Author: Cunill

I hope you’re out there somewhere safe. I hope you’ve taken a nice, hot shower and put on clean clothes. I hope you’ve eaten and had enough water for the night. I even hope whoever you’re with lets you stay the night so that you can get a good night’s sleep. Not really. I actually don’t care at this point. You called me this morning after not having heard anything from you in a year or so. I stopped everything I was doing just to pay attention to you. You were crying so hard that I could only make out one or two words until I was able to calm you down to where you could listen and make sense. You hadn’t eaten in two days. You had nowhere to stay. You had no money.

You told me what was going on. I already knew. I had already figured out what game you were playing and I had told you that. I didn’t know about the fight with grandpa. He’s an asshole. He’s mean, cruel and irrational, but you know that and you know how to avoid it. If he did knock or push grandma down and come at you with a baseball bat (yes, he’s done the same to me) you should’ve called the cops on him and let them sort it out rather than getting into an altercation. My father is not capable of rational thought and can’t see further than black or white. He simply reacts violently. For some reason, that’s all he knows how to do, except toward your father. I suppose he sees himself in your father and doesn’t want to confront his own demons. It’s easier to blame them on mom.

It took me two hours to calm your ass down enough to where you were thinking rationally again. I assured you that I wasn’t judging you bc that’s not what I do. I only wanted to help you. I was concerned about three, and only three, things: food, shelter and whether or not you were a harm to yourself or others. I didn’t care about a job or about what happened with grandpa or any of that. I only wanted to make sure that your basic needs were being met. I didn’t even care about your emotional wellbeing, even though you made a big fuss about it.

You told me first that you were at Walmart because you had to charge your phone. I directed you to a soup kitchen that you could’ve easily made it to before they closed for lunch. At the same time, I was IMing grandma to see whether or not she would come pick you up and take you to her house. She really wanted to but grandpa wasn’t having it. So, as I continued to talk you down and talk to you, I searched for shelters in Kenton, Bellefontaine, Marion, Lima and Findlay. I finally got mom to agree to take you to a shelter at least.

By this time, you told me that you were at an apartment complex in Kenton. Both are on the north side of town, so I had an approximate location to give her. You told me where you were and I asked you to stay there until she got there to pick you up and take you to the shelter. You agreed to stay and we hung up. A few minutes later, I told you that she was on her way. I didn’t get a response. Meanwhile, grandma had gone to where you were supposed to be to look for you. About a half an hour later, I noticed you on FB and sent you another message about your phone being dead and asking you where you were. You had probably missed grandma, but I’d see what I could do if I had an address.

Imagine my surprise when you told me that you had gone to a friend’s house and you’re phone had been charged. Imagine how I felt when you told me that you had found somewhere to ‘kick it.’ I’m still suffering greatly from this morning and I’m absolutely sure that 1) you don’t remember anything about it and 2) you wouldn’t give a fuck if you did. What I forgot to tell you is that we actually contacted the police department and the sheriff’s office to be on the lookout for you because you’re suicidal and a threat to yourself and others. I sincerely hope they can keep you locked up for 72 hours.

As for me, please don’t call me again. I expended all the energy I could on you and may still have to go to the ER tonight. You’ve ripped my heart out and smashed it and I don’t recover from that easily. I was your last line of defense and you’ve now burned that bridge too. I really do hope someone is there to help you pick up the pieces because it won’t be me.

Uncle Mike

We returned to the diverging paths between the happy, warm world that I had created as Nydia’s child. {left} I am loved, adored, wanted and safe. I cry and someone, everyone comes to see what I need. I’m allowed to explore my new world and all sorts of new contact, humans and animals. When it’s time to eat, Nydia and my sisters take turns feeding me. I’m everyone’s child. Nydia sings to me and cuddles me and touches me all over just to reassure me that I belong to her and by extension everyone else in the house. She puts me down to sleep between her and Luís and hums quietly until I’m asleep. If I murmur, one wakes to see what I need. Sometimes, they put me in my own bed too, but it’s not like it was. I can see them and it’s quiet. I sleep peacefully, until I need something. I cry and one of them gets up and feeds or changes or rocks me back to sleep. My life here is safe and comfortable. I have no worries, but something is tugging on my right side. Something doesn’t feel quite right and the picture elongates much like the Starship Enterprise does before it goes into warp speed. Something is pulling me the the right. Something I don’t know and something I’m afraid of.

