DREAM STATING

DREAM STATING
During the apogee of my post-trauma remembering’s, my bi-annual clinician launched me on a powerful and dulling rhythm of anti-seizure medications. I would like to note that this is not an uncommon treatment for anyone who may experience a multitude of intense manifestations similar to those that were punching through the floodgates of my nervous system at that time. This was at the peak of my post-traumatic nightmares an aphotic period of time which I mostly documented as intrusive and harsh. I had been experiencing progressively persistent sensory attacks, flashbacks or “mares.” Vivid memory recalls in both my hours of wake and slumber. Seemingly without warning proving disruptive in all aspects of my life. Graphic sensations would own me leaving me pummeled, ripped, restrained, and ravaged in ways not fit for print in romance novels or tabloids.

Circumstances and obligations that were once perceived as routine began to feel like extraordinary feats to be reached. Consistent employment, morning walks down familiar avenues, as well as afternoons strolls through favored parks had become insurmountable projects according to the reprogramed logic of my body and mind. So too where rides on public transit, visits to the local supermarket, communication with strangers and dating which remained in a cubby of incomprehensible for years to come. These experiences were not always impossible with attentive preparations, extreme meditation and awkward bouts of hyper-con awareness.

Numerous were the days in which I slipped into slow contemplative states of humiliation after “sensed” disturbances. I often felt awkward, pounced upon, and self-conscious. Recurrently mornings began with feelings of circumspection, fear sometimes grappling with terror. As evenings somber shades would near, a wrecked ego’s critical self-review of both real and assumed behaviors would leave me in a state of abashment. Often inducing an organic calmative – a torpor of escape would then set me to rest at times for days on end.

I took solace knowing that my protective higher self had been preparing me to lastly face much of my previously concealed traumatic retrospections. Only a few up until this time had seeped out slowly. The most powerfully impactful had remained safely locked in a vault for safekeeping until I was ready to process them. As more began to release, I thought I may be, at last, ready for an assuagement of all that had haunted me to begin. I was set for anything offered in aiding me in a process of additional curing. Including a PTSD tablet regimen, one used on Veterans emotionally fractured by war. After a slow dose build layered over an easement of weeks, I began to notice a mitering of symptoms.  Quietly “Believed” violent attacks from my bed sheets to streets had begun to decrease, in ways that were increasingly numbing to my flesh and head evoking a subconscious state of peace. Inching forward I prepared myself for the next level of living, loving and healing.

I knew that there would be more work to be done with hallucinations of blood streaming down both my legs still taking place. As to where sporadic gasps for air bursting forth from lungs at attackers who no longer existed in my immediate physical world. (an old story to old readers) Simultaneously, I was experiencing the dawning of the age of Topiramate, this would be the expansion of my emotional oxygen tent. To provide a bit of understanding this medication had been created to slow the inner warfare of trauma patients from reaching their conscious core. In other words a flashback blocker, a dream stopper. With hope I could now clot the blood from flowing down, ease my gasps while softening thoughts just enough to rejuvenate maybe even replenish my future vision plan. Only later would I stop to ask myself how much would this privilege cost and how long would I have to pay?

For those who may be kind enough to have read thus far. Or working through scenarios such as trauma loss or an acute life adjustment. Medication and therapy are tremendous tools when appropriately accessed and monitored. Please do not take any of the following statements as a deterrent from professional care. Many of my writings are based on and about my own life’s experiences a series of micro-blip-autobigroies. As always extract what resonates and allow whats left to rest. I personally have found that a healthful dose of self-awareness married with a regime of meditation, writing, soul flexing and seeking has brought about my greatest sense of fulfillment and wellbeing. I am not here to debate philosophies or medical science each person is unique and capable of making their own decisions on personal wellness. I believe that whatever tools may work for an individual is all that matters. Tools are tools, knowledge is knowledge and intuition is intuition. Go for what is good for you, elevate yourself live free of judgment and do it fearlessly.

I think I will always question why the “inner” work that a person may choose to do. Is often the last to be emphasized or rarely discussed on many paths of recovery by a variety of professionals. For myself, these where the goods that transported my mind, body, and spirit on a continuum of sustainable sanity, wellness, agility, hope, and growth. My adventures to the land of mend had primarily been supported from within as I moved onward towards recovery prompting a total reboot.

FAST FORWARD
Oftentimes I arrive at a deeper understanding of our global society through an affable process of self-examination. Looking at relevant excerpts of my own self-history as needed or desired. As the birth of 2019 neared, I began a new elicitation of self-awakenings. I choose to spend my time wisely reigniting my personal pursuit for individual truth while evolving my broader perception of humankind. By opening my eyes, ears, and vibration to the faces, spaces, and happenings both around and within me. Through these actions, I was able to delve deep into the compassionate pockets of my overcoat of empathy. Arriving at a kinder place of social, psychological, and spiritual dexterity.

This is when my appetite to launch an investigative plunge had begun to stir. I started to question precisely what this tiny compound had been doing for me and how it had impacted my daily life. Shortly thereafter an innocent mishap materialized at my pharmacy, an ordinary delay with an ordinary order began to stretch. This was my prompting to dive deeper into my initial reactionary phase of feelings.

I began to ask myself a series of the why’s and whats. Why had I been “crashing out” so easily each day? Why would I lose my thoughts so swiftly? What had happened to the me that once used to be? Shouldn’t I be back to who I really am by now? I even questioned my unusual hair loss “Why is my hair thinning with a family history on either side of guerrilla heads!?!” Gradually I ceased absorbing all of the blame for my questions as I had been doing. Blame taking is often the case for the overly responsible survivors of trauma and rape. As the “it was my fault” mentality lingers in one’s vibration for some time post-trauma even without knowing. Then it hit me- could the answers to these whys and whats lie within this substance they call Topiramate?

I initiated a research project with fractured determination. As I had already begun my self authorized partial un-medicating rooted in trust and intuition. This modification had left me shaky at first mind you a detox like any detox has a price to pay. My first days up to two weeks cost me a manageable toll. At times severe edginess, nervousness, paranoia, swings of moods appetite and rest. I was a bit of a mess, but my test turned out to be well worth the jumble and lack of rest. *please note that I performed this process with the assistance of a friend.

