It's ten years ago now that me and Mistress moved in together. Or it will be, in a week or so. I remember Christmas 2005, it was horrible. Our poly triad was in it's death throes and I was so utterly miserable, with almost every aspect of my life. It was that Christmas I decided I would spend a week at my mothers' home and not talk to either of them, Mistress or my boyfriend/then-Master.
After a few days I missed her. I didn't miss him. And that was kind of it. It still took me about two weeks after that to actually make up my mind and say something about it. Two absolutely miserable weeks. And then one night me and him were laying in bed, he tried to have sex with me, I pushed him away and he started to cry. And I said I wanted to break up with him, that it was over. I don't remember everything we said, but I remember the despair. And that he said he would kill himself, and I said alright, if you do that I'll kill myself to. Come on, let's do it. He didn't, obviously, and I guess we fell asleep after that.
I left as soon as I could, but there were a lot of agonising moments before we were finally separated. Packing up stuff, moving, seeing each other and not talking. The bleak despair of it all. And Mistress, suffering from our agony and afraid I think that I would leave her too - and yet by my side, all the time, supporting me.
I moved in with her, and I remember that we both agreed that it would be best for me to get my own place somewhere, to land on my feet and be self sufficient before we could build a life togehter. It sounded so wise and thoughtful and right. But I didn't want to be anywhere except exactly where she was, so that didn't happen. In March 2006 she proposed to me and I said yes, and we lived in her apartment until she bought us a bigger one in June that year.
We got married in August 2007, little S was conceived during the fall of 2008, with a lot of frustrating trips to the hospital, and she was born in August 2009. We moved again in the summer of 2010, to a three bedroom apartment in the same city.
I began my studies in psychology that same year me and Mistress moved in together, my first term started in January 2006. I took a slightly involuntary break in 2008 because I wanted to change schools to my home town to get out of commuting and hade to wait for a spot to open up in the right term in my new school. And then I took some more leave because of little S. In the end, I didn't graduate until the spring of 2013.
What we didn't know until the fall of 2012 was that I have ADHD. It's a bit strange now to think back and realise how different we would have looked at things if we knew. But we didn't, and we made the best decisions we could with what we knew. I got sick from exhaustion, from trying to be a good mom to a high need baby and successfull at a demanding education and managing all of the life stresses that everyone has to handle. I'm quite a bit worse at that than most people, however, and by the summer of 2012, I was in a really really bad shape. We were training to become therapists in school by then, and I remember that my first patient was in much better shape than I was (though I never told anyone in school (and of course didn't say anything to my patient)).
I got medication and eventually an ADHD-diagnosis and medication for that too, just in time to save the paper I had to write for my Masters degree. And I got my degree as a psychologist. Then I didn't get a job. It was actually a really good time, the summer and fall of 2013. I didn't do much, I mostly recuperated. Eventually I got a job, but in a different part of the country, and my heroic family moved with me in the summer of 2014 for a year in exile. And in the summer of 2015 I was done, got my license and a job back home again. And here we are now.
It's been quite a ride these last ten years. And all this time, in all the ups and downs and varying circumstances, Mistress has been with me. She has kept me, in all the meanings of the word. She has her job, and even though it's stressfull and bad and she's not appreciated as she should be (because of patriarchy and misogynistic pricks for bosses) at times, it's also fun I think, and the job itself seems to suit her. It's paid our bills all this time, she has supported me through school (I've worked some, and have student loans, but it's a pittance compared to her contribution) and we would never been able to afford going to school with a kid without her income.
And she's loved me. Every day. A few days ago we discussed that I can take critique in a better way now (even if I'm still bad at it). And I realised that one important thing is that now, at 35, I've lived more years in a loving, supporting environment, than I did in the suppressive, hateful one I grew up in. It's much easier admitting mistakes when it's finally sunk in that it wont mean being ridiculed. I'm loved. No matter what happens in the future, I know I'm loved.
(Also, spanked and controlled and fucked. That's good stuff to.)
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