Author Archives: descenttomadness

A Letter Never to be Sent

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I write for catharsis. Something about writing where I know it will eventually be seen by someone is healing for me and helps me process what I’m dealing with and going through. I recently took on a second job doing respite care with a family who has an autistic child (8) and a neurotypical child (11). The kids respond well to me, the parents seem to really like me, and working the job is really enjoyable. The downside is that they live just 3 blocks away from the building I lived in with an abusive ex boyfriend. I can feel my anxiety amping up as the bus gets closer to the stop. I literally cannot stop doing SOMEthing while I’m at their house, at the bus stop waiting to go home, walking between, etc. I worked at their house the last two nights and ended up scrubbing half their kitchen and catching up on their dishes, something completely and totally outside of my duties of respite care. On realizing that the cause of anxiety is tied to my ex, I decided I needed to write him a letter. What follows is everything I’ve wanted to tell him, but never will.

Dear KS,

When we first met, you were a charming sailor, five years older and five years wiser, or so it seemed to me. You charmed your way into my pants fairly quickly and seemed to not want to leave. You wavered between just wanting to be friends, nothing more, wanting the benefits, and wanting a partner. You convinced me to stay over at your apartment when you moved out of barracks, even though you knew I’d catch shit from my dad.

Once we were together, you resisted any inclusion in my family. You resisted any inclusion of my own friends. You would not allow my friends to come over and would not go see them, but when it came time to see your family or friends, I had to be there. You isolated me. You put a rift between me and my family. You put a rift between me and the few friends I’d managed to make.

When the going got tough, you convinced me to take the “easy out” of joining the military as an enlisted member, even though everyone else in my family was an officer. When they sent me home from Basic, you had nothing but scorn for me even though you knew how hard I worked to try to stay there.

At every turn, you shot down my ideas. Nothing I did or said or wanted was ever good enough. You took all of my dreams and you trampled them. You took my already low self esteem and flushed it down the toilet. You made me feel like I wasn’t worth anything, like no matter what I did, I wouldn’t amount to anything, like no matter how hard I tried, it would never be good enough.

You took advantage of my innocence. You made it seem like it was normal to get blackout drunk on a regular basis. You made it seem like it was okay to wake up having sex. You made it seem like it was okay to drag me back from the bed after I’d passed out and keep going. I thought you were laughing with me, but I know now you were laughing at me. You never cared, you just wanted a toy.

You tore down my dreams and made me feel like I would never accomplish any of them. You took from me the hope that I’d get to the places I wanted to go, that I’d be able to do the things I wanted to do. And you let your friends do the same. You never once came to my defense on anything.

From the very beginning, you took advantage of my anxieties and compulsions. You knew I couldn’t handle being left alone or going to things alone, so you used that to isolate me. Even when we were with your friends or your family, you never welcomed me to them, I was always an outsider. You knew that I couldn’t leave a mess to sit, so you never once lifted a finger. It didn’t seem to matter to you how hard I worked to cook and clean and make as much money as I could, there was always something you found undone, always something that needed attention, always something I’d done wrong. Even when I finally snapped and stopped doing the dishes, something I had done compulsively and meticulously for close to a decade, you didn’t lift a finger. It never seemed to dawn on you how infuriating it was to spend hours tidying and cleaning the apartment only for you to tear apart a gun in the first 15minutes of being home and leave bits and screws and tools all over the living room, which I knew you would chastise me for not cleaning the next day.

You betrayed my trust. When we met, you told me that you’d been cheated on. You told me that you didn’t want to make anyone else feel the way you felt. You told me that you could never cheat. I believed you. I trusted you. Near the end of our relationship, when I felt us drifting apart, you spent those weekends in the other city. I know you were hanging out with girls. I know that at least one of those girls was your ex. I know that one of those girls ended up being your partner after I left. When you announced the pregnancy and due date on facebook, I had to remove you as a friend. You’d insisted that you didn’t want kids, but really that was me, right? I did the math. Your son was conceived when we were still living together, a month before we broke up. You cheated on me, you got her pregnant, and you decided that living together and raising the kid would be best.