I decided to dig deep with my investigation deeper than my usual Google scratch, sniff, and scroll. I immersed myself in American and British medical journals along with random related articles. What I had been looking for were facts, not faceless internet reviews. I experienced disheartenment to uncover little data to support the effectiveness of this medication in regards to trauma patients. I stumbled upon numerous articles by independent professionals stating strikingly similar tones of view. There had been little evidence to back this medication, for my needs and this actually felt right, I was ok with this. What poked my intrigue, was passing past quotes that read “do not prescribe to patients who are interested in maintaining an engaged lifestyle.”  These read like neon signs to me, bold and blaring felt and hot. Followed by repeat recommendations to bypass informing patients of the side effects of dullness and no longer being interested in life. I sensed I was onto something meaningful at this stage of discovery.

I was relieved to uncover a few key answers to why I had been feeling defeated with my extended internal living experiences. And why I had been feeling helplessly fastened in place for longer than what seemed logical or even valid. Perhaps some readers may be able to identify. You see I had been determinedly pro-active in my attempts to return to living a gainfull life something that was becoming increasingly unattainable. An investigation into the cause of my frustrations unmasked a few answers to my questions, through a mishap with deliberate conviction found what I had been seeking.

One of the reasons I never received an explanation of what this alleviant is proposed to do to one’s brain. Is because professionals are instructed not to do so by big pharma. Why? because it would be a deterrent for patients taking this medication. I know that this is an understandable situation. Many patients may reject many healthful drugs out of fear of side effects and not benefit from the positive effects. The bottom line is, all patients have a right to know ALL the facts and statistics about ALL medications.

What I most felt upset about was that for the past few years, I have communicated clearly with three of the separate prescribing physicians. I let them know that I had cut one of my other medications down to less than half of its original prescribed dosage. Only later through my own research had I found out that this medication to which I am focused on here was/is to be also prescribed proportionately to the other. I have always been honest about my medication regimens, diet, etc., I have discussed my dosage dismantling, yet not one prescribing doctor had either cared about this mathematical difference or caught it. However, it is something I believe any reader here would have noticed with a bit of rudimentary research.

The whack of it all is, I have been taking a highly disproportionate amount of this mind-numbing, body dumbing medication for at two to three years. 100% not my choice and not with my direct knowledge through discussion. I’ve been zapped of enthusiasm and faking my way through most of my days to remain engaged in life. It seems that I have been finished with the main stage production of my trip to trauma town for some time now. Yet numbed as if it were still a Saturday night production.

My greatest irritation over these vanishing seasons me has been an absence of zest. Waking each day living with disinterest as my physical consistency waivered. As my mind vacillated in clouds of mental fatigue. I would fumble with forgetfulness creating a doubtful existence questioning who I had become. Losing momentum or “crashing out”  quickly on most days convincing myself as I fizzled by 10 or 11 in the morning that I had simply become lazy and no longer vital. Then I would rise again come mid-afternoon, only to lose it again around 2 or 3. It was a liken to a predictable lackluster mood swing in which frustration was the culprit placing me onto the edge of snap. Naps ate up days like summer ants on snacks. At this stage of my age, I knew well the difference between depression, slumber, and unexplained sleep. But when you are exhausted and in it, you just can’t think.

Only recently had I noticed the correlation tween my dosing schedule and circulating crashes. My memory loss frustration was crushing my confidence and I reached a conclusion that I could no longer envision myself holding another “normal” job. I was beginning to wonder, how much of my memory loss was due to trauma, addiction due to trauma or my malaise caused by Topiramate which was killing my momentum? My new trauma seemed to be anti trauma therapy far after my trauma memories and reactions had left me.

My gut had been nagging at me, telling me that all of the above may be related to this medication. But as many of us know we trust our doctors or don’t want to be a bother. After all, we are only the patient, we don’t have a degree, we only know how we feel. I had intuitively been pulling myself of other medications for outdated diagnosis that I knew no longer defined me. I had been correct and successful in doing so. Now I wondered, what if I was correct about my current definition of self by another? I felt that this was the time for me to take self-action and ownership of who I wished to be from this moment on. I no longer was a victim of trauma, gang rape, or addiction. I was now the survivor of a medication that was depleting my world of life.

Please hear me loud and clear, I am not an advocate (sort of) for self un-medicating or self-medicating unless you are a highly self-aware person an honest person with yourself and others, void of delusion and have assistance. Please Note I Am Obviously Not A Doctor.

Shortly after splitting my dose in half my energy began to elevate and balance roughly to what it once had been and continues to do so. My sense of self-worth has dramatically increased in part to the following. I am enjoying an ample supply of returned memories, a joy of daily activities, proper use of language, an appreciation of life, general vibrancy, renewed interest, and finally a return of glorious concentration. Simple pleasures spark my light remaining awake throughout my days, and reading books with comprehension again feels like a miracle. My life vision is returning and I say returning because I feel it is an ongoing process.

The most exciting part of my controlled experiment is a return of dreams. I have not had any dreams in a very long time. This drug was designed to squash dreams, bad dreams (a good thing for severe trauma). I have finally begun to dream again consistently, intuitively, deeply and creatively. I have dreams like I use to and none of them are the nightmares that I once had. Some are technicolor fantasies and some are dumb as can be.

Again I am aware that this drug has and continues to serve its purpose and for this I am appreciative. Yet I wonder when did the purpose to my prescribed alleviation come to an end. What would the reason be so why not one trained professional had spoken to me about the maintenance of medication or how my neuropathways where being rerouted, trained, spark and manipulated. Why would highlighting weight loss on this tablet be the of the utmost important factor to over explain to this patient? Why is weight loss the primary point the pharmaceutical companies encouraged prescribing doctors to sell to patients when it comes to trauma? Obviously, it sells the drug “everyone would like to lose weight.”

