This is me without W

I don’t have the energy to detail everything that has changed so abruptly in my life…it’s too much and still too painful to treat like a piece of prose, like a blog entry. Some of you know the details, those that don’t and continue to read here will probably read about it all in bits and pieces in the coming months. Suffice it to say, by way of explanation for my absence from Fetlife, from kink, from blogging, from social media (if explanation is needed) that my beloved W, WoodDemon, passed away unexpectedly in March after a sudden, catastrophic illness. As sometimes happens with families after the sudden demise of a family member who was involved in “alternative” relationships, his family, who I had been close to before, excommunicated and demonized my other partner HandsOn (Adam) and I.

They refused to let us see him as he lay dying in the hospital.

They evicted us from the house we had recently moved into together and have put it up for sale.

They locked me out of his old house, in which I had many belongings, and which I have never gotten back.

They have never spoken to me since.

They hid where he was when he was in hospice and I only found out that he had passed by seeing his obituary in the paper.

I never got to say goodbye to him.

It was ugly, and hurtful, and devastating. I felt like my world had ended – and in some ways, it did.

I’m not sure what I am doing here now, what this space is to me, or how I will use it. I have tried many times to return to my blog, to start blogging and writing again, only to find myself blocked and unable to write. I realized this past weekend that a large part of that is because I truly used my blog to communicate with W more than anything else, and without him here to read my words…who am I talking to?

I’m trying to break through that. There ARE other reasons I write. Maybe something I say will have resonance with someone else. Maybe my words will help, or inspire – or someday, titillate again.

Or maybe I will just write for myself as I try to make sense of my life again. As I try to figure myself out, figure out who and what I am without him.

Sometimes, I’m not sure there is a “me” without him. Most times, I wish there wasn’t. I wish I’d been able to lay down in that hospital bed with him, and go with him when he left. But every once in awhile…every once in awhile I feel a little less…hallow. And I think, ok. If it has to be this way then I’m going to make him proud of me. I’ll find me again.

So. Here I am. What’s left of me.

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