I don’t like it here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this again. I remember the curtain. I remember the little box with the rubber hands. I remember the little crib that filled and emptied and filled and emptied while I stayed. Nydia was the only constant. I don’t know this place. I only know the {left). This void scares me. My little arms and hands and legs and feet are flailing all to get back to what I know and what I’m comfortable with, familiar with {left), but it keeps moving away and I’m being dragged farther and farther into this dark place that I don’t recognize. As the light fades, I stop fighting. My hands, arms, legs and feet stop moving and go cold. My body shuts down. This keeps happening. This is the third or fourth time now that I’ve been ripped away from the only things I’ve known, good {left} or bad. My tiny proto-self isn’t able to withstand too much more.

I lazily gaze toward the direction I’m headed. {right} I see a faint light. I’m headed toward that faint light and I can’t stop myself. I look back left and see only a pin-prick of my little yellow home {left} and a tear forms in the corner of my eye and drifts effortlessly into the void. I don’t like the void. I don’t know it. It’s dark and unfamiliar. It’s cold and impersonal, but it has a certain warmth and appeal to it. In the void there are no expectations. There are no disappointments. I’m a baby. I’m less than 6 months old and have been disappointed many times already. I force myself to stop somewhere in the middle of the void and look around. There’s nothing. I feel nothing. There’s no hot, no cold, nothing. No happy, no sad, nothing. No anger. Just nothingness. I decide that I want to stay in the nothingness. I want it to envelope me. I want it to protect me. In the nothingness, I’ll be invisible and I’ll never be pulled away from anything again.

The unfamiliar light starts tugging at me again and you can’t hold on to nothingness {void}. I look back home {left} and can just barely make out the little yellow start from where I came. I’m moving faster and the big, brash white light is quickly getting nearer. {right} I’m tired. I don’t want to play this game anymore. I close my eyes and shut down again. {right}

I sense that I’ve stopped moving. I’m being held, but it’s not the same way. It’s not the same touch. I feel fingertips on my skin. I don’t know them. They don’t belong to {left}. They’re cooler, somehow. I feel a finger in my little hand and it’s the same sensation. The touch is not the same. Maybe my body is just protecting itself from being rejected again. I look up and see different faces, less round, more oval shaped. One has brown eyes, like {left} but not as big and not as bright. The other has clear, cold eyes that I’ve never seen before. I go back to sleep while they talk to someone else.

I wake up momentarily and realize that I’m not being held. I cry and the one with brown eyes turns around and tries to quiet me. The cold eyed one grumbles a little because I should be asleep. I’m used to being held and not being in a box. I also know that I’m moving, but I don’t understand how. There’s a stop and then moving again. I’m completely confused and start to scream because I don’t know what else to do. The cold-eyed one stops the cage and the brown-eyed one gets in the back with me to soothe me. The cage starts moving again. The brown-eyed on touches me and sings, kind of like {left}, but different. It was still soothing. I try looking left and the little yellow dot that was my home had vanished. {Left} was gone and I knew instinctively that something wasn’t quite right about {right}.

Now, 46 years later, I stand at the top of a pyramid. I see and partially experienced  {left} and I went through all of {right}. I see where some of the links are. I see what could’ve been had I been able to grow up {left}. I see all of the little tragedies flayed out nicely by my experience growing up {right}. I don’t see the void at the bottom of the the pyramid that hold the whole thing together because I don’t exist in that space.

