Saturday, October 2, 2010

Six of One..Half-Dozen of the Other

Here's a hint...

Replacing one maladaptive dissociative disorder for another
really isn't an improvement.

Demonizing the 'old problem' and manipulating truth about
the new obsession does not bury the true problem.

Obsessive, controlling, rigid, demanding thinking that looks
to please self above all.

When you are consumed with being a puppet-master, stating
"it's for a good cause" doesn't obliterate the sociopathy.

Finding a sick system to support a sick psychology doesn't
indemnify you; Being superior, infallible, brilliant, moralistic
and amplifying it with religious fervor is just side-stepping,
not growing.

Get the fuck over your smug self!

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Beast of Burden

We can understand in our heads that something is not
healthy for us, and still desire it as deeply as ever in our hearts.

What is the appeal of something forbidden long after we
intrinsically know the downfall awaiting us if we
should indulge.

The charms and wiles of an old Achilles heel are like siren call
to our newly bolstered ship of safety.
Is it self destruction?
Is it refusal to value ourselves?
Do we need the excitement of playing the odds in our otherwise
boring lives?
Does distance from lessons hard fought lessen the impact of
our convictions?
Are we so easily plied, so distrusting of self?
Maybe we want to ride the edge and feel the pull; test ourselves?

Head and heart in conflict...
distracted from the reality of necessary decisions....
enamored of beautiful lies and flawed promises....
The question is becoming clearer;
Is the draw of the subtle hope greater than that of
the seductive despair?

Time will tell.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Gnash and Bash

So I scream and I blame and get out of whack,
and still I feel the gorilla on my back,
still I am consumed by a sense of lack;
you'd think by know I would have gotten the knack.

There is no contented resolution to be had;
I must release all the negativity and choose to be glad.
Allow that there are times when I will be sad--
Try not to compound it with going mad.

I run an inventory of another's perceived slights;
imagining them responsible for all my inner fights...
and then suddenly dawns one of those rare inner lights;
my own responsibility has me dead to rights.

My expectations of others are unfair at best,
my demands on myself are not enough of a test,
my complaints and gripes and bashing don't rest;
no wonder my life is absent zeal and zest.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Kill it Dead

I keep burying the errant feelings
I had for you, but they rise
demanding flesh.

I keep shooting between the eyes
to kill it dead as if  brains
were involved.

Evidently, I must flee to survive
lest be devoured once more,

I cannot care for my welfare
is at stake if I hesitate in the least.

I understand the need
for self preservation; I know
why you exacted me from your world.

I have been there, done that,
felt the remorse instantly...
we do what we have to to survive.
I object to using a shotgun
to kill a housefly.

I wish you hadn't reneged on
your decision; I didn't like being
hurtful to point out boundaries.
Maybe it couldn't have happened
any other way.

"Go on now go...walk out the door...
don't come around here..."

Have to be strong. Can't let you
back in to hurt me again.

I hated to see you sick. I
wondered which of your multitude
of friends was holding your hand
and looking after you now?
Still wanted it to be me....
then I remembered you kicking me
while I was down. Oops!
No more pity now!

You really missed out on a good thing.

The Game

It was magnificent

A big beautiful brilliant brutal beast of a thing

Manipulating inundating indoctrinating fascinating
drawing me in like a fly in the web

Eradicating trust and naivete, educating illuminating
inspiring maddening numbing

Insecurity whispered you needed a friend, foolishness
said to let you in, insanity invited pain again and again

It was a gift from the UN-iverse....being decimated....
rebuilt....vulnerability eliminated......roboticized by the

I know you're anguishing....alone inside, by your own
hand, nonetheless painful.....I was the acceptable casualty

Choices, decisions, repercussions...a wise man told me
we have to make them to move on...

Tossed aside like garbage by the one person trusted;
who can show love, compassion, devotion to a world 
of strangers, but just not me. ouch! Watch out for that point!

Thanks for playing...enjoy your parting gifts.

It seems a dream, to have ever needed someone.

And, all your blessed shit?
It's smoldering in the fire pit.
It brightened the sky when it was lit.
I surely wish you had been legit.

Take the precious 'time' to shove your 'good intentions'
up your tightly wound ass.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Double Standards

We seem to rarely see ourselves as we truly are.
 It's impossible, of course, even with the highest
interest in naval-gazing. We always hold a blind
spot in regards to self. We can never be unaware
of our emotional state and our own illusions, so
that is how we see.

Until our perspective changes.

Maybe we notice that we treat a specific person
in our lives--or a specific type of person, or a
group of people--in a manner that is better or
worse than we treat the average person.

Maybe there's a bit of shaming involved in our
dealings with the people who remind us of our
a deadbeat parent. Perhaps we judge someone's
ambitions against their accomplishments. Could
be we evaluate someone based on their actions,
lack of actions, intelligence, or pretty much anything.

Sometimes we discover that the things we hate
so deeply in others are the things we also hate in
ourselves. Recognizing the difference in our thoughts
and behaviors related to others can start the process
of considering the 'why' and 'wherefore.'

We may not like that the finger points back to us.

Find ourselves obsessing over someone being too
judgmental, yet we condemn everything they say or do?

Shake our heads in disgust when someone does things
that we have also done in our life?

Or maybe we hate another because of the similarities
we wish to avoid.

A coworker has a passion for art and we don't feel
talented enough or free enough to pursue the dream
they are going after. We shoot them down.

The more familiar a thing is, the more contempt we
hold in our hearts. If you find yourself truly irritated by
the character of another...perhaps investigate what's
inside instead of looking at their side of the street.

