addiction, Dreams, Recovery, trauma

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

Standard
addiction, adult male rape, Images, Recovery, trauma

Yet to Fully Break

032318snfa

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

Standard
adult male rape, trauma, Uncategorized

A DILUTION of ME TOO

I believe deep within the warm curves of my heart, that the current conversations encompassing sexual harassment and inappropriateness are all importantly valid. As all topics of discomfort are, I feel the daily mega stream headlines we are seeing today are all deserving of examination. I believe they have also come to fruition for the greater purpose of enlightenment and the brighter transformation of all people. The timing could not be more perfect for the evolution of fresh perspectives as we move forward through the climate changes of intentional sexual identification, conduct and respect .

On a cellular level I am more than familiar with the infrastructure of all of these disputations. I have experienced, healed, and triumphed through my own variety of life’s configurative platforms. I have profound respect for all who have spoken up and claimed their rights and freedoms of both voice and body around the world. I also have deep compassion and understanding for those who have continued to live in silence. And the countless list of brave warriors who have yet to meet their own inner empowered selves. I honor each individual experience as passionately as I do these rising topics of debate. (side note; applause to all on your journeys) 

I can only speak of my own opinion within these pages. One of my perspectives is that it is of equal value, to understand the materiality of both having a voice while harvesting an understanding of rape culture and harassment in positive ways, through education and or ones personal experience. It is also constructive to give voice and thought to any situations should an individual or group arise causing the pendulum of consciousness to swing in a counter productive motion.

When someone is seriously assaulted, I think it goes without saying that there is no humor to be found in either cause or affect. When someone is hit on, as most everyone is at some point on their earth adventure. Or an advance is perhaps taken in a direction that is not of their choosing, these to are not acceptable. I also feel that not all of these illustrated scenarios are equal to an assault as they may be portrayed in the arenas of “Big Press” as of late.

I realize some of my readers may argue my point of view and I am ok with this. What is important to me is the topic of clarity and the communicated word when going public with a statement of allegation. All words are valid, but words can be powerful, they can also be dangerous. As always choose your words wisely especially while illustrating conflict or resolve with another. 

I feel that it is critical to be as scrupulous as possible when in a moment of recollection. As we sit in our varied states of reflection. Especially when we are recounting interactions between ourselves and one or more about incidents of unwanted actions. Should projections of accusations begin to circulate, it is imperative, actually it is our obligation to both self and to society to be as pure as our cortex will allows us to be. To recount the movements of the moment through our verbal communications as well as our physical display, to the best of our abilities. Naturally trauma often makes this an impossible task for many. The concept of this writing, as you may have gathered rest on a loom of allegations more than a pedestal of legitimacy.

These writings are absolutely not intended to be about “victim” (a term I dislike) shaming or blaming. I understand my words through this segment may raise a brow or furled lip. This also is not my intent. My hope as always, is to remain open to both the light as well as the dark of all human experiences. I feel all aspects of life are of value and deserving of honor, it is what we learn and extract from each moment that allows us to evolve, should we choose. It is also up to each individual to evoke a culture of change. (my humble POV)

I do my human best to keep in mind that facts, voice and action are what create empowerment, not ego or the distortion of facts. I feel it is best to be discerning, in our hearts and thoughts as a collective, if we intend to ride purposefully onward with positive intent summoning healing while we advance as a people for future generations. As we heal the wounds of a #metoo manifestation. Keep in mind that this requires honesty, reflection, and a seeking spirt. Compassion and above all else love will take us to the next where we aspire. Love is the primary action of satisfaction that will mend all agitations that prod mankind’s desires for change.

The topic of words continues to rise up within me, I believe all words are good. The spoken word in conjunction with body language are two of the most powerful gifts entrusted to man. They can also be dangerous if used improperly, we see it each evening should we choose to dose ourselves with heaps of American Nightly News (insert a bit of laughter here). They may be counter productive to a cause of beautiful benefit when motives are not grounded in truth. Or when inserted as a tool of manipulation dicing up topics of importance. Particularly when fueled with a fear based desire opposed to respectful uplift-meant and positive intent. Always, choose and craft your words wisely especially when applying them toward any living creature, yourself, another, group or topic.