Brian came in for the long weekend. I was, of course, really happy to see him. I was a little nervous bc I had gotten the tat and hadn’t said anything about it to him. He knew I had been thinking about one, but he didn’t actually think that I’d go out and have one done. He liked it and he appreciated the story behind it and what it represented to me. I was very happy. We met good friends out that night in the burbs for sushi. It’s a good place and it’s always fun to get together with Major and Sharenda. When we got home, we started thinking about what to do tomorrow. Our friends, Edward and Joey, texted us and told us they they’d be in Vegas tomorrow afternoon and they we should meet them there. Beautiful, we though. It’s a four hour drive, no big deal. (Especially for me, since I don’t drive.)

Saturday morning, I’m feeling fine, 3-4, and into the car we go. Great shots. Beautiful scenery. Brian learned that the desert isn’t deserted. We went through a forest of Joshua trees. That was kinda creepy, but beautiful at the same time.

We got to Vegas, check in and quickly heard from Ed and Joey. I had never seen downtown Vegas, so I wanted to stay around the Plaza and Freemont street. They, however, insisted that we go to Sam’s Town and meet them. They didn’t have a car and didn’t want to take a taxi. We saw them and I gave both a big hug and kiss bc I hadn’t seen them since I left for Phoenix. Ed was happy to see me. Joey, who knows. We played a few games and had a few drinks and then Brian and I went off for dinner. My headache had been steadily climbing since arriving in Vegas, but I though the drugs would hold it constant. I forgot to take anything with me to Sam’s Town and that was dumb on my part.

After dinner, they invited us up to see their suite. My cluster had gone full blown by this time and everyone knew it. I couldn’t even open my right eye. They made me a vodka whatever and I drank it. Then it was off to the Cannery for more smoke, lights and booze (luckily I was on a winning streak with the Wonder Woman slot game, so that distracted me.) Finally, it was off to the Boulder. We weren’t there 20 before I had to leave. Of course Joey wanted to stay longer, but since we took them, they had to come with us.

We took them back to Sam’s Town. Boo hoo hoo, I hope you feel better. Bye, and they were off. I didn’t care. I wanted meds. Brian and I got back to the hotel and he helped me back to the room. He protects me when I’m that bad. I grabbed the Norflex and shot it. I took my night meds and an extra tranq and couldn’t sleep. I didn’t fall asleep until around 2:30 and woke up around 8:30.

We met Ed and Joey at Sam’s Club again for brunch. It was nice. The place has decent food. The waitress is very nice to us because we’ve been there before and she remembers us. The champagne flowed all through out brunch. Something still wasn’t right. I woke up better, but the level of the headache was still a five or higher. It didn’t take long and Bam! I looked at Brian and asked him if it was 10:3ish. It was. Edward asked me a question and I said yes. It’s the 10:30 express. I need some red bull to try to stop it. Joey of course lectured me that they couldn’t come on a schedule like that and that red bull wouldn’t do anything. Brian just looked at him. We couldn’t get any from the waitress, so I waited another 1/2 until we left the dining room. Brian took me straight to the Gold Fish games bc the music tends to calm me down. He gave me the red bull and someone lit up right beside me. That ended gold fish.

I had to get out of the lights and sounds and smoke and everything, so I led Brian to the inner courtyard. I tried sitting down, but I couldn’t do that either. The pain was quickly passing to 8-9. I don’t know how many times I staggered around the outside track of that stupid thing. I know a second failed red bull attempt was tried, but this time, I had my meds and took a thorazine and a xanax with champagne.

Brian instinctively knew that we had to go. He asked and my face told him everything he needed to know. I apologized, but he told me not to. There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. He understands.

We didn’t know exactly where Ed and Joey had gotten off to. I knew that they had gone to talk with one of Ed’s cousins who works in the Casino. They had also gone to show someone else their room. They were also talking about going to the pool. Once they finally showed up, Joey told Brian just to sit me at Wonder Woman and let me play. They had something they needed to show him. Brian did, but he didn’t go far. I was so confused during that period that I lost all of the money I had won the night before. He came back with ‘I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing, but I have to get you back to Phoenix.’ They came back and we said goodbye to an ‘aw shucks, I hope you feel better.’ (Yeah me too, now get my fat ass to the car.)

