Tag Archives: grief

I stand alone

Author’s Note:  This is one of the rare times when the words you read here are are not fiction.  There is nothing sexy or erotic about what I am going to reveal here.  Consider it a glimpse behind the veil.

Today, for the first time since I was 22, I stand alone.

As of 9:50 a.m. today, I am officially a divorced woman.

I came home tonight to an empty apartment – a homecoming that I managed to put off several hours with mindless retail therapy in the name of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas.

Today, I did not turn to Kik, to text messages, to the countless digital distractions that have filled my days since I moved out of my home.  Today I spent the day holding it all in – the pain, the sorrow, the loss, the regret, the animosity, the anger.  At one point during the day, a well-meaning coworker asked me if I was alright? His question nearly broke my tenuous composure.

No.

I am NOT okay.

None of this is okay.

It isn’t just the divorce.  Yes, it is true I held my breath in a courtroom today, avoiding eye contact with a judicial assistant as I silently prayed the Judge saw the desperation in my ex’s last-ditch attempt to reduce child support.  I silently prayed that I would find the well-spring of calm within that would help me get through this terrible day.  I prayed for strength, hoping that the strength so many people claim to see in me would not fail me in my moment of need.

But today was a final reckoning in many ways.

There has been a couple of years of seismic change in my life.  I have made countless choices that have had expected, and unexpected, consequences.  I have leaned on people, digital strangers who became friends, lovers, and ghosts.  I have fled my sorrow hiding from my feelings in the arms of men – seeking distraction from my pain in frivolity.

I have lost. Husbands, families, circles of love that I thought would always be there embracing me.  I have shattered more than just my own dreams for the future.  I have taken away dreams from those who are too young to know what they have lost.

I have lost friends whose wisdom and humor, whose perspective and support kept me going when I felt I could not fight any longer.  I have lost the dream of someone – the dream of a future I dared to long for, but was not courageous enough to fight for.  Love I once held in my heart for others.

I have lost love.  Love from people who once called me family. Love from people who yearned to call me their Lover.  Love from those who said their love for me would never end.

There are regrets.  I can see clearly the pain my journey has caused others.  As this Phoenix has burned, so has she burned those who stood too close to her.

I can only pray that now the burning is over.  With each dawn that brightens my bedroom, I hope beyond all other that the burning time is over and today is the day I will rise from the ashes.

Today, for the first time since I was 22, I stand alone.

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Filed under Erotica

Killingsworth

I drove south on the freeway today, my mind turning to you as I passed it.  The Killingsworth Exit.  The exit that once led me to your door.

There was a time when driving past that exit would require a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to keep the tears at bay.  Now, there is no extraordinary grip required.  There was a time when the wounds were fresh, still bleeding freely and refusing to heal. They are but scars now.  The faint lines across my soul where it was once torn. 

There was a time when the mere act of passing the exit would send me reeling backward in time; back to stolen moments spent with you – laughing, sharing music, doing that anticipatory little dance in the kitchen before our mouths invariably met, melded and yielded all the sensual fruits we craved. 

They were stolen moments.  As surely as if we had snatched them from the shelf of the local convenience mart and furtively shoved them in our pockets, those days and nights together were purloined goods.  They were moments that never should have been ours in the first place.  Maybe that is why they felt so thrilling, tasted so unbelievably sweet.  Maybe that is why there was such an empty hole left behind when they were gone. 

I think about you from time to time.  When I do, I feel no anger or bitterness swelling up inside me.  I no longer feel the stabbing pain in my gut as the thought pierces me over and over:  Why?

Now, when my thoughts turn to you they are simple.  Are you happy?  Do you spend your weekends with your daughter as you dreamed?  Do you thrive in your job and have you set roots down in your new home?  Have you decorated your home and what car did you replace the Pearl with? Do you grill flank steak and drink Iron Horse? Do you listen to Mule? Do you sleep well at night, knowing you are writing the chapter in your story you wanted?  And sometimes I even wonder, do you ever think of me?

I don’t have any answers.  That once drove me nearly mad – the lack of answers and the endless swirling questions.  But like a tornado in my heart, the winds have died down.  That funnel of wind, fueled by grief and silence, fed by the unknown and unattainable has faded.  I won’t say my soul is at peace.  That would be stretching the truth too far.  But I will say that storm within has passed. 

Now, when my thoughts turn to you as I drive past the Killingsworth sign, I raise my eyes momentarily to the clouds above and say a prayer that you are well.  I pray you are whole and thriving, that your world is everything you wanted it to be.  I wish you well and even if you don’t want it any longer, I feel the ties of friendship that for me, were never severed. 

And I keep on driving. 

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Filed under Erotica

Ghost Fucking

I am brimming with vital energy.  I laugh, make animated gestures, sigh, whisper, moan.  I give my body again and again like an offering being impaled upon an altar.  Upon many altars.

I am the very essence of life-force.  Stand close to me and you will feel my warm vitality envelope you.  Kiss me and you will taste it on my sweet lips.  Fuck me and you may savor the salty mist from the Fountain of Youth between my thighs.

I can make you feel alive.

I can give you sensations from shivers to spasms, from tingles to orgasms. I can elicit feelings from your body and your heart.

But you can’t do the same for me.

You can make me writhe and moan, cum and shudder, scream and thrust back against you like the dirtiest of whores.  But you can’t reach beyond my body to the sanctuary within.  You can’t reach the fire inside of me.

Someone once commented that it would be difficult to fuck and keep my heart from becoming entangled.

I disagree.

The answer is simple.  Love a ghost.  Fuck a man.

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Filed under Erotica, Pussy's Jukebox

Casting Off

The art of letting go.

Why is it that I find it so much easier to let go of the ledge and fall into the void they call love, and so goddamned difficult to let go of that swirling ghost ride when it is over?

It’s a good question.  One I do not have the answer to.

I had thoughts today. Dark, dangerous, impulsive thoughts.  Thoughts that, while they swirled through my mind in an angry I buzz, revealed to me the fact that I have still not let go.  I have not disengaged where I really need to most.  Where it matters most.

And I need to.

In boating, there is always one last rope that you must cast off before you are free of the dock.  My rope is still tethered to the dock, my boat bobbing in the water, waiting to ride the currents.  If only I could cast off that line, I could be free to begin the journey I am meant to travel.

It creates a sense of frustration, a feeling of impotent rage.  The struggling within myself to accept what is not going to change, to accept the things that have changed, and to accept that the twists and turns of fate have brought me here, to this point of being that feels so unfamiliar to me.  My life itself feels unfamiliar to me.  Like I have put brand new shoes on the wrong feet and I am running in a marathon, trying to figure out why I am struggling and everyone else is breezing past me.  The answer is so clear.  Let go.  Let go of the anger.  Let go of the pain.  Let go of the people who didn’t value me enough to stay present in my life.  Let go of the transients that were just passing through.  Just let fucking go.

Let go of the emotions that are stuffed down so deep inside my immune system is fighting against itself.  Let go of the hurt and the doubt.  Let go of the blackness that is swirling around me, sucking me into a vortex of darkness.  Let go of the guilt.  Let go of the blame.  Let go of the versions of myself that are not true to who I am.  Stop trying to be the fantasy and just be me.  Let go of the past so I can see the woman staring back at me in the mirror clearly.  Maybe for the first time in my life.

I need to swap those running shoes, grab that bitch of a rope and cast off.  Let this journey begin before my time runs out.

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Filed under Tender