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 alcoholic, ex-boyfriend 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.

 

 

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Stella and the Brand New Life

I was not born to be an accountant, but somehow I ended up as one.  I was not born to be unhappy and unsatisfied with my life, but here I am… unhappy and unsatisfied.  Guess what?  I’m done.  I have a lot of things to be happy about (Sir, friends, family, life) and a lot of dreams that I know I can make a reality with a little perseverance.

I am NOT about to go out and quit my job, but I am going to start focusing a lot more on my goals and my dreams.  The thing I always fail to remember is that they are absolutely attainable if I only put forth effort.  And, before that thought even gets stuck in your head, nope, it does not make me less submissive to go after my own goals.  Self-fulfillment is the only way to tap into my true self and the only way to truly allow my submissive self to come forward.

So, no, crunching numbers is not my future.  Maybe I’m not 100% sure what it will be yet, but I know I’m on the horizon of figuring it out.  I know I want to do something that will benefit others just as much as myself.  I want to really tap into my creative side and unleash a part of me that no one has ever seen.  It isn’t going to be easy and it isn’t going to happen overnight, but I know I’m on the right track and keeping this mindset is the only way to make it happen.

Stella writes erotica?

So, the idea of writing erotica has been on my mind.  This is not a recent thing, it has been on my mind for weeks and weeks and weeks.  I enjoy reading erotica from time to time, but the issue is that I do not want to read just porn (don’t get me wrong, that’s fun sometimes too!).  I want a real plot and characters that actually develop throughout a long with plenty of sex and kink and erotic amazingness. Maybe there is a better term for this than erotica?  I don’t know.

I want to write about the things that lurk in the very darkest corners of my mind and even the things that cross deep into my hard limits and beyond what I would even consider to be on my radar.  I mean, I already have the Stella alias, so why not?  I know there is a market out there.  Sex sells, no question about it.

There are a few things holding me back.  For example, I feel that writing is a very vulnerable thing, even when it is purely fiction.  But then again, this blog is also very vulnerable.  I am going to continue to mull it over in my mind for the next few days and see if I can come up with anything.

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Ring of fire

This week has been far better than my previous weeks.  Most notably, I do not burst into random tears at random times throughout the day and night.  I am almost back to my usual smitten kitten, daydreamy, heart-eyed self.Emoji

Running away was not my best idea.  Not even in the realm of a good idea, BUT I learned some things:

  1. I am a submissive and it does not matter whether you or anyone else agrees with me. I know I am, and that’s that.  On that same note, I must stop comparing myself to other submissives.
  2. I did not confuse lust and love.  I missed Sir more during that week than I have ever missed anyone or anything in my entire life, so much so that it was physically painful. (You know, like… it burns, burns, burns… the ring of fire)  That is not lust.
  3. I need to trust.  Sir has beyond proven that he deserves that trust.   All of the times he could have given up on me and he did not.

I think I have been trying harder lately – to be a better submissive and a better person in general.  I did not just wake up one day and decide to be submissive, I have known since I was a teenager.  Running away and giving up seemed like the easiest option at the time and it absolutely was not.  Not at all.

Stella learns Svenska

I have a problem with bottling up my feelings and they all kind of overflowed on Sunday.  A mini-meltdown, I guess you could call it.  So, now I’m supposed to be writing every day per Sir’s instruction.  I’ll probably just write a blog post here every day because I forgot the password to my online journal.   I can’t guarantee any of it will be interesting.

It isn’t easy for me to write on command.  My mind kind of freezes.

Maybe I’ll just write about myself…

I’m learning to speak Swedish.  I already know a few words anyway, my dad’s side of the family is of Swedish descent.  We used to eat a lot of Scandinavian foods at holidays.  No, not lutefisk.  Homemade lefse and LOTS of it.  In fact, my great grandpa was born in Sweden and was probably a teenager when they came to the US.  My grandparents could speak Swedish and Norwegian.  I wish I had taken advantage before they passed away….  I get jealous of people who still have grandparents because mine have been gone for years…

Anyway.. that’s a sore subject.  It always has been.  Instant tears, basically.

Learning Swedish will give me a distraction from my anxiety.  Or, I hope it will.  I bore easily, so I constantly need something new to challenge my mind.  What better than an entirely new language?

On that same note, maybe that’s why I’m so dissatisfied with my job.  It isn’t challenging me.  In an attempt to fix it, my boss is giving me a different job and hiring someone else to do mine but I don’t foresee that lasting more than a few months before boredom sets in again.

Today has been a mediocre day.  I haven’t felt overly anxious but I also feel a little bit like I’ve just been coasting through.  There isn’t much more on my mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Adventures in the ER

I haven’t written in awhile.  Part of that was because I didn’t have much to write about, and part of it was because I was extremely sick.  I need to write about this experience because I need to get it out of my head… this can never happen again.

At 3 AM this morning, I had my 8th and final IV full of antibiotics.  Strong ones, the kind meant for serious, antibiotic resistant infections.  I am still taking, and will be for awhile, oral antibiotics.  I really don’t know how it happened or where it came from, but a small bump appeared under my right eye on Saturday and by Tuesday morning I was in the emergency room hooked to an IV and waiting on a CT scan.

I had a fever and was lethargic.  On Monday evening, I had a dream in which I died.  The pressure on my eye was so much that my vision was blurred.  A few years ago, I had something similar on my knee but it never got to this level.  The doctor was worried that the pressure from the lump, which had grown to probably 4-5 inches in diameter (keep in mind, this is on my face) was putting pressure on my sinuses and, possibly, my brain.  Luckily the CT scan showed this was not the case.

I was mildly allergic to one of the antibiotics but because of the severity of the infection, the only solution was to slow down the IV drip.  So a 1.5 hour thing turned into 2.5 hours. There is also a good chance that one or more of the IVs infiltrated the vein, so I have to keep a close eye on my arms for skin changes.  These antibiotics will actually eat skin tissues if they escape the veins.

The doctor said that this can happen to anyone (bad bacteria lives on our skin, unfortunately) but it kind of threw my life into rather harsh perspective.  Specifically when it comes to my diet.  I already do the calorie counting thing… but I am a firm believer that food is our best medicine and I was NOT following that belief.  It’s interesting, my stress level has been at 100% throughout this ordeal but I have not once craved anything sugary or carby.  I’m just done with it.. the alcohol, the sugar, the bread.  Maybe it didn’t directly cause my infection, but I know it played a part.

It’s hard being so alone here.  My parents drove 90 miles to sit with me in the ER and I am thankful (they’ve even offered to help me with the bill, because my high-deductible insurance won’t cover most of it).  Unfortunately, I was alone for the remaining IV appointments.  I had a TV and started re-reading the The Shining, but those hours were long. I know Sir would have been there too if he could have.  The distance frustrates me, I have to be honest.  It frustrates me a lot.