My Journey

The journey I know thus far began when I was 22. I started therapy to recover my past at 21 and a year later I started to fully remember. I remembered my brother Jonathan. The thing that bothers me the most, though I have very clear memories of him, I can see his face, I can see him, I remember him, I can find no records of him. I can find no photos, no public records, no birth certificates, though I haven't tried everything yet. I have almost come to the conclusion that he was a boy I knew but he wasn't my family. He died in front of me. I remember that clearly as well. I can see that night, though some of it staggering and stuttering in my mind's eye, I can tell you exactly what the place looked like, how the night began, what my parents were wearing, how the insects sounded outside the nearby window. I can even recall the smells that lingered in the air after he died.

I am going mad trying to find some evidence of all of this. I have pictures of a child that looks like me but then there is another picture of a child at the same age with different hair color, different style of clothing, slightly different smile. In 1969 and 1970, around the time these pictures were taken, the majority of the photos show a young person wearing masculine clothing. My question is, during that time frame, in that era, would parents dress their daughter in "boy" clothes? From what I have found in my research, no. It was considered "odd" to put a girl in boy clothes, even at very young ages. Another picture shows a baby posed for their first "real" picture and the onesy is covered in trucks and dogs, considered boy clothes.

Recently I started having a real relationship with my two older sisters, the ones I didn't grow up with and whom have a better grasp on reality. I want to ask them about my life at that age but they weren't in contact with my dad around then. They didn't have a relationship with him and from I can gather was never around.

Here is what I know:
My mom was best friends with a woman who worked in medical records in the hospital where I was born, she also worked for the county clerks office.
She followed my parents to Bloomington, IL. where I grew up, after we moved there from Cincinnati, OH, and after we moved there from Rockford, IL.
She remained my mom's best friend until her death.
During the time we lived in Rockford, there were a string of child deaths. A woman was arrested and convicted for those crimes. She lived on the same street, 4th avenue, as we did.
We moved to Cincinnati, OH into a townhouse.
Once we moved to Bloomington, we lived on McGregor street, I can remember every inch of the house we lived in, I can draw the house from memory. My uncle Terry lived with us.

So now I'm at an impasse. Going forward I see no solution to my quest, staying put leaves me wondering who I am and if by finding out those things I want to know will change me forever into someone I may not like. I'm starting to believe finding the answers won't really be answers, just more shame. A boy named Jonathan did live, I remember him.

Disheartened

Since 2008, I have made YouTube videos. I talk about being MP, what it's like being MP, the Gang (as I call them) also make videos. I am told I help people. I am told my videos make a difference. But lately, along with everything going on, time of year, and so on, I have felt less like making videos. I almost feel as if I have said everything I can say about the topic.

The point of my videos is clear; one can gain cooperation with their system, the system is not the enemy, there are five steps to help gain cooperation, be kind to oneself, be kind to others, do not judge others. Pretty plain. Honestly, what more could I possibly say about it? After 250+ videos, it's all been said.

Yet, I feel like I'm abandoning my subscribers if I stop making videos. I suppose in a way I am. Not really abandoning but pausing. I haven't made a decent video in over a month and I can't honestly say I will be making one anytime soon. I feel disheartened by the process. I haven't had bad experiences on YouTube, strangely enough. I have not been hounded or harassed by trolls or haters. I have met some amazing women and men on YouTube. And I helped people.

So, what is this feeling? Why do I want to stop? Why do I want to do a farewell video, thank everyone for watching, and just stop making videos? I wish I knew.

The fight continues

I hate being agoraphobic, I just hate it! I used to live in California, in Southern California, in Santa Ana, then L.A., then Pasadena. I never stayed inside, I was always outside, going to the beach, to the mountains, to different shops, different experiences. I was active, I moved, I breathed in fresh air until my lungs felt full. I rarely stayed home, and when I did, I was very “social.” I chatted through mIRC, an internet relay chat program, and I met people through there and then met them in real life. I had friends, I did things. This trend followed me from California, Georgia, South Carolina, but the moment I hit Memphis, I slowly started to withdraw. In the passed year, I learned it was not Memphis that caused my sudden and severe withdraw from the world. 

I was on disability from 1991 to 2005, I hated being on disability, with it comes a stigma about being lazy. I am not lazy, anyone who knows me knows I am a very driven woman. My mind cannot sit still therefore neither can I. But when people learned I was on disability, they thought me instantly lazy because I didn’t “look sick.” And there lies the crux of most people’s idea behind mental illness. So, when, in 2004, I was able to go back to work, I felt as if I had won the lottery. I left the house 7 days a week, 5 days for work, the weekends were reserved for my wife and we would go to estate sales, the zoo, the park, to the lake, etc. We were active. Then I met friends, good friends, people I still talk to, people I still want to see. As I moved from job to job (because I get bored easily once I learn a job), I became more and more social. 

But then, in 2006, something started to change. I was working for St Jude, a very good company to work for, I loved the company, their philosophy, their ethics, the people I worked with, I was happy there. The first 5 months I worked there, I worked just like I always did, I went to work everyday without fail, even if I was sick. That is my work ethics, work… don’t go to a job and give half-ass and want the full benefit, no, that’s not how its suppose to work. That philosophy got lost in the world somewhere along the way, but I digress. I was promoted to a good position and something changed. I started calling in… a lot. There were just days I felt so sick that I couldn’t get out the front door. I thought it was the work, it was a very physical job, so physical I lost 25 pounds in the first two months I worked there. No, that wasn’t it. I thought it was the type of work, it was very emotional. No, that wasn’t it. I kept calling in and I started to feel worse and worse. I found a different job with a different company in 2007. But I still called in. My contract with that job ended and I went to a different job in 2008. And still, whatever was happening just got worse and worse and then the breakdown in 2010. 

