The way forward is with a broken heart

Skip lightly over this one, if you prefer kinky tales of BDSM derring-do, this post is an interlude, a hiatus in my adventures. Every now and then, I am reminded that I have a broken heart which is still not mended. Strange and odd moments, that cannot always be predicted and catch me like suddenly losing breath. I like to think that I've done very well, in the aftermath of The Photographer, getting back on the kinky horse quickly enough to not feel too much of an absence there (and to sate my physical desires, which is a drive not to be taken lightly). "Keeping busy" is a bit of a cliche, but when there is nothing else that can heal but time and you aren't a patient person, it has been my mainstay. Having a broken heart is not the same as being depressed or miserable or suffering from issues of self-worth. I am not unhappy most of the time, I do not feel bad about myself, though occasionally annoyed at the unfairness of the universe. It is simply that, every now and then, my heart aches.

And it does hurt. I've commented before on my surprise at finding that heartbreak produces an actual pain in the chest. The pain is a lot less sharp than it once was, instead it feels cold and a little empty. I had a conversation with Knight of Wands on the subject not long ago, about how I felt emotionally deflated like a balloon, and without the desire to expend the effort to do much about it. Which is a good analogy - I do have a missing bit, but I haven't recharged fully enough to be ready or strong enough to re-fill it with anything like what was there before. Love, is a long way off yet and that makes me sad at the same time as it makes me feel a little relieved.

Lust remains. The want for companionship. The push to explore and to feel new sensations, re-examine old ones. My need for kink, it appears, like my need for food and drink, has not been taken away, but it has changed.

New partners have been welcome, and not just to scratch an itch, but as genuine moments of fun, happiness and filth. I hope that I have treated them well, although I know I am currently unpredictable and difficult to deal with - another good reason for avoiding romance. Some have helped me more than others, some have hindered me through no fault of their own. Every one of them has been welcome, and special to me, not because they make me feel better - though they do - but because I enjoy them and their company in and of itself. Friends, kinky and vanilla, have been supportive although possibly confused by my preference to write about things on the internet, anonymously and with time to correct each word, than sit and dissect at length over bottles of wine. There's a method behind this, and it has in part to do with my hatred of boring people to death with my woes, or being "that girl" who constantly, tearfully, brings up the subject of her ex-lover, no matter what the conversation is actually about. There's also desire to manage the process of getting better in my own way, which has turned into a curiously lonely procedure - I need a lot of space to myself to think things through and have been keeping people at arms' length a little.

What it does mean is that what I want, how I feel and how I want to interact is different to how it might have been a year or so ago. I feel a lot like Goldilocks, needing things to be "just right" or they won't work at all, the reaction of wanting to control, manage or somehow be incredibly clear on the way in which I am relating to my sex partners is perfectly natural - I want to be sure of the outcome, to know what I am getting myself into. I've always been rather risk-averse and now I am more so. I've become more picky about who I want to do things with, where and how. In the past few weeks I've certainly been doing a lot less, although I have almost certainly produced volumes of text via email or SMS. Again, the desire to clarify, to create certainty and to make sure. That I have just enough, but not too much.