On Friendships and Following Your Heart — Me

July 20th, 2022:

Something downright strange happened today. Something very very strange.

Bizarre.

Inexplicable.

I woke up…content.

Like, not jumping-for-joy-over-the-moon-euphoric but…comfortable. At ease.

I poked myself to see if I was actually awake. The missing cloud of gloom and doom looming over my head genuinely confused me. For once, it didn’t take an hour of Mistress Me prodding and cajoling a depressed Baby Girl into leaving the cocoon of my bed. I just…got up. Without thinking about it.

But…why? What made today so different from yesterday, or the day before?

Then, I remembered: I hadn’t drugged myself into an oblivion the night prior.

Huh. So maybe not loading myself full of marijuana for 24 hours *was* a good idea.

Perhaps even weirder than the genuinely-not-terrible mood was the fact that I didn’t even want to smoke. Yesterday it was all I could think of, but today I didn’t even want it.

I texted Mommy: I didn’t smoke or drink yesterday. My tolerance is thru the roof and I wanted it to be better. It was ridiculously hard (not to smoke. The drinking would have been a bandaid and I decided not to do that either). What’s interesting is that this morning I felt really good when I woke up — no anxiety or dark clouds of doom.

Mommy replied: Oh that’s good!!!! Are you gonna keep not toking?

Me: I haven’t made a decision about that…I’m taking it one hour at a time. :)

The hours piled up and I didn’t ingest any cannabis. Two days in a row! It’s a summer miracle!

Please let it be noted for the record that I make no promises about tomorrow.

Today’s agenda consisted of a trip to the osteopath. His office is in Notre Dame de Grace (otherwise known as NDG), and it happens to be located near the only decently good Thai restaurant I’ve been able to find in Montreal (and I’ve tried. Montreal seems to have everything but good Thai food).

So I made a trip of it, lunching at the restaurant and then heading to the appointment.

He did a ridiculously painful adjustment to my ribs and afterward I felt absolutely amazing. The man is magical. Also, speaking of magic, I can’t really believe that three weeks ago I smashed my chest in and now I am about 95% better.

Hazel arrived late in the afternoon, pulling up in her SUV with Pennsylvania plates. It’s the first time I’m hosting her — or anyone, for that matter — in my own apartment. That’s because it’s also the first time in my adult life I’ve ever had my own apartment in which to host anyone.

She used to stay at the hotel when she would come to visit. The first time was when we drove up with me and all my boxes. I was a jittery little submissive back then, madly in love with my master, whom you may notice me unaffectionately referring to as “Master Buttface” in the future.

The move was borne of my imagination in April of 2015. One morning I called her on the phone.

“I’m having escape fantasies,” I told her. “All I want to do is be with him.”

“Well,” she said, and I expected her to say something along the lines of, you barely know him. Don’t throw away your life for some random guy. But instead she said, “Maybe I’m crazy but I’ve always thought that life is short and you should follow your heart.”

Follow my heart?! Really?? Well that was easy. My heart said, “Go.” Loud and clear.

“GO.”

So I quit my job, broke up with my life — my friends, my partners, my everything — and on July 23rd, 2015, we loaded my boxes into her car and set off north toward Montreal.

That was almost exactly seven years ago to the day. I remember being so nervous, and so excited.

I also remember that during the car ride, I somehow stumbled on an online article about a woman who had moved across the country to be with her new boyfriend on a journey remarkably similar to the one upon which I was currently embarking.

The boyfriend in the article turned out to be abusive.

I’ve forgotten most of the details except for one: He made her shower twice a day, because otherwise she would be too dirty to sleep with.

I hoped that the article wouldn’t be some kind of omen of things to come.

I still don’t believe in omens, but Master Fartface did the exact same thing to me. One particular day, long after the excitement had washed away and all I had to cling to were memories of a better time, he decreed that I stunk and that I would be showering twice a day from then on.

He had already stopped having sex with me a long time ago.

His words cut me like a knife. I tried to protest. The shame was sickening. But I obeyed.

I started showering twice a day. My skin was scrubbed clean but my heart could not be cleansed.

Eventually the humiliation hit a breaking point and my heart told me, once more, to leave.

So I don’t have a Master Swampbreath anymore. But I still have Hazel. She has been there for all of it; the Before, the During and the After. And now, instead of staying in a hotel room because my master is a sociopathic introvert, she gets to stay with me. On my very own couch.

We walked around my neighbourhood in the sweltering heat. Stopped for Indian food. Came back and watched TV. Said a very pleasant goodnight. Now she’s sleeping in the living room and I’m writing this post from my bed.

This may be the first visit we’ve had, in the history of our friendship, where neither of us is in rapture/crisis about a man.

Love,

Me