Wow, for so long I thought my agoraphobia got worse in 2010 but no, after thinking on it it started in 2006. I heard once that, “do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain.” I call bullshit because that is bullshit! I did the thing I feared the most everyday for six years and I got worse. I left my house, against everything my body was telling me and I got worse. I call shenanigans! And now, I am feeling over anxious because tomorrow, 25 1/2 hours from now, I have to go to therapy. I’m snappy because the way my panic attacks manifest is with irritation and sudden outbursts of anger. I am never violent but my patience are shortened and my ability to control my irritation is pretty much gone. So, to keep me from hurting my wife’s feelings, I have put myself in my office, closed the door, and I am writing it out until my Xanax kicks in. I don’t want to be this way anymore and I am so tired of being agoraphobic. I do like my new therapist though. When I told her the “do the you fear most” quote, she shook her head and disagreed with that statement altogether. I liked her immediately. Because that statement isn’t true, is it? 

People with agoraphobic don’t leave their house because we are too lazy, or too weak, or anti-social, or anything negative cruel people can think of to call us. No, we don’t leave the house because our fear is so monumental, so intense, so incredibly palpable it drives us into the ground. We experience fear on such a level, we actually suffer. Think about the one thing you fear, it can be anything, fear of spiders, fear of water, fear of whatever, now multiply that by 1,000 and then you will start to understand phobias. Agoraphobia is no different. We fear being outside because something in our minds and bodies tell us there is something out there to fear. 

As much as we hate living like this, it is so ingrained in us by the time it reaches this point, it will take years to correct. And just that thought alone is exhausting, let alone trying to fix it. 

But fix it… we must. The fight continues.

TRIGGER and SPOILER ALERT...... I was suppose to be someone else

************TRIGGER WARNING*****************

I was suppose to be someone else, I am sure of it. When I was born, I was on a trajectory for something good, maybe not great, but at least good. The suit of skin I was suppose to wear was poised and prepared specifically for me. And so I started down that road toward that good person with goodness in their future, I set out as confident and ready for whatever was about to come at me. But just as a pebble on the train tracks can derail a large train, at age five I was thrust into a different direction and I wasn’t able to find my way back to the good path. My suit of skin sat in the window dressing waiting for me but after many years it slowly decayed and faded. And who I was suppose to be no longer mattered until I remembered I was suppose to be someone else. 

It’s cruel to do that to anyone, to do that to a child. To do that to a living a thing is like the Dementors and their kiss. You will remain alive but there is almost no point, not missing the soul of the person you were meant to be. Getting knocked to your knees, getting the air pushed out of you, lying still in a curled ball on the ground almost makes you wish ... Almost.... Death would have taken you long ago. 

I often say I wouldn’t change a day because I like who I am now. 

Very few people know this about me, this is something I don’t share very often, it’s a burden I have always felt I should carry alone because the weight of it is enough to drag anyone to their knees. But my legs are strong by now, I have carried this with me so long now that if I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t know how to walk, or be. 

I often think about moving to another country, to be far away from here because no matter where I am in the states, my family will find me. But they are also dumb, and I don’t mean that fully as a hurtful statement, they are dumb. They never finished school nor have they tried to better themselves. They are stagnant in their ignorant revery and they don’t ever wish to change. They wouldn’t understand how to fill out the passport application nor would they put forth that kind of energy. Being that far from them would maybe, maybe, maybe give me the leg up, to become someone else that is closer to who I was suppose to be. Who they were suppose to be was ripped from them at a very young age. When people talk about cycles, that is exactly what it is, a cycle from one person to the next who will never be who they were suppose to be. 

So, here I am, memories pounding my mind like hail on a tin roof, just trying to hold myself together with two tired arms and hoping the onslaught ends soon. And hating my parents for taking away the person I was suppose to be.

I hate medication! So. Much!

I’m sick. I’m sick and tired. And I hate every second of this. I can’t see beyond right now when my eyelids burn to close, nor can I see beyond right now because my brain is soggy, or at least feels that way. For the passed twenty-two years I have ran through my life in the blur of Prozac and Paxil, Zoloft, and Depakote, and Lexapro, and Amitrityline, and Xanax, and now Buspar. My stomach aches and churns in the mixture of everything I take just to keep my skin from peeling apart and ripping me to shreds from what other people did to me. I was created into the person I am now because of actions and results, not because of hard work on my part. Though I can look back and say no I wouldn't change a day, I actually like myself, as strange as that may sound. But fuck them! Why did they take their perversions out on me? Maybe it was because I was so small, so petite, they thought I was weak. But I did survive that ordeal. So what! I can’t leave my house, I need tylenol pm to stay asleep, I don’t eat well, blah blah blah and so forth. I’m just sick and tired.

I started Buspar eight days ago and I have been so sick since. Nausea, vomiting, lethargy, inability to concentrate, dizziness, and general sickness. I hate pharmaceuticals. Far too many side effects that outweigh the benefits. And I know it’s still early but I haven’t noticed a difference and I haven’t noticed a decrease in my anxiety. I’m going to give it another 7 days and then if nothing has changed I’m stopping the medication. I don’t like how I feel. But I also don’t know what else to try. I have completely given up on going back to work outside my house. I know how that sounds, that I’m giving up, I’m not giving up. “Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain.” So the saying goes. So I did. I left the house everyday, every fucking day for 9 years and I had a breakdown. It only got worse and no one can tell me why. I tried, I tried so hard to keep it together because I wanted to be perfect for Melissa. I still do. I want to take care of her. I want to be well... For once. But I won’t be well. I know I can be managed, I know I can live a great life, and I know I can do whatever I want. 

