How do you keep living and smiling when all you desire is unreachable, when what feeds your soul is lost under waves of pain and regret and doubt. How do you keep you light burning when pain and darkness of past events comes back? How do you make peace with your own decisions, with your own demons, with those moments of pleasure that you thought could feed you, that fed the darkness in you by slowly drinking on your light? How do you keep being an angel when you gave yourself to the darkness, when you barely know how to hold onto your light, when the only thing you truly desire is to not be buried in doubt and regrets, to not be numb and yet to not feel this much.
I am scared of myself. I am scared that I enjoyed the darkness and had lost my right to light. I am scared that I pained people I was meant to protect. I am scared that I couldn’t save the one I loved. I am scared that I still love you in some inexplicable way. I am scared that only death will undo this pain and death comes so slow when you wait for it. I am scared that I am wasting away my life. I am scared that I am not being myself. I am scared that I have no idea who I really am, not anymore.
I once craved to be called “his”, to be associated with an image of knowledge and strength, yet I fell for tricks of my own mind, forgetting to be my own. I was so quick to let others have me, to belong to them, to him, only to be able to forget that I can barely look in the mirror, that I still avoid places in this city where I cried, where I laughed, where I hoped, where I prayed, only because they carry the memory of them, of people that I let too close to my heart, of people that I was willing to swear myself to out of addiction.
I am not a junkie for heroine or meth or alcohol. I am a junkie for secrets shared in the night, for mystery, for love, for devotion, for acceptance. I am a junkie for being seen, for being of use, for being set free and all that addiction makes me fall hard, makes me do things that I blame others for, makes me doubt my own sanity sometimes…
If you were to meet me one day on the street, I would be the one with a smile on my face, a shoulder to cry on, a devoted partner, a friend that would support you to no end, an encyclopedia, yet, deep down, there are shadows. Beneath the light there is darkness, lots of it. Deep darkness that you can’t shy away from, but that is good.
You wonder why. Sure you do. It is anything but logic, yet it is real, as real as anything can be in this realm that we create for ourselves, in this endless playground. In that darkness lies strength, lies power, lies the energy that keeps us going. In that darkness it is our rock.
Wanting the light, I run from it. It is a reflex, yet one that drives you insane. The more you keep fighting and fearing it, the more you hurt, the more it harms you, the more it drains out of you every resource you have. Even if it scares the hell out of you (pun intended), you have to embrace it, to accept that you once loved an innocent boy who grew out to be scared by you, by your voice, by your strength, to accept that you loved a wounded man after that, that you went from a virgin to an experienced God of sex and sensation in your imagination, that for both of them you have forgotten parts of yourself, that you either kept your darkness and desire hidden, your fire, your very soul, or you have forsaken your light to manifest a fire that was partly yours, but never fully, never true to yourself.
Re reading the love letters, the declarations of feelings brought truth hidden, brought new understanding and a needed new beginning. It brought storm in the heart and deaf pain because now it is the time for a fresh start, old wounds close and the sorrow in them must not be let to influence the future. What is done is done. There is no going back, only forward, only towards a new understanding of self, to embracing your truth, your heart, even though you just begun to learn it’s language.
Have faith and courage, little one. The time to become a woman has come.
Stories of BDSM 
Leave a comment