This month has been one of the hardest ever. In my journey to the new me and also the real me, I have had a mentor, friend, and guide. He was also my Dom, my Sir, my Daddy. Started with Sir, and then as I grew and progressed I understood and accepted the title Daddy as I had lost my original objections to this term. He became that to me and more. He was also my best friend and as we progressed in our friendship, we progressed in other ways as well. It was a glorious journey. It had ups and downs as most do. We never fought and even our disagreements were handled with calm and respectful conversation. He offered me the opportunity to open myself up to who I really wanted to be. True, I wanted to be that with him, but the truth remained that I had many things that were repressed. He not only gave me the tools to explore those things, but he was there with me all the way. I trusted him with so much of myself. More than I had with anyone. More than I doubt I will ever trust anyone else.
Our everything ended in a text. I said the wrong thing to the wrong person and he cut me off completely. He was no longer my mentor, my Dom, my part-time lover, and most sadly of all, no longer my friend. I felt sad and responsible. I was devastated. It is almost two months to the day (August 6, 6:34 pm) and I still feel the sadness and deep heaviness that lays on me like a concrete blanket. Some days are better than others, but not a day passes where he doesn’t run through my mind. His face, his voice, his smell, his laugh, his presence. It is always with me. I use to carelessly tell him that no one would ever love him the way I did. His girlfriends love him, but they don’t know all of him the way I do. They don’t know his darkest side. The lies he told, the truths he hid. I didn’t know all of them either but I knew most of them. I am not arrogant enough to believe he trusted me with everything but he trusted me with a lot. I am now left with that knowledge. I am left with the memories of what he shared and the trust we had together, but his touch, his voice, his presence is gone.
We still need to communicate occasionally because we work at the same place and with the same people. It is short, professional, polite. I haven’t heard his voice in two months. His words that ended everything are on a text stream on my phone. I can’t bear to delete them.
Life goes on. This wasn’t life ending. It was, however, the end of a chapter. Trying to move on without him is difficult. All the little things I couldn’t wait to tell him still happen, but I can’t tell him. All the things I want to share, the news we use to watch together and discuss, the songs that I knew he could cover still continue. Life doesn’t stop. He is everywhere in my house. The pictures he helped hang, his clothes in my closet, the soap and bath wash and cologne he likes are still in their place. Maybe someday I will take them down. Maybe someday they will be replaced with another man’s clothes, another mans smell and another man’s voice. Right now I am not sure about that.
Dating sucks. Dating apps suck worse. I try to seem interested but it seems forced and unfair to anyone interested in spending the time to get to know me. It isn’t just the dating and the companionship. It is the kink and BDSM. The future is unknown. Everyone’s future is unknown. The hard part is knowing that my BDSM future is unknown. Admittedly, he was easy. He was seasoned. He was knowledgeable. He was a natural teacher. More than that he was a trusted friend, and that was the most important part. I trusted him with my heart, my body, and my soul. Losing that trust the way I did will make it even harder to trust again.
I miss him. I will always miss him.
Aside from trying to recover from this loss, I am still dealing with the loss of my second father, supporting my Mom and welcoming my daughter and her girlfriend into my home and adjusting to living with them. (Which I wouldn’t change for the world and I know they are adjusting too).
This past weekend I took a short trip to the beach with a friend. I had not been to the beach in four years for relaxation. I have always considered the beach my happy place. My therapy. It became instantly clear that this was truer than I knew. I stepped on the sand and the tears flowed with the tide in front of me. Years of struggle with my daughter’s addiction, and all that life threw at me while going through that with her poured from my eyes as the dam had busted. The tears I had held back for years, and for the past two months were uncontrollable. It was a release of sorts, but not the kind that I expected.
The weekend was spent watching my friend handle her parents’ health issues and trying to make sure they were ok. That, and my break down that was needed, has left me feeling more exhausted than before I left. Through exhaustion, I find some relief. I’m sad. I will always be sad at the loss of my father and the loss of my Sir and friend. I have also realized that through the four years of hell with my daughter’s addiction, the loss of my farm and marriage, I am still standing.
Somethings show us darkness. Somethings show us light. Somethings make us stronger. In the end, it is our perspective that either saves us or lets us drown. The ocean will always show me that most things will come and go. They will give and take. In the end, it is what we decide to keep and cherish, let go of and file in a place where we can keep the lesson but lose the pain is what matters most.