Monday, August 9, 2010

No Home Training

In step, out of step
conjecture becomes dogma evermore
speculating with barriers posed as connections,
carnivorous traits hosting our own demise
isolation is not choice, it is truth
no other can relate nor assist
this unprotected dwelling crumbling
foundation faulty and unsure
confidence fails
hearts shift
I fade

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Drowning in the Tides of Life

Things are rough all over.

People who never had any frame of reference for personal
suffering or worry are now in the same boat as people
long-imagined to be wholly responsible for their own problems.

And still, despite the shared tragedies of refused medical care,
foreclosures, job losses, personal shame, and fear... we front.

We still worry over keeping up appearances.
We don't want anyone--including friends and family-- to hear our
cries for help. To know just how scared and vulnerable we are.

Instead, we smile and tell 'white lies' to cover for our misfortune
and hardship. We isolate to keep from being too close to anyone
(ironically, the one thing that might assist.) We do like we were
taught in this 'proper' country; we keep our personal problems to

To some extent, there is reason to not complain. To not be in a constant
state of despair and share our misery with others. After all, most
people don't want to hear about another's problems. Like a friend tells
me constantly: "Everybody got troubles; we just might not know what 
they are. But everybody got troubles."

True enough.

And last Friday night, after having sought and been denied help from
people in his community, a still-young man lashed out in the depths of
ultimate desperation. A Blakely, Georgia man shot and killed his wife
and son, attempted to kill his daughter, and turned the gun 'successfully'
on himself.

People blame the man for being a coward. For being cruel. For being
weak. For being crazy. But the real truth is that he could have been any
one of us, reeling in despair and desperation, at wit's end. Anyone could
have picked up that gun with just the right combination of leveling
disappointments and blows; that truth is why we are so angry. We are
scared that humans, including ourselves, are capable of the same.

Why didn't people notice something going on? Were they too busy
facing their own turmoils?

Why did others who were asked to help turn a blind eye? Is it because
they didn't feel the situation was bad enough?

How long will the short-lived attention to those around us last? How
long til our 'community awareness' spurred by this tragedy cedes to our
typical apathy?

Why is it necessary to demonize the man who was hurting so badly that
he could see no other solution than such a horror?

Several things come to mind.

If we don't discard the man as a crackpot, we allow the possibility that
this behavior is possible for 'normal' people, and could occur to us or
someone even closer. (Also, if we have experienced such dire fantasies,
the actualization scares us immensely. Could that be me, still?)

If it's someone we know, we have to distance ourselves from them
and our relatablity lest we feel condemned to their stigma. How could
they leave such hurt? How could they betray trust? How could they
have been so insensitive. And of course, the guilt; that if we admit
someone likely didn't just "snap" in a fit, then it means these thoughts were
simmering, and we feel we should have known and acted.

People's view of humanity, god, spirituality, and even life itself are
thrown into turmoil if we look too deeply or closely at such events.
How can there be purpose in this, if we believe in a universe where
all events are ordained? How can such a thing occur to 'good' people?
How can we, as self-identified 'good' people, have been subjected to
something so horrendous if our actions are supposed to ensure we are
cared for?

If people don't simplify such events and actions, it destroys the simplified
'black-and-white' world many live in. It opens up a Pandora's Box of
chaos and pain that is too much for most minds to conceive of. So we
gloss it over.

But what do the surviving do? How do we learn from this?

Those of us still posturing and pretending and playing the game...acting
as though death would not be a welcome release in the midst of hardships
and seemingly insurmountable odds. Everyone has passive thoughts of
suicide during bad times; "I wish God would just take me now." or "I'm
so tired of life."  But many of us, whether dealing with long-tern or newly
acquired depression have serious, active suicidal thoughts. Specific plans.
Details. Time lines.

What would make us seek help? How would others react? Is there any
help available if we should seek it?

Most people seriously considering taking their own life do so because
all other accessible or viable venues are thought to have been explored.
So death seems like a reasonable, legitimate response to the relentless
pain of life. We want the pain to end, and we equate being alive with pain,
so logically we think the end of life would be the end of death.

It seems no one cares. Event after event seems to reinforce that belief.
Every interaction with humans is more and more fuel for the fire. What's
the point in trying if the results are always the same?

Depression is not just circumstantial, it's biochemical. It's a physical
brain problem that creates emotional problems. Our thinking gets
aggravated by events, like break-ups, being shunned, embarrassing
moments, being without work, losing 'standing' in a community,
money problems, and so much more. But it's the over-exaggerated
sense of importance of these things that causes them to become

When we are in the midst of a problem, it seems there's no end  in
sight, and our crazy thinking tells us there is no desirable end in sight.
Then more bad things occur, we see a pattern, assume it's proof,
and continue deeper into depression. That whole sense of isolation

have the chance to find out how common our feelings are.

into play. We worry more about image than we do actual health and
welfare, and people are dying as a result.

We feel alone because we see no one else going through what we are
going through.
We feel neglected because those who supposedly care
about us don't see our pain...don't ask what they can do.
We feel under attack, dismissed, forgotten about, abandoned, mistreated,
and without resources or options.
This is what happens when we separate from one another as people.
And people do avoid us when we are in pain; the sight of another
person hurting and flailing is extremely upsetting to others, and they
may flee in confusion over what to do and discomfort.

What if we all took a deep breath and said; "I know I can't be the only
one feeling this low." How about I go into the world today with the
understanding that everybody is hurting. No matter how big their smile,
no matter how much shit they talk, no matter how mean and unconcerned
with others, let me remember that at the root of that is pain. That we all
feel disconnected and alone and hurt. That we all just want to be loved.

As we go along, maybe we'll actually see behind the plastic smiles and
the barrier of luxury and smugness to the heart of things. That people
are all basically the same, no matter how differently they express it.
Maybe the common bond would be enough to diffuse our pain, and
put our troubles in perspective. Maybe talking to someone else and
listening to their trials without being in competition to top them would
remind us that we aren't alone in a vacuum.