You broke me. It’s been 7 years since I last saw you. It’s been 7 whole years and I still hurt every time the thought of you bubbles up. The streets we lived on are still hard for me to go down, I try not to look when I need to. My anxiety bubbles up whenever I end up in the neighbourhood we used to live in. There’s good things, good people there, that I want to see and do, I can’t because you are still there in my mind. It’s been 7 years since we last lived together and I still get bubbles of anxiety over the dishes and the cleanliness of my home, when these things used to be completely manageable. You’re the reason why my anxiety over the dishes went from “dishes not being clean” to “needing to clean dishes.” It may not seem like a big difference to you, but it is huge. You’re the reason I have mould growing in the kitchen on a regular basis and have for the last 7 years.

Your son is in grade 2 this year. Congratulations on having an offspring. You took that dream from me. If I’d had a kid with you, at least I would have been able to have a kid of my own. It’s been so long and life’s winding path has taken me so far that it looks like I won’t ever be able to have a kid at all.

You took so much from me and you never once gave me anything.

I don’t hate you, I don’t want to see you burn or anything. I just don’t want to see you ever again. I don’t want to cross paths with you. I don’t want to find out if your life ended up happy. I don’t want to know if you changed, even though I know you probably did, everyone does.

I don’t regret dating you. You taught me many valuable lessons. Lessons about limits. Lessons about tolerance. Lessons about recognizing abuse and isolation. Lessons about who makes a good friend and who doesn’t. Lessons about seeing the signs of unfaithfulness. To regret would be not recognizing these lessons I learned.

I just wish I hadn’t learned them.

I wish I hadn’t needed to learn them. I wish that when we were together, you could have been kind. I wish you would have listened. I wish you would have taken my mental health into consideration and done something to help it instead of making things worse. I wish you could have supported me instead of bringing me down. I wish you could have been honest with me, even when the honesty was tough.

I hope you’re all those things and more for your family. I hope that you figured shit out. I hope that you didn’t screw things up for them. They deserve better than what you gave me.

I hope you learned what you needed to.

Sincerely,
N

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Physical Decline

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Today, I sat to chop my vegetables to make dinner. I’m an energetic person, always on the go, always moving, reluctant to sit for any length of time. My kids complain that I move too quickly, but they love it that I’m up and down with them, that I play dramatically with them. My friends are always after me to slow down when we’re walking somewhere. Friends and strangers have remarked on my sprinting when something comes up and I need to chase someone or something (returning dropped items, fetching kids from danger, grabbing paper or plastic floating on the wind…).

But today, I didn’t have the energy to stand and dance and sing while I cooked for an hour and a half.

I’ve been in pain continuously for at least the last 5 years, but much longer than that I know. You learn to ignore pain as much as possible, when it’s a part of your daily life. I learned to ignore it. I’ve had a high pain tolerance for a long time and when something bugs me, it’s always something big. I generally manage to just push aside and push through everything unless it’s sharp, strong, and long.

I didn’t notice it at first, but I know that about 4 or so months ago, my pain started getting worse. It’s migrating, which means that it’s never stays in one spot, the spots that hurt move. Usually it’s only about 2-5 spots that are noticeably sore. Historically, they’ve all been under 5 on the 1-10 pain scale. 5 is my threshold for paying attention. Below 5 and I ignore it, above 5 and I’m attentive. 7 is when I start getting concerned and doing something about it though. Starting in the last 4ish months, the spots of pain are up in the 6, 7, sometimes 8 range.

Paired with this, I have lower energy, I’m not as gung-ho ready to run as I normally am. I tire quicker. I’ve noticed in the last month that I am always on the lookout for something to sit on, and failing that, something to lean on. If I’m not moving, then I need support.

I thought I was fine. Really, I did. It was bad enough that it was raising alarms, but not so bad that I was willing to do something about it. I’m dealing with a lot of things medically already and I didn’t want to add one more to the docket.

Three weeks ago, I went camping with some friends of mine. Just outside of town, middle of a small bit of forest, tent camping. It was nice, fun, enjoyable. The second day we were out, the three of us went for a walk. My knee was hurting so bad at the beginning of the walk, that I was limping. I ignored it, as per normal, and did my best to enjoy the time with my friends. Eventually the pain shifted as it does, and I stopped limping. Then, it was like I’d walked into a wall. I was in physical pain from head to toe. It was like all of my joints and all of my muscles were crying out at once. Still, I kept going. There wasn’t really anything my friends could have done and there was no where to stop and sit until we got back. After a bit longer, 45 minutes into our walk, I hit another wall. I felt like I had no energy left. Nothing, nada, zip, zero. But, we were on our way back and I knew once we got back, I’d be able to stop. I also didn’t want to concern my friends (for fear of them deciding to pack up and head home right then), knowing it would eventually pass. We were on our way back anyway. But each and every step felt like it was taking every drop of my energy to make. We were only walking for an hour, but it took everything out of me. I was right though, eventually the pain did pass. I did a few things that usually work to get my energy back and some of them helped, though it took a few days of recouping at home to fully recover.