The words assault and rape are two impactful verbs, they are heavy and deserving of respect. Not only for what they represent as actions, but for the many who have walked through the narrows of discomfort and for those who continue to do so. These are the very souls who without choice faced the distorted powers thrust upon them. Abandoned in thick ponds of what many felt where an infinitude of helpless disconnect.

When words are tossed about recklessly via press or gossip, rooted solely in spectrums of ego and not rooted in actuality. They can unfairly and dangerously begin a witch hunt, destroy a family, career or community, through public humiliation or the unintended aftermath of false allegations. Obviously I am not referring to situations of factual physical assault, verbal abuse, rape or any other persistent undesired behaviors. I am talking about actual crimes of against mind and flesh.

AFTER CARE
It is within my clearest of thought that not only is it up to an individual who has experienced an episode or multiple episodes of aggression. Or in my perception an oppurtunity to evolve to greater life understanding, through their own experience and purpose. And to find appropriate care when they feel they are able to, if they are able to at all. To seek the support of loved ones, medical care, legal assistance and to eventually, if they should desire, carry out a message of hope to another who may still be suffering. It is also in my opinion that this is a positive oppurtunity for the encircling community to support an this individual through their composite of progress and diminishing pain.

Please bare in mind that many of us shut down or take on new patterns of behavior after an act of life disruption. Pay gentle attention to sub currents of new moods radiating post event, mild to severe. Often police or HR may not be contacted as emotions are bottled for reasons only known to the nervous system of those on the receiving end of an assault or harassment. If you sense something is up, my soft suggestion would be “If they don’t speak up, gently step up”! 

It is our fundamental right to participate in the wellness of others. It is actually a gift of living to engage in the betterment of our societies. Often it is the inheritance of fear based illusions that dictate to us that we “should” not be involved in interactions of unpleasantries. I encourage all to release the hype of this tainted thought. Listen instead to the love rooted truth within you and reach out. Surrender the well intended yet distorted teachings that many of us have been exposed to throughout our lives. Most all have heard them in our upbringings in one form or another. “It is none of your business” “They need time to heal” or “they want to be left alone”. While many of these these may be true, it is better to listen to your own “core” even when your gut feelings may feel new or uncomfortable at first.

It is ok to learn to step out our of comfort field of emotional vision and into what is right. If there is a change happening with a loved one or even a stranger, take a chance, take action and offer them your time and your presence. Listening is often more important than knowing what to say. An open ear and a warm smile can go a long way. This is often all that is needed, at times it can be just this simple.

ON DILUTION
I personally find it diluting to this very important topic to determine every advance as an assault, every grope or kiss in an environment of office, play or even home in hours of post convenient reflection as an act of unwanted aggression. Of course NO MEANS NO and YES MEANS YES! Cornered persistence and repeat situations along with a 100 areas of silvery gray variance come into play. It is up to each individual to use their wisdom to be fully honest with themselves when recall is required or desired.

Let us be careful about turning an EXTREMELY VALID and IMPORTANT moment of conversation and social change into another watered down political period of correctness. We should be seeking graceful forward motion with all causes. Avoid blind rage and the emotional white noise of mach protest as they only build barricades to justice. While detracting from the serenade’s of progress being sung as clarity and fundamental civil rights are set into place.

The point of a cultural shift, be it political, social or spiritual is to build a pathway of evolution not a division founded on singular needy spotlights. In other words, when your voice is valid, use it, stand by your sister, brother or other in need. DO NOT waste it when your ego is hungry for attention or locked in a mode of narcism, personal gain or out to destroy another living creature in a Wendy Williams-ish “hot topic” segment, with no genuine interest in social change.

My strongest belief is that we are all purposeful creators. We are all contributing to a climate of change, capable of supporting, loving and shifting the dynamics of tomorrow and the NOW. I am proud to be participate amongst like minded peers in this vast expansion. Politically, sexually, socially, culturally and spiritually. I truly believe we live in one of the most exiting times ever to be had. Furthermore I feel the #metoo movement, when in proper circulation is a powerful tool of uplift-meant, empowerment and change. 

As Always Love and Light
The Empowered Runt

Standard
addiction, adult male rape, trauma

AN ABSOLUTION/raw

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

AN ABSOLUTION
Tuesday, October 25, 2016

I have to release this absolution, I have to do this process again, I have to rework this forgiveness of self one more time, it has been over a year since my first formal attempt. I will do this as many times as needed, I thought doing this process once was enough. I don’t know why, I would never suggest doing it once to another going through this same living procedure.