I wonder how many days of opportunities I had missed, how many inspirational moments I slept through. I began to wonder what my clearly vibrant subconscious self had been trying to communicate. And what other people may be going through and what better options there are for the future. Again I think medications are powerfully wonderful tools, but there must be communication. We live in a world filled with options, they should all be available and many of them are right in front of us, even within us. Medication is only one option of deliverance.

We live in a very big little world, I profoundly believe in the human experience and the strength each individual holds. I believe that one of the greatest superpowers that any given individual holds is the power of choice. The power to look within, the power to question, the power to feel, the power to be still and look within. The power to ask questions, the power to trust and the power to help another human being as we explore, process and grow on our own paths in life. I believe we all know what it is that is best for us deep down inside, I have learned for myself time and time again. Everything and everyone else is only here to support us in our choices on our journeys. But it all comes down to honesty with ourselves first.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt
(Paintings by Jordan Sokol

Yet to Fully Break

At last, I am becoming anchored in a calmed position of new awareness. No longer romanticizing Monday morning rituals, fashioning sheets to crisp perfection, while degreasing his four poster bed.

I can still remember the overstuffed ashtrays that filled every vacant tabled edge of his apartment, strangely this memory makes me smile. At the same time, knowing the permeating dimensionality of the clutter and smell that was part of this hypnotic space has created a haunting imprint within me. I regret to report as the power of this hold lifts from me, it is leaving me emotionally disjointed.

With eyes soothed to a close, I can feel his bare feet resting on top of my naked legs. I imagine myself kneeling before him, folding freshly laundered sox’s to a tweaked perfection. With fluctuating shame, I admit in my private mind, that I habitually lust after our dead recollections. My nerves begin to tense and recoil in regret, I hate all of our razor edged memories and begin to release them one slash at a time. Yet I let them back in over and over throughout time.

Often I crave the warm and intense moments that we once shared, but those were few in comparison. As truth nears the abandon rooms of my mind, tacking reminders to it’s warm edges of denial. I slowly remember the endless activities, escapades, and events that I despised so intensely. Especially those with strangers, many against my will often ending in conclusive falsehoods. But it is the hypnotic influence of your voice and the constant wrestling between detachment and connection, conflict and heaven, no and yes. And of course one more slam, one more hit, three days running from electric to death. Addiction, regret, sex, fantasy, rushes, drugs, decay, death, filth, and rock with no soul.

To this day your vocal cords continue to twist up around my mind, a strangle hold of control. I won’t glorify my version of the stalkings as I recall them, I admit this would not be fare. They are also too painful to reflect on and present, I choose now to detach. I believe your tactics may have oddly worked, I jerk most days thinking of you. I wonder if this twisted brain wash choke hold will ever fully dissolve to an infinite fade.

Unthinkable, not one soul I know would wager that you could break the unbreakable. It has been a few 365’s. Again I ponder hard, was it the drugs? the sex? or was it simply a pile of misaligned and jumbled circumstances that happened to fall into place. Either way, I try to live by no guilt no shame no blame…

I have to ask myself, do I even hear what I am saying? do I even know what I am thinking, do I read what I am writing. I do – the loop does get thinner, it does get better, but it has yet to break.

RUNT

INTIMATE FRONTIERS

 

One of the final frontiers left on my trauma recovery trail is intimacy without thoughts of chemical crutches. Through my adventures I have come to fully appreciate, embrace, understand and honor the impact trauma has had on my sexual unraveling. As I continue to mend the last of my obscure life interruptions. My approach has remained sensitive yet expeditious to right what feels wrong within. 

Sex and intimacy are two subjects that have been increasingly seeking attention within my mending psyche. Like all matters of internal importance, when the time arrives for me to heal and release them. I experience what I describe as an electrical itch or a soft urgency. Overtime I’ve “plugged” into my own inner clatter of sub-current speak. I do my best to listen and react knowing that my higher self has prepared me to move onward. 

I then begin a sensitive and respectful process of analyzation. Followed by my spiritual and human work, whatever feels right at the time. Before I know it issues begin to dissolve and release. Once the wheels are in motion matters mend rather fast. Through this wonderful mashed up journey of mine. I have been afforded the gift of heightened personal awareness. Along with a desire to take ownership and action of what many of us call our “personal truth”. What was once a process based on fearful hesitation is now rooted in joyful anticipation. I mend most issues fairly swiftly these days. Rather than pushing them off onto endless task lists. No longer do I treat my life as a chore, I am excited to experience change. I am now a participant in my own life, no longer a by-stander. 

Since the experience of my rape in 2011. Intimacy without chemicals has been a seemingly impossible situation to conquer. I have abstained from sex for just over six months now. Living in fear of flesh, sex and slamming is not a life time solution. It is what I choose to do for this period of time. 

Sex for the time being is not worth the price of admission. Not if the cost of entry is possible death by meth. I am not against the use of drugs, let me make this clear. I am not the moral police, I think drugs can be a hell of a lot of fun. Or…

Speaking only for myself, rape and crystal meth addiction took me to the darkest of spaces. They nearly took everything from me, they both left me for dead. My body mind and spirt felt like a peasant beaten in the dark of night by authorities in a third world country. Bloody, cold, unvalued, forgotten, not even a statistic… Just another discarded gutter fag. 

CURRENT TRUTH
Messages of intimacy continue to erupt around me. In my thoughts, my art, dialogues, writings and meditations. At a gallery opening this Saturday past, the subject of rape was a topic shared in private between several woman and I. As they asked questions about my photography and the subject matter. The images are a reflection of my mending experience after my gang rape. The images specifically encapsulate the “middle space” of my healing process, post darkness. When light begins to re-enter ones life. They are about the comfort of being SAFE. The tears flowed from a few of the women’s eyes. As they shared with me their own intimate tales of assault. One woman spoke of her experience for the very first time. 

