Bored in Bed…

a bored wife is a dangerous thing


So this is my first post. I should say more and give some background, but I’m scatter-brained at the moment. Thinking about leaving my husband. He doesn’t make me orgasm anymore, doesn’t even try. Has never gone down on me, and doesn’t sex me long enough or hard  enough for it to happen anymore.

Here is the dilema, he really is a great guy. He’s a hard worker, he has Jesus, and he never abuses me physically or mentally. He doesn’t even watch porn. We’ve been together about five years, married for two and a half. He wants kids, but I literally think about leaving him at least twice a day. Cannot bring children into a marriage that’s about to fall apart, it’s unfair for them. And for everyone.

I’m a sub. I discovered it just this past year. Started doing research into bdsm lifestyle, and it felt like something clicked inside of me. I’ve dabbled, had an online Dom for a little. It was mind blowing, the guidance. I had structure and rules and just peace. Any little problem I had I’d present it to him and he’d tell me how to handle it. I’d just obey and move on. He turned me into into a better version of myself. My marriage was better, my familial relationships were better. Everything was. Then one day he couldn’t be my Dom anymore, had to focus on his live-in sub. I understood. It broke my heart, but I was grateful for the time he gave me and the knowledge and the discovery of me… of sub-Daya.

Yes, it was shady keeping it from hubs. He’s not into the lifestyle. I’ve tried, but compromise isn’t his forte. Hence not giving me any oral besides the fact I give bjs at least twice a week, and cowgirl two out of three times we sleep together. He’s a lazy lover. Doesn’t like putting on his own condom and such. I’ve tried so hard to express my wants and needs. He just doesn’t make an effort to meet me anywhere near the middle.

This is my second marriage. My parents are ministers. They catch my flack at church when I eff up. It’s them who I worry about hurting the most.

I’m just failing. Do I run and chase happiness on my own… or do I stay and fake it, hoping it happens one day, …doing the right mofo thing for once.

“Devil in the form of a whore”

I recently heard a Post Malone song (I Fall Apart) that really hit me. It made me think of the illusion I had of what marriage was all about. My completely shattered illusion, as I end my second marriage. I thought I knew him, my husband. We dated almost three years before moving in together. We lived together for three months before getting married. Here we are at our 3rd wedding anniversary. Dating, living together, and marriage… it has been like 3 completely different people. I stop and to reflect, and I try to think if I’ve changed. At this point though, I’ve changed drastically. One year ago, when I still felt the marriage could be saved.. I was the most honest version of myself. I kept communicating my wants and needs. I kept offering compromises and possible-solutions to our rifts.  He wasn’t having any of it. He chose to stay quiet and keep his head down and not change a damn thing. He insisted it “wasn’t who [he was]”. Broke my heart.

I’d really like to take an entire year to myself. Working on becoming the best version of me. Deciding what it is I really need in a partner, and focusing on compatibility over looks or anything else. I don’t believe in a “destined” partner. I don’t think there is one specific person God has chosen for you. I do, however, believe God can help guide you toward people who can help you move forward in life… specifically a partner. Teamwork. I always thought marriage was teamwork. In everything. How can I make your life easier, how can I help you reach your goals… and I’d do it confidently knowing he’d support me in the same way. What happens when it doesn’t go as planned… what happens when you discover the person you thought you knew was simply a colorful mirage of who he really is.

I’ve said this before, but I feel it the most for my parents. I hate disappointing them. I hate that their ministries catch flack all because of me, because their daughter will have two divorces before age 30. Damnit. I’m so sorry guys. I wish “Christian” folk would read more verses on <<love covers a multitude of sins>> and less on <<God is a consuming fire>> … I don’t understand why they are so angry all the time, as if Jesus needs someone to fight for him. No, he does not. So calm the eff down and focus on working for the Kingdom… not on your own personal burn book.

Maybe five years from now, things will be better. I’ll be healthy, happily married, a mother or a missionary, or both. Or maybe the world will end, and none of it will matter anyways, and things will be muuuch better then. I have all kinds of weird hope.


Everything is fine, perfect even. Then all of a sudden it hits me. It strangles me. This invisible monster. I’m fighting though. For my life. I won’t take it. I’ll run away before I take it. I’m so weak. Why am I so weak. My job isn’t the problem. My marriage isn’t the problem. The problem is me.


So many triggers.

My skin feels so soft. So thin. I press against it and think about not wanting to be here. Slice. I think about not wanting to work here. Slice. I think about what a whore I am, in every sense of the word. Slice. I think about how much I fail, how many people I’m failing, including myself. Slice, slice, slice. I don’t cut to die, I cut to live. I cut to push past the pain. For a moment, the pain of the blade is sharper than the pain in my soul. For a short amount of minutes, my world is balanced. Everything is okay. Because even though I’m a terrible person, I’m still alive. So I go through the motions, hoping that one day I’ll feel alive again. Without the help of this blade. Slice. It doesn’t seem like it, but I still have hope. Hope that my life can mean something. Hope that I can help someone, anyone. And yet here I am, bleeding. Crying. Screaming so consistently, it’s no longer noise.  The shrill of the screams in my head, the agony caught in the back of my throat… resounding like whispers in the abyss. Stay alive, it gets better. Fight for the life you want. But I can’t. I’m walking, but I fall. I’m trying to stand, but there’s nothing to hold on to. My legs fail me. My heart fails me. My faith fails me. Just lay still. It gets better. Just breathe. Just bleed. Maybe the bad blood will leave, and the new blood will help me be a better person. Better than yesterday. Better than right now. Slice.


another face of depression.