I’m just having a down day. These come and go, just like major symptoms of my “mental illness.” This too shall pass but dammit if these side effects aren’t burning my ass! 

I'm agoraphobic

Realizations are scary... At best. I know academically that I am agoraphobic.But I am also he master of denial. Until this evening. 

Three years ago I had a breakdown. My mind was pushed to the ultimate boundaries of endurance and I finally snapped. And for ten years before that I lived in Memphis, TN. Unarguably one of the worst places to live in the United States, Memphis has a long enduring history of hate and anger and a strong cultivation of apathy. They strive for apathy here like animals strive for survival in the wild. It’s their instinct, it’s their culture, it’s their lineage, one they will never change. I hate it here. I would rather live with my abusers than live here. 

While doing the dishes this evening, I do what I always do and had an in depth internal dialogue about my situation and things I have observed about myself. I do this all the time. I self analyze. I dissect myself and try to filter out the bad. At times it is excruciating because I see certain parts of myself and know I cannot change them or filter them out. I try so hard to better myself all the time and tonight I realized I was doing something wrong.

As I mentioned before, I dislike Memphis. I have never hidden that fact. I also blamed a lot of my condition on the fact that Memphis is the root of all evil. I started working again in 2004 and I continued to work until I couldn’t anymore. And for the longest time, I blamed Memphis for this. I blamed Memphis for me not wanting to go outside, explaining to anyone who would listen that I was different before I came here, I used to go outside all the time in California, in El Paso, in Savannah, etc. I explained that I have held down jobs, I have spoken to people, I talked on the phone all the time. I would drive to the store without ever worrying about it. I would... I would... I would... But that wasn’t true either. In California I went outside because my then girlfriend wanted it that way, and then the girlfriend after that. I held down jobs during that time because I needed more money than I had. In El Paso I the same thing, in Savannah same thing. It was always for someone that I pushed myself beyond my endurance level and in the end of each of those, I suffered. 

So, when I first started noticing that I was slipping away emotionally, I did try to reach out to people and explain it was happening but I also kept blaming the job, the people I worked with, the type of work, the amount of work, the mentality of the people who grew up in Memphis and their incessant apathy, and having to commute with the piss poor drivers here. I blamed everything else. 

It wasn’t Memphis at all. I’m agoraphobic. At an early age I was conditioned to stay away from people. Every time I was close to people they harmed me in some way. When I started to stay away from people I felt ok. During my childhood and adolescence I learned to be alone and I felt safe. 

I’m agoraphobic. When I was leaving the house each and every day to go to work, I was pushing myself beyond what I could actually handle. And slowly I lost every ounce of strength I had to hold back the fear and anguish I felt. Each time I went to work, I got weaker and weaker until that day in August in 2010. Then all bets were off, the damn broke, and I fell to the ground in a heap of tears because it was all just way too much. And this evening when I finally saw that it was not Memphis at all, something clicked, it was like someone ran a pen up my spine and dotted the back of my head. I’m agoraphobic. I never wanted to believe I was that bad off. I never wanted to believe I still had years of work ahead of me to deal with what happened. I have spent 44 years not dealing with what happened. And now, my mind, in small bursts of remembering, is forcing me too. I had a major memory recently thanks to Dexter, the tv show. Long story. Some people haven’t seen the most recent episodes so I don’t want to spoil anything. Needless to say, there was a very triggering scene for me and since then my brain has been waging war with itself with releasing memories and fighting to keep them at bay. My defenses are faltering and acceptance is rearing its ugly head. 

I’m agoraphobic. I don’t have enough energy anymore to keep any of the crap at bay. In the past when I have been in therapy, I always reach a point just before I start talking about my childhood and then I stop going. I can’t do that anymore. There is nothing else to blame, nothing else to do but move forward and to do that I must, I must confront the crap.

Acceptance and All Things Brave

The day I finally reached acceptance of my system was like feeling the sun on my face. It was 1996 and I remember I went inside and stood in the doorway of their house and just watched them for a long time. They have a viewer in the middle of the living room, a huge screen where they can watch what is going on outside. They have a sectional couch facing the viewer. On the couch sat Cassi, Cathi, Mimi, Sara, and a handful of Littles. On the back of the couch sat Richi doing his nails and every once in a while interjecting into the conversation. I just watched them and it suddenly occurred to me what they went through. It wasn’t just about me having gone through some terrible times at the hands of my family and their friends, my system did too. They probably got the worst. I stood feeling these enormous emotions slowly start to overtake ma and I remember I started to shake. Soon, I was crying heavily. Soon after that, as they have done my entire life, my system came to me and lifted me up, taking me to the couch and cared for me until I regained my composure. 

I don’t have words to adequately explain my system, what they did, who they are, and what they did for me. Words almost fail me. If it wasn’t for them, I would surely be worse than I am.  

I will never know what it is like to form friendships and bonds after enduring war. I will never fully understand how people share those fundamentally, soul altering experiences when faced with gun fire and carnage. But I can, with 100% clarity, know the bond I have with my system after we endured ongoing onslaughts of repeated torture, rape, mutilation of body and mind, and seeing in their eyes how even the light of day is kept at fingers length. I know the pain of a survivor. I fully grasp and understand how life goes on but in mechanical motion. I know and see how the heart is wrung close to death at the painstaking awareness that people in this world wanted us dead. It is not a cavalier statement, people wanted us dead, erased from the earth, wiped clean of any knowledge to our existence. And when you are a child, fighting against those odds, who you were meant to be becomes moot because that person is gone. In their place is someone who will never fully trust, who is constantly on guard, who is wrought with scars, both external and internal. 

So, looking at my system as the forefront of all things brave, one can begin to fully understand why to me they are heroes. 