An earthy sophisticate in her early 70’s described a terrified and obviously determined 10 year old girl. She had kept locked deep within safe from family, authorities and monsters. A fragile child never allowed to be speak for all these years. I was deeply honored that she felt SAFE to share her story. I stood with her as she held my hand I shared some of my accumulated perspectives. Along with a few tools that have helped me on my path. She had no tools 60 years past in rural Indiana. “He did the crime, I received the life sentence” she confided. For me this marked the beginning of the end of a long drawn awareness cycle. Or the opening to the closing of my intimacy release.  

CONTINUED OPENING TO A CLOSE
The following evening while on a rare venture to a club here in Chicago. I was busy doing my usual hoof and shuffle. Through thud and base while gagging on “fog juice.” I was approached by an extremely good looking and sexually aggressive young man. Although I declined his repeated advances. Intimacy triggers sparked through the epicenter of my pulsing brain. In general I do not “hook up” with folks I meet in clubs. This evening was no exception, I performed my usual twirl, cocktail and escape.

Not being able to figure out my emotions of the moment. I climbed from basement dance-hall in search of cab or sub-rail to destination home. That is when I had a snap second of desire. The desire was not sex, meat to hole. Although I had a nano-nag thought about companionship. Triggered by the handsome Mr. Generation next. My side saddle urge was to score a “teen” of  little wicked Tina. Then pop a rocket into my vein, this was not about getting high. This was about the demolition of fear and emotional retardation. I thank GAG (God Angels and Guides) for awareness, this is the key to all growth and recovery to all situations in my life. Ooh, sweet golden awareness, how I love thee.

Many men I know use crystal meth to take a sexual experience to a level of epic distortions. This was not my goal, my hope was to drop my own barrier walls. To be comfortable enough to allow another man to touch me, breath on and or in me. Most importantly to allow myself to reach out and be sensually connected. “Formal” sex was not a part of my conscious check list. My other objective was to be high enough to drop my sarcasm and humor. Often my defense mechanism when uncomfortable. 

This all sounds pretty basic, right? Passionate, tender heated, embracing, verbal one on one love. Love and communication without fear, free of hesitation void of calculated actions. Not so easy at this stage of recovery, difficult enough in daily life. Nearly impossible when rank and raw. I am getting there, patience is the other golden gift. 

This is not about body parts or geometry. This is about heart, head, flesh compassion and intuition. This formula use to be a part of my core approach to connective communication. Actually, it is still a part of who I am, it always will be. I proudly own this nugget of my personality. No matter how dormant it may be during this period of my semi-muffled sexual resurrection.

None of this is new, it is all part of the life detour recovery game. I am not special with this one, millions of us do it everyday. Anyone who is a champion in this accelerated course of Trauma 101 understands these various stages or repair. We all have our own pace and our own ways of making it through. I feel the shift, I see the horizon, I feel that this current veil has almost lifted.

Many I know in formal recovery programs would react to the very thought of sex and meth as a red flag. Naturally for many it probably should be, thats not my story. For me it was a 5 second cause to pause. It reenforced all that has been coming to the surface as I continue to move through these final frontiers. I realize now how much I have restored in my life. Just how much of me has come home to this temple of flesh no longer in decay. Recovery of any form in my eyes has zero timelines. It requires love, patients and personal sensitivity. It takes as many moments as needed to pause and shift up the game plan. Write your own rules or co-author with someone you trust not with someone you are suppose to trust.

All of our stories are important just as our lives are. We share our stories so we may heal. We also share our stories because this is how we help another human being in their journey. We each have a profoundly unique message and gifts in this lifetime. We each have our own platforms to use our voice. It may not be a lecture hall filled with Ted Talks fans, a blog, or big media presentations. It may be listing to your neighbor, being sensitive to a stranger on the street. Or finally being brave enough to let down our guard and be authentic with your partner a friend or even a family member. In these days of electronics that I adore, lets not forget the magic and power each of us harness.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

 

Intimate Frontiers

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This conversation continues, based on my perspectives and experiences through rape and recovery. My intention with these conversations is to encourage an understanding of what the act of rape actually is like for many of us. More importantly the process of recovery and living an abundant better and brighter life through the process.

No rape or trauma experience is the same, yet there are many similierties in the after effects and after care. Within the soft walls of these talks I share my concepts of love and recovery.

This particular talk is designed for those who may be supporting a loved loved one on the mend. And finding it difficult to understand the emotional shut downs or “triggers” behind a projected emotional illusional exterior.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A BRIGHTER UNDERSTANDING PART II

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A RETURN of PUNK ROCOCO

THE RETURN of PUNK ROCOCO and THE SWISH MAN
Material goods do matter to each of us, I suppose. In various volumes, intervals and sizes.

This week I rewarded myself, with what I consider to be an insanely delicious find. Falling perfectly within the spectrum of my palette of 10,000 shades of taste. A sweet gold rimmed, floral dusted 60 piece plus antique dinnerware set. Including traditional borscht size bowls and all the service pieces. With storage bags and custom cut protectors for creamer, sugar bowl, butter plates, relish dishes, pie servers and such. Offered up at a generous price, wrapped with tender loving care. As if I where any other customer at my place of employment. For the first time in years I felt like a “norm” member of functioning society.

Oddly, I emotionally tripped out for a few days in a entirely new way. “Poor me,” I caught myself in a cloud of old thought splatters. “I have no storage to store these pieces, when will I ever have a place to call my own home again?” “Poor me, boo-hoo” the conversation continued within. “I have no one to cook for and no kitchen to cook in with no presentable space to serve”. …

Reality check dude, gentle calm comes as the rivers of progress and light flow. Showers of gratitude relax the mind and soul. This is no longer a trip of baggage or drudgery. Although this mini expenditure commanded four trips of escort to see this snappy-set back to the abode where I stay. After all this was a labor of reward and love.

One more time, as often the case. I breathed in a breath and exhaled slow, accessing the truth of my current state. It was time for one of my progress inventory self evaluations to put things in perspective. This always gives me clarity and confidence. Allowing me to return to my core determination, without force or friction. I then began to visualize the future, bathed in glorious possibilities.