I must acknowledge where I have progressed from, where I am advancing to and I will enjoy a moment in between hopefully while embracing a breath of clarity on this journey. Reminding myself one more time to softly appreciate all that arises within me and all that is, for that it is. For now all that is churning is pure, murky and forceful, here in this very moment I harness it the best that I can. This eruption is designed to keep me alive, it is pure fight or flight no different than that night. I need to survive and express what is rupturing forth through every cell of my body.

My anger is bigger than I am, my regret is monumental, MY REGRET EATS ME ALIVE EVERY DAY. I must forgive myself, I must see this for what it really is I must see beyond and bigger than this is I must take off my earth lens. This human experience is far to limited, it is killing me it is unnatural, it is causing a spiritual hemorrhage from within. A stomach cancer rupturing up through my solar plexus on a daily basis. My core black cancerous energy reflex wrestle daily is beyond the recommended daily allowance. If I do not take steps today I will surly be on a direct rode of permanent discord.

I absolutely take the time right now right here to understand again what was taking place during the time I met Bernard. I wanted Fun, Adventure, Security, Danger, even sabotage… But I did not want what took place, I did not want what had happened to have happen to me or anyone on this planet. I did not want what took place not on a conscious level. I did not want to loose my life so completely, and even if I did I no longer choose to.

On the night of the (gang) rape I did not arrive expecting there to be such a disturbing event. I did not know there where going to be 10 or more rotating hustlers in and out throughout the evening to day break. I did not know this “man” was going to be a crazed freak, I did not know foreign objects of flesh destruction where going to be forced inside of me against the will of mine. Only to be surgically removed followed by a weeks hospital stay. I did not know that situations where going escalate as they had.

I did not know it was going to be the beginning of the end of a period of my life where I had some idea of control, if I had any up until this point living. I did not know that this was the beginning of the unraveling of my my living. Of a fairly reliable human being, colorful yet reliable and responsible.

I must forgive myself for being with Bernard, I chose to be with  him, I even loved him in a weird way, I did deep inside and still do I can’t escape the bond we had. Our bond was primarily stacked over drugs, manipulation and co-dependent abuse. I know this to be true, I know it was not a love of heart and soul. I understand the stronger I was emotionally the more empowered he felt to bring me “down”, I know there was a deliberate pattern of drug use put upon me when I would show strength and manipulation and needles came into play. And those words “know one will ever love you like I do, you are a defective, destroyed, junkie boy.” “But you have me always….” and I’d stay.

I forgive myself for letting myself be a part of this. I forgive myself for inviting it, I forgive myself for creating it, I forgive myself for being a deliberate hunter, once I was pulled into the meth pool. I have to cut myself some slack letting meth take control for this period. I know how easy it is to become a meth “addict”, I don’t know if I can forgive myself for loosing my job, I don’t know if I can forgive myself for loosing my apartment. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for leaving and loosing my beloved New York and my beloved sense of HOME and TEMPLE, but I am willing to try. I don’t think I can do and honest absolution but I can make an honest attempt to try.

Every day is a reminder of what I lost, everyday is a reminder of how low I have gone. Every day is a reminder of my failures, every day is a reminder of my removal from self, society, career, home, self, humor, love and truth… Not a reflection of triumphs everyday, I see the anger not the joy, often when I sit in this place (no matter where this place may be) I choke on the the past, present, and future, the noise is unbearable there is no silence (within my heart and mind).  I know these are only feelings… they are brutal feelings with a fierce lasting echo…

This THIRD YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF BEING IN CHICAGO IS KILLING ME. FIVE YEARS AFTER THE EVENT AND STARTING METH IS NOTHING, BEING IN LIMBO AND WAKING IN THIS ROOM EVERYDAY TO A LIVING VOID IS KILLING ME…. EVERYDAY FOR THREE YEARS HAS BEEN AN OXOGYN TENT OF DEATH. With slow pricks of light, I cling to each needle of light glorifying each to grand magnification in hopes of realization. Doing the work, waking each day, plugging away only to remain skin deep in me. Less memory, true there is less fear, more insight but very little forward movement and questionable hope.