I've noticed two things

I did some serious refurbishing of my vitamin regiment. After many hours of research and refocusing my search words and what I expected and what I wanted to change, I came across a new vitamin (well, new to me) that promised to relieve the feelings of stress and anxiety. Now, as you know, I am skeptical to say the least. I have seen loads of vitamins and medications that promised to change my life with their herbal relief but few, with the exception of Niacin, have actually made good on that promise. But, seeing as how my life is currently lived with the confines of my four walls and my front porch, I needed to do something different. Hence, new vitamins. 

A lot of sites that deal with helping people with anxiety issues mentioned adrenal fatigue due to the constant high levels of stress and constant hypervigilance. What is hypervigilance? Well, vigilance is being alert, watchful, For people like me, that alertness and watchfulness takes on a whole different meaning. We are constantly... CONSTANTLY on alert, always watchful, with never a moment to relax. When the body is under that kind of stress, under that kind of constant vigilance, the body overproduces chemicals that makes the body constantly vigilant. And that, takes vigilance to hypervigilance. So, what happens to the body when this occurs?

When the body is under that much stress, overwhelming amounts of stress, the body produces large amounts of adrenaline, over and over and over, for days, for months, for years upon years. Eventually, those glands stay partially to constantly active, even when there is no danger around. Those glands can keep up that overproduction for a very long time until... well... they get tired, they get fatigued and then in some people, they stop working altogether. Luckily for me, they still work but they are fatigued. During the course of my research I came across a vitamin I had never heard of, ashwagandha. This vitamin has been known to treat adrenal fatigue but also has been known to treat depression and anxiety and greatly reduce stress. This basically means since the body is producing less adrenaline, the adrenal glands can rest. It also means that large amounts of adrenaline is no longer being pumped into the body making the stress and anxiety worse. This also means that the hypervigilance begins to ease up. Of course, I am a skeptic. But I have to try something. 

Day 3 on ashwagandha. I added 500mg of this vitamin to my regular regime that I have been on for one year solid. I take 6,000mg of niacin, 2,400mg of calcium and vitamin C, 5,000 IU of vitamin D3, 500mg of Magnesium, 1,000 mg of Fish Oil, 3,000mg Valerian Root at bed time, and a lot of water. I have been systematically cutting down on caffeine and cutting way back on coffee. I know what most people say when they hear the amount of each I am taking, "That's way too much! You are going to shut your liver down!" There has been no proof that those amounts cause damage. I have not felt my depression in over a year and I WILL NOT go back to living in that darkness. Besides that, I get a physical each year and my liver is fine. 

The ashwanadha is amazing! Truly amazing! The day after my first dose, I felt like I had taken a xanax. I was relaxed, almost to the point of not functioning but still able to concentrate. I did not have the cloudiness associated with xanax. The bad neighbors turned their car stereo up and I barely noticed. THAT was when I noticed a change. Usually I would have been on the phone immediately to the police but it barely phased me. I noticed it but I wasn't bothered. If that makes sense. I slept like a rock that night. I didn't move for 7 hours straight. That rarely happens but two nights in a row, I actually slept. I had bad dreams but I didn't react as I usually do. I woke up and was able to fall back to sleep immediately. My appetite is lowered but I am not stressing about that either. For 30 years, I have chosen to stay fat, to stay heavy because that is my safety blanket but I am not worrying that I may lose weight. And today, I left the house with my wife and I was fine. We had fun... let me say that again... we had fun. Now to give a short reason why that is important. I can go months without leaving the house and when I do, I am usually is a foul mood and I snap because of all the noise. I'm very unpleasant to be around when we are out of the house. So, to say that we had fun is not only an important step, it's a colossal achievement. 

Now that I have given the good points, there are a couple of downsides that I am hoping fades with time. First and most notable, I am in pain. One of the ingredients in ashawanda is lactic acid.  Lactic acid is the chemical that is produced by your muscles when they are used and it is also a by-product of milk. Why is this information important? Because it can settle in your muscles after a work out and cause soreness. See where this is going? So, i need to drink a shit ton of water to help my body flush the excess. And that is why i hurt. Because I am constantly putting it into my body before my body can fully flush it out, I have to increase the amount of water I drink in order to get to a balance so I can keep taking it and it will not cause as much soreness. 

Second this I noticed, it is hard for me to stir in the mornings. The ashwagandha causes such relaxation that it is or can be difficult to get up in the morning. But overall, I can honestly say I am liking the results of this. I will stay on the 500mg per day until the soreness goes away but if I keep getting results on this dosage, I will most likely stay on this level. 

Meet my system: Cassi

I came first. Everyone since was born from me. I am the tip of a pyramid created for the sole purpose to keep one single person alive, in good health, in good mind and soul.  I first opened my eyes when the body was one and a half years old. The body was barely able to stand or walk on its own; I took control for nearly six months.  

I aged myself quickly, to always be years ahead of the body. It was... it is my responsibility to protect those who came after me.

I survived the most, saw the most, and remember the most of all who reside within. I see them as my young and my apprentices. I guide them. Only I know my memories, though I know the memories of everyone inside. This is because I was the first and the rest came from me.

I was asked recently if I recall my first memory; how I was created. To understand, I would need to explain how some view the existence of alternate personalities. Some professionals believe the reason the alternate personalities are created is due the mind trying to understand what is actually happening to the person and because they are so young, their cognitive reasoning of an event is limited. Based on that theory, which is completely plausible, the alternate personality is created with different cognitive reasoning skills and better equipped to grasp what is happening, even if just slightly better than the core personality.

