Do not seek to acquire your power from my surrender. Be powerful because you are.
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Her surrender, dear friend, is courage at its finest.
Oh, you cannot see the foes she battles
or hear their dying pleas.
But rest assured,
with each new aspect of her life laid at your feet,
she has faced fear and insecurity,
the ghosts of past experiences,
and the dragons of self-doubt and inadequacy.
She vanquishes those foes daily.
Every time she kneels,
in every graceful movement to please,
you witness her courage.
No, my brother.
The quiet struggle for surrender
is the purest example of courage.

13 August, 2004

6:17 pm

for the sake of me - - part I

I have so many things to say all the time but I never seem able to say them here. I never seem to really be able to say them at all really. But now, I will say them for the sake of me.

I'm still spiraling since the beach entry. It's seen it's demise but I kept it for myself.

I still walked back. I could't help myself. Even being able to say outloud that I knew that it would never change could not keep me from reaching out to him. From needing to feel protected and safe and hoping that I could find that in him. The yearn and wish for that has been all that I have known for the last 4 1/2 years and now ... I'm lost. Some days are better than others, other things are making some of the days unbearable. But I'm getting to that.

Continuing to try and nurse myself to some place of peace, ready for seven days on the beach, but instead leaving the beach in a rush on Thursday, having Lyn ending up in the hospital back home, watching as my best friend falls apart because the man she loves is suddenly scheduled for heart surgery, as I did only a few short months ago, I was torpedoed back to December of last year...

We were still trying to recover and rebuild from his third time of lying to me that included other women in some fashion - yes, third - as well as everything else that had gone wrong over the last three and a half years that had left me floundering in confusion and heartache. Trust only existed in a stance of 'I wish so desperately that I could'. There had been a time that I trusted him implicitly and I carried quite a bit of anger because he had stolen that from me.

My heart was broken and my spirit had long since disappeared but I was still there clinging to hope that was waning terribly. Things were rough and I felt we were near the end because I could no longer trust him. His behavior had beaten me down for so long I wasn't even sure which way was up. But I loved him despite it all. I kept hoping I was wrong and that things could change, and we could find a way to have a life together that would fulfill us both and although it had always been my goal, it had never been more than a lofty dream. Until early October when I found out about the latest lies and deception, I had thrown caution to the wind and striven with everything within me to serve him and be all things for him with little or no effort on his part to even exert the effort to begin to try and understand the heart of a slave. He simply had never understood and no amount of trying to convince myself that if I could just be the most spectacular slave in the world that it would awaken something innate within him that would lead him to need what I had to give, could convince my heart that he ever truly would.

And then all hell broke loose.

It was final's time and the night of my next to last final exam I walk out feeling incredibly stressed yet breathing in just a bit more peace because, after just one more exam, for a little while, I would be free from the stresses that college adds to my life.

Let's reflect and add it up a bit. I am married; our living in two seperate bedrooms and both devoted to our children. I am the mother of five extraordinary children to whom I have devoted my life. I am in love with another man whom at one time was referred to as my owner and I, his possession. Being in love with someone that you cannot be with twenty-four hours a day to share lifes ups, middles and downs with because you want to share everything with them no matter how infinitesimal, is not an easy thing when your life is filled with other things that constantly pull you in other directions because of committments that you made many long years ago. Coupled with the in-love relationship having been deluged with lies, deceit, disloyalty in deed and thought, debilitating anger bursts, yet the caring, loving, and erotic good times having been the best that you have ever known is confusing to say the least. All of it together, doused with uncertainty, grasping at straws, wishing and hoping and so desperately needing and all I could think was ... now maybe I would have some time to try and figure things out. It was time to make a decision and I was spiraling in uncertainty trying to figure out what the answer was.

I grab my cell to find out where he is. We've planned to see each other, possibly meet for dinner. I remember thinking that I didn't really care what we did, I just wanted to rest in his arms for a little while. No fighting, no arguing, no anger, no past, only right now. I would get to the other stuff eventually.