 Maybe if we tried reaching out, or reading up on depression, or asking
questions that aren't popular, we might find some relief. Or a kindred
spirit. We might find an online support group, or a phone number to
call, or a doctor that would not overlook our worries. Maybe if we
get honest about just how much we hurt, it would be a step towards
letting others know it's okay to be real and honest.

It may be our only chance for surviving. Even the best swimmers need
help when they're drowning. The tides of life overtake all of us on
occasion; don't let someone's demeanor convince you otherwise.
You are not alone.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Guys With Big Cocks Rule the Planet

It may not be scientifically provable, but I'd say
there's a preponderance of common sense evidence
to support this.

Look at it this way; no world-ruling guy who has
a micro-cock is going to do that reveal.

Famous big dicks with big dicks include (but
are not limited to) Jack Nicholson, Dick Cheney,
Lyndon B. Johnson, Dan Rather, Colin Farrell,
Rasputin, Frank Sinatra, Milton Berle,  &; Wilt

There seems a self-explanatory correlation between
big packages and the supreme confidence to go
where you will, do what you want, say what you wish.

Now, which came first; the assumption that a big
dick was their passport to success, or other people's
valuing of the organ as a validation of potency?
It's inconsequential; a big schlong is a hallmark
of masculinity.

The other day, I think I got caught staring at this guy's piece.
I realize it isn't the acceptable thing, especially in public,
but my social graces are nonexistent anyway.
Besides, how can you ignore the elephant in the room
when the trunk is nearly poking your eye out?

I was really rather fascinated and curious; I've not had
the opportunity I guess you'd say, to examine one that
closely in a non-sexual environment  before. As someone
who is of average size (or less?) I am curious about the
dynamics of it all. (Yes, this person has an especially
healthy ego, as it turns out.)

I think he caught me looking, and was uncomfortable,
because he moved to where I could no longer have direct
contact. However, at a later point, he made himself visible again,
and in fact seemed to be prominently displaying his package
in ways neither subtle or passive. He was getting off on tantalizing
me and provoking me.

See, even when they don't actually want to pursue anything, boys/men
with big cocks like to get the attentions of others with their
member. Whether it is eliciting desire, envy, or intimidation, there
is power in having impact on other people thus.

I should point out that I am not drawn to a big package out of
sexual designs (what we in the 'community' refer to as 'size queens.')
No, it is truly intellectual curiosity or simply aesthetic interests.
After all, after a certain point, it's rather a waste,  technically
speaking. I am not the sort who wants to wind up in the hospital
due to a romp, thank you.

I have heard of a handful (tee hee!) of men with cocks so huge
that they consider it a disadvantage, because finding sex partners
who can accommodate them is difficult and they are always being
looked at for something besides who they are. I feel that, true
as it may be, it is akin to 'having too much money.' Cry me a river.

A male organ's size is--and isn't--directly related to sex. Of course
people have made a worship out of the penis as if it were detachable
from a man. Personally, it's the whole package--not 'the' package--
that attracts me. But there's something about that sense of being
filled up or filed in that some people can't seem to do without.

Penis size is something that can certainly represent virility,
sexual prowess, desirability, and more. But once that is
established, even as an assumption, the penis value becomes a
marketable commodity like any other.

Men use it to intimidate competition and promote superiority,
like beasts in the jungle. Don't ever assume that a man is
unaware of how big his package is or how prominently
displayed it is at any given time. He is always conscious
that he/it is being observed, no matter how disaffected or
nonchalant he may pretend to be. Even prudes and religious
sorts pay heed, even if they remain silent or secure their interest
behind dismayed condemnation or foolish giggles.

We measure worth as we measure tool. The value of a  man
is societally-determined by the size of his dick. Not just in the
bedroom, but in the boardroom. In politics. In movies.
In the locker room. In families. In friendships.

Large-dicked men tend always to have profound confidence,
bordering on egomania; they are smug, self-centered, grandiose,
narcissistic,condescending, dismissive, arrogant, driven, expect
to be catered to, presumptuous, and aggressive.

Yes. Because their dicks are big. Believe it.

Penis size is sort of like financial status; you don't talk about it
in polite company. The people that say it 'doesn't mean anything'
are the people trying to project an air of indifference and convince
self, or those trying to promote false modesty.

But since no one talks in an open, intelligent, revealing way,
the myths and feelings of inadequacy are allowed to prosper.
Because the flip side of egomania is that men who don't have
big dicks are--by virtue of wording--"doing without." Comparisons
may in fact be odious, but they are a reality of the world where
we are bombarded with information about others and where
competition is fierce in all areas.

Men, in particular, are taught to gauge worth by virtue
of what they can do that the other guy can't. Similarly,
the idea that "There is no trophy for 2nd place" is a guy
idiom through-and-through. We are merciless with each
other, and ourselves.

Guys are so much more
sensitive to ideas of  being
insufficient than we are
'allowed' to reveal. Even
in this age of metrosexuality
and open men, there are
issues we fret over and
beat ourselves up for.

I don't think awareness and
conversation are going
to change anything. This is genetics, biology, social
imprinting, human envy, emotions, and more.

If you can't change a thing, you have to find a way to
accept it. I wish I had thought of the idea of selling
professional fake bulges; that market is booming. If
you can't have it, fake it. Guess I'll work on self-love...
and accepting that I won't be a world leader.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Daily Prescription (2/21)

Shut up
Just do it
Let it go
Walk away
Be strong
Calm the $#@! down
Don't react
Don't assume
Stay present

"Four-for-One"; THROB (1/22/10)

Alternating between cacophony and void,
No assurances bear fruit,
No promises sustain.
I can mask the horror, but not eliminate it.