I was created when the body, or Lyn, was one and a half years old. Her body was being violated by her father and I came to protect her. The best way to describe the experience is this; with the mind of a toddler, the brain can barely understand simple objects around them, let alone pain. Having an understanding of pain, or knowing to pull a hand away from a flame, is basic human reaction. However, if the body is made to withstand the pain, without the understanding of why they cannot flee that pain, the brain goes into overdrive and tries to fully understand the situation. Thereby either fully retreating into a dormant state such as sleeping or a fully unconscious state, or, as in Lyn’s situation, her brain created me in order to first take the pain and second to understand the pain. I did both with ease. I knew from that first moment what her life would be, what was in store for her, somehow I just knew.

I accepted my role fairly quickly and with reasonable ease. At first, I hated the role I was placed in because I could not fully understand why someone would need to be in that situation, however, I learned in order for Lyn to grow and remain a viable person for society in some way, I would need to protect her as best I could. When the torment became too much, I did what she did, I created the soldiers to first take the pain and second to understand the pain. There are some who still do not understand why they were placed in those roles but they knew they needed to in order to protect Lyn. She is our number one reason for being alive, the ONLY reason why we exist. There is no other reason. Plain and simple!

Find Thyself

In my childhood I was an adult, in my adolescence I was an old lady, in my young adult life I was dead. It was only when I chose the path of my journey that I was reborn, reborn in my own pursuit, and not of those who would forge my map for me. I was an angel set free for the first time into the world, with no social skills, at the age of 25. I placed myself into a situation that forced me to understand life in the simplest of terms. I lived on the tiniest amount of money, making due with what I had, living with people I barely knew, exploring new places, and seeing for myself what life could be, if lived. I ignore those who said it was dumb to just pack up a suitcase, board a bus, and head into the world with blinders on. I saw the world through rose-colored glasses and yes, naïve as a child let lose in an amusement park. I had never been so scared in my entire life, not even when my mother would come at me with the “belt,” or my father approaching me in his drunken stupor for sex. This was it, the idea that every person is born with: “One day I will leave home and be on my own.” But few people every do it, and fewer still succeed in when they try. But I did it!

Fear is a useful emotion, it lets you know when you have reached your limit, so you will know when you are about to cross that line and enter the realm of being purely terrified. I stepped on that bus at 7:25pm, on September 25th, 1995, and I was gone. I sat in a seat by myself, feeling the edge of the world riding my spine as the bus made its jerky run to Memphis, TN and then to Dallas, TX, and finally to Arlington, TX where I would live for six months. What I learned there was friends come in every shape, enemies look exactly like friends, poison can live in a handshake, and alone doesn’t necessarily have to be scary, but it always is.

I didn’t know who I was, and at that time, merely 25 years old, I wasn’t ready to look beyond the image in the mirror. I never wanted to see deep meaning behind those green eyes, and all forbid the search for inner peace. I survived on beer, Dr. Pepper, and denial. The voices in my head rang louder than they ever had as the fear I felt smothered their sanctuary. No one knew where I was, no one but the woman I left behind who still loved me even though I had cheated on her, lied to her, and ran out on her with no reasoning whatsoever.

We had been together for six years, six years of hiding behind each other and backing away from the truth that even though we had loved each other at one point, but then at some point it passed love into co-dependency. She was my friend, and I cared for her very much, but we stopped growing together. And when you stop growing as a couple, and one is content to stand still and watch the world pass by with little notice from them, then you know, its time to move on. Loving someone is never a guarantee that you will be together forever. Loving someone doesn’t complete you, loving someone should never be your reason for being whole, and loving someone should never be your only source of happiness. I never knew that, until I was 28 years old, and on September 30th, 1998 I was born.

I was given a book, just an ordinary book of Wiccan information by my very abusive girlfriend. I didn’t even open it for the longest time, but one day, out of sheer boredom, I opened it and read the first page. Three hours later, for the first time in my life, I cried for every wrong thing that had ever happened to me, for every person I ever hurt, and I cried for never knowing that I had been alive all along.

I cried for an hour, one whole hour straight. Feeling the anger, rage, and pain ripping from my inner being and leaving by way of my tears. I sat shaking on my bed in the apartment I shared with a woman who didn’t really seem to like me. And it was then that I learned, I was already whole and the puzzle I knew as myself was already complete, all I had to do was finish tapping in the last piece.

I stayed in that relationship for another year, trying to get her to see that she didn’t have to treat me that way, to see that I was a person with feelings, and I tried, god knows I tried, to tell her that she hurt me, but the sad thing was, she had already convinced herself that she was the only one who was ever right in the world. Even though I was alive, and even though I felt that I had finally been born, I had not yet left the womb of my own damnation.

On January 4th, 2000, I boarded a plane and left her behind and into the arms of an old friend. She helped get me back on my feet, to remind me that what I had done was incredible. That very few women have the courage to leave an abusive situation. But I had done it! Within a month of being there, I had landed a job, had done so well in it that I actually advanced within a month, and was paying my own way. I had finally been born, out of the womb, and into a new light.

I may not have lived in my life, I may have made some bad choices, but I know who I am now, I know where I want to go and I know who I want to be. And everyone who thinks they can suppress me… be damned. I am alive!

We are in for a very, very long haul

We are in for a very, very long haul…

I am asking everything you have to give.

We will never give up…

You will lose your youth, your sleep,

Your arches, your strength, your patience,

Your sense of humor… and occasionally

The understanding and support of

the people that you love very much.

In return, I have nothing to offer you

But your pride in being a woman,

All your dreams you’ve ever had for

Your daughters, and nieces and granddaughters,

Your future and the certain knowledge

At the end of your days that you

Will be able to look back and say

That once in your life you gave everything you had

For justice.

