After three years, I’m finally able to confront my demons and resume my blog. I hope you find it of some value.
In late 2006 I embarked on a wife led marriage. At the same time I established this blog. Many people have since followed my trials and tribulations. In a sense, it became a social experiment and, for many followers of this blog, it was a study in sociology of a Femdom marriage, and whether such a married relationship could be “constructed” by a sub.
For those of you who recall my initial blog entries, I was full of hope and determination at the time. I believed V and I could develop a female led marriage which would suit us both.
But, as my latter posts suggests, I was in a bad mental state towards the end of our marriage. As subsequent events would confirm, I was in a state of clinical depression, but without receiving medical treatment.
The Global Financial Crisis was having a major bearing on my business in 2008. Clients were drying up. Cashflow was at an all-time low. I was borrowing money against our house to support the business. Debts were mounting as each week passed. Salaries still had to be paid, office rent and overheads still had to be met. I was loathe to lay anyone off. My employees were like family, and they had their own financial pressures to deal with.
As I recall, the final straw came one day in my car on the way home from work. First, I received a phone call from the taxation department. Any call from the tax department is a stressful experience and, on this occasion, they were demanding immediate payment of company back-taxes or legal action would be initiated.
Two minutes later I received a call from the Child Support Agency which, in this country, is responsible for collecting child support payments from divorced parents. I was three months late with my own payments. When was I going to provide the arrears? My children had all been well cared for and their mother – my first wife - was financially comfortable. For the past 25 years, she had never needed to work and was a stay-at-home mum, living in a fully-paid for five bedroom house in one of the better suburbs of this city.
I don’t really recall all the details of my conversation with the Child Support Agency but I recall them transferring me to another department. Next I was talking to a psychology counselor who reassured me and told me not to worry about anything for now. I realized I must have been acting strangely on the phone. Why else would they transfer me to a psych counselor?
By the time I got home, I was a babbling wreck. All strength and resistance had been drained from my mind and body. In the following weeks I lost all motivation. I won’t go into detail but, basically, I couldn’t sleep. I found it hard to get up in the morning. It was a struggle to go to work.
To top it off, my marriage to V was at breaking point, partly as a result of financial pressures, my mental state and our sexual incompatibility.
The final breakup is painful. Even now. V asked me to move out again. She’d had enough.
I moved in with my mother who I get along with in small doses, but I knew from the outset that living with mum was a big mistake. She constantly criticized V and suggested I wasn’t strong. I should move back home and kick her out. Living with my mother was the worst environment I could be in at the time and did nothing to improve my mental depression.
Two weeks later I had a total breakdown. I was admitted to hospital and the following day I was transferred to the psych ward.
If you’ve never experienced a public psych ward, I can assure you that comparisons with “One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” are not over-stretching things. It appeared to me at the time that this would be one of the last places you would put someone suffering depression! If I wasn’t depressed before, my experiences in the psych ward would certainly make me depressed going forward. I spent the next month in this hell hole.
I’m going to take a break now because I’m finding this harder to write than I thought I would.