I remind myself, it really does not matter how many pauses there may be on the road tween now and forever. Forward motion is an action of many movements. Sometimes part of action arrives in the form of a pause. Even periodic steps of reverse movement, a concept I have become understanding of over time. Momentary backward steps are where I have learned my most valued lessons. I have become grateful for any periodic hick-ups.

Life need not be difficult, but awareness sometimes arrives through the struggle of figuring “it” out. As the mind, spirit and core-self stretches it functions much like a muscle, in the body becoming stronger and expansive.

Throughout all these motions of learning I try my best remain aware. That there is continuous, mass life magic unfolding around me. I remind myself to always be sensitive to this fact. Each day I thank the forces that I engage with. Also I have learned to take time to thank myself for both the large and little steps along the way.

NO SNATCH
It can be easy to slip into the travesty of re-victimization of ones past. For myself, trauma at times has left me feeling as if everything in my life could be snatched away at any given moment. This is a lie, permeated deep into my nervous system, mind and flesh. From past events that no longer need be my truth. That moment has past, ownership of the present and future now rest proudly within my own palms.

The on and off again retraining of heart and head can be kick ass fun. As the blanket of lies of previous beliefs unravel. Powerful new truths are spun and revealed throughout each day. What I love, and what I have learned along my rape and trauma recovery trip is. I do not ever have to live as I have post-trauma or even pre-trauma again. I can live a life WAY BETTER than the life I had ever known at ANY TIME in my PAST. From birth through my tomorrows-

The true beauty of my life catastrophe, is it has stripped me naked of every illusion of learned living. I have decided to refinish my life and re-stain it the way I see fit. I have decided to Re-master and re-mix the livin’ cluck out of it. And that is pretty fricking awesome. I am still laying down the tracks, like all of this life it is a work in progress. I am slowly nailing it with a loving heart and at times an uncertain mind.

MURK-SKID
Now when my head slips into murky thought. I find myself on the mend, swift and quick after each dark dip. The plunges are shorter, darkness is lighter and the length of less frequent trips has contracted. These days I catch myself before I hit any deep trenches. If I do hit a what feels like and oncoming dark skid. I find them to be nothing compared to the hells of past detours. I actually giggle a bit when a pop flash moment passes over me with it’s dark soul sap. Now it feels much more like a cleansing rain in comparison to the past pain experiences. These moments now tend to last seconds, minutes or an evening, tops. Mad applause, mad progress and nods of acknowledgment to the forces above, around and within as always.

This morning I felt a need to snap a few shots of my new fancy-ass dinnerware. To prime my mind with inspiration and remember that I have options in life. Once more I may return to the days of “PUNK ROCOCO” and dine in service. In the early 90’s, my urban cabin rocked from floorboards to rooftop. With a decor of vibrance and whim, often wanted I’ve lusted refine and re-explore this this side of my nesting visions. But I have been to scattered, to afraid and filled with self doubt. Now I am finally free to redesign all segments of living body, spirit and house. To entertain seems like nothing to some, after living in fear of people for the past four years or longer this is a massive goal. I am now ready to open the eventual doors of home now that the shutters of my heart are unshackled once more.

The greatest gift of my queer “SWISH” heritage (terms of my choosing). Is being proud of slapping together a mash up of razor sharp living with no apologies. Dripping with gold leaf, flounce and fleur de lis, along with crisp clean lines or whatever design collisions rock my trousers on any given day.

I now understand that I/we/anyone can live the best life possible. Unstoppable are we, nothing is unreachable, yes perhaps proper time may be needed. But our dreams, desires, and determinations are all in the works with our chosen intentions in motion. With our best interest at universal heart. We can live our highest truth and achieve our perspective joy.

At work I don’t believe anyone knows my full story, that is probably best. Only bits, chips and a few word droppings… not many in my “real” life know the full spun tail either, perhaps to much to digest for some. The mind gags with what it can not digest, as always I understand we are only human. I don’t think many can possibly understand. When a man looses everything, simple gestures of fulfillment can fill voids unexpectedly. (gratitude reflective smile)

Even I did not know how much one set of silly frilly dishes could mean to one boy. Who now uses the word man more than I ever thought I would. My grannie dishes symbolize more than a material purchase. Eventually filling a cabinet or being a beautiful presentation piece for a home spun feast. They are a represent progress, hope, recovery, discovery, and symbolic marker of rebirth and a return to a higher self.

Funny, suddenly I have a strong desire to serve salmon. With a side dish salad sound track of Edward Scissor hands, Berlioz, Richard Hell, Sex Pistols and Miss Patsy Cline. Along with a guest list of many for a dinner divine.

Through this experience I humbly have a greater understanding of the importance of my job. A not for profit resale shop. Helping the HIV and queer/trans community here in this City of Wind. A place I may not have normally visualized myself employed at. In a city I normally would not have chosen to return to. If not for the circumstance of a soul implosion.   I do believe there is a reason for everything, always with my choice to opt in or out.

For our clients and self as well, what may seem to be a simple and unimportant purchases. Really can give a lift, shift and roll to an individuals perspective on life and self value. When you have lost dignity, spirit, home, health, body, self worth and mind just to name a few. A bushel of dishes and a kind gesture can go a long way.

NO SHAME GAME
Some shame the need or desire for material goods. I feel there is nothing wrong with decor or a frock uplifting a spirit or boosting ones worth. Actually I no longer believe in most forms of shame. I do agree with many who feel it is the decadence and sole reliance on only the material. That leeds to spiritual, emotional and social debt. These are the track marks of imbalance up the decaying arm of society. Leaving one greedy not quenched, hooked and always needing more. I am quenched and I wish to fill many a goblet-cheers and may we all pass a gift along. Of spirit, coin or deed.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A RETURN of PUNK ROCOCO and THE SWISH MAN

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Through my own experiences of loss and attraction. Both of friendships and family, as I have flowed jagged and soft through my journey of rape, trauma, addiction, self re-discovery and life expansion. I have felt moved to open up and document these sessions. These talks are based primarily on my own experiences with a clear understanding that many of us who are reclaiming our minds, bodies, emotions, sexualities and the rest of our lives. Share many common bounds as we ascend our chosen greater paths of living once more.

