50 Shades of Grey and Ending Up in the ER
I must have dialed 911 five or six times trying to get some help. They would either disconnect me or say someone would be there and yet—what was taking so long.
Things were getting out of control—spiraling to a place that was so foreign and remote. Seeing myself holed up on my porch, yelling for help—acting like some "crazy person" and overwhelmed with the events surrounding my life.
Seeing the movie Fifty Shades of Grey when it first came out, I had no idea that I would be thinking about it once again. Only this time it wasn't some erotic adventure that brought me orgasmic bliss, but a frightening, anxiety producing event that was to change the way I viewed the movie.
Losing so much of my previous life was like being caught up in a riptide and trying desperately to be back to where it was safe. Knowing it was going to have to run its course if I were to get out alive.
Gulps of air, water up the nose, bruised and battered–heading towards the edge of land was how it seemed. The land was there, but I was a mess. This was going to take a little while this time.
My wrists hurt and my arm was twisted in some odd shape. Steel forced me to stay in one position and my modesty was fading fast. I kept talking and swearing as if this was going to release me. This was not fun, sexy or even close to the movie version of fantasy.
I had never been tied down before and didn't realize how awful it was.