His voice is distinctly different and I ask if something is wrong and he tells me to meet him at a little Italian place that we enjoy. He has Zack with him. I know something is wrong. I press for more information as I try to drive. He tells me that he has been to his doctor after having seen the medic earlier in the day for high blood pressure. The medic had told him to go and get medicine for it. His doc wouldn't touch him once xraying his chest and tells him he must go to the ER. Stunned yet not shocked silence.

I'm upset and a bit angry. For two years I've tried to express to him my concern over his eating habits due to his BP never being quite stable and his father having died at 62 due to heart failure coupled by other very serious health issues for a few years before that. The weight gain that he has had, since we met, is substantial and most of it is centered around his chest and gut. I've long since read up on these issues, so that I could be informed and I've known that the weight that he has carried in his mid-section is the worst possible weight for his heart. I've known, and so has he. All of this is rushing through my mind as I question my anger through my fear.

We hang up and I'm driving to the restaurant and I am remembering Friday night. Just five evenings ago. We had been to a retirement party that ended up at one of the local biker hangouts and we had honestly had a very nice evening. We had rented a hotel room for the evening for complete privacy and we weren't there long before his hands were on me and I was once again under his spell. An hour later as he is over me, and within me ... he just stops. Not a normal, I'm teasing you kind of stop. He falls on the bed next to me and as I worriedly ask him if he is okay, he sluffs it off with excuses such as that he is tired, its probably the alcohol, he's out of breath. But I know. And I lay awake all night, my head on his chest, listening. If I began to drift off I would sit straight up next to him and alternately watch his chest and face.

He tells me when I get there that the doc says that he has had a heart attack and must go to the ER. He makes Zack and I accept that we are going to eat dinner first, then go home and pack a bag and then and only then will he go to the ER. And that is exactly what we did, altho not without reservation or continued asking that we get moving.

They keep him overnight to run tests finally checking him into a room around 2 a.m. I had earlier let my family know that I wouldn't be home but would be spending the night with Zack so that he wouldn't have to be alone with his dad in the hospital and us unsure what will happen next. I managed about an hour of sleep, got Zack off to school the next morning and began to make my way home to shower and pick up the kiddo's from school by noon for a work related, children's christmas party that afternoon. The most prevelant thought, wondering when I could get back to the hospital, scared to death to go back for what I might find. I'm crying into the cell, leaning on my heart sis yet again when I notice that there are blue lights behind me. I get a speeding ticket on the way to the house, luckily heading across land owned by Bragg so that it's only a $50 fine and no record of it for insurance, etc. But still, my thoughts are, 'I so don't need this right now'.

"Didn't you see my lights? Didn't you hear the siren?" he asks irritated.

"No, I didn't. Didn't you see me crying? Didn't you see I'm on the phone? Didn't you see that my whole world has just turned upside down and I've been up all night at Womack, scared that the man I love may die? Didn't it even begin to occur to you as you were back there that I might be a little bit distraught at the moment but still I am trying desperately to make my way home to be a good mama for today despite everything? Or is your existance so boring driving that car around that this is how you get your jollies?" I blurt out amid sobs.

To which he then makes me get out and asks me for permission to search the car. It's a military cop and I am on federal land, so no getting around the request; if I refuse he can still search the car but then others get involved because I've refused. So, I'm standing on the side of the road in borrowed pajama pants and t-shirt, barefoot and crying while he seems obvliviously lost in his little boy idiot pride searching the car. It was rather ironic that just minutes earlier I had been telling jade that I wished I had a joint.

Forty-five minutes he makes me wait while he searches, talks to me and then writes the ticket and explains to me how to mail in the fine money. I was looking at this little boy-man, laothing his inability to foster even the remotest sign of concern or compassion and wishing that his mouth would magically be sewn shut in order to liberate me from this hell.

Little did I know how very much hell awaited us all. A week and a half of medical gobbly gook, tests that were supposed to figure out whats going on, trying to juggle two families, having to finish my last exam staring at it blankly trying not to cry anymore and finally being told there wasn't a heart attack but there was something. Anything that could go wrong was going wrong, and even the smaller things that normally would not throw off the course of life seemed to become pinacles of insanity. And then they had to move him to another hospital because they could not help him where he was. The first choice out of thier mouths is Walter Reid Army Medical Center in DC, and tests that wouldn't even begin till January 6th due to the backlog. January 6th?!? DC?!?! He became proactive and managed to talk them into sending him to the local hospital, granting him non-availability status. Still no answers but something is definitely wrong.