Since then, it’s been a fairly quick downhill. I’ve been doing everything I can to ignore the pain, knowing that if I focus on a thing, it always ends up getting worse. I said that I wouldn’t see a doctor until either I had more free time (after my current work contract ends in a year), or until it was impacting my work.

Earlier this week, I ended up calling in and booking with my GP for the end of the month (thankfully a day I already had off).

I’ve gotten to the point where, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the pain. I’m notorious for avoiding medication until I absolutely need it. (Trained myself out of needing my inhalers for asthma in high school that way. Also took way less pain medication than I should have after my surgery a year ago.) I’m choosing to sit over stand all the time. It often takes me close to a minute to get to standing from sitting on the floor or ground. I’m starting to seriously consider taking the odd dose of ibuprofen.

Yesterday, I went out for a walk with a friend of mine. For the first time in a very, very long time, I asked someone to slow down. She was walking too fast for me! Just a few months ago it was her asking me to slow down. We ended up wandering around town for almost 2 hours before finally stopping somewhere that I could sit. I realized then that it was the longest I’d been vertical continuously in weeks. After we kept going, she lit up a joint (weed, for the uninformed). She’s got a medical exemption for it and has been trying to get me to try it and see if it does anything helpful for me. I have tried weed several times in the past and have had zero effect from it even when everyone I’m with does. She had gotten me to try it once with her before and it didn’t work then. Yesterday, at the end of our walk, she pulled out her joint and asked if I wanted to get high. I laughed and reminded her of the futility, but said I’d try again if she was okay with potentially wasting her weed. We have different ideas of what classifies it as wasting, so we shared the joint. As per my history, I didn’t feel any different afterwards. When we got back to her place, the three of us (me, her, and her boyfriend who’d not gone on the walk) snuggled on the couch together and watched some movies. I left about 2 hours later and on my walk to the bus I realized that I was walking normally for the first time in a long time. My pain was significantly reduced! The effects lasted until after midnight (smoked at about 730) before they started to fade. I still felt less pain and more energy when I woke in the morning (no more sleep than usual). But, by noon, I was almost back to where I’d been before the walk. By evening, I was so done that I couldn’t force myself to stand long enough to chop veggies. Even sitting, I needed breaks.

It’s a sad comedown. It’s not what I want, not what I ever saw of myself. I’m hopeful that the answer will come back from the doc that it’s celiac (there’s a history of it in my family and I was born allergic to wheat, it’s high probability). That’ll be the easiest answer. I’m worried, however, that I’ll be facing another round of test after test to find out sometime down the line that it’s actually something like fibromyalgia or MS, things that will be with me for the rest of my life either staying where they’re at or slowly getting worse.

I’m coping, I’m trying not to focus on it too much. And I’m seeing the doctor soon. It’ll be okay. Right?

Hitting Walls

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I talk sometimes in my life about hitting walls. I’ll hit physical walls of just not being able to do anything physically anymore or emotional walls of not being able to cope with anything else emotionally. My friends use the terminology of “spoons” from Christine Miserandino and her essay “The Spoon Theory” wherein you only have a certain number of spoons for a day and sometimes it takes all of them to do simple tasks. Spoons are a new part of my vocabulary too.

This past weekend, I went camping. It was my first time camping without my parents and my first time camping with a tent (not an RV) in about 15 years. One of my friends suggested it a few weeks back and I latched to the idea. People have suggested camping with me in the past, since I’ve been an adult, but it’s never panned out and often they’ll end up going and neglecting to actually tell me when they’re going until after the fact. I told my friend this and he told me that he would make sure it would actually happen this time. However, the whole leadup to the trip was fully anxiety inducing for me.

There was a lot of back and forth with my friend about when and where and what was needed and who was bringing what. I made at least six lists related to the trip between lists of who to contact, lists of what to bring, lists of what to pack, lists of what to buy…

I left for my first aid course on Friday morning (with only 2 hours sleep) not knowing who was picking me up or from where, just knowing that I wasn’t going home. We managed to get to the campsite without incident on Friday evening and it even felt awesome. The first part was just me and one friend (not the one who helped plan it all), with no vehicle. Another friend joined us later on and we stayed up late chatting and playing games. We went to bed late and I was up with the crack of dawn.

