Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

Little Big Update

I don’t know if anyone even checks here anymore but I think I’m ready to give an update.

Life has pretty much a rollercoaster of a nightmare since Brandon’s death. I am not coping well at all, even though on the surface one might never guess it. I go through the day on autopilot it seems, though I am still not able to manage some of the simple things I used to manage, like cooking and cleaning. Or sometimes even showering.

I am trying to get back to cooking, tired of ordering out and cooking from a box. Tonight I made pot pie and I only cheated a little with frozen vegetables. Cooking seems to take far more energy and thought than I  can drum up.

I am trying to care if my house is clean or not. Mostly I don’t.  There are some things I do every day, regardless of how I feel though. I dust my son’s urn and his pictures and mementos.

I’m on medication. Four of them, actually. And I still struggle. To sleep, to care. To live.

I am seeing a grief counselor. He’s good, but hard. He gives “homework” I don’t want to do. Like looking at pictures and writing things. You would think I could ace the writing work but I can’t. I’m pretty sure I’ve had writer’s block since June 24, 2016.

It seems impossible that it’s been more than a year when it still feels to me like it was yesterday that the police was pounding on our door.

We’ve finished (as finished as it ever is) the legal process, which, by the way, is Hell. Absolute hell. My son’s murder plead guilty to second degree murder  so we were spared a trial, and was sentenced to a minimum of 20 years with a max of 40 years.  At 20 years he’s eligible for parole and we start attending parole hearings to fight to keep him in. At 40 years, he’s out regardless.

The sentencing hearing was just last month. Not even a whole month ago. Oct. 16. We had no idea what the judge was going to sentence, her options ranged from 11 years to life. You can’t even imagine how stressful the weeks leading up to that were.

I still don’t know where I’m at with the sentence. Sometimes I think 20 years is a long time when I think of it in terms of how old we’ll all be then. I’ll be 66, Scott will be 70. My kids will be my age and my granddaughters will be in their mid- to late 20’s.

But the killer will only be 46, plenty of time to have the life he stole from my son. And… a 20 year sentence doesn’t even amount to one year per stab wound.  Brandon was stabbed 24 times. Savagely, maliciously.  20 years doesn’t feel like justice when I think of that.

But probably you all want to know about the M/s, the bdsm.

Everything changed – and nothing changed. He’s still the boss. But I?

I am not mentally or emotionally healthy enough to be a slave. And truth be told, neither is he to be a Master. He’s grieving as hard as I am, albeit differently. He raised Brandon since he was 9 years old. He considered himself Brandon’s dad, given the absence of bio dad. He paid for everything, did everything, was there like a dad should be. So, we’re both too mired in grief to be M/s.

Plus, I have very confusing and complicated feelings about being a slave these days, since being a slave is the reason we moved away and moving away is the reason Brandon was where he was that night, in that house. I have a lot of guilt, a lot of negativity and self blame. My thought process tends to be “I made a choice in life to be a slave and that choice resulted in my son’s death.”

I honestly don’t know if we’ll ever get back to it. Right now, it’s the furthest thing from my mind, from my life.  Breathing through the day takes precedence.

Whenever people would ask that theoretical question of what would be your hard limit, what would be the ONE thing that would make you call it quits, I used to say that I didn’t know but I hadn’t found it yet.

Well I found it.

It was the vicious murder of  my only son.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with this place. I’ll probably delete it before long. I don’t even know if I care enough to save any of it, to be honest. It seems like someone else’s life now. But it was nice knowing you all, you were great readers, great supporters, and I felt like you deserved an update. Thank you.