Pickles for my Cookie

Sundays we listen to country music. I haven't stopped. I can't help but listen to the sad songs that play on repeat. Two have been hitting hard lately.  Religiously and In your love Both equally sad in their own way. But convicting, and where my mind has been. I've always said what I wanted, and that I was in it for the long haul. I will stand my ground. I will wait for you. Words that keep ringing through my head as I fold laundry. As I run errands. As I lift. As I walk.  Honey, I will wait for you.  The meeting tonight is hard. I listen and take notes. I managed to shed a few tears, and in doing so she reached across the table to hold my hands. Apparently I started picking at my nails.  Just hours before I asked the girls to keep an eye on me, and if they saw me picking at my nails, they were to stop me gently. She looked at me in my eyes, and said "hold my hands instead". My eyes began to water as she gripped my hands, and patted them. My nails and cuticles loo...

I don’t know how to do this. I want to stop the bleeding before it gets worse. The only way I know how to do that is to keep to the no contact setup. To not look. To keep myself busy, and do everything but think of you.  When I catch myself questioning my decision, or feeling sad, I read a list of all the shitty things you’ve said, and done to me. I listen to the two voicemails I have from you. Unfortunately both are shitty. But it’s an excellent reminder of how vile you can be.  It sucks to know the only things I have that are kind/romantic/sweet or full of praise are the cards, letters, and flower notes. It would have been nice to have a kind and sweet message to listen to.  Sometimes I wish I wasn’t living a principled life. I’d post your shitty voicemail online so everyone could hear how fucking rude you are.  I’ve noticed that when I forget about you, I stop picking at my nails. My cuticles look like shit, especially right after I read your messages.  I hav...

It’s almost been a month since I took my collar off. Every day I go to reach for it. Moments of comfort, and moments of sadness, happiness. These are times to reflect, I would lean on our dynamic to keep me safe, or to guide me in the right direction. To say that I feel betrayed is an understatement. To know that my submission, my love, and my dynamic was meaningless, hurts.  Today I’m in Colorado. I am home. I see what the state has to offer, and I see this mountain that I’m sitting on. I see all the tiny crevices, of all of these boulders. There’s life. It’s emerging. Life that is thriving on the edge of a boulder, hanging over a valley.  It gives me hope. I can thrive. So when I think of moments when I get home, and I want to text you, instead I can think of these boulders, and I can think of the grass, and the bushes, and the trees, and the weeds, that are growing, and they’re thriving. And they look like they are barely holding on, but the roots are deep. Grounded. Attach...

I am learning the difference between help and interference. Today I will examine the way I offer support. 

Today was a great day. Especially considering the week we’ve had.  Two therapy sessions. Joint. Our first of a few. I feel like I have whiplash.  Monday fight Tuesday therapy - good. Hard but good Wednesday - an entire day of texting, knowing full well that texting does no good. Threaten to break up, uncollar, and then apologize.  Thursday - therapy, we had a chance to reconnect and it was great to have service night. And amazing sex.  Friday - hard but talking and conversations were fine. Some laughs and conversations. Saturday - today Amazing wake up sex. A day of fellowship. Bonding with the kids. And a wonderful evening. We get home, we have laughs and drinks. The kids are asleep and we start watching a new show. Some how you get on the topic of cumming on my face. This of course goes to who has done it. And when. And why. The questions aren’t so bad. But your arrogance and lack of empathy for my recollection of an event leaves me stumped.  To be gas lit, th...