Beginning Again

So, I'm 'officially' all better. The doctor said the autoimmune stuff is in remission, the surgery I had last year is all healed up and better. I can do all the fun and not so fun things (like housework) again. And thanks for anyone who is still reading this (if anyone is still even reading this). I know I've been horrible about posting and responding to so many sweet comments and reading other blogs and I can't wait to catch up on all of that now.

In good news, things have been a lot less vanilla around here. Especially over the past week.

In not so good news, I'm a mess of insecurities. Since last fall things around here have been pretty relaxed. Daddy got a promotion at work this past winter that's left him super busy and focused on that, and I've been wrapped up in my own little world of quilting, reading non sexy stuff, and Netflix comedies. It's been comfortable. Like how we were before all of this. No pushing me to write or take chances or face those demons. It's almost like I've been able to lock myself up again. Every now and then I'd worry that maybe I was becoming who I used to be. That 'Aurora' was just a phase and I'd go back to my nonsexual withdrawn self. That scared the crap out of me. So I'd say something to Daddy who would tell me not to worry, just get better and he'd get me back where he wanted when the time was right.

Well the right time came last week which is great and I couldn't be more excited and happy. But I've also been scared out of my mind. Daddy's unlocked that door again and suddenly all my fears and worries are tumbling out. And so it's been night after night of me asking him questions.

Does he need this? Does he want this? Is he happy with this or would he rather be like we were? 

His answers are always reassuringly the same and I know I should trust them. He's never given me a reason not to. But I still struggle. I think it's because all the more we start back down this road the more I want and need it all. The pain. The suffering. The need to submit and to serve him. It's like a fire growing and consuming me. And that's what scares me because I start to wonder why am I like this. Why do I crave that feeling of powerless so much? I see the news with women who are abused and killed by their husbands and I wonder if  Daddy hadn't walked into my life when he did could I have been one of them? Why do I have this enormous need to please everybody? Am I broken? Unfixable? Crazy? How can someone love someone like me? Oh, how I feel like I'm back in the beginning of all of this back three years ago, with my finger on the 'send' button ready to tell Daddy all my deepest darkest thoughts and praying he doesn't run in the other direction. I guess it's probably like this since things have been so low key with the health stuff for so long but sometimes I want to shake myself. Haven't I learned anything?

Daddy says I like what I like. He likes what he likes. Lucky for us, what he likes turns me into what he likes (which apparently is a crazy sex-starved little slut) and there's no need to overthink all of this because it's a good thing since it makes us both very happy.

And I know he's right. But tonight I'm afraid I'll probably still be asking him all the same questions again.

Missing

I miss blogging and I miss blogland. I really do. I didn’t mean to not blog for four months. Even without Daddy requiring me to blog, I still like the outlet. It’s a great way to process feelings sometimes. And I absolutely adore the reading. The way other bloggers can comfort or help or even open your mind.

I miss it all. I really do.

But as much as I miss it, it’s just been too hard to be here this past winter. I feel bad for even saying that because blogland is such a great place. But every time I attempted to catch up on reading or open the blog to write, I started thinking about everything I was missing with Daddy and I.

Daddy is still Daddy. We’re still D/s or whatever we are. He’s still in charge and I have absolutely no doubt about that. But because of this stupid disease I have, any kind of kink or anything he deems as ‘too stressful’ for me is off the table. No matter how much I beg or plead or say ‘I need’. He’ll just tell me ‘He needs me to get better and he’s not taking risks with my health’.

I know this is a good thing and something that truly only makes me trust him more, but I miss that unbelievable closeness of sitting at his feet. I miss that ‘sub happy place’. I miss the bruises. I do have bruises at the moment thanks to all the IVs in my arms over the last month. I just finished up a round of chemotherapy that will hopefully make this  autoimmune disease go away.  There’s several of these bruises up and down my arms. But they’re not his bruises.

I miss that pure feeling of being his.

Most of all I miss that push he gave me. To blog, to write, to speak up. To find my voice and share it. To be exactly who I am and not be afraid of that. I really miss that. Because without it I feel like I’m reverting to that shy fearful anxious little girl I was before all of this. I feel like I’m hiding myself away, afraid of the world, like a roly poly who curls up every time it’s touched.

And I miss the healing. Not the outside stuff but the inside stuff. The way he was helping me overcome parts of me I thought were forever broken. Now those parts sit abandoned, pieces partially glued back together now covered with dust.

Daddy will read this and remind me I’m not being patient (sorry Daddy). And yeah I know. In a few weeks I have an appointment to find out if the chemo worked. Considering I’ve been pretty much symptom free for the past few weeks, I’m very hopeful for good news. Because then things can move forward…we can move forward.

But until then, I’m just trying not to miss everything I miss so much.