I forgive myself for my lack of genuine appreciation, I forgive myself for trying and failing, I forgive myself for being so hard on myself. I forgive myself for not seeing the brilliance of my journey, I forgive myself for the tears and sorrow. I forgive myself for the lock down, I forgive myself for the seclusion, I for give myself for the clutter, I forgive myself for the my forgetful mind, I forgive myself for not having sex, I forgive myself for jerking off only to slam videos. I forgive myself for now living in a way I normally would consider intolerable and unimaginable.

I forgive myself for over spending or shopping to much to compensate for the INFINITE VOID. I forgive myself for all my insecure doubt projecting onto others my own flaws. I forgive myself for not being able reach my goals as fast or as clearly I demand. I forgive myself for fucking being stuck. I FORGIVE MYSELF FOR FUCKING BEING ANGRY ALL OF THE TIME, I FUCKING FORGIVE MYSELF FOR FAILING….GOD DAM IT FUCKING LOST IT ALL AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE SPACE WHERE I CAN LET ANYTHING OUT. I DON’T HAVE SAFE SPACE.

I can’t write an absolution because my life does not exist (feeling not a reality)—- I may return to this for now it does not mean much other than a rant. there was no proper purpose to this…3:33pm

7:55 PM
I return to re read you my rambling page with the understanding that – this is how I feel, and this is ok. 

This has been a raw edit direct from my private notes…this is what we experience sometimes every moment of the day…. it gets exhausting.

Love and Light Always
Runt

 

Standard
trauma

Helping Another

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Out of nowhere it seems, an almost forgotten sense of peace has entered my heart. A steadying of nerves without invitation brought my mind and body back to a near lost state of existence. Stuttering words have once again begun to calm and my stream of thoughts float in logical harmony, free of jagged distraction. I again am coasting down stream in a river of gentle ease.

What events could of have taken place to softly and radically bring me back from the doorsteps of chaos and internal clutter. When only hours earlier I had been gasping for breath as gut and brain relived fractured recall of hallucinatory decay without notice from one unpredictable moment to the next? Simple, a forgotten joy that I dropped somewhere over these past few whenever’s was reactivate.

The actions leading to this shift are no great secret, helping another in spirit by supporting them in a genuine way is all it took. By stepping out of the center of my justified self-indulgent pity. To highlight the love, light and growth that has evolved out of an situation of challenge in someone else’s path of living buffered my own core tarnish. How wonderful to be able to help another human being to recognize their own beauty, strength, power, passion and growth. In return, with out expectation I experienced a spike in my own life current.

Through this action of self abandon and genuine guidance, to point out the positive glow via a life challenge is an absolute natural high for me. It has a multi dimensional flow effect on all and restorative for all parties involved. I have forgotten the pure magic and the force that there is behind the action of helping another. This one small action has done more than a thousand meditations, I thank you my friend for this moment. Last night was my first night without traumatic nightmares in months. At least that I can recall, I thank you again.

The power of supporting one other in even the smallest of ways is a powerful way to uplift every vibration upon this planet. It is so easy at least for me to forget this. Today I am grateful to wake with joy, to wake with calm, to wake with a renewed sense of possibility and knowing. It has been sometime since I have felt “good” in my core, the importance of having the good is so that I have something to compare the “bad” to. For so long I have been stuck on only the bad I forgotten about the good feelings…  My inner compass has been reset, last night has given me a return to personal navigation. Today I am grateful… It is still a journey… I do not know what tomorrow brings, but I am grateful for today…

Love and Light Always

Standard
adult male rape, Selfportraits, trauma, Uncategorized

THE MOST DANGEROUS THING

072616FP001.jpg

 

Unfiltered, here I am, naked, no decorative words, no room for flounce, not now, not within the womb of this cool circumstance. Raw and writing, it is we, it is he, Fernando along with the others which equal the new entirety of me.

I’ve decided no longer does it matter if there is an audience for my words or images. I now write because I need to write, I create my art because it is not only an essential part of my creative expression. It is a necessary segment of the healing equation, I still fall back on these words “art saved my life”.  Now I write with a slant on the unfiltered, just me and my selves. If another is helped as I stagger on my current path of wonder and stumble all the more glorious. Perhaps the flow of these writings will read more organically without the hindrance of self-criticism of thought, word, art and tongue.