I hate the fact that the clusters sent me packing. I hate the fact that the clusters once again changed Brian and my plan for the weekend. I hate that it does things like that, but I can’t control it. What I loathe more is fake concern or sincerity. Joey tell me that you think this whole thing is faked and I’m doing it for attention. Tell me that cluster headaches don’t exist. Tell me that it’s all in my mind and that if I’d go to a social worker like you I’d be cured. Tell me that. You’ve seen me in one of the most violent attacks I’ve ever had. You had no fucking clue what to do with me. You weren’t even smart enough to have Michelle call 911 just in case I was having a stroke or something. It was obvious that I was in distress and in physical pain beyond what you can imagine. Please, don’t ask me about my battle scar. You, as well as everyone who knows me, knows that the last thing I would ever do is get a tattoo. Don’t ask the story behind it, how it is and/or what it represents. Don’t ask why I chose this specific image of the thousands that exist. You are white trash masquerading as someone who is trying to be educated. It won’t take long before you either burn out or self destruct. I will not help you put the pieces together, but I will happily watch.

Edward. Fuck you. This time, really. Fuck you! We’ve helped each other through some really big crises and it hasn’t always been fun over the years. The whole going to prison thing and me not really finding out the truth about how much you really did know until the end, well, that was a little more than I bargained for. I visited you twice in prison in the middle of nowhere in South Dakota. Once, we even brought your mother, RIP. Your mother drove me insane with her OCD and inappropriate questions. We live in the same fucking city and I’ve been inpatient 15 times since 2007 and you’ve not visited me once, Once! I know you don’t like hospitals. I don’t like prisons, but I visited you. Francis even came from PR and NYC to visit me, but you haven’t visited once. It’s not even real hospital. We walk around in mostly PJs or exercise clothes with IV poles connected to us, but we’re free to go where we want on the floor if we’re able to. I understand that Christman was a kinda wedge between us. I knew he would be. I didn’t so much want to take him in because I liked him. I took him in bc you broke our steam cleaner over his head. One of the two of you would’ve been in jail for homicide had you stayed in the same house. I was thrilled when he moved back to Ohio.

Francis. My precious Francis. Yeah, you probably get it now. Francis is the best friend I have. You actually made that happen. You left him with a steaming pile of shit before you went away that had nothing to do with him. You knew you were going away and didn’t do what you needed to. You left it all up to him. Francis did the best he could and it wasn’t good enough for you or your mom. No, I gave the fucking violin to Pat because it would’ve rotted in the basement. Francis didn’t even know that violin was there and who the fuck would want a box of whigs?

Yes. Francis stole money from you. Yes, Francis stole drugs from you. Yes, Francis blah, blah, blah. How many things did he do for you that he didn’t have to?  Paint the condo so it could be sold? Return the kegs from the party? Repaint the hole where you had the party? That was all your responsibility. I wouldn’t have done any of it.

He knew my best friend in the world was in prison. He consoled me. He listed to my pointless stories from school with interest, whether he wanted to or not, Yeah, he continued to steal money and drugs, until I put a stop to a certain drug he was stealing. Eventually, he did realize he had a problem and turned to NA/AA. He’s clean now. It’s hard for him, but he’s clean. I’m proud of him. He’s turned his life around. You’re stuck on $500, some drugs and a box of whigs. He’s getting a BA and will be done in a year or so. Joey, although, laughs it off because no one’s as important as he is and Francis could only counsel kids. I told him that Francis does, the ones with one foot in jail and the other barely in school. Your hubby shut up. You need to shut up about him too and let him atone like he has for everyone else.