In the morning, we went for some walks, chatted, played some games. On our walk just after lunch, I started feeling an ache in my knee. I get aches all over my body and have for a long time, so I thought nothing of it, however it did hurt bad enough that I was limping. After a while, as per normal, it went away. Then, I got pain again. This time, all over my body, head to toe, in random spots. All of it was fairly strong, but nothing I haven’t pushed through before. We were enjoying the walk and far enough away from our site that turning back wasn’t really an option, so I just pushed through and didn’t say anything.

About 45minutes into our walk, I hit a wall. I’d already hit a wall of pain, but I was pushing through that. This wall was different. This wall was physical exhaustion. This wall felt like I’d just gone for a 10k run and every single step and breath was effort beyond what felt like I was capable of doing. Feeling like I didn’t have a choice, I kept going.

When we got back to the campsite, I told my friends that I needed some quiet time alone with a book. I grabbed a book and vanished into the woods. The one who came late left and the other who was staying went to lay down. I was so glad they decided to do their own things because I had hit another wall in terms of emotional output. I’d run out of spoons, no more ability to deal with people.

Reading wasn’t helping and not knowing who was coming when later that day wasn’t helping either. I wandered off and made connection with the two friends who were coming later that day to find out what the plan might be. That helped me recollect enough to be able to hear what my body might actually need for me to recoup myself.

I’m grateful I packed my pocket knife (a tool I typically keep locked away due to self harm associations from my past) because I pulled it out and found a couple good sticks. I spent most of the afternoon carving a crude knife and spoon. (It seems entirely backwards that doing a physically intensive craft such as carving when feeling physically in pain and drained would help, but it really did.)

With more energy under my belt, I was able to go for another walk with my friend and play some games. When it started to rain after dinner, we tidied up the site and moved into the tent. Our other friends arrived and we played games late into the night again. One of my friends (the one who helped organize, the one who’s been my rock in this emotionally tumultuous time, the one who’s about to hide away while working on his thesis for several months) hugged me well and gave me a massage and physical connection while we chatted. It helped me come down some more and collect myself more, but it wasn’t really enough. This time, I got less sleep and was up with the crack of dawn again.

When I got dropped at home, I almost immediately wrapped myself in the borrowed weighted blanket. I ended up having a nap under my regular blankets (sheet, blanket, quilt) and the weighted blanket. Napping is a thing that I actively avoid given my issues with insomnia and historically has led to poor nights sleep, but apparently I needed it yesterday because I slept for 2 hours (making for a total of about 11 hours in 3 nights) and I still slept a full 7.5hours last night (also under full bedding and weighted blanket). I woke up this morning finally feeling refreshed and more myself.

The Take Aways

My take-aways from this weekend are not what I was hoping for. I really enjoyed the time I spent with my friends out in nature. It was great to connect away from technology and distractions, be able to get to know each other better and to just be with each other.

I didn’t know that I couldn’t handle that much time in close proximity with people.

I didn’t know that I needed my personal space to that level.

I didn’t know how pervasive the pain is that I’m dealing with.

How to Deal

I’ve fallen hard on the side of “extroversion” with spending more and more time with people. I know I need a balance of people time and alone time and this weekend really drove that point home. I’m not an extrovert. I’m also not an introvert. But I do need time in both spaces. I’m going to spend some time working on finding a better balance of this so that I’m less likely to hit those emotional walls, to run out of spoons, and be more likely to actually be fully present when I am with the people I’m with.

The pain is another challenge altogether. I have a limited amount of time off that I can take for work and I’d rather take it to enjoy time than for appointments. This coming year I have a lot of appointments between what’s going on with my transition and going back on testosterone and with what’s going on with my mental health on both the crisis/trauma side of things and the neuro-divergent side of things. I know if I were to ask a doctor about the pain, that I’d find myself in for a lot of appointments and physical assessments while they try to figure it out. I’ve been coping with it for several years already with very little change in presentation. I feel like i can cope for one more year. There’s also a possibility that it’s a physical manifestation of my mental health problems and that there would be no answer from the doctors. If that’s the case, then the pain would slowly improve (theoretically at least) as my mental health improved. So, I’m playing wait and see. I’ll go to the doctor in a year, when my contract is up with the current job I have and when I have more flexibility about what I do. Or, I’ll go when the pain impacts my ability to do my job.

