Tag: childhood trauma

Another closed door…

Another closed door…

contacted my old therapist in Boston. got the same reply i’ve been getting for months from All healthcare professionals. “Oh I don’t know anything about Medicare, that’s not my thing.”

Really? Than why and how is it you’re a Medicare “P R O V I D E R” yet you know nada??? Yeah…okay.

all i can say is that i truly am in a no mans land when it comes to medical care or mental health care. of the hospitals or medical centers that within driving distance of me the locals won’t even go to for specialist care.

if i’m lucky enough to bump into a neighbor long enough to strike up a casual convo, they all say the same thing. “I’d never go to that hospital, we always go to Boston, it’s waaay safer.”

so wtf am i supposed to do. i can’t drive that far on a regular basis. so far no one in either the medical side of things or mental health side of things seems to know what the fuck a Social Worker is or how to get one.

how, how the fuck is it that you can be disabled, yes i have my social security letter, be on Medicare AND have a Blue Cross Blue Shield Bronze supplemental plan but i don’t qualify for any type of outside help coordinating all of this??? zero? zip? nada? Hello???

i fantasize about just selling my house and taking whatever cash is left over and then try to get lost in another country somewhere. i mean why not just get a passport/visa and whatever else it takes and just leave the US all together?

i don’t have family any longer. i’m done chasing after friends who inevitably never call you back or make the effort to reach out themselves, so if i’m truly a ‘party of one’ as i call it, no one will miss me anyway.

if all else fails there are always the more immediate solutions.

when you’re an adult male of early childhood sexual abuse by a female family member, your world and perception of people is forever changed. you ‘may’ find a way back to normalcy and i’m thrilled for you if you have.

that’s just not in my story unfortunately. mine is shaping up to be one of solitude and permanent loneliness because i’ve been kicked to the curb so many times i’ve just given up trying. maybe i was never meant to understand how to navigate friendships or how to build an extended family of strangers.

i dunno. so many maybes…still so much left unanswered…

with whatever energy i have left in this timeline maybe i should really un-tether myself and just go off into wherever the wind might take me. it’d certainly be better than struggling with a healthcare system that has zero interest in helping someone like me.

life’s not so kind to single white me of a certain age, we’re always the first one’s to be cast offs of our society…

i should have known better…

i should have known better…

kicked to the curb on xmas eve by my father, aunt and step mother. why ask me for help turning my world upside down only to disavow all of the hard legal work you had me do in the first place?

after doing everything in my power to get legal documents completed from 3k miles away both last year and this year i’m told “we’re all set…” “we don’t need or want your help any longer…” “oh, you can see you father if you want but only on my terms.”

all of this via text on christmas eve…

really? you all couldn’t have the maturity to treat me with enough respect to pick up the phone and call me? or better yet. why not just wait until After the holidays have passed like normal people?

because none of you are normal people and i’m done being made out to be the bad guy.

i was an idiot to believe my father and family understood that in all of the legal paperwork i had sent that the one most critical for me today was a medical directive. it didn’t have to be to ‘direct’ his care but it would have allowed me to talk to and work with his dr’s directly. when you’re talking about the kind of genetics we have, that was all i had hoped for. a possible shot at and a small glimmer of hope that by accepting him for who he is today i’d at least have some hope as to what my own future might hold medically.

today all of that was thrown out the window without a care for me…as is always the case.

i’m sure i’ll be made the bad guy again. i’ll never get a thank you or a simple “I know what you’re going through, let’s find another way to help you.” kinda stupid to expect simple things like that right?

i’m not bitter. i’m tired. i’m tired of always being the one left holding the bag. i’m tired of always being the one mentally and emotionally battered and bruised without so much as a passing thought.

i’m tired and yes i’m truly done… goodbye dad, goodbye family and goodbye to my past. i won’t remember you fondly. i won’t spend a single thought trying to piece together gauzy idealistic dreams of what my childhood should have been like. there aren’t enough positive things that can overcome the negative now, it’s all become one black sludgey slimey memory i never ever want to recall again.

my holidays will be only mine from now on. no more nervous expectations there ‘might’ be a xmas card (and there never is). no more waiting for birthday cards or any celebrations. you’ve forfeited the right to be part of my memories.