What nothingness and brokenness lies before me
is all that I may hope to possess,
and there is nothing contained within
that I desire.

Desolate on every front, Abandoned by all (save lip service on occasion;)
None are concerned nor dedicated to my well being;
Even I--the responsible party--shirk the task, inner demons, battle, enemy.
We are all alone, and alone is something I no longer wish to be.

There are four of us here in the rubble,
and only one is a fighter; that's a '1-in-4' chance of
things going well when the shit hits the fan.

Minuscule pleasures are fleeting, ever lessening in intensity
and frequency (conversely pain is more abundant and profound.)
The body fails, the mind rebels, the heart betrays.....

Others might be surprised to know just how firm
the mask has held; how much lay beyond their purview;
I hide it well. People only see
the smallest sliver of the leviathan that looms within.

My enemy resides within.

The Old Grey Mare

I don't want to feel this way any more

I want an end to fear
and worry
and judgment
and physical pain
and lack of connection
and inadequacy
and criticism
and lack of acknowledgment

Always lacking

I am steeped in egotism
and worthlessness,
My world collapses
upon one morning of
absent phone messages
and lonely self-obsession
and empty e-mail accounts

I push away and fear connection
while damning the lack thereof
I desire intimacy yet follow
where no bread crumbs lead. THROB

Inherent in every sideways occurrence on this mud ball
there lies a blessing.

The lesson might simply be a hard-won fact of life, such as:
"You can't get something for nothing." or
"If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." or
"There's a pattern here that I did not realize before."

But something can always come from any situation, 
no matter how bitter the taste
or how humiliating the loss of face.

To understand--as never before--how fully we must 
rely on no outside means
for sustenance...this is a blessing.

I had lost--excuse me...given away--my Mojo.
I had departed from my self confidence.
I put faith in intangibles and empty promises.
I was concerned about the welfare of others more than my own.
I became distracted by an ideal that is not realistic nor healthy.
I let someone else dictate what my course of action 'should' be.

The burden is, as always, squarely on my shoulders.
My ignorance and softness and naivete' gave way to powerlessness 
and despair.
Action and decisiveness was overcome by talking and sharing.
I imagined a concern for my welfare that never was hinted at; 
only a desire to regulate my thinking to match another's. 
(Brain-washing efforts are tricky; when the techniques and 
dogma varies, you forget that it's all the same under 
the hood.)

But I'm back in the saddle again; stronger than before.
Resolute. Fearless. Courageous. Indomitable.
Ready for mine; and Universe provide for any who stand 
in my way.

I needed to be squashed one final time for the message to be 
driven home.
Now there is no sadness that exists here; anger and numbness 
fills its place.
I've been blessed with a new perspective...a new lease on life.

Thanks for sharing.

Regrets--I've known a THROB

I don't know
If there's blame.

I never knew
There were
2 different relationships
going on simultaneously.

I never knew You.


Loneliness as a Wake-Up Call

There's no one calling
'cuz there's no one interested
and that's okay;
Truth hurts but truth rules

There's no one visiting
'cuz I am insignificant
and that's just fact
(we are all flies in the ointment)

No one holds my hand
'cuz I'm meant to do so myself--
or be content without--
and haven't yet learned how

I'm so concerned with others'
opinions and needs that I neglect
my own...
My bad, to be sure

My desperate need for approval,
my desire to be noticed,
my wish to have impact and be worthy,
they crowd out rational thinking

My loneliness is due to
my own skewed view,
placing others' importance
over my delicate hue

I have shirked my responsibility
to me THROB!

There can be no convincing you of the things you do not wish to know.
(Being the messenger of unwanted information has caused many a
tragedy, if only for the messenger.)

Your system of denial in place is so immaculately run that you
 had me questioning my own comprehension of realities I had
experienced firsthand!

Some things are a given in this world; most everyone denies
the existence of hypocrisy and double-standards, even though the
world is run based on these divisive and corrupting principles.

Allowing for and acknowledging this is similar to people thinking
about their parents' sex lives, or what the ingredients in hot dogs 
are. They would just as soon not know.


When you keep people at arm's length, but request them to spill
their guts; there's something going on there.

When you invite strangers over to your home the first night you meet, 
but make excuses to keep a supposed friend at bay; there's something 
going on there.

When you avoid answering questions and ignore things you don't
want to hear; there's something going on there.

When you respond to a complaint by changing the subject and
assessing blame on the other person; there's something going
on there.

When someone's words are clear and direct and concise, and
you still misinterpret and read weird shit into them; there's
something going on there.

"You might wanna get that checked out."

No amount of smooth-talking, big teeth smiling, denials, or
head-shaking will ever remove that truth from my eyes.
Avoidance of full disclosure is still a lie.

The veil was removed from my eyes; there is a deep schism
within you.

I'm convinced of the Real you that came out to attack me.

Healing the Past, part One

Those of us who have suffered from abuse can find
one another easily in this old world. We share a sixth
sense regarding fellow survivors; we are drawn to each
others' pain.

We can sense the kinship of a fellow survivor.

I think there is nothing more beautiful or sacred than
two wounded people being able to help one another
because they share a common bond that another just
cannot relate to or understand, no matter how hard they
try. We have a shorthand that transcends words.
Our souls are related.

Other people wish to know such dubious things like;
"What kind of abuse did you suffer?" or
"Was it your parents?" or
"How bad could it have been? You seem all right to me?"

So we have learned to stick to the shadows, neither
expecting nor demanding much from the public or the
'uninitiated' in this regard. Mostly, we have learned to do
for ourselves--for good or for bad--and not have a need
of other people. It may have long been our experience
that to need another person always ends badly. Always.

