I have been keeping an absolute death grip on my feelings, my emotions, hope, optimism, anything feeling remotely vulnerable. Locked down tight. I let little tiny bits out, little trickles, just cracking the lid to peek, when i know it's safe, when i'm sure i can and must turn it right back off. It's hard, i'm not functioning at 100%, i'm on edge and unfocused, to say the least.
I think in his own way, he is doing something similar. His looks different, but neither of us is whole, neither of us is truly open and unguarded. We are caring and loving and supportive and forgiving, and sincere between us, and with the boys; we are just fine as far as the rest of the world knows, but we aren't really us with each other.
We also haven't had time or privacy or focus to maintain many of the small physical reminders of us: no caning, no play, very little service. What remains is often rote; important to keep up, but without deeper impact. What we do and how we interact is not a game, a role-play, or a put-on. It is real, meaningful, and important to us both. But it is not the most important thing right now. This is our choice, we make it together and without reservation or hesitation. But we each feel the loss none-the-less.
We had three hours alone together today, and maybe 30 minutes of it we could spare. I asked him, ungracefully and haltingly, if he would please beat me - i think i said beat, maybe cane? He said he would.
He used just the crop and the cane, his hand on my back the whole time. Nothing fancy, just him and me and pain and surrender.
My mind wouldn't quiet the way it usually does. I fought him, willing my body to be still, but not really surrendering for a long time. The fear and the grief and the worry and the emotions i've kept locked down for 3 weeks swirled and collided and made themselves known. I was able finally to release my grip, to break down, to breathe, to open.
I'm wrung out now, and the locks are back on, for now. But I think i will sleep and i think tomorrow will be better.