I manage to juggle everything. Not perfectly, but I worked my ass off to make it as perfect as possible. I arranged for Nick to come and be here for Christmas, and picked him up from the airport, taking him to see his dad as soon as he got in. I had six kiddos to tend to, my oldest being off in college and two of them scared because their dad is lying in a hospital bed and we still have no clue what's going to happen or even what the problem is.

Then the day comes, we get up and get the day started, the four boys and Addie playing outside most of the morning while I called to check on what would be happening for certain at the hospital. He was scheduled to have a test to check for blockages, I believe it was referred to as a heart cath. He had already had the stress test. He confirmed the time and I told him we would be there waiting on him when he came back from the test around 4:00 o'clock. He would go in at noon.

At around 2:00 o'clock my phone rang. My first instinct was that it was someone calling to find out what was going on, any updates, that sort of thing ... then came that woman's voice over the phone telling me I needed to sit down ...

They were going to cut open his chest, cut open his leg, operate on the heart that I had tried in vain to fill with nothing but joy and I was powerless. He needed triple bypass surgery now. Immediately. His heart had already stopped once. The beat that had always fed my soul as I would lay my head upon his chest and listen, had stopped during a test and this woman was trying to make it all clear to me.

"Why don't you stop mother-fuckin' tellin' me to sit down and start fuckin' tellin' me what's wrong. What's happening!?!. Why are you calling me?!?"

"He said you were going to lose it, please try and stay calm, I know you love him, please listen. You need to gather the boys and come to the hospital and you need to get here as soon and as safely as you can."

Shock. Ten million thoughts in a split second. My life ended in that moment and I managed somehow over gut wrenching pain to robotically begin to respond to what she had said.

My first response I don't really understand. You see, I told her that they would both need to bathe as they had been playing outside all day. I remember thinking that I could not allow him to be embarrassed by my bringing the boys to the hospital looking like white trash. And as quickly as I said it I realized how ludicrous that it was and told her that we would be there as soon as possible. And I knew in my heart that meant 30-45 minutes. No way around it. And I broke down, knelt by the bed, and in sobs begged God to please, please not take him from me. Please do not leave these boys to grow up without their father. Please, if nothing else, let me get them there before You take him. And I'm sure I made many silly bargains with Him before rising and forcing myself to pull it together to tell the boys we had to leave. That we had to go to the hospital, and we had to go now.

From the moment that I told the boys I started going over the conversation again and was holding onto her saying that he had told her I would lose it. That meant that he was lucid and conscious. But for how long? What exactly was going on. I started wracking my brains for the rest of the conversation. She had said he had to have bypass surgery. She had told me to get there as safely and as fast as possible. I knew what that meant. Haul ass but do it as carefully as possible. But no matter how fast you want to go, no matter whether you turn your blinkers on and fight to keep the tears from coming because two little boys know you aren't in your right mind, and that we are headed to the hospital so I fight to push people through traffic. No matter if you blow the horn, people simply cannot know why you are behaving like a nut. So, they just believe you are a nut, and pay you no mind. And you are literally falling to pieces every second.

I had to get those boys there. I continued to beg God to at the very least let him live long enough for me to get the boys to him. Don't let them have to live without saying goodbye. Let me get there God. Let me at least not fail him in this.

We had five minutes to talk to him. I stood as near as I could but out of the way to allow the boys to talk to him and touch him. I watched his face. I love this man's face. I watched his eyes to see how afraid I should be. He smiled for us and he told the boys he loves them. He tells them its all going to be okay. Then even with everyone there he turns to look at me and there is no one there but us.

I try to smile, tears brimming. He smiles up at me and tells me that he loves me. He thanks me for making it there. I keep this stupid smile on my face and tell him its all going to be okay and we will see him before he knows it.