i’ll go back to erasing all of them from my memory and feelings. there’s no space for them going forward and today i’m truly a party of one on this planet. i’m hurt and lonely. sad yet relieved as well.

relieved because i can now go back to cordoning off my holidays without the intrusion of an overly ‘entitled’ family who never gives a second thought to how it may upend mine.

it’s a little before 3pm and i’ve only just received the text 6 hours ago. my body feels crummy and yet it’s depressing but i’ll battle back before the evening sets in.

light snowflakes fall outside and i need to restock the firewood for an evening watching old movies. i have a spiral ham i’m going to make along with twice baked sweet potato’s and baby peas.

someday i hope to cook for more than one, just as i always do, but tonight and tomorrow will be as they always are. spent in solitude and safety while i safely shut out the world.

Happy Birthday Linda…

Happy Birthday Linda…

I’ve been laying low trying to prepare for today. Clearing Dr. Appt’s off my calendar, dealing with my father and generally freeing up my mental space to just breathe and squeeze in a little solitude and happiness.

With my sisters birthday being December 21st it’s always been a day that I try and reserve just for myself. It’s taken a lot of work over the years to remember her in honor rather than sorrow. Smiles rather than sadness…

The story with my father still unfolds. I make no promises and there are no expectations on that front. Yes I was very low there for a bit but I seem to be regaining some forward momentum again and for that I’m grateful.

I’ve been able to make it to Boston for a few more Dr appointments each with mixed results. Mostly having to do with accepting my physical limitations when it comes to driving multiple hours in traffic. The anxiety and PTSD impacts when it comes to hours of sustained and very heightened anxiety for long periods of time are one thing. It’s also the physical toll it takes on my back, spine, hips and neck. I’m down for the count for at least 24-72 hours after one of those trips.

The good news is I’m now in a different hospital system should a particular surgery be needed. One good use of my two years away from regular healthcare was to research patient outcomes by surgery and organization which is surprisingly easy nowadays.

I was able to meet with my old therapist Karen and we’ll touch base in the New Year. It was like seeing an old friend and I’m soooo glad I don’t have to start from scratch. $36 to park might be an issue but she’s open to video conference which is just as acceptable really.

Tonight’s the night I make all kinds of Christmas cookies and get lost deep in thought and time…

Classic Christmas music, measuring, tasting and baking while humming and keeping busy in our own private little world…it was how i used to distract her from the chaos that was our mother…

Merry Christmas & Happy Birthday Linda, I miss you… Xo

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Linda’s first skateboard lesson, I was holding her up on this lime green skateboard trying to keep her from going down the hill… #CaliforniaSummer77

Dear Dad, thank you for calling…

Dear Dad, thank you for calling…

I look at it this way Pops. Our futures have intertwined so that both us may come to know a final peace and understanding of ourselves. I’ve always known the only way through any or all of this was was by having to find a way to not only forgive and forget, but to also remember the love that was there as well.

If you’re willing to reach out today and ask for help, and I’m more than touched that you did. Than let’s find that peaceful journey for you to the next chapter of you life and in turn both our lives as father and son. I picked a beautiful spot by a pond with wildlife galore. Come and enjoy it with me…

I’m sorry your wife wants to move on right now. I can’t imagine how difficult or painful that must be while continuing to combat the effects of parkinson’s on a daily basis. We can and will find a way to provide better for you including living with me in a two bedroom home already outfitted with support bars in the bath and shower and your own bedroom to boot. (I planned it that way when I moved here two years ago,)

You’ve always trusted me to handle complex paperwork for you. When I was younger and there were all sorts of health insurance forms or union documents to read and figure out you always turned to me for help. It was out bonding time together. I loved when you’d trust me because you knew I was smart and I’d get a kick out of seeing you smile like “Oh yeah, I get it now. Thanks!” I never knew it was from the dyslexia you’d grown up with all your life. I enjoyed the trust and you trusted me in turn.

I was proud to be the son of a union factory worker. You worked you way to shop steward by reading and re-reading all of the contracts and union books. You always had a strong sense of right and wrong when it came to the working man and you’d go to bat for them. Some of the best memories I have is going to union hall meetings with all the cigarette smoking and guys yelling at the mic;s in the aisles. You never gave up and you never took a hand out either. I remember more than a few strikes and picket lines too.

