Fuck, bollocks, cunt, shit head, arse wipe, whore, bitching, cocksucker……*takes deep breath. Yes, he has gone again. I can’t believe it to be honest, one moment he is here and I am living this happy contented life by his side and then, bang, it’s Sunday and time to wave him off with a cheerio and hop and skip and wait patiently and happily for the next time.
Are you sensing a bit of sarcasm here? What do you mean, No? You can picture me can’t you, skipping happily along by His side at Heathrow airport and waving him off through security with a spotted hanky and twinkling smile? Ummm, not so much I’m afraid. It was more of a shaking, crying, and pathetic mess. Not something I am proud of to be honest, I wish I could do the skipping and the hanky, I know it would make it easier for Him and all last week I kept giving myself a good talking to about it.
“You will not be pathetic, you will not let the sub drop get you, you will smile and be happy he was here and send Him on His way with your blessing, after all it will be OK and he will hopefully be back in a couple of months if all goes to plan”
There, sounds easy, doesn’t it? Stick to that thought Molly and all will be well. I did try, honestly I did and for a bit of Sunday it looked like I might just manage it but then all of a sudden it hit me. HE WAS LEAVING ME! It was over, it was time to return to living the LDR, to sleeping alone, to making myself cum, to living in this prison, to longing and craving His touch, scent, mouth, hands, and everything else that He brings to me when He is near, security, love, passion, laughter, happiness, joy, calmness, focus, oh I could go on and on with this list but it’s completion most of all that he brings me, that we bring to each other in fact and when he is gone I find that some of the essential pieces of me go too.
Oh fuck it, do I sound completely pathetic? Some useless arse woman who can’t cope without a man? Who needs a big strong fella to make her feel whole? Poor little Miss, she needs a man in order to function properly? Well fuck that, because it is not true, I don’t need a man to make me, ME, but I do choose a man to own me and my submission, I willingly give that part of myself to Him, because I can, because I want to and because when I do I know that me becomes ME!
Yesterday after he left I crashed out big time. My world felt empty again without Him in it, and this is made doubly hard by the flight time, as for those hours he is well and truly unavailable to me, which is just insane really, as I have come to realise that it is a terrible time for me and a time when I probably need Him the most. See how that doesn’t work so well? Luckily I turned to my ‘big brother’ and he swept me up, gave me a big old cyber hug, dried my tears, made me laugh and listened to me while I rambled on about how crappy it all was. At the end of it all I felt calm again, well calmer anyway and managed to get an OK night’s sleep.
Cue the Monday morning alarm and a bleared eyed Slutmine waking up to the…..yes you guessed it, a Skype call that contained a sleeping Dom and a horrible cold empty place in our bed where yesterday he had been and instantly it is back. The whole huge realisation that it is back to this ‘half-life’ again, to seeing him and hearing but not being able to touch him, to relying on the internet to keep working or face the horror of being totally cut from Him, all those fears and worries instantly come crowding in and on top of the feelings of loss they are crushing.
But, it is Monday and so I crawl out from under the covers and get on with it. All is going well until I return home mid-morning and he finally wakes up. “I love you Slutmine” is all it takes. The tears start to flow, the ache in my heart leaps up into my throat and the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightens its nasty little fist just that bit harder. I hate myself for it, this weakness, I wish I could make it go away, I hate the way it makes me feel and I hate the way it grabs me and shakes me even though I vow that I won’t let it but if I have learnt one thing from all these goodbyes then it is how to handle the drop, the left sub syndrome, sub drop, or whatever name you want to give it and the only thing to do is live it.
I have come to realise that fighting it is a massive mistake, all that does is hide it away until it gets so massive within you that it comes out and gets 100 times worse than it would have done if you had gone with it in the first place, however wallowing in it is also only partly acceptable. To some extent a bit of wallowing is OK, treating yourself to a bath, wearing your favourite comfy clothes, eating chocolate cake and doing some element of moping is a good idea and acceptable in my book, you just have to watch out that you don’t get stuck in the wallow and let it stop you doing anything else for too long. Then there are the tears, again, fighting them doesn’t work, just saves them for a later more horrible date, no, the only with the tears is to grab a big box of tissues, resign yourself to sore puffy eyes and let em flow, baby.
Now, if I had written this post about 7 hours ago during peak tear time there is no way it would have made any sense at all, having said that I am not convinced it does now, but anyway, I shall press on, because peak tear time is not the time to ask a sub to perform any kind of task that, a; you want her to complete or b; you want to make sense. However for me once the tears are done, there is then a period of silent stunned contemplation of me, Him, us, life, the world, the universe and everything else besides (bloody Douglas Adams straying into my post there, sorry) then comes the rage.
Complete and utter raging anger flows through me. I get so cross about it all, about being left….AGAIN, about the way it makes me feel, about the fucking shitty system of immigration that keeps us apart more than it should, about Him being so sensible and going back because he should, about the fact that he makes it all look so easy, about the fact that he is on the phone laughing with someone while I am here feeling like someone ripped my God damn fucking guts out and pissed on em. Livid is not a word to describe it, whatever there is beyond livid, then I am it, or should I say I was it when I started writing this, putting my sub drop story into words seems to have finally bought me some peace.
What happens next depends really, for now I am OK again, the knot in my stomach is gone, the tears have dried up, although my eyes feel tired and puffy and the rage at the unfairness of it all is subsiding. Tomorrow I may well wake up and go through this all over again, or maybe the day after or even the day after that it will reappear or maybe, if I am really lucky, I have done with it for now and I am back to waiting, living as best I can, controlling the urge to just scream when it feels like it is taking forever and getting on with each and every day until finally this is separation over.
Ps….Bit of 1980’s classis pop for you now although I suspect this version maybe unknown to my Murrican readers……
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