I don’t know what has happened to me.
My once ordered and predictable life is spinning out of control.
I am out of control.
I used to find my work difficult, and challenging, even emotionally draining at times, but I always found it rewarding and fulfilling.
Now I arrive at work, frequently hung-over, tired and cloudy-headed.
I am constantly distracted. I sit across from some poor, broken person. They tell me the dreadful, awful, unspeakable things that have happened to them.
Unforgivably, I find myself zoning out.
I can see it in their eyes that they know I am not fully present. These are people who are highly attuned to how others react. They have had to be hyper-observant and perceptive in order to survive.
They deserve better from me.
They have been dealt a bad enough hand in life without the one person they come to for help ending up being just another person letting them down.
Between clients appointments I sit at my desk, thinking about him.
Wondering when I will see him again.
Remembering the things he does to my body and the things I have done to his.
I have found my hands in my lap as I squirm on my seat.
More than once, my fingers have opened the buttons on my trousers and snuck down inside my underwear to satisfy my needs.
The next client must notice the flush in my cheeks.
I should feel completely ashamed of myself.
I am completely ashamed of myself.
I have had relationships before, but none as intense as this.
My past lovers shared my life. I knew them, not only physically, but intellectually, emotionally.
He shares very little of his life with me.
He is a public figure so of course, I have Googled him. I found this even more frustrating. Whomever he pays to manage his public image is worth every cent. Apart from basic, bland information, I have discovered nothing.
I am lost. I have a PhD in clinical psychology.
It is in my bones to ask questions, to probe, explore, listen. To gather information and analyse and dissect it.
And yet I have allowed myself to be completely overtaken by this man, who gives me nothing, except the most amazing, strange, revolutionary sex I have ever had.
I have unquestioningly accepted his terms…
When I am with him, we do what he wants.
He doesn’t want to share information, so he doesn’t.
We have talked. He is a great talker. He is funny, smart, insightful and asks me all about my life. He knows so much about me.
Apart from his sexual tastes I know next to nothing about him.
What I know…
He is a successful writer of dark, twisted thrillers.
He is six years younger than me. “Oh god, does that make me a cougar?!”
He buys me the most beautiful flowers.
He has exquisite taste in many things. He takes me to amazing restaurants, drives a sexy-ass car. He wears a Patek Philippe watch.
He always looks impeccable, even when scruffy in jeans and converse sneakers.
He likes to eat well and favours red wine over white, usually a Shiraz.
He finds American comedians George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Rich Hall, Louis C.K. and Sarah Silverman hilarious.
He listens to Bob Dylan and Neil Young in his car, along with other music I am not at all familiar with.
He is incredibly tender with me, but is also capable of cruelty and meanness.
He is one moment smiling and soft, and in a flash, his eyes darken, harden and turn cold, as if I have done something to anger him.
He enjoys hurting me, but never to any extreme.
He likes rough sex.
He likes to scare me and then fuck me.
He loves to give me pleasure. I have never been with him and he has not made sure I have at least one orgasm.
He tells me he finds my body beautiful and loves to look at it, with that familiar head tilt I find so arousing.
He studies me.
What I do not know…
Where he lives. As a public figure he keeps that information very private. I have never been invited to his house.
I have no phone number, except for his publishing house. No email.
If he has been married. His current bio on his website doesn’t state any marital status or children.
Anything about this childhood or past life.
Whether he snores. He has never stayed over.
What he eats for breakfast.
How he feels about me.
What is even more confusing is me.
A year ago, I left a man I loved deeply, because I felt he bullied me and always tried to control our lives. He never really listened to my point of view about anything, but just dug his heels in until I gave way. He was never violent or aggressive, just bullish in his dominance. After years of feeling “less than” him, I talked it through in therapy and decided I had to find the strength to leave.
Why does this, (can I even call it a relationship?), feel so different?
I never felt valued by that man the way I do with this man.
This man seems to find me endlessly fascinating and intriguing. He laughs at my random observances. He leans in, with his head tilted just so, as he listens intently to my opinions or any story I am telling him.
He asks me about what scares me, what pleasures me, what angers me.
He files every piece of information away and uses it.
Even when he hurts or humiliates me, he always makes me feel like a goddess afterwards.
I know, I know, I should look into myself and ask the questions I would ask a client or a friend.
Why do I allow him to continue hurting me, scaring me, humiliating me?
Why do I enjoy it?
After finding the strength to leave one domineering man, why am I allowing another one to take so much control over me?
I am unwilling to do this.
I do not want to know the why or wherefore.
I do not want to break the spell.
I fear I might have no choice.
My Supervisor* has called me.
I have missed three therapy sessions that I am required, ethically and contractually, to attend in order to debrief about my clients and ensure I am staying healthy and well, for them and for myself.
My Supervisor is going to grill me.
He is excellent at what he does, and I am not sure I can hide my recent… what? growth? change? depravity?
I know I need to try to regain some control over my life and my desires.
When he is not with me I feel incomplete.
When he disappears, I buy too much wine and sit alone at home, drinking it and reading his books, staring at his bio photo on the reverse covers, my hands slipping inside my bathrobe, imaging they are his hands.
Drunken masturbation. How pathetic is that?
I know I need help…
I don’t want it.
*In therapy terms, Clinical Supervision, means that a counsellor or psychotherapist uses the services of another counsellor or psychotherapist to review their work with clients, their professional development, and often their personal development as well. Supervision is a professional service, rather than a managerial role. The supervisor acts not as a ‘boss’, but as a consultant.
Copyright 2014 by MsT secretgarden. All rights reserved.