Thursday, 2 July 2009

Hanging on a Wing and a Prayer

Originally Posted - 7 Mar 2009

I went to see my counselor the other Friday and she is referring me to see a psychotherapist. I am not sure how I am supposed to feel about that, she has been seeing me for a while and she feels I could do with weekly sessions and that I would benefit from going down this route.

She simply said that she thought referring me to CBT (which is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for those not in the know) or a psychotherapist would be beneficial and asked me what I thought. I said that she knew what these two processes involved and as she knew me, which did she think I would benefit most from. She said the psycho-therapy.

She asked how I felt about attending a group session or would I prefer 1 to1 meetings and I told her that either would be acceptable to me. She then decided that she thought the 1 to1’s would be better for me as in a group she suspected I would spend my whole time making sure everyone else was ok. Hmmmm.

So now I have to wait for my time to be arranged. I have to admit to being afraid and a little upset at this turn of events. There is part of me that wants to tell them all I am fine and I will stop the anti-depressants and that I no longer need the counseling and that it is all just fine and dandy. But there is a bit of me that is curious and relieved and wants to get to the root of what has set my world so askew the last few years.

It is so easy to blame my extra-marital affair and its subsequent breakup, but I was on happy pills a full 10 months before I ever met db and had discussed the possibility of ending my marriage a further 6 months prior to that. Far from risking the break up with my husband I actually think that it had made it possible to stay. While I was feeling loved and desired and had my interludes of happiness with my lover, it made my loveless, sexless existence at home bearable, possible, and acceptable.

I made a wish on the new moon the other evening. I wished I would feel like me again soon.

I bet you all thought I would wish that db would come back to me didn’t you. But I don’t waste wishes on futile things or things I am not even sure would be a good idea anymore. That’s not strength talking, more an acceptance of what is likely and what is not.

He always wrote and mentioned my confidence. It is a front; anyone who truly knows me knows that. It is all a beautiful facade to hide the scared, unsure and insecure person, the woman who doesn’t feel beautiful or gorgeous or brave or strong but feels rather fragile and confused.

We all have to live with the choices we have made in life. I chose to have an affair; he also chose to embark on a love affair with me. He now wants her; he has chosen her and so we must both get on with the choices that have been made, whether they were made by us or for us.

I have to rise above all this and I am getting there, some days are easier than others, some days are terrible and some days, like today, seem to be wonderful and then just one single, foolish thought or memory nestles in my mind and germinates like an over-enthusiastic cress seed and before I know it I am awash with feelings of utter sadness.

I don’t fight it. I let it run its course. I weep, sob, wail into the void until it has exhausted itself and me and then I dry my eyes and blow my nose and go about my day.

At times like this I am not a Domme, everything about play and femdom reminds me of him, of us. The thought of play and creating tasks and games all equates to him and that hurts, I can’t do it.

I am sexually adventurous, I am happy to explore and experiment, but I am not a woman who claims they were born Domme and have just been ‘awakened’ and discovered their true selves.
I became a Domme for a man who sent my head spiraling and my body craving, because I was curious, inquisitive and intrigued, because I am adventurous and will try anything once and because I adore sexual contact and sensations. My Domme style, if I have one, is sexual and sensual and fun and intense and creative. I became a Domme because he was curious and I loved him and I wanted to explore it with him and I did and I thrilled to it and would have carried on and on and developed it further.

But we are over, and at times I feel Tormentress is over, I feel a failure and a let down, I feel a fraud at the adult site we frequented.

Last week I packed up two boxes and sealed them, one with all my cards, letters, my teddy, books, stories and poems in, the other with all our sex toys. I packaged them all up and I have given them to my best friend to keep for me.
Now they are out the way and when I am strong enough and brave enough to discard them I will ask her to destroy them for me. It will be when I feel I can do it.

But in the meantime I shall regroup, heal, keep taking the happy pills, attend the therapy and wait for my world to regain its balance. It will, I just need to be patient and not be fretful.

A very dear friend of mine said to me today that one of the strongest weapons against the anguish we sometimes feel is very simple. It is someone saying, “Hey, I’m here. I’m for you. Just hang on a bit longer”

So that’s what I am doing, just hanging on a bit longer…….

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