Gently, gently.

 There's something about the one-year anniversary of an event that stirs the emotions. There is a real temptation to relive the event, and if it was sad, to be sad all over again.

I lost a very special friend in Deity. He was the place I went to for comfort and support. Whilst I felt, and rightly so, that it would not be good policy to share some of my inner thoughts with people in my life on the ground, he would listen to me say anything. 

That's not to say he didn't challenge me on occasion but what I got out of it, on reflection, was someone who offered me unconditional love. I had flaws. He had flaws. But he saw that as all to be expected of a human being. So, he forgave quickly. On my end, I could be upset about a conversation, but conflict wasn't something that he felt stood in the way of a good relationship.

So, disagreeable words were said. That was then. Now let's get on with being good friends. This was his policy. To this end, any disruption in communication was, by and large, simply waited out. He saw women, I think, as sort of flighty and driven by emotions, and it was a process with an end.

The hypnotic sessions my husband has had, shook things up and out. He feels so much lighter, and this has enabled dialogues never before had, now even encouraged. So, this morning I said to him that it was about the time when Deity died last year, and it has brought up a lot of emotions. 

Since I have never been able to share with him, or anyone, what actually happened I was afforded the opportunity to tell a living soul that while he was holed up in a hotel I would call him, check in as to whether he had eaten; remind him of the number he could call to get some food delivered.

I was talking to him one day when he told me he had fallen in the street and not one person had come to his aid. He checked to see that he had all his teeth. This was the same man who had begun an organisation at the grass roots and turned it into a national organisation; the man who had made dozens of strong friendships but who was now alone and with no access to his own money.

Alcohol, or any other substance taken to excess is so often self-medication for intolerable emotional pain and anxiety, and so it was. It was incredibly personally painful to watch and yet I felt there was no choice. I never have, and I hope I never will, go through such a gut-wrenching personal sorrow to see him drink himself to death. Yet, as he reminded me, this was his decision to make, not mine.

He was a bit of a devil. It's one of the first things I said to him.  He was also a lot like an angel. He had a foot in both camps and let's be honest, I loved that. 

It's these experiences with Deity, along with other knowings that currently make me quite wary of dominant men generally. It wouldn't be wrong to say that I have an antenna out for those that 'play'. I pick things up in conversation and I bristle. Not that I have hardly any conversations with dominant men, but on the odd occasion, for particular reasons.

Is it common, I don't know if it is or not, to refer to a woman, with submissive inclinations, a 'subject'? Deity used to say to me that I put too much stock in words; read too much into them. But, subject? Is that really necessary, and if it is, what does that say about the person using the word? I try not to judge, but seriously?

I have never had a moment's interest in the kink scene. It's not the way I want to express myself. So, there's a lot of material out there that simply isn't relatable to me.

I am starting to wonder if the term 'submissive' actually describes me. From the get-go, I wanted a marriage that remained, however long, a passionate coupling. I wanted to support and be supported. I wanted to create a loving family. I am starting to wonder if the kinkiness is starting to fade, and if mutual happiness and exploration in all sorts of ways, including sex within intimacy, is my aspiration. 

Gently, gently.