I’m ecstatic that after so many years you’ve got your life back online. You stayed at our house for two of those years as we helped you from halfway house to home. You do things like that for friends. I guess I’m just frustrated because once Joey walked into your life, the rest of your friends have been kind of pushed out. That might be something for you to consider.

I wasn’t happy with your reaction to my cluster either. You were at ‘Chicks too. You know even more than Joey what they do. You’ve seen them over a longer period of time. I guess it’s easier not to deal with anything you don’t want or have to deal with other than to say uh oh or oopsie.

Unfortunately, for me now, it Muere, Muere Las Vegas and possibly keeping both of you at an arms length.

I’m sitting in a tat parlor waiting for my fiery battle scar. I’ve been thinking about this for the past two years. I finally decided it was time. I picked the image, chose the place and boom. It’s happening. I can’t wait to see what it looks like on the other side. It’s the outward face of my pain.

The face of my pain has appeared on the outside of my body. I subjected myself to 6 hours of exquisite pain today and came out on the other end just fine. This was not pain that my body inflicted on me. I inflicted this pain on my clusters, my migraines, my daily chronic headaches and my narcolepsy. They’ve taken so much away from me and it was time to tell them to stop! Enough was enough. I have my first battle scar. The pain can be seen on the outside of my body, but that pain, I control. I cause and I initiate. It is my own pain. It was amazing. At times it caused my scalp to pulsate uncontrollably. I’m not sure how it happened, but it was unusual. Other times, the needles hardly bothered me. Most of the time, I was able to control the pain through biofeedback breathing exercises. Most important, I controlled this pain. It did not control me. My pain has two faces now. It will always come. I can’t stop that, but I will make it leave.

Dr. Dragonfly and I started the session like we do every week, by discussing any problems with last week’s session or anything new that had come up and they we put them in the dumpster. We continued with the you’ve just been born scenario and are being whisked away from the white curtain. You can hear your mother screaming and sobbing in the background and other voices that you may or may not recognize. What’s going through your imagination? How does your body feel. [From what I’m able to understand at this early point, much of this is creating a baseline to allow your body to figure out how to let go of the pent up memories and energy it has stored up over the years.]

I told her that I was confused and afraid. That I felt disconnected. I wanted to go back to the curtain to what was on the other side but I was being carried away. I was spreading my little arms and hands in order to get back, but I never saw the curtain or what was behind it again. I never heard the only voice I knew again. All of a sudden I found myself in a box with glove holes in it and bright, warm lights with white blobs poking at me and putting tubes in me that I kept trying to get out with my little arms, hands and feet, but I couldn’t. I suppose somewhere, I drifted off to sleep to the strange beeps around me. [I know I was in the hospital for anywhere from 3-6 months before my parents could take me home, but they won’t discuss the circumstances, why or what happened.]

For awhile, I was poked and prodded by everything through the strange holes that held the people’s hands away from me. I never felt the touch of anything but latex and cold, metal things, sharp things, dull things, always cold. They were right there, but were still disconnected from me. They didn’t even talk to me or really look at me. They talked about me, sometimes as if I wasn’t even there.

Finally, one day, they opened the box and took all of the tubes out and electrodes off and everything. One of the white blobs actually picked me up with her bare hands. They were warm. I may have smiled as I looked into her face. It was probably my first real human interaction. It was short lived. She carried me down the hall and plopped me face down into another cage, only this time, luckily, there were no tubes or doctors or anything. There were just a bunch of other little crying things like me.

I would watch the nurses come and go. They would feed me, change me hold me, whatever, when I cried, but they didn’t really interact. There were too many of us in the cribs. I would also watch the people go by and stare into different cribs. A nurse would go over and walk that baby to people and they would smile and look happy. A couple of days later, that baby wasn’t in its crib anymore, another one was. No one came for me. No one wanted to see me through the glass, so they just picked me up and gave me attention when I needed it. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t going home with anyone anytime soon. The emptiness and disconnection were again reinforced. I obviously can’t know for sure, but maybe my primitive self though, maybe I shouldn’t be here. No one cares. No one is showing me any sort of attention good or bad. Anytime anyone comes up to me, I fear them and what’s going to happen when they pick me up or do something to me. All of these other babies have gone home, been replaced, gone home and been replaced, yet I’m still here. Clearly, I’m not wanted, needed, loved or meant to be here. I’m quite sure that was very difficult for a newborn’s psyche, even if I didn’t really understand emotionally. My body did.