I am afraid I am finally facing the raw fact that my trauma has become one bitch of a battle. It is increasing in bite and fervor. Sobriety has been a song and one I don’t give much of a shake about, even with all my trauma bullshit I have not thought once about drugs to deal with it. The trauma however is rupturing, ripping, splitting and soaring through the roof of my being. I am not sure who is winning in this wrestling match of wills. I do know I am not happy with the feelings beating me up each day, leaving me exhausted, bruised and raw.

Most days my thoughts are so tangled that I make no sense speaking. When I do manage to speak I often trip up my vocals. I mutilate simple sentences for example, ga-ga-ga-goo-goood goood morning. For a normally fairly grounded intelligent sounding person it becomes a bit humiliating. I often rock back and forth when I am alone typing, channeling my never existent autistic youth.

Yesterday, despite my gut intuition, I met with a therapist for the second time. It took me almost five years to reach a point where I was capable of receiving “professional” help. I understand fully that he has not been trained in trauma recovery, and may not even be queer sensitive. But surely he has a degree, and I assume based on his appearance he is of the human species. I also hope he had entered this field with an empathic heart, he does not seem old enough to be jaded and over his profession, or is he?

Aside from him being late for the second appointment in a row (note both appointments). Cutting me off, not hearing my needs then telling me to ignore my feelings. He then instructed to “Move on” “get over my past” to “get my old job back full time” please note I can barley function in my current part time position. I was instructed to “change my thoughts”  again. I explained this is something I do all day through many spiritual and personal teachings, meditations and techniques I have even developed along my personal journey.  I explain what someone in trauma goes through. I explained that I/we need tools to move forward and heal, I explained that I/we would like to learn how to cope with the subconscious thoughts that strike in the middle of night. Example: when I/we wake tossed on the floor in the middle of the night. Living out a rape, how do I/we move past that… I am enraged right now simply thinking of this session… yet I am moving forward I can not even finish this paragraph. _ RAW WRITING.

A bad therapist is the next worst thing to the actual traumatic event itself. I can not imagine anyone speaking these same words to someone who has just comeback from a tour of duty or lost their family to some horrific action of violence. I suppose a gang rape to faggot is just another disposable crime even in the eyes of a therapist. (please note the wrong therapist I know the majority are absolutely brilliant)

An average day for me, requires about 3 hours of meditation just to make out the door. Before I can go to my humble semi-stress free part time job. About once or twice a week I have at least one severe flash back during my waking hours. Two weeks ago, while walking down my block I hallucinated a full on rape, asshole ripping open, choking, suffocation, blood, restrained arms up against a fence the full nine yards. That was a pretty average scenario as of late. The week after the same situation took place while I was writing while sitting on a bench in the local park looking at trees. Boom out of the blue, restrained, suffocation, notebook on ground etc…. but this is my current unreality. “don’t think about it” he says. Again I say… seriously?

Last night three nightmares woke me up, usually I do not much of them, only the fighting, sweats, screams etc. But they are becoming more vivid as of late. Today I had to leave a simple task job after only an hour, because I freaked the F*@K out. My 10 minute walk home took about an hour, I was in a trance state the entire time. I crashed from exhaustion upon my arrival home (rather where I stay). More daymares, physical fighting and screaming and kicking. And he tells me “change your thoughts” “move on” I think to my self again, sarcastically, seriously?…I sorry I just forget to come out of trance states and nightmares to say “get happy” “get over it” Move On”….

Yes “change your thoughts” I agree completely, I do it all day everyday, minute by minute. This roller coster practice is enough to drive any normal person insane. I gently participate in many meditation techniques and lovingly embrace every fricking letting go method there is. But I can not delete reality, when something has never been dealt with it has to come out somewhere. Fact? or Fiction?

The most dangerous thing to a person in trauma recovery is… and I will say this again and again. Is having an unqualified person sitting opposite them on the other side of a desk when you are in therapy. This is not only dangerous it is negligent and can even be lethal. Last evening I felt so hopeless, lower than I have been, and closer to ending my life than and period in recent history. But I am as stubborn man, I will make it through this. Salt stains and all, I may not have much say during this period of my life that is up lifting. My core self is still in here somewhere, and it will come to the surface again. Until then, however long that takes be well be kind and be loving the best you can.

Thank you-

 

 

 

 

 

 

Standard
adult male rape, Images, Recovery, trauma
020116rarespirit

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

Aside