Belonging in the Story of My Own Pages

I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Really. It just keeps tilting every which way so damn much, I'm having difficulties keeping my balance...
A couple of lovely ladies have given me the Real Neat Blog award, and I will get to that soon. It is greatly appreciated. And I know that I have comments to respond to on my last post, but in all honesty, I may never actually get around to answering them...They are, however, greatly appreciated--it is nice to know that one is not forgotten even when they have forgotten themselves.

There was a time when I could talk about mostly anything here. I lived an isolated life, my daily activities revolved around the house, and we were pretty much off the radar of humanity in general.
Things are different now. My working obsessions are unsharable here, and there has been no private life to speak of, really.
I wake up with things on my mind that can't be written here, I go to sleep trying to figure out problems which cannot be displayed to the world, I spend my days in manuals and regulations detailing policies that I can't talk about. And D/s...?

I quit coming here. Well, that's not exactly true...I would come here and stare at the pages with all their feelings and thoughts suddenly so foreign...It felt like this blog detailed years of a life which no longer existed, about a woman who was no longer the same person. Like I no longer belonged in the story of my own pages.

The truth is, I am woefully unsure how to reconcile what I have become with who I have always been. I don't know how to be this ridiculously super independent public manager reciting regulations and brainstorming with brilliant professionals, then let it all go and fall to my knees when he calls. Something had to give. And it was the slave.

 I thought about finally just walking away from this blog, letting it fade into the pages of obscurity in which so many have come to rest, discovered only by the occasional newbie on their desperate search to explain what they have become. Because there's a whole new book now, and I felt like I no longer belonged in my own story...As if perhaps everything that I have always been stayed behind in the mountains, floating on the wind in the trees, as untouchable as the moonbeams which used to caress my skin each night.

With my typical lack of eloquence when speaking of such things, I told him that I was pondering leaving this place behind because I no longer felt like the person displayed here, no longer knew how to feel what I was while being what I must. No longer was there the inevitable crawling back to scratch the itch which has always emerged so strongly over time.

He has been busy. And he has been patient. Did I mention busy? Like, I'm overwhelmed with half the workload of his, busy. He disagreed with me.

After stumbling in around ten last night, he informed me that our agreement was not a temporary eight year term. He had not taken out a lease--he owned me still. I couldn't feel it, couldn't give in, couldn't drown in his skin...

Even on my knees, covered in piss and shivering in the cold, I could not let it go. Then he got me drunk. Drunk on humiliation, on drowning, on surrender. Drunk on being his. And he washed my hair...Undid me like the laces of his shoes...Like five shots of tequila (two to many for me) I lost my balance and came crashing down.

Suddenly, I felt the path beneath my knees, like a million miles of road less traveled. Floating on the wings of a familiar darkness.