addiction, adult male rape, Images, Recovery, trauma

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.


Images, Recovery, trauma


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.

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.

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

Recovery, Selfportraits, trauma


Authors Note:
This series of writing and art documents a period of time from November 2011 through March 2015. This is primarily a written excursion intended to retrace, understand and release the events surrounding a trauma that took place while I was still living in New York City. Eventually there will be five chapters in total. My only desire is to bring hope to another while I learn continue to grow along my written path of discovery. And as always peace love and light as we each venture through our own life journeys.

Part One:
I never quite understood the power of my PTSD. At some point I had slipped through the boarders of my denial, sheltered, safe from the impact and the grip that my trauma has held over me these past four and a half years. Although this event is not new, the threats feel as fresh as this morning’s news. Throughout this time I have attempted to remain protected by my minds invisible shield. With large shards of my memory set patiently on hold, select thoughts have sat waiting for an appropriate moment of release. When the time is ripe they exit accordingly, seeping through the boundaries of my mind, wandering out through the soft fleshed walls of me, where I have kept them fenced in and safe. Or have they kept me? When moments of unspoken permission arise, I give my inner workings a gentle nod and attempt to do my best to come to terms with them. At these moments I work to the best of my ability to become reacquainted with a nearly forgotten self. I promise to be patient although frustration, back-stepping and rage arise. As I relearn to live, I begin to trust. And with the universe on my side at last I pray for the re-assemblage of my life to begin.

I do have hope absolute that my mind terrors will decelerate, no longer wielding weapons, aimlessly thrashing throughout my muted unprotected thoughts like slow dull blades ripping, wounding my slow restructuring spirit that I now choose to claim once more as my own. The reality of course is that these memories have always been and always will be a part of who I am. Now I am learning to own them, to walk with them to no longer cower in their presence. What I am really talking about is pain management and harm reduction.  Ultimately I am learning to love all of my experiences and come to terms with them while at the same time, expunging the power that the memories of this event have held over me and their physical and mental impact. The moment had to be right and no life journey is the same. There are no rules. I know in time my life catalogue of experiences, like all of our journeys will be looked upon as a magnificent tool, for both my own health and well-being and I am confident to also help another as my existence continues to expand and unfold and as my heart opens. (sorry-not sorry if some are tired of hearing my mantra…xxx)

Up until now I have spent much of my time perched high riding lost on the back of my denial, blindfolded and numb. Living cocooned in a synthetic liquid escape of injected crystal meth. Through the first half of this dark adventure I had participated in a delusional codependent relationship. Unknowingly creating my own not so safe-safe space of disintegrating independence, flesh and sense of self. Later, I have found out that most of my actions have been fairly normal reactive behaviors. Over these years I have ridden the wicked waves of my emotional and phycological destruction. Each thrust seemed cruel, malicious and often difficult to define. I’d find myself smashing high then crashing low, I collapsed with each rush upon the shores of my physic reality. Spiritual erosion nibbled at the framework of my fundamentally kind yet isolating character. I fumbled about with good intent, generally clueless throughout this journey. I have experienced many rebirths, peaks and ravines on every level. I have struggled up and down round and round through sobriety and spiritual awakenings. I often revisited the ruins of my personal truths, although my visits may have been momentary. A perpetual syncopation of interruptions was in motion. Consisting of terror, regret, hysteria, self blame, and an endless series of nagging how’s what’s and why’s? My existence had become a constant dance of two steps forward and three steps back. It was a slow death cha-cha!

This experience, as I assume it is for many others has been a hateful beast. It had kept me addicted to meth for what seemed to be a lifetime. Although I understand the meth protected me from the shock and scars of trauma, and I am actually grateful for this tool, I think I would have been off this planet long ago without it. But “TINA” only kept me among the living dead and she sure as hell seemed to have dragged this healing process out. As I skip back down Flashback Lane it is no accident that my drug use skyrocketed immediately after my hospital excursion that pre-Thanksgiving week. It took me six months post trauma to admit what had happened or to even choke out that word, that word being RAPE. It was about another year before I was able to muddle about for help. It was a nervous scurry of manic frantic motion that bore no fruit. At the time my nervous system was rattled with drugs, I was a fractured in spirit. No longer stable, my medications were on a fluctuating schedule and my diet was fucked. This boy was wasting away, paranoid and completely lost. I also had become embedded emotionally and mentally in my abusive relationship. The purpose of the partnership was as much about keeping me addicted to the man as it was about keeping me addicted to the drugs and breaking me down. The trauma was the bonus glue that kept the disaster spinning in place.

As time moved forward, sometimes at sparked speed sometimes at a mind snagging crawl, life became more and more unmanageable. My PTSD just evolved into a way of life and I adjusted to the grotesque. I became comfortable with the uncomfortable, I came to accept my demons as part of my life, we almost became friends. I had always prided myself on few yet tight, close and healthy friendships and partners. Now I had several unhealthy ones, I hated my addiction-actually that is a lie, I loved my addiction. My addiction to crystal meth kept me alive, it was the only thing that made life palatable although maddening and nearly killed me as it robbed me of life’s beauty and joy. I hated my partner yet loved him in that weird twisted way. I lived in fear of him, I feared everything I hated my rape, I hated my life, I hated who I had become and I was completely miserable. I was in a state of decay slowly being engulfed a sinkhole of my own life wasting. I was living a very slow and painful death and I know this was not a pretty site to watch. Nor a pretty life to live but this is not the end of my journey it gets so much brighter and so much better.

Love and Light Always

The Empowered Runt-lil Big R