I’m searching for hope. I’m searching for peace. I’m searching for joy. I find nothing.

I try to remember. Remember the smiles. Remember the laughs. I feel nothing.

My mind wanders off. I dream of the Sun. I picture the beach. And yet, nothing.

My thoughts quiet down. I stare at the wall. Can’t even speak. Nothing.

Running out of Energy

When we have big problems, or big goals, the professionals tell us to take it one day at a time. “Baby-steps,” they say. I try to remember this when I’m in the middle of a break-down. I’ve spoken about it before. Reminding myself that eventually I will be on the other side of this problem. Some days, however, I honestly cannot see past my crying reflection in the mirror.

I feel myself running out of energy. Fighting for my own happiness and fulfillment. I want to leave my husband. I want to leave my job. I want to leave my church. I want to leave my town. And yet I’m stuck – I can’t just get up and go. Turn on the car and start driving. Most goals need considerate amount of planning in order to be achieved. I’m not prepared to leave, financially or mentally. Honestly I’m terrified. Terrified of the pain it’s going to cause. My husband, my parents, my employer, my pastor. Instead of helping people, I will be hurting them. I will be sowing pain into my life, and surely later on I will reap. Scares me to death.

There’s a small glimmer of hope though. Jonah, in the Bible, he didn’t want to complete the assignment God gave him. He ran from God. We all know the story. He goes on a boat with other sailors, the seas become volatile. He knows it’s on him, so he volunteers to be tossed off. Then all of a sudden comes the big fish. Swallows him whole. The storm represents the consequence of Jonah’s disobedience. The fish represents God’s mercy in the middle of the consequence. The fish was not sent to kill Jonah, but to save him from drowning in the storm. It seems crazy, and equally as death-qualified. Nevertheless, at the end of the story he survives. I’m not trying to preach, just hoping to encourage myself. Maybe when shit hits the fan, Jesus will still love me and extend his mercy to cover me.

I can’t see the light at the end of this tunnel yet, but I refuse to believe it’s not there.


A Poem for Depression

All kinds of triggers. Probably grammatical errors. Just down. Trying to come back up.

I hate you depression, I wish you’d fucking die. You’re such a sneaky bitch, I’ve always wondered why. Why you’re so obsessed with me, why won’t you let me go; as if I were your first lover, and yet you’re just a ho. You give it out to everyone, no code & no remorse. I know plenty of guys who’ve had you, they say they’d rather fuck a horse.

I’m gonna carve your right eye out & let the left stay and see, how I butcher you to pieces, how I happily break your knees. I’ll use a bat,… no, I’ll use a knife. Make sure it’s dull to cause you strife. Each wrinkle I’ll slice, no limb to spare. I’ll take my time, … die?! Don’t you dare.

The agony in your screams is music to my ears. Making up for all this time, you’ve been torturing me for years. You fucked up my motivation, killed all my dreams and hopes…. you think I’m feeling sorry for you? Just ’cause I’m starting to choke? And yet you’re wrong again you dumb bitch, the excitement inside is why I’m starting to twitch. This feels good to me & I’ll tell you why. It’s because oh so soon you will start to fry. That’s right, you’re gonna burn in hell bitch. It’ll feel just like home. All the knives you dug into people, will be multiplied on the seat of your new throne.

The blood slowly leaves your body & I just feel relief. As if it were my own, as if I’m finally free. It feels good that you’re dead now, it’s satisfying that you’re gone. It’s probably not over, and yet I feel like I’ve won. And if you spring up tomorrow, just ’cause weeds never die… then I’ll slay you once again, and take back my fucking life.

Silent Treatment

If there is something I truly hate for a spouse to do, above all else, it’s the silent treatment. It makes things so much worse for me. I feel disrespected. Unloved. Damn, you can’t even tell me why you’re upset with me? So you punish me by ignoring me instead? He always apologizes, hours later. But each time it happens my heart becomes colder towards him. 

His lack of communication and lack of compromise are killing my respect for him. Once the respect is gone, it’s difficult to get back. He adds on to the house as if that’s going to save our marriage. Obviously he doesn’t know the levels of crazy I can reach. I don’t feel locked into this marriage. I will burn that mother to the ground. 

I’m failing God by choosing to leave my husband. I’ve failed myself by choosing to marry him in the first place. We are human. We fail. However, I still believe there is more value in picking yourself up and continuing with life than there is in never failing.