Jill Rukelshaus

NWPC Convention, San Jose, 1977

Mental Illness is not a blueprint

The term Mental illness does not mean a blueprint. It doesn’t follow a set of guidelines to say this disorder does this, and that disorder does that. Though some mental illnesses do follow a similar pathway, it does not mean every person set with that disorder will have exactly those same qualities.

It took me a long time to accept I am sick. I think that is the key to moving forward, accepting that you are sick. I thought, “I can’t be sick because there are times when I can hold down a job, and there are times when I can go outside alone, and there are times when I have no problem talking on the phone. So that mean I’m not sick because I can do those things… sometimes.” But that’s it, isn’t it? I never stopped to realize that yeah, I am sick and I can do those things. It’s like seeing only black and white. It’s not allowing yourself to see grey. Even if you are sick, you can still do things that other people would say means you aren’t sick. That comes back to mental illness NOT being a blueprint. Every person will experience their illness differently, because we all have different backgrounds, familial connections, cultural differences, religious backgrounds, etc. Each person takes all of those things into their personality and THAT feeds directly into how they experience their illness.

When I go back to work, when I get a job, I never go into that job half-hearted, never! I jump in, full force, head held high, full of fire and ready to conquer the task of learning my job and role. Those traits come directly from my illness which comes directly from my childhood. I was trained for years to be hyper vigilant, on guard, at the ready, and eager to please. When I get the thumbs up that I am doing a good job, which means danger has passed. My upbringing taught me to be watchful, listen for possible danger, and always vigilant about possible danger.

Litany of Forgiveness

The litany of forgiveness is tears

and sweat and hair

falling out in fits of pulling

free from the torment

of waking drenched

teeth clenched in pounding

reminders of moment just before

the tale of hope finding its footing

in sand trailed by blood as blisters

warped and tainted, peeled and fresh

wrought with existence in a brief expansion

when I finally threw the gauntlet down to dare you

tell me I am wrong for not forgiving you

It's ok to feel good... it really is

It took me a long time to realize something that a lot of other people already know: It’s ok to feel good about yourself. Shocking! I am not an arrogant person, I am not completely narcissistic, I do not over praise myself, nor to demand constant recognition for a job well done. But I do feel good when I help people, when I solve a problem, when I find a solution, when I can make someone feel utterly warm and fuzzy about being them. We have things we contribute to the world, we all have talents that we can and should feel good about. Never allow someone else determine your worth because they don’t own you, your feelings, your thoughts, or behaviors. If someone tries to take your shiny, happy moment away, walk away. You are allowed to feel happy. You are allowed to bask in everything that is beautiful about you! If there is someone who is desperately trying to tell you otherwise, then they are toxic to your progress. They don’t deserve you.

I would like to personally thank you for being in the world, for being you, for being alive, and surviving!

Susan B Anthony I owe you an apology

Susan B Anthony I owe you an apology. I woke this morning and forgot to thank you for all you did. Because of you, I am able, as a woman, to walk wherever I chose. As a woman I am free to voice my opinion. As a woman I am free to decide whether I want to have children, and rejoice loudly if that child is a female. As a woman, I am open to decision, and because of you, I am free to do so. As a woman, I can choose whether or not I want to marry, and whom I want to marry, and as a woman, I am now free to divorce.

We forgot what you went through so that we may enjoy these few basic luxuries that you never were able to enjoy. We can go to the University, to the movies, we can walk aside or in front of a man, we can talk as loud as we want, dress anyway we wish, we can dance, we can sing, and we can be respected. But you couldn’t. In a day and time when it was “forbidden” for a woman to be anything other than a slave to her man, you broke boundaries and said what we all take for granted now, I am a woman, I am a person, and I belong!

"I know nothing but woman and her disfranchised."

“The fact is, women are in chains, and their servitude is all the more debasing because they do not realize it.”

By fighting for a woman’s right to vote, you gave us the right to exist. By defying all who told you it was wrong, you gave us a voice forever. By refusing to pay the fine, you paved the way for all women to live free in a country that refused to recognize women and people of color as true citizens. You made it alright to be alive, and you made it powerful to be a woman.

And so, before I forget once more, I thank you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for laying down what little you had to fight the biggest battle of your life. I thank you for everything I am because if you had not achieved what you had, I would still be silent because then I would have only been a woman.

One Fear At A Time

Perhaps it isn't about finding hope in conquering fear all at once, perhaps the true victor is the person who conquers one fear at a time, but conquering it nonetheless. I find myself at a paradox of this question, quest, in my life. I have many fears, I will admit, far too many to list, or maybe I should. If I labeled each one, gave a word to it and inevitably gave it a voice, maybe we could have a dialogue, a meeting of minds, and I could finally resolve the issues. Could it hurt? If I named each one, would it hurt? It isn’t like falling down and scraping a knee, no, it’s more like barrelling down a freeway with a map in your face, dodging oncoming traffic using nothing but sheer hope and white knuckles. Facing a fear, a specific one, staring it down and letting it know exactly how you feel, no, that is pure fear, in its rawest form, in its concentrated state, unstable and ready to rumble.