Then the conversation shifted. Dr. Dragonfly asked me to imagine an important mother figure who was not related to me and put her in that spot, in the place of the overworked maternity nurse(s). What would that be like? I chose immediately. I had trouble seeing her in that role at first. Dr. Dragonfly prodded for emotion, description while I tried to adjust my senses to the time differential. She would’ve been kind. She would’ve come over and looked at me in the crib with her smiling face and her big, happy brown eyes that hid all the pain in the world from you. She would talk to me and held me and played with my fingers and toes. She’d take care of the other babies too, but in her spare time, she’d be with me. She’d tell me I was special, loved, adored and wanted.

“But, that’s not what happened is it?” Dr. Dragonfly asked.

Probably not. I probably had the regular maternity nurse who spent the time she needed to with every baby and did her job.

“What would’ve happened if your nurse came in one day, wrapped you in her coat at the end of the day and took you home to be hers?” Dr. Dragonfly continued.

That’s when I started losing it. You see, this woman actually did this when I was 22 and had really no one to turn to. I had just been outed to my parents and that was a huge mess. I told her that Carmen would’ve taken me into a beautiful home. My body would’ve completely relaxed and no more trauma would’ve registered. I would’ve been unconditionally loved from the moment I was carried into the door. If Carmen didn’t have me, Mamá Flor or one of my sisters would. I would have a completely supportive environment. Carmen would take me to bed with her and dad every night until we all fell asleep. She would always tell me, either saying it or with her big brown eyes, you’re loved, wanted and adored. You’re special. You’re home. [At this point, I’m an oozing puddle of KY on the recliner.] My upbringing with her would’ve been totally different from what actually happened. Like I said, Carmen, and her family, did find me when I was in a really bad place at 22. They took me into their home and into their family as one of their own, a place I still proudly occupy today. I use the word Boricua with pride because of them and try to visit Puerto Rico often. They gave me roots and grounded me. Too bad it had to come 22 years late.

“What happened?”

I had my first human contact with Carmen in the hospital. She told me that I was loved, adored and wanted. Something was still wrong though. More babies came and went. Carmen still paid most of her attention to me. I didn’t like the days she was off. The other nurses didn’t pay attention to any of us like she did. I was always happy to hear her voice and see her big brown eyes when she picked me up and started talking to me. I knew that at least while she had me, I was relatively safe. But my guard was still up. I knew that something wasn’t quite right. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then, I saw Carmen, one of the humans dressed in white and two other people following her. She picked me up out of my little cage and held me up to her face like she always did. She told me that I was loved, wanted, adored and special, but that it was time for me to go with my new parents into a new life. I only knew Carmen. I didn’t know anyone else. I was afraid. I was in danger. I didn’t want to go. I clung to Carmen. It was probably difficult for her too, but it was her job. I’m sure I sounded like a banshee and woke up every baby in maternity. Again, arms, hands, legs flailing, I desperately tried to hold onto the only little bit of stability I knew, to no avail. Carmen went back into Maternity and to the nurse’s station and I was in a new cage headed again to the unknown, disconnected, detached, alone and afraid of what was to come. [and with good reason]

A very good friend reminded me today of a purpose and responsibility that I have to a group of people. She reminded me of why I returned to the group after a nasty little episode in June nearly tore the group apart, as well as a couple more because of a false agreement and set of rules that were in place to control the board. The agreement didn’t exist and had never existed. I trusted the person who made the agreement, but as more and more people questioned me about the never-ending rules and I couldn’t answer them or get an answer for them, I was unable to defend them anymore. I asked my doc about the agreement and he had absolutely no clue what I was talking about, not did he care. It’s a secret group on FB. We don’t exist. There was never an agreement, and that’s where the shit hit the fan. (Which I won’t explain in detail.)