These particular talks are designed for those who may offer up open hearts and hands. Assisting a loved one on their journey and finding the process of healing sluggish, frustrating and confusing and perhaps not understanding why healing and a return to a “normal” life is not taking place as you find fit. Or in the time frame that is within your expectations.

These talks are from a s survivors perspective in hopes of providing a fresh layer of understanding. One that may not always be able to be taught by Flat text reading. Sometimes, no matter how empathetic an individual may be. It can be very difficult to fully understand the pain of another without the experience of rape and trauma. I wish my gang rape upon no one, nor the wicked trip to needle park.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A BRIGHTER UNDERSTANDING PART I

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On Monday, July 27th 2015, I experienced my first and last methamphetamine drug overdose. The result of a dinner date gone wrong, or right depending on your perspective. This reflective snippet flows outward following a month of vibrant spiritual experiences. I suppose it is true, you have to die to see the light. I came close enough and now all feels right.

On July 23rd I put out a request, or as they say an intention, to the Universe-my God-my Source. A request to deliver a speed round of events (no pun intended) of life lessons. A sort of “lets get the show on the road” kind of thing. To finally wrap up this dragging chapter of trauma and addiction. The time had come to move on with living, teaching and enjoying this awesome life.

I seem to cycle on the magic number of three, I don’t know why I just do. Three days later, on July 27th the Universe delivered in full force. With a dinner date, admittedly somewhere within my subconscious I had some questions marks floating around it. In all sober truth I knew there was a possibility of a “slam bam” time (using drugs).

I fooled myself, after all this was a date with a prominent psychiatrist. A man well known and successful, what could possibly go wrong? We both where attracted to each other for being decent guys. Supposedly neither of us where “game players.” Just two real men who found each other “trustworthy” “refreshing” and all of that. Well enough of the denial fantasy talk-lol

Instead of Pork Chops and romance I had been left for dead. Soon to reside at the Weiss Memorial ICU for the next four days. And so my spiritual catapult began, as always I never regret any moment of my journey!

Certainly I had to wrap my head around knowing my mom at the age of 82 had to see her son for the first and only time in the ICU. Wired to life saving contraptions, heart leaping from chest muscles and mind literally being eaten away by chemicals. I was beyond completely freaked the fucked out on drugs-insanity.

We had not spoken since December, I can’t imagine a reunion much more dramatic or painful. Than to receive a call that your 52 year old child is possibly going to die from an overdose, please come immediately. Fortunately she really does not understand what meth is all about. Denial and lack of knowledge can be marvelous copping tools. Along with the calming effects of my loving younger brother supporting her on the scene.

This would be the one moment I wish I could alter out of everything. To erase a my mothers grievous moment of pain, fear and sorrow. Although if not for this relatively short exchange of pain.Our relationship that has been in constant strain would not have mended as it has. Years of generational scars have evaporated within in weeks. Funny how tragedy heals suddenly you realize how silly so many things are in life. And love is love and the rest really doesn’t matter.

NOW ONTO THE POST OVERDOSE REFLECTION: I Am Safe

The door to who I am opened and I surrendered, I let go. It felt so right to finally let it all out. 
The door remains open, now I know all that I ever need is already here. Lastly I understand the undiluted meaning of trust. I am free, I have let go of fear and I have let go of all assumed debts to my spiritual self.

From childhood to now, all illusions of suffering, self forgiveness, guilt, and judgment have been dissolved. My extensive list of self critiques has been released. My mass collection of “whatever’s” from others, the list of ancient artifacts gathered over the years. Have not been forgotten, its as if they never existed. Boom back to birth, I am free no worries. I take comfort in knowing I am ok designed exactly as I am, with all the talents and attributes that I have been given. Every worry, all bullshit, all self editing has been lifted.

In pure God Speed style, I have liberated my need for acceptance and rejection. Never had I a thing to prove, never a thing to loose. On occasion I had been told this, but how could it be true? Not until reconciled could I let go, now I have no restrictions and no rules, life is so fucking cool. My core is my compass as it always has been.

At last peace, calm and serenity comfort me, I now know I am abundantly safe. That I am loved, I am perfect just as I am, just as we all are. I let go of all anger and doubt, along with everything I have ever been taught. Embracing everything I intuitively known, returning to original intelligence and instincts the same I have had since before I could crawl. Isn’t life funny, really it just cracks me up sometimes-peace.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt-lil Big R

SAFE

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LIFE IS FUCKING COOL
With mornings sunrise edging up and over woodlands and neighboring rooftops. My spirt contemplates the most important decision to be made that day. Shall I rise to continue on this journey. Am I willing to fulfill my daily commitments to self and the world that surrounds. Will I venture deeper within to explore, accept and celebrate my personal truths? Soon my ever enduring vessel consisting of flesh, other matter and illusion responds with a resounding YES!

My morning head still foggy, rest cradled in a nest of down, cotton and twill. Tossing in a slow time-lapse motion. While twitches, of five a.m. lazy limbs wake my slowly emerging torso rolling from side to side. Legs, linger over mattress cliffs. As energy drifts guiding my feet safely towards destination floor.

I sigh, with calm excitement knowing morning rituals may now begin. As I kneel facing east, I gently kiss three times the lacquered slats of oak beneath my knees.

I bless the twenty-four before me with sincerity of heart. I am filled with deep appreciation for all gifts future, past and present. At peace, I visualize my truth du jour while reciting my rotating mantras. Prayers for the deceased are spoken and meditations begin. I fill myself unforcefully full with my creative and spiritual nutrients. Whatever the concoction may be that day. That is the fuel that will see me through.

Finally as my Bustello, my “holy water” blesses my inner tube-ways. I am focused, fresh, with a heart revitalized, gently jacked with empathy, compassion and my personal commitments at hand. I begin as I ended the evening prior. Plugged into my “Source” and understanding my truth. Having made the decisions to be empowered and embracing my freedom of voice. I exhale mindfully slow, embarking on a new untrodden day.

