“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love.”
Three weeks ago today, my Dom, the man I thought I would be with forever, released me. Since then I’ve been sinking slowly in to a dark vacuum of despair; questioning my place in this world.
In my heart I felt I was created to love him; to heal him. And he felt his mission was the same. At least that’s what he said. I’m questioning so many things now.
We were star-crossed from the start. I live in Austin, TX and he lives in London. In the 16 months of our relationship, Sir James and I never met. We Skyped, chatted and emailed almost every single day without fail. Though I never touched him, it was the most intense love affair I’ve ever had.
On February 15, 2014, Sir James and I entered a D/s relationship that would be one of the most fulfilling and beautiful things I’ve ever done in my life. A week shy of our one-year anniversary he ended it with a sad, heartfelt letter.
He did it for altruistic reasons, at least that’s his side of the story. I’m not so sure. I’ll tell you the story on this blog and you can be the judge.
Now that the spell is broken, though the love still has a hold on me, I can look back at all the unanswered questions. He was a mystery from the beginning and maybe I liked that, but mysteries are not always meant to be solved.
After he released me, I begged him several times to reconsider, but as of today I haven’t heard one single word from him. My messages, like many of my prayers, remain unanswered. My heart continues to disintegrate.
I don’t want to become the psycho ex-sub who can’t let go. So instead I’m going to tell him and whoever else wants to listen, exactly what he meant to me and where I am in my struggle to survive the biggest heartbreak of my life.
Everything on this blog is real. It comes from my gut, my heart and my soul.
This is my story.
Painting: Biblis by William Adolphe Bouguereau (1884).