let’s start over

I started this blog as a diary to ‘document’ my journey in the D/s world. Eventually, this blog may go back to being exactly that but for now, it’s not.

The truth is, I can’t continue on that journey until I work on myself and banish the insecurity, fear, and darkness from my life. I have no idea how long that might take but, as this is my diary, I’ll write about that for now.

I may occasionally drop a dirty writing or some musings on D/s in general, but it won’t be specific to me.

I feel compelled to make this portion of my journey public because my ultimate passion in life is to.. help. If my words can help even one person to feel less alone in this world, then my goal is achieved.

I also don’t feel like living in the past anymore. I used to write about my past bad experiences in both D/s and vanilla relationships and that isn’t who I want to be. Those experiences shape the person I am now but they do not define the person I am becoming.

I want to make room in my life for the amazing things on the horizon. They are coming. I can feel it.

god, keep my head above water

The last few days I have been making a conscious effort to let go of the things I can’t control. It has helped a little. The storm cloud above my head seems to be slowly dissipating – just a summer thunderstorm now, not a raging hurricane.

But, I’m still struggling. Attention is my drug and I crave it. I have to find my strength because the attention I want is dangerous. A slippery slope that will land me back at the beginning. Or worse.

It isn’t those men I want but if I go after them and lose myself in the pain they bring then I can mask the pain of not having the one I want. I don’t have to feel the things I’ve felt for too many years. They can drive me into the ground. Again and again. External pain so I don’t need to feel what’s going on inside.

And it isn’t for lack of trying. I went out and did something with my life. I got therapy, I got a degree, and a corporate job. I moved on with life and did everything I was told to do. They said it would get better. Promised. Time heals everything, you know?

It didn’t matter if I was with someone else. It never mattered. I’d forget during the day only for my dreams to drag me back…

The ones I used to mask the pain – they noticed too. “For our entire relationship, its like you’ve been in love with someone else.” And, it wasn’t an excuse to hurt me the way he did, but he was right. I was in love with someone else and I’ve been trying to run away from it for so long.

With the lights out, its less dangerous

Hi there. My name is Stella (well, not really.. but, that’s what we’ll say) and this is me finally admitting to myself I have a problem

This is me admitting I am struggling through a cycle of constant misery. Over and over again.

This is me admitting that I am addicted to love and that I will destroy myself to get it. That I HAVE destroyed myself to get it and that if I don’t fix it, it’ll kill me.

I don’t believe I deserve good things or good people so this is me admitting I seek out abuse because that’s all I think I’m good enough for. I don’t believe I deserve real love – and I don’t believe that anyone loves me. I see myself as an unlovable person.

I seek out emotional, mental, and sometimes even physical abuse because its easier to lose myself in the pain than it is to try to fix whatever is happening in my mind.

I let my family, my friends watch me suffer over and over again. They can’t help me because I won’t help myself.

I am stuck in the past so the future is forgotten. All my dreams are ignored because there is not one bone in my body that believes I deserve them.

This is me gasping for air and trying to control things I was never meant to control. Admitting my faith has wavered and that I am not who I once was.

My body is tired. My mind is tired. I am drowning.

I spent the last few years dating a hardcore atheist who told me that my belief in a higher power was stupid, dumb, and a waste of time. So, I stopped because I just wanted him to love me. But look where it got me?

So, this is me surrendering and picking up the pieces of that faith so that I can begin to pick up the shattered pieces of myself.

My name is Stella. And I’m going to be okay.

Life, Death, Love, & Cats

TW: Death

It’s been 3 years, so I suppose we should start with a quick (and fairly depressing) update:

When I stopped updating this blog in September 2018, I had just moved to North Carolina and was in a relationship with a man I referred to as Wolf. He was an amazing person and I loved him so much but we just did not work as a couple. We broke up sometime in March/April 2019 and cut off contact with each other.

He was also hiding severe illness. I was aware he was having some issues but he kept the brunt of it from me. A few months later he passed away. His family did not tell me (not that I blame them). I stumbled across his obituary on my own, the morning after I had suffered the loss of an extremely beloved cat.

A cat that, coincidentally, he adored when we were together. A cat that adored him too. It gives me comfort to think that maybe he was waiting for her when she crossed the rainbow bridge. In fact, I know he would have been.

He was cremated and there is no grave for me to visit. Going back and reading my old posts about him brings tears to my eyes. It seems so unfair that someone so good would be forced to suffer so much.

I’d like to say this was the beginning of my spiral, but it wasn’t and… I’m only starting to realize it now.

Sorry this post is so terribly sad. I can’t promise they’ll get better, as much as I wish I could. For now, at least. I’m on a journey.

I didn’t report.

When I was 20, my boyfriend raped me.

I had missed a few pills, we didn’t have a condom.

I said “No, I’m not comfortable.”

He said.  “But, it’s okay.  I want a baby with you.”  (He didn’t have a job.  I was a college student, working at Kmart part-time.)

I said no.

I said no.

And he pushed me down, ignored me while I sobbed.

 

My best friend?  She told me it wasn’t rape because he was my boyfriend and to stop overreacting.