I whisper to him, "I love you with all that I am. See you soon." as they begin to break in, someone telling me what I needed to do now, I lean down and gently kiss his lips, run my fingers through his hair and they wheel him away.

I begin to make phone calls, trying to let everyone know what has just happened, trying to arrange for his step-mother to get a flight to us, and finally leaving all of the flight arranging to one of his ex-wives. The mother of the two boys that I now have in my care. The woman that I have despised due to the hurt that Zack carries in his heart for all that she never gave to him and all she ever did that hurt. But I was and am still grateful to her for picking up the ball when I simply couldn't. I had to shelter her children. I had to protect them as best I could from focusing on the hours of uncertainty ahead.

Some of the men he works with, soldiers that he had served with before retirement, worked with afterwards, and known for upwards of 20 years, as well as their wives, people that I was meeting for the first time, began to arrive. A friend of ours, perhaps the only man on this earth that I trust implicitly, was on the way as well, from three hours away. The head nurse recognized him from his having worked with her husband in the past and she was phenominal with the boys, and with me. It is good to know people, sometimes. And he was somewhere, with people racing around him, readying him for surgery. I was petrified and I mustered every ounce of strength not to fall apart. That would have to come later.

The waiting was maddening. You want to know what is going on but you hope no one will walk through those doors too soon. You watch and you pray. I couldn't cry because I didn't want to fall apart in front of the boys but inside, I was an utter mess, needing so badly to just scream. For nine hours we all waited. We all tried to comfort each other and believe that everything would be okay.

I took a reprieve during the fourth hour. I walked to the smoking area and found a chair. I fumbled through my purse, then began just dumping everything out. My hands shook violently as I tried to light a cigarette and when I get it lit, I take a draw and every emotion from the day that I first met him, where I stood, captivated, before him, and every emotion since, begins to pummel me mercilessly. I am gripped with fear and as it consumes me I begin to cry. I tried to hold it together as not to bring attention to myself, but this pain was like an angry alter ego who would no longer accept not being number one. My body was wracked with sobs.

