a hot night or a small butterfly dancing at my window just as I would ask.

I had stopped going to church.  No one particular reason really and not in anger either.  Then a few years later I had stopped praying.   Other things had seemed to take precedence.  It was like one day He was just gone.  You see, it wasn’t an event, rather it was more of a process. Like most good things in life that slip away.

When I tried praying again?  it felt empty and perfunctory like I was running through mathematical computations.  Something was severed.   And I knew it hadn’t been severed by Him.   That pain of knowing what I lost has been unbearable.  The emptiness, nothing thus far can fill.

A thousand miles I have strayed off that chosen path on which I should have tread, maybe more.  It is easy to get lost out there in the darkness. Still easier to stay lost.

I don’t know how I will get back to Him.   I’m so far off course and a compass rose made only of hope in my grip.   I hope that He finds it in His heart, to forgive me.   Hope that this prodigal daughter can come home.   Hope that lost Faith will be found.

 

 


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