This all must seem like a lot of work to some, understandably so. “Why not a simple shower and a back door blast” you may ask.  Certain life events create a more complicated start. For some it is having a baby, or a heart attack others it is a bit more complex. The cool thing is you develop habits that are healthy. They linger as long as long as you decided they should last.

The above and a dash more if needed is worth it, I am worth it. Anyone who has experienced any trauma or addiction is worth it. For four years I could not walk down the street, get on the subway, go to work. Leave my home without my meth med injection to make life palatable that was the only way. I was completely afraid of being attacked. Old story-sorry for the repeat, but it was due to an intense gang rape.

Fortunately for me and inconvenient for some of those around me. I have moved through much of my rape crisis and the aftermath. Now I am working on setting that story aside, always with eyes open wide.

Not that long ago, November of twenty-fourteen my life began to re-evolve. I opened up to all that already exist within and around. With huge support from my dear friend and mentor Danielle (beautiful blessings). Slowly I have returned to my authentic “self”.

 These morning dedications have opened me to inner explorations and spiritual expansions. Some of these rituals I have been performing since the early 1980’s many more are new additions.

My heart had been begging for  a “truth-smack” up side my soul. A little wake up zap, to reboot my journey. I certainly had the choice to continue to live in fear. I had a choice to kill myself or to become a junkie hustler. All of those choices would be fine, I really doubt I would last long, I have a short fuse. So I listened to my core and yes it really sucked for a very long time and I am still recovering. But I fought and followed my inner voice and here I am. If on a daily basis I where not my own cheerleader, coach and best friend. By now would have literally reached my dead end.

Oh well, I learn the way I have chosen to learn. My view is I can only teach a lesson authentically, if I have lived the lesson I am teaching. I think that makes sense lol-have fun and thank you for reading.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt-lil Big R

LIFE IS FUCKING COOL

MY INWOOD LOVE AUDIO/VISUAL FORMAT

In honor of Inwood, a neighborhood nestled at the northern tip of the Isle of Manhattan. It’s streets, sounds, rhythms, smells, and parks. Most of all to my humble shack, just four flights up and to the right. Number 4J at 204 Sherman Ave. This is where light, love, sex, trauma, addiction, joy, sorrow and so much more swirled delicate and thick. Turning this home into the hyper-spastic launch pad that allowed me to rip open my soul. Digging so deep into the gutter of my life it actually penetrated into past existences.

Finally brave enough to embrace, bash and dance with the muck and miracles of my past. All of them equally important to the development of my flesh, spirit and story in other words, this life of mine.

Eventually I finished that chapter of learning and now with my “damaged” self  on the mend. And a let’s get the show on the road attitude brewing. I finally had become ready to face the creation of this “visual therapy.” This is my final release, at last I am able to let go. Rather than breaking down, I lit up through this process. Now that is change, sweet ass mother clucking change.

I love every moment of every one of these experiences that flick through this “clip-o-tage”.  Dark or light, I never will insult my existence my wishing things had been different.  Perhaps I am fooling myself, but I still stand by my word I live with zero regrets. I am here, I share story, people respond this is living even when I fuck up I am growing-life rocks.

Yes, indeed every life matters, every minute, every word, every experience-they are who we are. Finally I can say I like who I am, better yet I like the people in the world around me because of who I have become. Again that is pretty fucking awesome!

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt-lil Big R

WELCOME to THE LAND of WHAT IF’S

NOTE: Thank you for reading-this is the most gut fueled writing of mine to date. A gentle apology for the sporadic flow. I felt it was important to keep it this organic without edit from heart to hand.

The other morning I had awoken at four embedded in a frozen paralyzation. Once more I had found myself absorbed in a minefield full of “WHAT IF’s.” My return to this uncomfortable terrain came shortly after winning what may be the best career opportunity of my work history. Filled with bliss and positive energy, the moment had me shining with magnificence. Distracting all senses from the sub-current of possible failure hovering beneath the layers of my flesh. I am generally sensitive to these sneak attacks mapped out on old life storyboards. Delivered by saboteurs unknown to others yet intimate to me.

Before I knew it, a full shut down of my emotional and mental systems where in place. The “WHAT IF” failure alerts had already begun pumping through my body, sending all sorts of mis-shaped messages. These warped old thought patterns seeped in slowly at first. Micro bits of wrinkled logic entered my being as soon as the call came presenting the news that the position was mine. Yes, the old meth addict/trauma thinking crept in. Like a dark seducer deep in the night, whispering hypnotically low. You don’t deserve this, you won’t maintain this life for long, fuck it-come on now really, whats the use? I paused attempting to acknowledge for a moment that this was only bullshit inner dialogue. Sure enough the garbage chatter took over and I temporaraly bought into my own tabloid trash headline news.

No matter how often I concluded that the above concepts have been outmoded. The “WHAT IF’s” still appear at times to hold a high-ranking office within my head. And it feels as though I am have am living in a democracy, with no right to vote.  Like a good rebel these feelings don’t last long. Eventually I become fed up with voices, I developed a spiritual spine. A mind packed with clarity and my higher self begins to rise. I love a good inner civil war, we all have them and with perseverance our best self always wins!

Life events from parental pre-insertion on formed who I am today. The events that erupted around me approximately four and half years ago had a heavily impacted my growth. Both consciously and sub, I have been conditioned through word, man and fuel. The meseeges I recived where-Robbie, you have never or will again be capable of courting good fortune or experiencing regular intervals of joy, love or success. I know this is rubbish talk, the “WHAT IF’s” and associated “FEAR” talks are not reality, they are artificial truths. They should not to be ignored or dismissed but looked at, loved, reveled and healed. Other words before they harm disarm.

While in the midst my recent self esteem dishevelment. The days and nights that followed, my fears had gained momentum. The truth is I have not been able to maintain a steady job until I released the last emotional hemorrhage of rape. I experienced rotating life freezes, which I now consider quite boring. My addiction savagely fed off my trauma. Intense trauma flashbacks also prevented me from career, romance and life advancements. My inner light dimmed, side-tracking me from illuminated thought. Even during a healthy adjustment period as I moved above and through addiction/trauma (done did done). It took time for my universal mind to gently flicker back to bright. During the dim moments I was filled with all sorts of illusional/delusional dialogue now nudged aside. I will ignore the list of endless self sabotage discussions and what if’s… you’re not good enough’s etc’s. Trust me the list can go on for weeks. For those in the know I’m sure you are all nodding with a great big chorus of OH YA’s.

