May was tough. Max’s death has been really hard on me and just thinking about how hard it is makes me tear up. The self-talk I have about it isn’t the best. I keep saying, he was a cat, you should be able to get over it, I shouldn’t be so affected. But honestly, everyone I’ve talked to; from KnyghtMare to my therapist tells me that what I’m experiencing is perfectly normal and accepted. I should learn to accept that my grief is going to be whatever it’s going to be. I need to stop fighting it.
I still feel like if I turn around I’ll see him laying in his spot on the bed, or I’ll hear his meow in my sleep and it wakes me up. I know he’s not here, but I want him to be and so I may be creating moments in my head that he could potentially be there. He’s just out of sight, or earshot, he lives in my dreams or if I close my eyes. I miss him.
In happier news, KnyghtMare and I celebrate 8 years married next week. It feels impossible knowing how we’ve struggled in recent years, but I feel like our relationship has improved immensely in the last 5 months. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling better, but there’s just something that feels so good about us. I want to keep nurturing and watching it grow.
We’re doing a lot more that has a kink or power exchange feel to it, testing the waters, exploring more than we have in a long time. I’m able to express things I’d like to try and not feel uncomfortable with that, and I’m having a great time learning about being a hu-cow, what’s involved with stretching my nipples so they are elongated permanently and all things anal and large objects. I feel sexual and that’s a powerful thing.
I’m feeling like I’m finding who I am and really capturing my personal identity for the first time in probably 5 years. That will take time. I know that a lot of my identity comes from submission and it is likely the key to figuring out what else is a part of my identity. That’s the hard work my therapist and I are working on, my self worth and value.
So, there’s an update on me.