I found myself falling into the same trap, only with fewer words and needed to be reminded that the board is for communication, support and exchanging info/ideas. It’s also there for fun. We can’t be serious about our situations all the time. We have to take the time to laugh at ourselves and our situation from time to time or these little demons will consume us completely. In order to correct my mistake, I’ve taken the admin and mod rolls out of directly policing the group. If they find a huge error, they IM the person involved to fix it. If it’s not fixed, it’s deleted, no muss, no fuss. They are also in an arbiter’s role and will only intervene when called or if things get nasty. Let the people talk. They know what they can and can’t do.

I love the board and its denizens. I put many hours into it. I don’t get paid for it. However, it’s something that I enjoy doing. It’s therapeutic for me. I also get a lot of support from the wonderful people I interact with on a daily basis. It tells me that it’s not just me and the cat. I refuse to let it dwindle away and die because people are afraid to express themselves without upsetting the admin/mod police. I really hope the new approach works.

I was going to post this yesterday, but my cluster headaches and the narcolepsy had other plans. The weather around Phoenix wasn’t pretty. Anyway, Dr. Dragonfly called me yesterday to check up on me and see how I was feeling and getting along this week. She wanted to make sure that I wasn’t drowning in anger and rage like last week. I thought that was nice of her.

This is the day last week when I turned into a neurotic mess and had to be sedated for the rest of the week. I’m not that bad today. I will most certainly keep the Xanax close at hand though. I’m waiting on my docs to decide what else I need.

Today I’m left with questions and uneasiness about yesterday’s experience. It was 1969. I jokingly say that I was a prom accident. It fits the time frame, but I really don’t know anything else and my Mom just won’t talk about it. While in-utero, did I have a caring family and a caring birth mother? Abortion obviously wasn’t an option, so did she get sent away to Aunt Millie’s in the city until the little problem went away? Did they constantly argue and fight about how much shame she had brought to the family and how she had sinned against god and now everyone had to suffer for it every time they looked at her? Her sin would be inflicted on the entire family. My guess is options two and/or three. I was adopted from a hospital that, for that time period, would’ve been a trip for my adoptive parents.

Reflecting on yesterday, I feel cold, empty-disconnected. I almost feel like I either shouldn’t exist or don’t have the right to exist because of the inconvenience or trouble I caused in my proto-life. I know that it makes absolutely no sense at all. I also know that the situation was completely out of my control. I know that these feelings are irrational. However, it doesn’t change the fact that the feelings of emptiness and disconnection are there.

Today (8/24) we started the actual therapy after I told her what a mess the prior week had been. Dr. Dragonfly chose the memory we were going to start with. At first, I didn’t follow her. I didn’t understand. I don’t remember if I mentioned that I was adopted or not, but that’s important here. There are things that your body remembers, but you don’t.

She asked me how I thought my life was while I was still in-utero. I guess I kind of looked at her like she was insane, but she pressed on. She said that no one has a memory of that, but our bodies do. So, fine, I’ll play this little game with you. I saw myself as a little tadpole swimming around in nice warm water with a pleasant pink light emanating through. How do you feel as you grow and the space around gets tighter? What do you think your mother is doing? Do you think she’s reading or playing music or talking to you? I had never considered these questions before. I never even thought about them. I told her that I hoped that she was talking to me and reading to me, but that I didn’t know. Teenage pregnancy wasn’t socially acceptable in 1969. What do you think might have been happening, then? I said, maybe she was constantly arguing with her family over what was going to happen to the baby. How do you think that would’ve affected you as a happy little tadpole swimming around in your now hostile little pool? I told her that I don’t think I could’ve done too much about it. Yes, you could. You could’ve let go and said bye. I was confused, like a spontaneous abortion or stillborn? Yeah.