SCREW THE CRUDDY THINKING:
Never will I go back to living in that hell ever again. Nope never again, never ever again-GOD NEVER AGAIN! Screw the old “WHAT IF’s” I simply do not have the room, time or interest for all that wasted energy. How about WHAT IF I DO HAVE all of those wonderful things like success, love, career, joy? WHAT IF I choose  to share all this AMAZING stuff? Now that is an epically great WHAT IF, stay on track and continue to change your story. This is living, this is life!

I have already moved mountains, harnessing the strength of a thousand lifetimes. I realize I am fiercely strong and most know I am eternally grateful for the lessons I continue to embrace as I experience a fully vital life. I am now void of old darkness that once bit ripped and destroyed. I have come so far, I have reached a higher level of living. Although as I sit here writing my gut rumbles with the need to roar and release. I have never fully let it-all out let the anger fly first I need to admit I had a right to be angry. I never just belted my real feelings out, never not even to myself or my demons and events. I need to finally SCREAM IT, I just need to get it out of my system once and for all. It is time to really RAGE out without hesitation. I’m sitting here and I can’t believe I have never done so. I have been so passive aggressive about the most brutally aggressive event in my life.

(a teeth rupturing blast of air from a clenched abdomen violently punches forward as I scream-at my group sexual assault, rapist’s and previous meth addiction)
I fucking hate you, I hate what you did to me. You thieving shady bastard, I Hate what you took from me. I despise the night I ever met you and allowed your demonic fuel into my life. Fuck Meth-Fuck Death-Fuck Rape I’ve come way to far to let some bullshit of a stupid drug, a gang rape by 11 men and surrounding events hold me back ever again.

You took everything from me nearly my sanity nearly my life-fuck you. I hate every moment of this experience with you. Although I love what I learned along the way. I still would never trade a second of it and I fucking thank you for the lessons and growth. I absolutely would not be who I am today without you. But I hate the power you held over me the men I met and what I lost and what I sacrificed along the way. I Hate you for taking my apartment, I Hate you for putting me in the hospital and I Hate you for the nightmares that lasted for these years. I Hate you for ripping me open, I Hated being in the hospital for a week, I Hated serving me a life of denial, and moments of psychosis. I Hated becoming nearly spiritually naked, I Hate you for making me live in fear, I Hate you for making me fearful of men, I Hate you for making it impossible to wear short sleeve shirts, I Hate you for my poor decisions, I Hate you for taking my money, I Hate you for taking my mind for that period of time I fucking hate you for taking my career. I absolutely Hate you for taking my confidence, I Hate you for the lies, I Hate you for dehydration,  I Hate you for taking me from my beloved NY I don’t know when I’ll fully heal from that perhaps when I have a home again. I Hate you for taking me from my dear Teddy I really hate you for that. I Hate you taking my intimacy, I Hate you for taking my Humor, I Hate you for taking spirt, and I Hate you for taking my sexuality. I miss my things my home-my home-my I hate you for making me sob till this day for the loss of my home. You took me from my New York, I miss my life… yes I also miss the good “WHAT IF’s” also. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I can say I am grateful for what I learned. The list could go on but this is enough now. For every “I HATE” there is a “I LOVE” Believe it or not there is but the anger needed to be released at this time.

I never got angry about this, I never ever got this angry before I never screamed. I never ever blamed another, for my addiction, I never blamed the person who started me. I never ever said it was anyone else’s fault, even the rape. I never screamed about the evil 11, I was in shock for 6 months and numb for years after. I cried in silence but I never raged over it I never just belted out in rage. Now I really understand that not all wars are fought against man. Sometimes the battle is within man not against.

I now live a life of choices, one of my choices is to write, to create to live through art beauty word vision and healing of self and others. I choose to release this clutter from my life. To remain focused on the light and the beauty of the world around me I always have I simply had a detour as part of my life experience. I have done more living and loving in the last 6 months than I have in the past 52 years on this amazing planet. Now that is living a life expanding, everything is possible. This has been my new truth, my new story.

A REFLECTIVE WRAP UP:
Getting sober off meth is only part of my story. Recovery from trauma is another, then the real work is the continuous love labor of my inner worth. 95% of the time I am an absolutely a gangbuster goodwill ambassador of my own personal optimized and growing potential. I survived years crazy stories one after another from the womb to in and out of the “rooms” of recovery and more. It took me a long time to write my sober story and what is acceptable to me. Drinking is part of my sober story maybe not another’s own your story. It is just that but be honest loving and forgiving always. There are no wrong turns if you know your truth.

The destruction addiction and trauma alone or together can play on a persons inner wiring is lethal. It is all about perspective, you go through years of living a life slowly becoming comfortable with being less than. It is like joining a cult, you don’t even know what is happening, the same is true with trauma. You are being chipped away at from the inside out, scrambling about believing the lies. And when you arrive on the other side it takes a long time for some of us to believe that we have any value at all. Some of us can’t even bathe, brush our teeth, eat, take a compliment. A few months ago I couldn’t even get on a subway. Six months ago I couldn’t look in the mirror. Several years ago I couldn’t look at a man over 40 without an injection of meth. I had been so manipulate, beaten down and I no longer knew what the word aspiration meant.

It takes a lot of love to flip our stories. The change is simply a return to your truth we all have a core self that never changes. It is simply remembering who we really are. Loving ourselves, discovering possibly for the first time who we are. BTW hell yes we all have value, EVERYONE has VALUE and EVERYBODY is IMPORTANT. We all have our journeys and we all have our stories and they are all equal in value. No life one is superior no story more tragic than another. Own your journey and love the fuck out of yourself and those around you!

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt-lil Big R