Aug 012016
 

All I had ever really needed was a pen and paper. Somewhere to jot down my thoughts, in words or sketch. I wasn’t thriving, I was surviving, despite my best efforts to end that for good-on more than one occasion. Never happy, never even content with how things were moving along.

I had escaped but I had also been exposed.

Exposed to this world where love often hurts and the sting of a whip can feel amazing while making your lips part and primal groans come from somewhere deep within. I didn’t love him though. I may have at one time, I must’ve in order to have been with him in the first place, right? But everyday was its own hell and left its own scar on my soul that I can’t erase.

You can’t just pluck those wounds from your mind and pretend they don’t exist because they do, and there will always be a trigger for a different time and place. The tightening of your chest as panic rises and the bile of the past boils deep within. Amazing how the mind can evoke such a physical response after trauma. The psychology of it all has left me intrigued and violated all at once.

I dated, quite a few guys and pretty seriously for a fair bit of time. The last guy told me he loved me. I may have loved him back. Yet he wasn’t what I needed and when he said those words my flight or fight response kicked in and I did both. It ended with a call from me to 911 and me sounding completely nuts explaining to an officer that he hadn’t hit me, or hurt me or grabbed me or done anything even remotely wrong… he simply said he loved me.

Over the next few years there was coffee and even sex but I wasn’t handing out my heart. I hid it behind the screen and it could be seen by those who I did care about in the words I shared. If I shared those words at all.

As the shadows buried in my soul began to stir I was seeking answers to the questions that no doctors or therapists or other victims could ever give. No one has written the book and maybe that’s because us victims don’t share enough to write, or maybe it’s because we get lumped into the categories of other mental health issues and the actual cause of the PTSD is overlooked.

I went to a website that I don’t think exists anymore. It was called Collar Me. A place for the kinky people of the world to look for people to meet or chat with or… whatever. For me? I wanted answers. I wanted, no I needed to know how he got to me and WHY. I found one guy who was an older married man with grandchildren who called himself a “Master”. I don’t think he really knew how to live the life and I know for sure he couldn’t do it 24/7, but for the first time he made it feel like it could be safe.

I didn’t even remember that I had added another person claiming a similar status to my yahoo chat until months later, long after I had visited that site that one night. I was on my laptop and a message popped up asking me if we had talked before and who I was. I explained we hadn’t talked and where I had likely got his info.

We talked for several weeks and I knew I loved him. Love seemed so extremely elusive and unattainable and yet there I was longing for a man who I had never spoken to or met. A man who could read me like a book and never made me feel like I was a game. He had answers to my questions and wanted to keep me safe. I respected that, 3 years later I still do.

I have wanted to be his in real life for the majority of those 3 years. He hasn’t been ready and honestly, I don’t even know what that means. I have grown a lot in this time. I have stopped cutting myself almost completely, meaning there have been slip ups but it went from several times a week to once or twice a year. We still don’t talk on the phone or skype. He has never asked me for dirty pics or tried to trigger me like others in this lifestyle.

He feels closed tight. A wall that separates us more so than the distance, yet, if he told me I was moving next week I would ask him what to pack and be ready to go. I never realized that freedom could be given to me by someone else, another human, and yet I feel more free now than I ever have.

The idea to land my ass on his doorstep and refuse to leave has crossed my mind more than once. Maybe he needs a similar push to be “ready”, especially since I wasn’t even looking for this.

I have also been told that I am being “cat-fished” and that he isn’t really who he says he is. Especially since we have never talked on the phone or skyped, and of course because he is so closed off. Initially, this made me defensive and even mad. How dare someone question our relationship!? Slowly though, those same questions crawled under my skin and caused me to feel insecure about it all.

Awhile back I realized that even if he is a she and I am being “cat-fished” and “wasting” my life talking to someone who will only ever lead me on but will never actually take me on –I can say I am better for it. I am happier. I am alive. I am trying to make changes to be healthier.

I feel understood for the first time in my life. So how can that be wrong? Even if it never does lead somewhere physical?

My family worries that I will hide out behind the screen forever waiting on a man who doesn’t really want me. I would like to think that at some point I would draw the line and choose to be happy in the flesh and maybe that’s what he is hoping for. Or maybe he is waiting for me to be bold and show up at his door to prove my love and devotion.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that the stirring in my soul grows greater and more impatient as I sit in wait. The days turning into years that rapidly pass us by. I want to live under his roof, cook his meals, vacuum his floors, kiss him good morning and kiss him goodnight. I want his mouth to explore me and I want my scars to be exposed the way my heart is. I want to be one with him and I want to grasp at the earth and feel it grab me back. I want to show him my love, adoration and appreciation for all that he has done.

I want the comfort of being able to watch the wounds heal. I need to be able to look over and see him fast asleep. I need the release that only he has ever offered me. I can keep on waiting. I don’t want to, but I can.

I think I need more. Those quick voice chats. Messages that don’t just arrive on my screen. I wonder how long I can keep on waiting though. That concerns me the most. I don’t want to give up or throw in the towel because of time.

I want to feel the stabbing of the steel knife gut me as he tosses me aside and makes it known that I am not what he wants. I can accept that. I will be destroyed but I can respect that. I can’t respect a passive-aggressive hope that I will end it so he doesn’t have to. I love him from the deepest parts of my soul. I want nothing more than to please him and be his in the flesh.

Loving him is easy. Being separated is becoming impossible.

What a wonderful grace it’s been to… love him.

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