I believed her.  I internalized it.  Kept it a secret.  Until now.

 

I didn’t report it, but it doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth.

Hurricanes & Millipedes

I moved to the southeast portion of the US a few weeks ago, and Mother Nature is throwing me a welcome party in the form of Hurricane Florence.  Thanks, I guess?  I’m not on the coast, but looks like I might still be in the line of fire. Anyway, I have got all my hurricane supplies ready and Wolf will be staying with me.

I’m a midwestern girl.  We don’t get hurricanes.  Just tornadoes.

UGH.  A few days ago I had the biggest millipede I’ve ever seen start crawling across my kitchen floor.  I have never seen anything so disgusting. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a millipede before (just centipedes, equally repulsive). I had to scoop it up onto the lid of my kitchen trashcan and toss it outside.  Now the paranoia is real.

There are also two toads living in my outdoor storage closet, lying in wait for the swarm of crickets/spiders to descend from their spots on the ceiling.  Needless to say, I will never ever open that door again.

Moving on…

I have told myself that I will start writing again.. now that I am mostly settled.

Broken collars & sadness

My collar broke this morning.  The chain crumbled in my hands as I tried to put it on for the day.  It put a damper on my Monday morning, as if Mondays weren’t bad enough.  I wanted to burst into tears and crawl back into bed.  All day I kept trying to touch it, as I often do when I’m anxious or frustrated at work, but it wasn’t there.  I felt… lost and strangely vulnerable.

I’ve been feeling off all day.  Not just because of the collar (also, life in general) but that has been a contributing factor.  It makes it more difficult when I cannot confide in my friends.  I can tell them I’m sad that I broke my necklace, but they don’t know (and likely never will) what it symbolizes.  To them, it is just a piece of jewelry.

Wolf and I are long-distance, that damn necklace is the one tangible thing I have with me all day everyday that links me to Him.  I realize that it’s a material object and doesn’t affect my relationship or dynamic with Him, but there is a ton of meaning packed into the delicate little necklace.  I could buy a new one, an exact replica, but it isn’t THAT one.

It’s laying on the bathroom counter now.  I can’t decide what to do with it. I tend to work myself into a frenzy over these things, because everything means something, right?  My mind spins out of control.

Am I being dramatic?  I don’t know. Probably.  I just want it back.

The secrets we keep…

Today was strange.  This morning I received notification that someone at my work place took her own life last Friday.  I didn’t know her – she wasn’t on my team.  But, I did walk past her desk every day.  And, I probably walked past her as I was leaving on Friday, excited about my weekend, oblivious to her misery.  But, aren’t we all?

I know how it is to feel that hopeless.  Not so long ago, I was sitting on my bathroom floor with a bottle of vodka, cough syrup, and painkillers… while my cat cried outside the door and my dad and sister blew up my phone.  I felt like a burden to everyone.  Some like to say those who commit suicide are selfish, but I know better.

In my head, I truly believed the world would be better without me.  My parents wouldn’t have to support the daughter that couldn’t get her life together, my sister wouldn’t have to listen to me cry on the phone every time my ex drug me into his cave of misery… my friends, my coworkers, my employer, my classmates, and professors?  They no longer had to watch me slowly tear myself apart.

I was sick.  I needed help, not judgement.

I answered the phone and listened to my dad cry and blame himself.  Then I realized that I couldn’t leave – because as much as I thought their lives would be better, the hole I left would never heal.  I won’t lie – I still feel it some days.  There are afternoons when I sit at my desk in my tiny cubicle and imagine the blood spilling onto the keyboard… or morning’s when I wonder if swerving in front of a semi would be quick and painless.

Those thoughts are fleeting now and are easier to overcome (with the help of past therapy and current medications).  But, I still struggle to open up to the people I love.  I want desperately to spill my inner-most thoughts, but the devil on my shoulder tells me to stop being so needy, stop being an attention whore… to just.. stop.

What kills me the most is the idea of other people feeling the way I did.  We suffer in silence because the stigma is still so prominent.  There was nothing I could do, I know that.  I know that.

Quarter Life Crisis

I haven’t blogged in awhile.  For a few reasons.  First, I haven’t had a ton to write about.  Second, I have been focusing on my writing.  I have been talking about publishing erotica for a LONG time and I finally did it

I think I’m having a ‘quarter-life’ crisis.  Yeah, it’s a thing!  Google it!  I feel so uncertain about almost everything in my life.  My job? Hate it.  Where I live?  Over it.  Right now, I have B and I have my writing… and that is all that makes me happy.  Everything else seems like an annoying distraction.

B is always so supportive.  It was Him who pushed me to finish my first story and publish it.  Up until now, I have only written bits and pieces.  He read it and helped me edit it, letting me know where pieces didn’t flow or where elaboration would help.  I love that He doesn’t judge me.

I have no idea what I would do without him.  Even though we are far apart right now, He still makes sure I’m taking care of myself – taking my anxiety meds and such.  He lets me vent and knows how to get me to relax… on the flip-side, he knows how to make me wet too.  My Wolf certainly is magical.  😉