I am not one who feels the need to delineate between
'levels' of abuse; I will not feel the need to 'trump' your
daily 'slap-in-the-face' with my reveal of systematic
sexual infringement. It is not a contest: hurt is hurt, and
we all are unique in how deeply we are affected. There is
no need to justify our woundedness.

In this era of talk shows that have eroded the lines of public
decency and taste, it is nothing to turn on the TV and see
people blurting out specifics of their troubled past in the
midst of a screaming match on national television. Don't
misunderstand; I am all about the right
time and place. Not every bit of information is meant for
every person, and having everyone know our particulars
serves no ongoing purpose.

We may have so much animosity that a dramatic cathartic
purge seems just what the doctor ordered. But all actions
have consequences, and there may come a time when we
wish that not everyone and their brother were privy to such
intimate details. But, definitely, we do need to talk.

Finding the right people who will truly listen, who will not
judge, who will not interpret, and who do not wish to engage
in further abusive behavior as a means of 'overcoming' the
past are all important factors. We can bring up every bit of
hurt and fear each time we share the past with someone, and
we need to be particular about who we open up to.

This can be tricky when your discernment skills have been
tainted and hindered. When your judgment is spotty and faith
in self is low. But there is always hope.


Healing the Past, part Two

Someone told me early on at a support group that
"We are the cause of all our own pain."
This person was aware that there were survivors of
childhood trauma in this group. He reiterated his point
when I dared mention that children do not choose to draw
abuse into their lives.

I was enraged and resentful and hurt, and all the past
traumas came bubbling back up, relived once more. It
is never the place of another human being to assess or
dismiss our pain. We are not here to pass judgment on
one another in any respect. Perhaps he was dealing with
issues of his own in the only way he knew how, or perhaps
he was callous and insensitive.

The point is; I don't know his motives, and I can't be
concerned about his motives. The unfortunate thing is
that I allowed myself to become so upset by this one
statement that I stopped going to group for months. I
gave up something beneficial to me (here's a reoccurring
theme!) because of one isolated incident. I might could
have been of use to another person during that wasted
time, or I might have gotten support from others present.
But this is something we learned to do early on; give up,
isolate, shut down.

As defenseless children, we had no other options available
to us. One of the most difficult things for 'other people' to
understand is why people 'like us' stay stuck in the past,
frozen in a particular set of skills (or lack thereof.)
"Why can't you just get over it?"

Trauma brings forth such violent emotional charges that
it literally imprints actions and emotions onto our brain,
our body, and our psyche. Like an afterimage on a TV
screen or computer monitor after an image has been
maintained for so long. It lingers with us. The incidents
was so powerful that it superimposes itself on us. For
those who suffer continuous, repetitious abuse, it is
especially fused within us.

Even those who suppress the emotional response into the
subconscious mind (because of inability to fathom or cope in
our innocent state) are still affected at least internally by such

We can suppress an external response, but the ill
effects, the schizoid tendencies, the obsessive patterns,
the self-destructive behaviors, the personality extremes
(of being a smart-ass, an abuser, emotionally unavailable,
a rager, a caretaker, a clown, a perfectionist, a loner) all
eventually come out.

The question is whether or not we can identify the correlation
between the emerging issues and the original underlying problems
that sparked them. Until we recognize that one thing is related
to the other, truly overcoming our problems can be difficult.
If we don't comprehend why we think the wrong things, why
certain situations cause fear, why some people make us uneasy...
it may be hard to correct the matter.

This is not a call to just start digging deep into old hurts and
channeling all that pain in an unsupervised, unsafe manner;
there is much in the way of proper preparation and healthy
planning to exploring these issues. But the willingness to begin
the journey can be a task in itself. So many years (and decades
even) of covering up pain, hiding aspects of ourselves, playing a
role for others, avoiding our feelings; these take time, effort,
and ease to overcome.

some THROB

some day,
(not today,)
when you realize
that you:

jumped to conclusions,
assumed the worst,
assassinated my character,
falsely accused me,
perpetuated stereotypes,
wrote me off,
pushed me away,
didn't listen,
didn't pay attention,
were guilty yourself,
were channeling society,
were afraid,
were confused,
didn't mull it over long enough,
let the old ways dictate......

you should know
you were forgiven
long ago.

that i understood
were not ready
to understand.

that your ability
to see
was limited
by experience and
circumstance and

that i was aware of
and culpable
for my part,
as well.

that we were on
two different pages
but not
two different planets.

that it's just
another day
in the neighborhood,
even if we can't

know that you
were forgiven
long ago.

(but not today.) THROB

Compassion is not exemplified by smiling to my face
and trash-talking behind my back.

Understanding is not expressed by saying "It's okay" but
harboring resentments because it really wasn't.

Progress is not made by shoving down emotions and
keeping silent over hurts.

Interest in others is not apparent in obsessing
and substituting addictions.

Acceptance is not shown by giving up on others when
they don't heal on our time table.

I thought these were your lessons to be learned.
Perhaps they were mine.

Little things

I don't much feel like leaving
the house most days...
No purpose worthwhile,
I remain in a haze.

Just as you might desire
a cup of coffee or a bowl of ice
cream, I desire to no longer
be alive. (Only perhaps with
more gusto than a culinary

There is a complete void in
my gut and soul. Emptiness,
tiredness, ache, despair.
Helped not the least by
meditation or prayer.

They say "Get outside of
self" to cure the blues...
don't dwell on the past,
don't partake of booze.

I have tried all these remedies
with only the slightest of
aid; I'm afraid this disease
has my tombstone made.

To know that this cycle will
continue endlessly on,
facing each low......

The bottom line is that
"Who Gives A Flip?"
No one else can pull you free
when you fall this deep

We can only help ourselves
in this type of mess
so when we stop caring
it's a definite distress.

