It’s been hard, these last few months not seeing Him at all. I am unkinked, adrift, lost. Nature abhors a vacuum, so when there is an empty slot of time in my life, it is filled nearly immediately. My work has grown exponentially to the time we don’t spend together. It leaves me truly vanilla.
I’m not depressed, exactly.
I think I’m too busy to feel.
To feel anythings.
The good stuff. The bad stuff. The feelings of loss and aloneness that not having him more intimately entwined in my life. He’s not gone. We’re still a couple.
And yet, not.
I wrote to him last night. Because I let a little of the hurt (the need for hurt?) seep into my awareness.
The less we communicate, the less we see each other, the less connection i feel…and i fill up those empty places with work. I need you. It’s as simple as that. Or i will just fade away.
I’m beyond vanilla..im almost invisible and there’s no one to hear my screaming.
He wrote back within two minutes.
I hear it.
It relieved me. That he got it. That he didn’t laugh it off, or joke it away, that he could *feel* my deep sense of loss. This…this nasty, dirty, terrible thing we do–it’s part of me. It’s a name I can put to those craven desires that I didn’t understand for so terribly long. I know I’m kind of late to the party here, just discovering kink in the last year of my 40’s, but these last 9 years have shown me parts of myself, and taught me to love them as part of my whole being. I am what I am. I can’t be anything else. There’s a name and a need and it can be stuffed away…but it leaves me feeling less than whole, and a whole lot less.
He got it.
And that means more to me than all the “there, there’s” in the world.