More Appointments

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Today, I saw my GP. I got to ask for a referral to get a diagnosis for some kind of a-neuro-typicality. I’ve known for a long time that I’m not neuro-typical, but I haven’t felt the need to get a diagnosis for it. Some of my past therapists and psychiatrists have suggested that I might have ADD, ADHD, sensory processing issues, OCD… My last psychiatrist did a brief assessment between me and my mom and told me that it was very likely that I fell on the Autism Spectrum (the “Asperger’s” end), but that he wouldn’t give me a diagnosis.

So, today, I had a thorough talk with my GP about the potential diagnosis, the first steps in the process, and why I’m seeking an answer now of all times. Despite living in the land of “free health care,” the diagnosis is going to come out of pocket for me. I’m okay with that, in the long term, I feel like I’ll save money. I’m seeking the diagnosis because I intend on returning to school. I know that I don’t do well in a university classroom, and I want to change that. I feel like having a diagnosis and answers about what can help me, will enable me to get the assistance and accommodations I need at university in order to succeed. It may cost a bunch to get the diagnosis, but in the end, I’ll save money by actually completing my courses instead of failing them and ending up with a higher earning potential.

Tuesday (two days ago), I had a different appointment. I had my intake with the local sexual assault clinic. I don’t know if I’ve talked about this in past posts, I don’t read my post history. I was in an abusive relationship for two years fresh out of high school. My first sexual encounter (in grade 12) was coerced. When I was a live-in nanny and doing everything I could to escape the abusive household I worked for, I spent a lot of time at the bar. One of those nights, I didn’t go “home” and ended up spending it with someone I thought was a friend, who raped me.

I’m dealing with a lot of anxiety and emotion lately and I feel like I could really make use of the clinic’s group courses that they offer to deal with everything that’s coming to light right now. However, I’m not sure that counselling with the center is what I need because so much of what I’m dealing with is life-long, not just what’s gone on since sex became a part of my life.

Self-harm is one of those things that pops up as a life-long issue. I have three potential earliest memories. 1: A dream, very vivid, thought it was real life, and related it to my family on waking as “yesterday” until I was corrected. 2: Sitting in the stroller beside a brick wall, trying to work out how the buckle functions so that I can escape and go play. 3: Sitting on the top bunk of my sister’s bed, with a hammer I had stolen from the garage, hammering at my knee trying to break my kneecap. I cried when I couldn’t do any damage. I had a plan for if I had succeeded to “fall” off the bunk then claim I had fallen and that’s how I broke my knee.

This stands out because it’s a clear thought, clear plan, and a distinct memory. However, there’s nothing in my head for before this (all three of these things happened within a year of each other, if not closer together). Self-harm is one of those things that doesn’t just spontaneously appear. There has to be a reason, a why, a cause. You don’t just wake up and decide “oh, I’m going to do permanent damage to myself.” Something has to happen to you first. One group that’s more at risk for self-harm is those who are LGBT, of which I am both G and T (gay and trans), but at that age, I didn’t know or have any inkling of either. It would be years after this age before I started really expressing frustration about gender expression. Self -harm typically doesn’t start to show up until late childhood/early teens, and this memory is definitely from when I was no more than 3.

All this boils down to a question that popped up when I was hanging with a friend, refocusing, after the intake meeting:

Did anything happen to me (and possibly my sibling) when I was quite young that I just can’t remember? Does my sibling remember?

Going Blank

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Sometime towards the end of grade 11, I started experiencing what I initially called “seizures.” It was the closest explanation I could come up with. My muscles would lock up and start shaking. It would center on one part of my body and radiate out. The longer the attack, the farther out it would go. A friend first witnessed one of these attacks during a skype call when we were in grade 12. He threatened to call my parents to get them to help me, but I refused, citing that I wasn’t supposed to be on the computer at that time. Mostly, no one knew I was experiencing these attacks. They’d come and go, sometimes I’d have them all the time, sometimes I wouldn’t have any. In 2011, I had the worst attack yet, it lasted over 3 hours. It started when I was at college, studying before heading home. Another student who I talked to on occasion noticed and asked if I was okay. She was my catalyst to finally seek medical help. I somehow managed to get myself to the bus stop, onto a bus, and to the hospital. I got in and saw a doctor relatively quickly. The doctor didn’t listen and barely looked at me before telling me that since it was an ongoing problem, I had to talk to my GP, and he sent me home. I experienced spasms for a further half hour after leaving the hospital before finally coming out of the attack. A bit later, I was able to record a video of an attack so I could show it to my doctors. I ended up seeing a neurologist who ran an EEG and sent me for an MRI. Both came back normal and he was dismissive. A second neurologist was equally dismissive on seeing the results and told me that my experience was psychosomatic.