It's not self-pity or willfulness
or disbelief or doubt;
this is a trouble you've only
read about.

My soul aches with no end
in concern from
within, no help, no light.
Prayers are unanswered,
medications don't work,
doctors are quacks,
I know I'm a jerk.

The balance used to be
that some good outweighed
the bad that did come,
but now the bad is pervasive;
to the good I've gone numb.

I'm simply ready.

Missed THROB

Careful. Pay attention. 
Otherwise, you might miss it.

Telling others' business in a casual way, 
but wondering why I don't spill guts with you.

Passing judgment and being critical, 
then chalking up my secrecy to 'weirdness.'

Smiling and saying "It's fine", then finally 
erupting into rage over nothingness.

Pledging reliability and trustworthiness, 
then disappearing for weeks at a time.

Compassion and calm assurances up front, 
then blistering contempt and impatience in truth.

Tell me you want to know what's going on, 
then dismiss or ignore what is shared with you.

But all of this is merely 'in my head,' right?

This is not a game; the stakes are high.
People are not projects for you to pick-up and set-down
at your whim. Nor objects of scorn for your 
demanding expectations.

Where I assumed acceptance was duplicity,
understanding was what I interpreted from silences.
That all your confidantes are smug jerks
should have been a warning sign for me.

So much brightness and intellect within you,
it never occurred to me your obliviousness to other matters.
Where there are such dualities, trust cannot take hold.

I see now the real story; a series of misunderstandings and
missed connections; assumptions and confusions and projections
building a house of cards on a foundation of sand.

Somehow, I missed that.

Trick Answers

At wit's and rope's end,
I cried out for care,
since despite my searching
no one was there.

I wanted connection
just one last time
a stranger preferred
no reason or rhyme.

I'd reached the end
of my despair,
and there was one face
I wished would show care.

But I would not break down
and make that call,
for fear they would feel
they'd already given their all.

So I went to the store
to drown all my pain,
and forget about living
while I circled the drain.

And right there in front of me
a vision so great;
my favorite person
served up on a plate.

My heart stopped, stomach clenched,
my eyes didn't believe,
I turned and ran
lest he see my heart on my sleeve.

Vulnerable, transparent,
a total mess,
I knew he'd see truth;
I'd have to confess.

And the dilemma it seems
is quite bittersweet;
the one who brings calm
also ushers defeat.

If the problem pervading--
even though in my head--
is brought on by another,
how can I seek him, instead?

To see that which you desire
and also fear most,
is a bit like witnessing
a departed friend's ghost.

Will I despair or relax,
will I find stress or serenity,
will I hold strong or collapse,
decisions feel like an eternity.

Panicked, uncertain,
the moment surreal,
I ran for my death
since I could not feel.

At the bottom, engaging in
acts of despair, I wanted not
to see concern or a
sliver of care.

I didn't want disdain,
or disgust or remorse,
no faked smiles feigned
as a matter of course.

Don't see me at my worst,
I can't lie to you,
I don't want pity,
I just want to be through.


Connected, yet separate, there are

spaces within our union.

There is a tacit promise, but

boundaries remain undefined

and mercurial.

Love manifests despite walls...

or does it.

My doubting heart

takes no lunch breaks.

Healing the Past, part Three

I have a theory about abuse that explains a lot
in very simple means. I have not seen it covered in
books, so I'm unsure if this is something which has
been studied or not.

There is of course a phenomenon of people who suffer
abuse ending up suffering from attacks, traumas, and
more abuse systematically throughout their lives. The
tendency is for abuse survivors to implicate themselves
and believe that they had some sort of hand in the
abuse happening.

(This is a very common theme, causing
guilt and shame not just that this happened to us, but
taking on part or all of the responsibility. Further guilt
and shame are suffered if there was any portion of the
sexual abuse that caused arousal; surely our own minds
and bodies had betrayed us.

Many things account for these feelings of self-flagellation.
*Absorbing blame so that a 'loved one' could be "freed"
of being a bad person in the scenario.
*Refusal of our society to address the issue of children
having sexual capacities from early on (NOT that they are
intended to be used by adults!!!! Don't misunderstand that!)
*Total incomprehensibility of the insanity that has occurred
and a child (or young adult) being limited in intellect or
experience has to make 'sense' of it somehow.
*Whether implied or explicit, the abuser often displaces
responsibility for their own actions either before, during, or
after, and that energy has to go somewhere.
*Having a need to reconcile our lack of ability to even
conceive of fighting back.
...and so on.....

I think that the repetition factor in systematic abuse can be
explained by two rationales, however.

First, just as people who have survived can find one another
in a crowded room, so, too, can abusers find someone who
has already been wounded.

Children (or people, really) who have suffered a soul-draining
experience are affected on a molecular level. Whatever angle
you come at this from; social, emotional, psychological, spiritual,
scientific, mental--it's all the same. There has been a fundamental
shift in that person's psyche and soul as a result of the trauma.
People who wish to abuse another see that as both opportunity
and opening.

The lack of light is an advertisement to the darkness that this
is a 'safe' place to do your dirty, despicable deeds.

Perhaps abusers justify this by saying "I see something
in his/her eyes that seemed to be open to what I was
wanting." Justification and sick misinterpreting of reality.
Society on whole has a sickness when it comes to abusive
behavior; Blame the victim. It is far easier to heap
misfortune and blame on someone we know is 'accustomed'
to taking it (i.e., perhaps not likely to fight back?) and thus
a pattern is born.

Second, with each infraction, the soul is further diminished
until such a point that a survivor may:
- Stops caring about their own well-being,
- Become apathetic to the abuse, becomes desensitized to it,
- Begins to embrace warped thinking as normal; certainly
they don't expect or understand anything else, nothing else is
- Seeks it out as punishment, having falsely believed themselves
to be bad, or damaged, or to blame
- Self-fulfilling prophecy kicks in, and the prior abuse affects
thinking and esteem and attitudes which then draw the type
of people who will take advantage of it, and the cycle continues.
(and many more possibilities.)