So, what is my first fear? My main fear? My writing. This is me, in my most concentrated state, unstable… and ready to rumble. What people don’t get about me when they read my writing, they are reading me. I can’t hide in my words, they flow out and tell all my dirty secrets, and then, when it’s all over, I lay breathing heavy, panting, wiping sweat from my brow, and hoping… no one laughs at me for attempting it. Thinking back I can pinpoint the exact moment that fear cemented itself in my noodle. I was 15 and I had just finished the first six pages of the first story I would ever write, Patty’s Girls. Though it has undergone many facelifts since that day, those first six pages… they were my beating heart. I felt… funny how words escape me, me… the writer! I have never felt like that doing anything else. I can see what I am typing. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not talking about visually seeing the words on the screen or on paper, not that kind of see. I mean, I can see everything in my story in my head. I can see the characters, I can sense them, I can feel how they feel. When I write, my heart rate calms, my mind calms, the storm around me calms. I know definitively what I want to do as a career… d-e-f-i-n-i-t-i-v-e-l-y! I know to my core! How many people can say that and truly mean it? Probably over a billion but that’s not the point here. The point, as I am trying to dodge, is the truth as to why writing… no, not the act of writing, but the act of getting published scares the soul out of me. The day I showed those first six pages to someone, I had chosen incorrectly. I showed them to my older sister and my father. I should have known but I was so excited. It was my first time, my first moment as an artist, my artistic virginity given to the muses. I wanted to share this newly discovered “thing” I could do. When I presented the six pages to my older sister and my father they sat quietly until the end… and then they laughed at me. The room, though I am sure did not actually change, turned a grey color, pale reflections of my continued life with them. I sat for only a few minutes, stood, tucked the six pages under my arm, walked back down the hallway, head hung low, and went back to my room.

Two things happened that day; first, I learned I could never share my work with my family, and I never did, to this day. Second, I found refuge in my room, away from people, isolated for my protection, and they never followed. I could stay in my room for weeks on end, and a lot of times I did. I dropped out of school, I hoarded nonperishable food, spent my days writing poetry. I believe them laughing at me was the final straw. It isn’t a secret I was abused, severely, throughout my childhood. That isn’t a surprise. My actions, my depression, anxiety, social phobia, agoraphobia, and eating disorder all stem from that childhood. I stay inside so I can’t get hurt by people. I stay fat so I am unappealing to men. I stay ugly in my own mind in order to stay safe. When they laughed at me for doing something life-changing, they smothered my trust.

I can sit here and name every moment of my childhood my family shredded. How they took everything I felt was important to me and told me I was wrong for wanting it. But that isn’t the point to this. This is me naming my fears. Giving them a face… so later I can smack them in it! Right in their fear faces!

So, here goes:

1. I am afraid to go outside.
2. I am afraid to be thinner.
3. I am afraid of success.
4. I am afraid of failure.
5. I am afraid my family was right to do what they did.
6. I am afraid I will never be more than I am right this minute.
7. I am afraid of losing the one person I truly found love with.
8. I am afraid she will see the cracks in the foundation I try hard to hide.
9. I am afraid tomorrow will be the day she leaves.
10. I am afraid to have children with her because I am afraid I will turn into my mother.
11. I am afraid none of my childhood happened.
12. I am afraid my writing really does suck balls and I am deluding myself into believing I am actually decent.
13. I am afraid I am more messed up than I realize because I can’t see it.
14. I am afraid of the night time, not the dark, I can hide in the dark, but night time, because that is when everything bad happened. Night time is my trigger.
15. I am afraid to fall asleep because of the nightmares.
16. I am afraid to be awake because of the nightmares.
17. I am afraid to be weak.
18. I am afraid of hurting people.

I think that’s a great start. One at a time.

The Curse

I call it the curse, when you are lucid throughout your mental illness. You fully understand you are sick and unable to function, yet, it’s like your mental illness is a separate entity, alive, breathing, kicking and screaming. And it’s stolen a car, thrown you into the passenger seat, threw a seatbelt on you, smiled maniacally, and then you’re off. The police are rushing, chasing after the two of you. You can see all of this going on and yet you are unable to stop it. You see the curve coming, you beg your mental illness to slow down, please slow down! Taking two wheels you take the curve and your mental illness laughs. The police are still in hot pursuit but there is no sign of slowing down. Peaks and valleys, storms and calm, mental illness behind the wheel, you pray to make it out alive.

This is the curse. This is being awake during the entire mental illness trip. Some get better. Some stop the car or leap from it while it’s moving. Some dig their nails into the dashboard and scream. Some quietly sit, eyes closed tight, lips parched and cracked, tears streaming down their face. Some… don’t make it. Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes it’s too quiet. Sometimes there isn’t enough time in the day to journal all the crap that happened. But do not… I repeat do NOT question our devotion to get better or to function or to just stay alive. You may not see it, but behind our eyes there is a war waging; a full on war.

It aggravates me so much

Amanda Bynes has entered rehab after leaving an L.A. hospital where she was being treated for mental illness. For months leading up to this obvious... painfully obvious diagnosis she was the laughing stock of so many people. What aggravates me is that people jumped on the bandwagon of apathy and ugliness toward this human being who was suffering from something she would not be able to get a handle on on her own. This is the reality of our society, where people who have these mental illnesses are not seen as people suffering but people to mock. Living with mental illness is so difficult and painful, not just for the person suffering from it but loved ones as well. 99% of people who mock or make fun of people with mental illness do not understand that yes, we do see what we are doing. Yes, we understand how crazy we act sometimes. No, no, no we cannot control it. There are people out there who whole heartedly believe that Amanda could control exactly what she was doing. No, she couldn't, obviously! She may have seen what she was doing and wanted so badly to stop how she was behaving, but when you are in the throws of an episode, it isn't so easy to just turn off the actions.

A lot of people with mental illness turn to drugs and alcohol to try and drown out the voices, the behavior, the actions, and thoughts that burn the mind. I was a heavy drinker and drug abuser in my youth because all I wanted was to stop the voices that pounded in my mind 24/7. Instead of looking at Amanda and saying to yourself, "bitch be crazy." Ask yourself, what if that were me? Mental illness does not discriminate. It does not care what your religious preferences are. It doesn't care the plans you made for the future. When it appears, it will try to destroy you. It taps into every reserve you have just to hold it together DAILY. It's exhausting. It is literally physically exhausting to live with mental illness. Anyone can recover from physical exhaustion with enough bed rest. But for those who live with and suffer from mental illness, that exhaustion never leaves because we spend our entire day just trying to hold ourselves in one piece to keep house, to work, to spend time with our loved ones, to be ok. We go to bed and can't sleep because our minds do not stop. And that only exacerbates the symptoms. It's a cycle vicious in nature and rarely are these things ever alleviated.

