breakup

Trans-Mortem

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Breaking up with Wildcard was hard!The whole process of my breakup is not done. We are still in awkward close quarters, negotiating the logistics of the seperation as we each move into our own household. Lots of crying. He took a week off work to grieve and has been pretty much high half the time. I have tried to get out of the house more and took up archery.

I have developed a sort of insomnia as well, a rarity, and stay up late writing this. What have I learned?

This isn’t a post mortem, but a trans-mortem. Things are still going. Or rather, still falling apart.

What do you do when you love someone but they fundamentally want and need different things? Obviously breaking up with Wildcard was not a choice I made easily. This blog contains a detailed description of much of the ways I cared (in sticky intimate detail) and because of it, I know that we developed a reputation as the cute couple.

Caring comes easy. Leaving is harder.

Literally everyone but my closest friends were shocked as hell to find out we had a problem. Mrs. Castle was probably the only one who called it, but Mrs. Castle probably has the broadest perspective into my life.

Functional issues stemed from being his rebound after a really horrible relationship. Hell, not rebound. Rescuer. For me, I was inclined to focus on helping and patience because I knew we had a problem, but I trusted his belief that it was a him problem I just had to help him through. I don’t think it is a problem anymore, just his personality and preferences.

I got what I deserved. I am the woman who barreled into his life and dragged him out of self imposed hell towards the life he wanted. Only the life he wants is not the one I do. It is a fuck ton more poly and switch focused than really is remotely compatible with me. Oops.

About a year ago I accepted it wasn’t going to get better. Then it was if I could live with it as the price of admission. I looked about for other outlets. It… Did not help. It made the dissatisfaction worse. The enthusiastically waggled penises of dozens of men looking for something other than service topping provided a stark contrast.

I don’t think he was ever into me sexually like I wanted. That stings.

A part of me feels like I just blew up a great thing out of being too picky, because Wildcard is loving, kind and generous.

Maybe in a smaller, less people’d world we would have been ok and I would have sucked it up and dealt. But also I was starting to wonder if resenting the missing stuff and the stuff I hated was healthy. I try to have perspective that 100 years ago, I would have 8 kids and polio, but it doesn’t help.

So I told him I wasn’t getting what I needed. And… Cue the sadness vortex.

My life is now apartment hunting and furniture logistics. Everything upended. Everything examined now “do I really need this?” From clothing to volunteer work, it is one non-stop rip down.

I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I am scared and unhappy about the chaos. But…

I would rather end up a bitter old maid than end up resenting him for something that isn’t really a flaw. And actually some of the change is not so bad.

Well, fuck. (Breakups)

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So, Strong and I broke up. No story this Friday, just a post mortum.

Leaving most personal details out of it, it just wasn’t working anymore, which makes me incredibly sad. More so since I didn’t stop caring about the poor bastard, we just lost the mutual connection. Somewhere along the way, it died.

Ferns basically has the crux of the challenge for dominants, that without submission there is nothing. You can have a relationship, but it’s a stunted one with an under current of frustration. Breaking up with him meant leaving the hope that if I was just a bit more patient he’d come back to me.

But there’s that bugger chemistry. When you feel like submission is being handed out like a cookie, and the person is too busy giving you what they think they want, you stop feeling that glow of empowerment. To describe the situation, of course, doesn’t give Strong a fair chance to defend himself. He tried to be what he thought I wanted to the best of his ability.

But the problem may also be a matter of style. Submission, for me, is seduced out or ripped out. I find I tend to be drawn to the switch-y ones, in part because of my masochism, but also because of that sense of victory. Ha. I bet I probably sound like a cliché. Every dominant likes to think they’re special and that their submissive does not fall easily.

(Well, actually I’m not so sure about that, since I fake ‘submissive’ really well and I do not act fighty)

But for me, a guy who is all service and obedience from the start makes me feel like I’ve been asked to scale a sheer wall of glass. When I met Strong, he was emphatically not in a submissive position. The chemistry grew up around his desire just for me and we created something that was unique to us.

And yet there’s the gulf that often comes up between expectation of how a sub should act and  what the dom wants. In his case, I think he choked, and got too focused on being the perfect boyfriend. We always had a problem that way, for example I would provide a rule I wanted to put into place and he would take it and run with it and turn it into something his. Which makes it not about me, but about doing things his way.

On the other hand some of this is normal. I may have been too demanding and distance is bloody hard. And I really need to feel like I have the person’s full attention when I want it, which may be pretty hard to pull off all the time.

Regardless, he was, in many ways, extremely good for me and I don’t regret that he was part of my life. He came in as a friend, and I hope we’ll stay that way after we’ve had a chance to lick our respective wounds.