But there is a widespread pattern of recurring abuse,
repetitious patterns, systematic abuse..whatever you wish to call it.
Energy pushes in the same direction until we intercede. Like
attracts like. So, until we restructure our feelings and thoughts and
ideas about what kind of person we are and what we deserve,
it is highly likely that we will continue to attract unsavory people
throughout our lifetimes.

Even when we stop the abusive relationships, we continue with
self-abuse, however.

Damned THROB

Damned addicts.

Why can't they just follow instructions?
Honor the word they give you?
Keep from reading too much into things?

What role did I play in deceiving you?

In truth, none.
I gave who I am
I trusted and shared as much as possible.
I was as good a friend as I know how to be.
I rode with and visited with and wrote to you
as I would anyone else.

I cared for your well being.
I respected you as you are; no confusions.
I spoke truth about the things I saw in you.
I supported your commitment to children and wife and home.
I never attempted dissent or subterfuge.

No part of me expected, desired, or attempted to make you
anything besides what and who you are.
My feelings reside in me; they are my right,
my responsibility, my business, my problem.

No one asked you to chime in with defensive
He-Man , chest-pounding bullshit and posturing;
I didn't solicit anything from you.
I didn't make a move on you.
I had no designs on anything 'happening.'
Unclench, Wilma!

I was your friend because that is who and what you were to me.
The other was kept where it belonged; in my imagination.
(I have the departmentalization thing down pat now!)

Don't take it the wrong way, but you may be the only human being
on the planet who didn't know what I was feeling.
But I would have given an honest answer had you ever asked me;
that was a determination made long ago.

What role did you play?
Never asking what surely must have crossed your mind.
Not sharing concerns.
Didn't you desire a lost soul so that you could play caretaker?
Someone with whom to maintain those feelings of superiority?
Someone to have around, to look to and say (on some level)
"At least I'm not as bad off as this crazy bastard."?

If anything, my affections for you are Testimony to your
heterosexuality and unavailability and disinterest.
Yes, I am so screwed up and hurt that I can only be drawn to people
that pose no threat of reciprocating. Where there is no possibility.
That's not for you to pass judgment on, however.

Yes, I fell for you. Not because you're a remote, disinterested, unavailable
man fitting a profile; but because you are good, loving, generous, intelligent,
beautiful man. I long for the days when someone took a fucking compliment
instead of becoming defensive or insulted.

Is it so hard to understand that feelings and actions are intrinsically separate?
That even someone as insane as I could manage to devote myself to a friend
without ulterior motives?
I am not a summary of other people's ill-conceived assumptions of me.
I own my character defects; nothing in my friendship to you was corrupted.

Damned addicts.

Another Party Heard From


the 'issue'

isn't my revelation,

but rather Your

response to it?


Everybody is racist, homophobic, sexist, and more,
and if they claim otherwise then they're oblivious to boot.

Everybody pretends to hate schmaltzy music but secretly
listens to it when no one can discover them angsting

Everybody has sex thoughts that cause them panic
and worry and embarrassment...and feels alone over it.

Everybody would steal if they could get away with it,
but pretends to be moral and community-minded.

Everybody has a standard of behavior they rigorously apply
to the entire world...excepting themselves, or their kids.

Everybody talks shit and boasts over things mostly untrue,
yet can't allow anyone else their moment in the sun.

Everybody wants to get something for nothing, take advantage
of every inroads, but bitch when someone else does the same.

Everybody thinks the rest of the world's hobbies are ridiculous,
time-wasting, and foolish while their pass-times are brilliant.

Everybody likes to kick the dog, bully the kid, scapegoat the
cashier...but nobody likes being the butt of others' abusiveness.

Everybody can kiss my ass.

Evening things out

There is nothing worth getting upset about.
There is nothing I can control.
There is nothing at the end and center of
all things.

I must seek apathy to deter emotional sensitivity.
I must expect nothing to avoid disappointment.
I must seek no human for solace or support,
for I know in advance they will fail me.

No amount of knowledge can educate me to the
ways of the world. No passion can undo real

Talking and explaining and studying and understanding
and exploring and loving and laughing are all
nothing. Time fillers, waste of space, distractions.

Nothing is the only constant we have. THROB

i push
to test your resolve

i push
to keep from being whelmed

i push
to verify strength

i push
to insure a safety zone

i push
because it is familiar

i push
because i am terrified

i push
because trust is overrated

you push
and i disintegrate

reminded i was correct to be wary


I ask: "Did you know?"

You reply: "Should I care?"

The standstill gains more ground.

Lies I Have Believed

I had an exercise once outlined for doing
work on increasing confidence and ridding
yourself of old 'tapes' and ideas.

It said to make a list of all the outmoded,
incorrect messages you had running around
in your brain.

Obviously, this would mean doing soul-
searching in order to be in touch with your
feelings, patterns, etc and be able to articulate
what was behind the self-destructive

Identifying at least some of these was not
the problem.

The problem is that all the tapes playing
appear to be bad, and that after identifying
them I have had little or no success with
eliminating them.

These are pretty pervasive. Pretty all-
encompassing. Having worked on
changing them for 20 years, I still don't
know that I believe them to be 'lies,' to be
quite honest.

(aka "Wrong Ideas to Purge")









I "CAN'T"....(fill in the blank)







Many people probably would read
this and remark "I've thought that
from time to time." It's natural enough
depending on how you were raised.

I just seem to be unable to turn it
off from being a full-time looped tape.
No good thoughts survive in the
quagmire within. It certainly isn't
from lack of effort.

