ftale

It's been a very long time since I've fed this blog. San Francisco just hasn't been so exciting (ironic given los pechos de la chola), which is probably what's led me to do some experimenting. This past week I spontaneously decided to dabble in BDSM with a stranger and foreigner. Despite the stereotype of those in such lifestyles, he is kind, gentle and intelligent. What got him to dabble in this alternative lifestyle is probably similar reasons that draws me to the flame. He can just articulate it while I'm at a lost for words.

It wasn't until the sixth night that he introduced me to flogging. In my slightly drug induced state, I can remember a comment that challenged me to open up and let him in. While I'd like to think I'm an open book, I may not have parts of me that are even open to myself; after all, I don't have much memories before fifth grade. My New Year's resolution this year was to work on my metamorphosis.

So with that, and possibly with the hopes that nobody actually follows this blog anymore, I'm going to try...I want to figure out that spot in the center of my back that holds it all back. I still struggle with understanding why I'm still alive post 9/11 or what my purpose in this life truly is. I wrote the below post in 2012 but never published it. It's an honest reflection of the hopes and dreams of a little girl that just wants to feel loved and craves that sense of belonging which has always alluded her.

He asked me to count to 10. I couldn't voice the numbers but the thoughts that went into my head during the first two whips was that I just wanted to die and begging God to let me die. But after the third when my groin/buttocks were burning, there was some sense of self preservation that cried out 'red'. I know he's disappointed that I couldn't make it to 10. I'm disappointed in myself that I couldn't give that to him. In hindsight, it should have been 'orange'. Is hope red?

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My first Disney flick was Little Mermaid. Ariel was different - she didn't quite fit in but it didn't stop her from exploring and seeking new adventures. As with any fairytale though, she found her Prince Charming and the credits start to roll. Since then, I've been enamored by the concept of love. I started collecting Disney movies after, and the sappy Hollywood scripts like Pretty Woman and Harlequin romance novels fueled the fantasy.

But reality is different. When I was 13, the thought of him out there, that there would be someone in the world in this lifetime that would love me unconditionally, kept me alive. I always thought I would be a one-man woman and mate for life. For a while I prayed for him everyday. Every spiritual location/moment, I would close my eyes, light a candle perhaps, and wish... 

In a brief moment in time, I was so sure with every fiber of my being, every bone in my body...that fate (God) finally led me to him. I took bold steps, I was willing to let go of it all...if only for the hope. But I didn't see the wrench that as fate gave me hope, it quickly dashed it away. I stopped praying for him daily - convinced that nothing I try would work. So while I cry less at night and haven't hugged the door in quite a while, it still hurts just as much.

While I'm no longer looking for Prince Charming and want someone to take care of me, it sure would be nice to find a life partner to share your joys and sorrows. And this post, just like every other journal I've started and trashed on this very topic, will eventually get deleted just like the wish of love.