Saturday, March 16, 2013

The Waiting and the Breakup Thing

I really didn’t want to let him go. I am tired of being in the pattern of girl meets dom, dom breaks limits, dom disappears. I thought there must be a better way to end the story, some way to let him earn back my trust. I spent the couple of days after the bad scene concentrating on being 100% there for my students and trying to get in touch with my inner strength.

Because The Man and Sadist Girl were members of the venue’s security staff, I wrote to the venue owners to tell them what happened. Because of some stupid loyalty or hope, I left The Man’s name out of it. I gave his name later on, but I seriously doubt that there will be any consequences. I’m one voice against members of a close-knit group, and I’m sure it’ll be easy for them to convince their boss that I’m crazy or whatever. Power imbalances like this are what make me wonder if kink is ever really safe.

When it came time to get in touch with him, I was still very unsure, but I thought it would be good to plan a walk either way—we could either reconnect or debrief and part kindly. It seemed like a healthy way to try and break my pattern of disappearing doms.

He didn’t text back when I texted after school, so I started to figure out that it was really over. I called around 5:30 and got back an unfriendly text that said he would call when he got back from the gym. He made me wait for that call for a long while, but I got the kids’ behavior reports done while I was waiting—that seemed oddly fitting. I kept reading out relevant quotes to Sweetie: “Please pay attention and follow directions,” etc. Does not play well with others.

The call was quick:

“(The Wife) says I have to talk to you so I’m talking to you. I don’t think that you are healthy for me to be around. You are too fragile, even when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What are you TALKING ABOUT? I didn’t do anything wrong. I realized that I needed help and I told you! And you didn’t listen. It is not fragile to respond to something traumatic by being traumatized.”

“You weren’t traumatized and this isn’t about Saturday, which, I already apologized. You have emotional issues about me. You’re so nervous that it makes me fearful. When you met (The Wife) you were so upset that you could barely speak, even though there was no reason to be nervous.”

“I was nervous when I met her because I LIKED you.” (And, I didn’t say, because she started out the night by pouting and refusing to come to the table. And she had veto power. And she tried really hard to convince me that I would like a horror-themed play party. And because they were Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolfe-ing each other all throughout dinner. It was nerve-wracking, is all.)

“That wasn’t the only thing.”

“Explain please. I just don’t understand.”

“I don’t HAVE to explain. I can just hang up this phone and never speak to you again.”

(tiny voice) “Oh. Okay.”

I couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so mad, what in the world had changed since Sunday. I started writing this post as a “Well, AM I too nervous?” kind of thing but that is just pointless. Even if I had fucked up the dinner we could have talked it through. He was trying to turn it around on me for whatever reason, but it makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.

It’s always tempting to look around in a story and see what I could have done better, see what lessons I can learn so that it can all go better next time, but this is not the time for that. The plain and simple fact is that he fucked me over and then tried to gaslight me about it. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault.

I’m not fragile. I have “emotional issues” but who doesn’t—it’s called being alive. I tried to talk and process and do what you’re supposed to do, but none of it worked, because it was over, even sooner than I thought it was. I miss him so badly and I don’t know when I’ll be ready to date again. The fear and sadness gets less every day, and I’m ding my best to take care of myself and move on.

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