Healing the Past, part Four

We can become our own worst enemies.

This is not a judgment on us. We become what we live.
We absorb and mimic and intimate what we experience
and learn in our lifetime.

It is incredibly easy to fall into the trap of believing
that a childhood perception is legitimate. We are all of
us living patterns instilled in us long ago, playing tapes
that someone else forced upon us.

The important thing is that there are choices now, no
matter how deep our mislaid feelings of worthlessness and
devastation and despair are, there is the possibility for
change and improvement. I know, because it happened
for me. And you couldn't get more pessimistic and
hopeless than I was!

In time, we learned to do the job of our enemies for us.
-We were taught to sabotage our own lives.
-We were trained to choose misery over hope.
-We learned that if we looked for the worst in people we
would always find it.
-We discovered that responding to the external world with
contempt and criticism and callousness was a means of
keeping people at arm's length (our only version of safe.)
-We doubted those that did get close.
-We spurned the affections of good people, assuming the worst.
-We ceased developing our dreams and personalities and lives
because, really; Why bother?
-We accepted as fact the lie that was told to us in deed and
-We shrank from the world, and cursed it for not providing for us.
-We gave up.
(We survived the only way we knew how.)

I cannot differentiate between the different 'kinds' of abuse.
One is just as deadly to me as another. Certainly, something
like sexual abuse carries not just more stigma and social
shame, but possibly the deepest-reaching negativity, potentially
destroying one of the most blessed aspects of this world.
But I have met people who are hollow shells late into their
50's and 60's as a result of severe verbal abuse and being
derided and criticized repeatedly as a young child.
Again, it is not for me to say.

As for me, I was blessed to be the recipient of a wide-array
of abuse throughout my childhood.

There was abuse in outside the home. By members of
family, neighbors, strangers, day care workers, and baby-sitters.
I suffered from sexual abuse in forms subtle and extreme.
There was severe emotional and psychological abuse on a daily
basis. Verbal and physical abuse and intimidation and forced
feeding and shaming and threats and insanity were just a regular
occurrence at my household.

There was a shut-down or the outer responses early on as
I learned to retreat inside my head, the only safe place I knew.
There was much effort given to maintaining the illusion of
being a 'happy home,' and that schizoid upkeep came at an even
deeper price (I feel) than the abuse itself. It left me with no allies.

When I tried to talk to other people about what was going on in
my household (after I finally realized it was not 'normal') I was
met with universal dismissal.
"You're just being sensitive. It didn't really happen that way."
"It's not as bad as you make it seem."
"I know your parents. That can't be true."
"Why are you being such a spoiled brat?"
"You need to stop telling your parents business in the streets."

I tried talking to my pediatrician. The police. A neighbor.
An uncle. A teacher. A cousin. The result was always the same.
I should point out that I was a miserably depressed young
person whom people were always encouraging to 'Cheer up"
or "Tell me what's wrong." After tremendous effort to overcome
my fears, I finally tried desperately at one point to get help, with
the resultant responses listed above. I didn't tell everything; just
some of the surface level stuff (which was bad enough) and I
was amazed at people's responses.

Finally I just stopped talking.

I hated people for not stepping in and stopping what was going
on. I hated my birth parents for giving me away. I hated my
adoptive parents for being who they were. I hated family for
not coming around. I hated institutions for turning a blind eye
and not fulfilling their supposed duties (Was there something
about me that didn't warrant being saved? I assumed so, one
one level, and despised them for the implication on another.)

My anger ate me up inside.

I started acting out. In school I was boisterous and confrontational
and aggressive and violent. I forged signatures on all the notes home.
I mouthed off to the nuns (and later the priests.) I cussed like
a sailor and vandalized and did everything I could to express how
pissed off and contemptuous I was.

At home, I started fighting back. If he could smash and destroy
and intimidate and act like a crazy person, so could I. And it was
intoxicating. I began sneaking liquor. I became as two-faced as
they were. Whatever it took to accomplish what I wanted when
I wanted it, I did it. I lived what I learned.
I lied, cheated, stole, assaulted, and more. It was freedom,
finally. I said whatever came to my mind, cared nothing about
consequences. What could be worse than what I had been through?
If they were going to treat me as a criminal, why not have the
benefits of actually being one?

There was self abuse and attempted suicides. I was taken to doctors
and psychologists and psychiatrists and specialists and more.
Nothing worked; I knew better than to trust another human being
with the truth at this point. My defiant swagger was a giant begging for
assistance I knew was not to come. I would not have my vengeance


But I continued to rage and seethe and avoid my pain.
I ceased developing as a person.
I gave in to darkness because it was all I knew and it felt
powerful. I gave up on the things that meant something to me.
I dwelt on the past and shut down the present.
I stayed quiet about the real issues. I shut down my caring
and compassionate self. The depressive and wild sides took over.
I discovered sex.

Sex...under what seemed to be my own volition...was nuclear.
I had found a medication that satisfied my every need!
Certainly the physical stimulation was great, but to also have
emotional nurturing and a distraction from the real world
and pain...phenomenal. I did anybody who showed an interest;
my need for approval, intimacy (real or imagined,) and connection
was vast.

By switching focus from one partner to another and imagining
that it was the failings of the last person that didn't allow me to
connect, I avoided the real focus; me. I became absorbed in the
lives of the other boys and men I was with; infatuated with love
and the attention and affection and a reclaiming of my physical
needs that had been corrupted long ago. (Everybody is different
in how they externalize the past; mine came off as desperation
and neediness.)

But eventually, it, too, was never enough.
It was always endless searching for something to fill that void
that had been left in me so long before. But there could be no
erasing of the past. That left me with the idea that there was
nothing to be done about it.

Now I know otherwise.