So now you’re in this crowded little womb that has no room for you. You’re in a hostile situation, what do you want to do (even if you’re not in a hostile situation)? I just said, get out. Exactly, she said. Then what usually happens? They make sure the baby’s ok, weight it, bundle it up and give it to the mom. Yes, and what happens when they give the baby to the parents? It bonds. Did that happen to you? No. I was adopted. Michael, try to imagine yourself being given to your mom just after birth. I’ve seen it 1000 times on TV or in the movies. I tried to picture my baby self as that kid going into his mother’s arm, but I couldn’t. I saw nothing. I felt nothing. I felt empty and started to cry. That connection was never made with me and my body remembers that while I don’t. I kept crying as she tried to talk me through it, but in the end she had to bring me back through guided meditation. It’s a truly horrible feeling to know that at the moment of personhood, you never imprinted with/on anyone. I was a sickly child so I believe I was in the hospital for 3-6 months before my parents could even bring my home. My mom won’t talk about it. So for the first 3-6 months I had very little human contact and learned that when you cry, no one comes.

Session 3 was absolutely not something I was prepared for. Everyone has all of those neat little boxes of memories that they do not want to ever relive locked up and stored away neatly somewhere in their brain where they can’t be triggered. I have millions of those little boxes.

I grew up in a little shit town in the middle of nowhere in Ohio. I’ve never understood why people say that small towns are the best places to raise kids. They aren’t. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone either knows everyone’s business, or invents it. Everyone knows what’s going on in other families but does nothing to prevent or protect the innocent. I was tormented from first grade, but it really got started during third grade. I was not an athletic kid. I was intellectual. I read at a 12th grade level by 3rd grade. I didn’t like sports. I liked music. I wasn’t your typical jock-farmboy. It wasn’t my life. In the 3rd grade, I learned every iteration of the word “gay” you can possibly imagine. I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but I knew I was being insulted. I was also raised as a hellfire and brimstone fundamentalist/evangelical Christian. I knew “gay” was bad, but I still didn’t know what it was. I didn’t even realize there was anything different about me until other boys started talking about how cute some girls were and I thought the boys were cute, then I knew there was a problem. (I digress.)

Dr. Dragonfly had me open those boxes one by one from the time I was five until recent times. The first two or three opened slowly, but by the fourth, it was a zip line over the central American rainforest. They couldn’t be stopped and completely overwhelmed me. My dad was an absolutely tyrant, mean and extremely physically abusive to both me and my mother, later, just me. He tended to leave my brother alone. Once I was taken to a point of rage after being bullied on the bus home that I busted another kids arm in two places for asking me why I wasn’t staying for cheerleading practice. The list just went on and on and on until the end of the line and the 3 rapes came out. It was horrible and I was not equipped to deal with it. The dumpster was full by the time I was 10. While I was growing up, everyone knew what was going on, but no one ever intervened, not even the gym teacher while a group of boys forced me to suck one of their cocks in the locker room when I was around 13.

I felt ok as I left the office, but by the time I got back to my apartment, I just got angrier and angrier and angrier. One of the things we’ll work on is how to release rage and anger. I don’t know how to do it safely because of my father. The anger turned to rage, anxiety and frustration as none of my coping mechanisms worked. I love video games, but they couldn’t even distract me this time. I was a neurotic ness and had absolutely no idea what to do with myself and no way to release what I was feeling. Tuesday wasn’t any better. I called my clinic and explained what was going on. Migraines were morphing into clusters. The clusters were extremely severe, etc. They wanted me to continue with the therapy, but not at the expense of making the headaches worse. I spent the next four days completely sedated. They wanted me clear headed Sunday so that I could go to the appointment Monday without any drugs in my system.

I have to tell you that it completely sucked! It was an awful experience that will probably be repeated this week. I simply fixated on four different memories and couldn’t get them out of my head regardless of what I tried. They’re still there, but they’re in the back of my head at the moment.