For what seemed a split second eternity I covered three and a half years of memories. The moment I met him, the way that his eyes owned me and left me weak. Being asked by someone on the outside looking in, 6 months into the relationship, "do you honestly think he is strong enough to master you?", the question asked because of his uncontrolled anger bursts. The agony of the silence that would come for up to a week when he would get angry. The shatter to my heart that he would cause several times, being called his ex girlfriends name in anger to liken me to a woman that he loathes with ever fiber of his being. The beauty and intimacy that exsts between us when we are entwined; erotic-melding. The devistation of being given no choice but to end a pregnancy, being told that not doing so gave him no say so in the matter and made me selfish. Composing letters to my husband and children, begging their forgiveness, and trying to muster whatever you should say to someone if it were the last time you would ever have the chance to say something to them, in case something went wrong and giving them to someone in case it does. The unimaginable hell of the abortion process. Living with that guilt every day, his never allowing me to talk about it because its just too much for him. The respect that he lost in my eyes because he was unwilling to use protection nor get a vasectomy. The anger that I felt that he could make jokes about anyone coming near his nuts with a knife when I had layed upon a table to let someone extract his child from my body and kill it, although I believe in the right to life and told him that I was terrified that I would go to hell for it. Lies about Lara. The hurt that shrouded my heart from being told I was jealous and childish because I knew that someone we knew was trying to sabotage our relationship. Being right about it, not taking away the pain of not being trusted, and being belittled for my thoughts. Putting together our first ever Tavern Night, being first girl, serving him, serving others ... such a beautiful night. The way his eyes shined with pride that night. The way that it hurt to rarely ever see that shine. Camping trips that I will cherish the memories of for all of my days. One wild night on a picnic table in the moonlight. Cooking him bourbon salmon by moonlight after making love for hours. The marvelous adoration I felt sitting next to him watching him in the moonlight as he ate the salmon and commented that this was one of the best times of his life. The morose plunge that my heart took the moment that I realized that he had lied to me and was looking for other women "just in case". Being told that it was my fault. Crying that came from my soul. Forgiving him. Kneeling before him, peering up with desperation in my eyes, pleading with him to never hurt me that way again, promising to strive harder to be a better slave. Being hurt that way again, only he had gone farther and actually tried to make contact with some of them. Being told I had fucked his entire life up. Being told to get the fuck out of his house and life. Being told it was all my fault. Being told those were only angry words and I shouldn't make a mountain out of a mole hill. Likening my tears and pain to the "terri show or the terri sympathy train". Loving him with my entire heart and soul. Believing that if I could just be a better person I would deserve his love. Trusting him implicitly, and having that stolen from me. Striving harder and harder, trying to communicate, being ignored, being pushed away, being told little lies about stupid shit that mostly he never even knew I knew the truth about, being made to feel responsble for everything, even his anger, abandoned time and again, left to my own devices 90% of the time, left holding the bag repeatedly, being left as the fifth wheel in three, couple friendship things, at the same time being berated for not spending enough time with him. Remaining devoted and begging for guidance. Heart wrenching letters written begging for help because I was confused about his needs, but sure that the look in his eyes was not one of happiness. Letters that all went ignored. All of them. Irritated responses that everything was perfectly fine when I could see the lie in his eyes, and feel it in his touch or the lack there of. Trying to communicate my concerns about our relationship, trying to find out from him what was so wrong with me, trying to find out what he needed, trying so desperately hard to meet his needs, and being ignored or told he didnt "feel like having this conversation". Every time. Trying to hold our M/s relationship together by serving within the BDSM community. Never playing. Trying to find ways to interest him in our M/s relationship. Failing. Leaving behind an email list for Gorean slaves that had been a highlight to my life but reverted to only a reminder of what I could not seem to get no matter what I tried. Feeling humiliated that I could not find a way to be pleasing to him. Cradling my slave heart, attempting to keep it from being annihilated. Trying to interest him in D/s. Buying expensive toys for him so that the "we dont have toys" excuse could no longer be an issue. Only having had one of them used on me one time. Never experiencing sub-space at his hand. Falling in love with him all over again as he stood by me during an attack on my character and integrity. Especially when he stood before the man who was ring-leader of the whole mess, confronting him as the man fumbled in fear. Forgiving everything because of that day. Rejuvenated by that one event. The gut wrenching pain of the withering that came behind it. The constant belittling of my thoughts and of me in general. Being told that one of the men he worked with called me "the fat chick" as a way to encourage me to lose more weight. His gaining more weight during all of it. The pain of knowing that he didn't say one word about what that man said. The constant shame that I felt I brought him. Being made to feel that I was an embarrassment to him, especially because my training fell under the term Gorean. Working very hard to teach others about that term, running a special interest group (the most popular SIG for the two years it existed), being respected by others for my knowledge and ability to convey who it is that I am as a consensual slave with Gorean training, by everyone but him. Keeping the image alive by the strength of my former training, so that we looked like the perfect M/s couple. Trying any and everything I could think of to bring his spoken "interest" to an awakening like the one that I experienced finding this lifestyle. Stupidly hating myself because I could not find a way to lead a wingless duck to fly to the water. Working harder still. Always hurting from questioning why he could master my body so perfectly yet could never wish to possess me fully, or to master my mind. Memories of the pain that comes from knowing that the person you have devoted yourself to and surrendered yourself to, has no concept of what he has in the palm of his hand or how it must be fed. Promises that this is what he needs. Lots of word service. Still striving. Still begging for guidance, direction, help with my confusion, reprieve from my pain. More letters pouring my heart and soul out to him. Again, all of them going unanswered. A beautiful beach trip with our kids and friends. Making love in the wee hours of the morning. Making another baby. Pleading and begging for understanding that I just could not have another abortion. Dying inside from his nonchalance at my pain. Being told that if I kept it, I would be keeping it alone. Having lost almost every grain of self-respect. Crying, alone, night after night. Just wanting it all to be okay. Pleading for God to kill me. Getting the money from him. Deciding, grief stricken, that I couldn't go through with it, calling him pleading not to have to. Getting no reassurances that this would be anything but a complete failure on my part if I did not stay the course. Purposely making the appointment on a day he could not go, not wanting him with me, no longer trusting him. Resenting him because he would again get what he wanted (and wanted more than he needed to protect me), knowing that that would be the only reason he would talk to me again as he wasn't talking to me at that point. Being told it was too soon, I would have to come back. His whole demeanor toward me changing once he found out I was taking care of it, and his deciding to go with me. Feeling that he must truly find me obtuse not to notice the change. My begging him with my eyes as we stand outside waiting ... 'please don't make me do this ... please love me enough to protect me, love me enough to save me from this'. My name being called. His telling me he loves me. Going in alone. My heart so heavy I can barely speak, barely breathe. Crying. Sitting alone among 40 or so women. Silent tears. Waiting like cattle. Walking as if I was headed to my death. Sucking in gas as fast as I can, my mind reeling from the sudden influx, begging God and begging this baby, in my haze to please forgive me. Over and over begging through the pain. Squeezing the nurses hand and crying silently. Hoping I will die. Walking outside. Bright sunlight but darkness abounding. He smiles softly and handles me gently helping me into the car. Stare up at him, my eyes heavy with the devistation in my heart. Knowing he is relieved due to this devistation. Never seeing or hearing anything that made me feel that he felt anything other than relieved. Knowing that he will never love me as I love him, nor fathom the devotion that has always been his. Knowing that I still won't leave. Going to eat lunch as if nothing in the world has changed. Living with all of it inside of me as he goes home and I lay crying at jade's house. Both times having been left with someone else to try and ease my grief. Knowing I am worthless. Finding out two months later that he is talking on the phone with an old fuck buddy who seems quite interested in reaquainting. Realizing their latest conversation has taken place after a phone conversation with me where I kept having to repeat myself because he was busy with email, he barely paid any attention to me, acted bothered by the entire call and ended the call telling me he was going to bed, he was dead tired, could barely keep his eyes open.