I don’t talk about my past, prior to the whole no-sleep thing, very much on this blog, but I feel this little bit is important. The muscle spasms showed up sometime around 2007 and vanished sometime around 2014. About 7 years of intermittent painful muscle spasms that no one could explain. And since then, nothing.

Until a couple weeks ago.

A couple weeks ago, I started experiencing what I can only describe as going blank. I’ll be in the middle of something (never verbal conversation) and I’ll suddenly just stop. It’s about 50/50 if I stop and just stay in that position, or if I flop. Flopping is kind of like, my muscles go loose, like if I were drifting off to sleep. Either way, my mind just circles around the idea that I’m not able to think of anything else, that I’m not able to move, that I’m stuck. I’m vaguely aware of what’s happening around me, but I can’t focus on anything else. Slowly, I come back into my head and out of the blankness and pick up wherever I left off. Unlike the muscle spasms, this is happening around other people (though no one’s recognized it yet).

Also unlike the muscle spasms, I’m aware that I’m overwhelmed and stressed and anxious. The doctors said that the muscle spasms were psychosomatic, and perhaps they were. Going blank seems to be as well, for all I can tell.

Giving Control to Gain Control

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One of my newer friends and I had an instant connection when we first met two months ago. An interesting component to our friendship is one that came to light naturally. He is a dominant, I am a submissive. Typically these roles fit us in a sexual sense, but there were bits and pieces of it coming out as we were hanging out.

Several weeks ago, he was petting my head when we were snuggling and his arm drifted in front of my face. Playfully, I licked his arm. I repeated it every time his arm came within reach. He attempted to give me a wet willie and pinned my head when I kept squirming away. When I wouldn’t let him do it, he threatened escalation. I enjoyed losing the power in the moment. A couple weeks ago, I repeated the experiment of licking his arm, this time with the result of him putting his hand to my throat and threatening to cut off my air briefly. Typically, any touch to my throat has me ready to fight, but that minute of his hand there had me extremely calm.

Last week, I asked him if he’d take control of me for a couple hours, just as a one-off, just to see how it felt. He said he’d have to think about it and I let it be.

On Saturday, after I wrote that last post, I asked him if he’d take control of me on Monday. We’d already planned for me to be at his place that afternoon. He talked to his girlfriend about it then agreed. We set up some boundaries and a safeword. By the time we finished discussing it, I was completely calm, no trace of anxiety (for a bit), and actually excited for something for the first time in a long time.

Monday afternoon rolled around and I was given instructions before I even arrived. I was told what door to knock on. I was instructed immediately to do a wall-sit, before I even took my shoes off. I was given water and instructed on when I was allowed to drink it. I was instructed on different work-out things I had to do. He put in earplugs and limited my hearing severely (we both know enough sign language that there was no language barrier in this). For a time, he bound my arms. When I didn’t do things well enough or properly, he hit me. He had me tell him more about what I was after and he started planning for future times together.

It ended up being fully 3.5 hours of him in control of my every move. For me, it was 3.5 hours of feeling completely calm. There were two instances where I used the safeword to end what he was doing and he stopped immediately and didn’t go near that thing again. It was incredibly freeing to not need to think and worry. Most of the time, my mind was completely blank and relaxed. I wasn’t aware of the time, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t worried about buses, food, kids, money, time, sleep, anything.

He gave me homework, writing up a clearer definition of what I was hoping to get out of the situation. When he dropped me off, I started writing it. When he got home, he messaged me and told me that he let it get away from himself, that we hadn’t actually talked about making this a long-term agreement. I told him that I was writing his homework assignment.

We haven’t really talked more about it since then, though he agrees with what I wrote up (mostly a clearly defined set of rules/limits/boundaries, with a few pointers in what direction I want things to go).

Mostly, I’m excited and eager about it. I’ve only ever been with a Dom in a sexual setting, and then only for one-off’s that never went well. This will be my first D/s relationship with a clearly set defined rules. This will also be an entirely non-sexual relationship, purely power play. I’m looking forward to things that come from this, and I’m hoping that this will be one more little thing that can help me deal with the levels of anxiety that I’m feeling lately.