I remember a movie Diana Ross did so many years ago about mental illness. She played a woman who was pretty much out of control until she found a doctor who could help her and did help her. She got medication and treatment and was able to function again. One day she went to the corner store for a sandwich and a soft drink and on her way in she saw a homeless woman standing outside tending her cart with obvious OCD tendencies and she was talking to herself. While she was checking out the cashier made a comment about the woman standing outside. He was cruel and not at all empathetic. On her way back to her car she stopped by the woman and gave her her sandwich. That small gesture may have seemed small to anyone watching the movie who did not have mental illness, but that kind of kindness is rare for those of us who suffer from it. That is why I have a YouTube channel and a blog, to educate people about mental illness and why it is NOT funny.

I'm not sure when apathy became cool but it's sad and pathetic. We live in a cookie cutter society where one person looks exactly like the next and they say the same things and believe the same things and not one person can think for themselves. How sad is that? If people stopped for a second and took their faces out of the phones and saw the world for the reality it is, their minds would implode. Yes, reality sucks sometimes, but its honest.

Going to the Chapel (or City Hall) and we're Going to Get Married..... Same Sex Marriage

When I was 18, I was part of a group called GPA (Gay People's Alliance) in Normal, IL. Oh the Irony. We would do speaker bureaus to educate students at Illinois State University on homosexuals. We would speak to psychology majors during the part of the semester where they would learn about human sexuality. Our goal was to show people, especially those entering the field where they help people.

One of the things I was so shocked by was the pure anger and hate that came from some people. They hated us because we were gay; no other reason. They expressed in creative ways exactly how much we were destroying the world by our existence and how we were the fault of every bad thing that happened in the world. What they always failed to see, and even to this day, is that gay people, for the most part, about 99.99% of us are extremely docile. We are always the ones on the defensive, staving off verbal and physical attacks against us by people preaching and proclaiming they are acting in the way of god; any god.

Sadly, because of all the negativity I felt from those people, and after doing the bureaus for about two years, I just could not take the anger anymore and I stopped. Shortly after I met my first serious girlfriend, someone I would be with for six years, and though not legal, we did get "married."

During our time together, we watched our kind get killed, lesbians raped to change them, two men I knew died from complications from AIDS, and the gay revolution began. We lived near Champaign, IL. and it was very progressive compared to Bloomington/Normal where I grew up. We still faced hatred. I recall one evening, my then wife and I were walking through the parking lot of the mall, not bothering anyone, not talking to anyone, holding hands, and just enjoying an evening with mild weather and a sky full of stars. We walked by a car loaded with young women who were talking to each other but fell quiet when we walked by. We didn't let go of our hands but walked with heads held high and soon we heard them making gagging sounds and then one of them pretended to shot us.

Fast forward to 1996 when I moved to California. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my entire life. Moving there was like clipping the strings that bound my being and I could finally breath. The whole time I lived there I never faced issues with me being gay. It was incredible. I loved every minute I was there. But it wasn't meant to be and I left January 4th, 2000 and soon after I moved to Pooler, Georgia. It was close to Savannah but the culture shock was very apparent. And being gay was frowned upon. I missed my mother ship known as California but on July 7th, 2000 I met the woman who would become the love of my life.

When I say she is my One, my equal counter part, my love and my life, I am not exaggerating in the least. For everything weird quirk I may have, she offers a balance that keeps me grounded. In this entire world, she is the One. September 9th, 2000 we exchanged vows, making promises we have kept, and in our hearts we were married. Because then it wasn't legal anywhere. Then in 2003 it became legal in Belgium, then in 2005 Canada, in 2007 Germany, 2009 Sweden. But in June, 2004, it became legal in Massachusetts and the wild fire began to burn. Soon, one country after the next was passing same-sex marriage bills, and slowly, every so slowly in the United States, one state after the next started to pass similar bills while others passed bans. But what astonished me was not the states that banned same-sex marriage, but the ones that passed it. In 25 years from doing speaker bureaus to watching television and crying at the thought that I too could get married to someone I loved even though it would not be recognized in any other state made me feel that the revolution had picked up steam and was NOT... WAS NOT going to settle for crumbs while straight couples got the buffet.

Fast forward to September, 2013. The United States, months after declaring that keeping gays from marrying was unconstitutional, declared that gay couples who got married legally within the U.S. could now file joint Federal Taxes. Why is that a big deal? Why should anyone care? Because, a gay couple will pay 38,000 dollars more in taxes every year than a straight who are together for the same length of time. Melissa and I have been together for 13 years. We are still, in the words of our friends, in the honeymoon stage. We are still very much in love, very committed to each other, and very eager to share our lives together. So, on September 9th, 13 years after we had our commitment ceremony, we got our legal marriage license in Niagara Falls, NY. On September 10th we will be legally married. We will finally be recognized as a couple.

I started to cry after we got the license because it took 25 years, 25 long years, for this day to happen. In my life time I am experiencing this first hand and I will know, finally what it feels like to have my government consider me real and equal and protected.

One final note that deserves to be shared. When we went to city hall and filed for our license, we were met with congratulations and kindness. When we went out to dinner and shared why we were in NY, we were met with the same. Attitudes change, everything changes. And even though it may take a while and in some cases a long while, do not lose heart.