Her email to him ... "I can't believe we talked so long last night, and even more so you letting me keep you up so long.

I have to admit I hated hanging up and interestingly enough was quite hot -- nothing to do with the weather either. See what power you have :)"

And all of this time he has been accusing me of trying to encourage a man who has contacted me out of the blue, because he is acquainted with Gorean people that I know in Dallas, and has recently moved to this state. He has yelled at me and said such hurtful things to me over this man that he has had me throwing up from crying. And the whole time he is talking with Kathy. As well as "mentoring" another woman that I find out about. Someone we know but never any mention of even speaking to one another. I lean on three of my gal pals, never saying a word to him about knowing. I continue to watch. He blows up at me over Kane again, even though I've written this man and told him in no uncertain terms that I do not wish to meet with him, accusing me of egging him on and I lie about how I know and let him know that I know about Kathy. He lies about it all still. He blames his not telling me on my being jealous. He tries to justify all of her sex talk with "I can't control what she says". I've walked out three times thus far, running away from his temper and cruelty when angry. Walking back in hoping upon hope that these signs are not what they appear to be. Again, I walk. And again, I walk back in. Things are rough and we make a few positive steps together. Steps that leave me confused because other things are still left unrepaired and not even cared about that they are in disrepair. But it's final's time and I have to study and be prepared. I have to be perfect.

I honestly did make that circle. I do not know how long it took but at the end of the circle, when I was back to the reality of where I was sitting with that now long since burned up cigarette, wracked with sobs, oblivious to the world around me but I knew then that I was no longer the vibrant, beautiful woman that I was when he met me. I no longer possessed self respect or dignity. I felt worthless and little more than a piece of shit and my heart throbbed with pain over the devotion that I knew deep within me that I had always given to him, despite anything and everything. I knew in that moment that all that it had made me was perhaps the worlds biggest fool.

I began to put my things back in my purse, shaking my head in frustration. I would go back upstairs, and I would be there for this man and his sons. I would do whatever it took to help him through this although I knew that it would never mean anything. My heart hurt so terribly for all that we had lost, but I pulled myself together and I walked myself back to that waiting room. I wanted to run as far as I could. But I had to sacrifice for him, it is who I am.

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