I’ve never forgotten where I came from Pops…

I can safely say that after spending more than just a few 24 hours “on the inside” of more than a couple dozen rehabs and psych wards. I fully understand the fear of having your life upended and landing somewhere when you no longer decide what bedtime is or where or when you get to take a walk. It’s scary and I totally get it. That’s why I need you to trust me now and let’s get you someplace safe. Hopefully with me here in Massachusetts. If you’re going to need 24 hour care for medication reminders every three hours, I’m more than willing to do that for you.

I’m glad you called this evening. And I’m even more glad that you acknowledged I was angry but that you were willing to move on. That meant a lot to me. So if you’ll trust me once again to get you to the next step I’m ready when you are.

Your Son, ~R

barricading complete…

barricading complete…

the blinds are drawn and taped, latches latched, door locks checked and triple checked, i’ve even cut the cords on the blinds so that i can’t raise them unless…well, unless…

facebook and instagram accounts have been deactivated, only twitter and this blog remain.

it’s never been this bad before so i’m in uncharted territory here. i don’t know how else to protect myself other than to keep everyone as far away from me as possible. depression and anxiety have a complete hold on me right now, perhaps it’s just another waiting game. a game i’m tired of playing…

i need to lose track of time…to not be conscious of where i am in my timeline is the safest place for me right now. it’s too painful otherwise. the holidays are usually bad enough, and this isn’t just holiday depression of course, so with my father’s recent voicemail it’s really muddied the waters.

december 21st is my sisters birthday and i still miss her. she was murdered on july 4th and my father’s birthday is groundhog’s day. every holiday was a nightmare as children for my sister and i. with my mother’s own #anxiety #agoraphobia and #ptsd challenges it made it nearly impossible to ever make it to someone house for a simple dinner. there was always a meltdown of some sort so we either never made it into the car and on our way anywhere or we’d last less than an hour before she had to go home. not just her, all of us.

birthday’s and most celebrations were forbidden, either for some manufactured reason such as “oh it’s just another day, it’s not a big deal.” to outright bans because she wanted to be a jehova’s witness. why not, the catholic church had failed her so she would follow any religion that had her attention.

it was so heartbreaking to see my sister cry during these times. not understanding why her special day was “no big deal” and to not even have christmas celebrated…i ache now just thinking of those days…

so. this is why i clear everything and everyone off the calendar from october to may. this year i thought i’d have peace but it wasn’t meant to be…

between good quality outdoor solar lights, auto sensing security lights with a video doorbell and indoor home automation lighting schedules, everything looks perfectly normal…from the outside.

it’s a reflection of me as a person i suppose. everything all nice and tidy on the outside and a crumbling quivering mess inside.

i don’t know what i’m saying other than i’m preparing for whatever form of communication i’ll get when it’s my father’s time…and it will hurt. deeper than anything i’ve ever known. not because of love but because of the loss at a chance to experience what it would have meant for a father and son bond when this time comes.

i’ll grieve now so that i’m better prepared for when the news does arrive. it’s a natural reflex when it comes to my family. never let them see you cry because they love to prey on the vulnerable. in this way i can say with safety and confidence that i don’t care to know what his final wishes were nor does anyone owe me anything. keep what you want just leave me in peace.

 

Voicemail, Novemeber 14th 9:12:16 AM

Voicemail, Novemeber 14th 9:12:16 AM

i’ll have to find a way to link the voice file but not tonight, Friday November 16th 10:14PM…

it’s exhausting passing time by measure of when the other shoe hits the floor, and it always does. this year was supposed to be a good year for the holidays. i had finally told my father how i felt about him after being kicked to the curb my entire life which was an unburdening. even his disgusting response didn’t hurt me. i was finally free and told him to stop calling me after having blocked his number from another vicious attack by him a year earlier.

i’ve known he was sick for awhile and although i initially was willing to help him with a power of attorney. he soon ruined that by a 4am phone call with accusations and other behavior a father just shouldn’t do to a son. i left him one voicemail later in the day after i had time to wake up and have some coffee and go “what the fuck just happened?”

“dad, i’m not sure why you did what you did at 4am but please be a man and pick up the phone so we can talk about this.” he never did and i blocked his number and then systematically i mentally prepared to forget him… i’d done it before, many many times before.

i was finally feeling good about gaining the upper hand on how to be a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. not by my father but by one of my maternal aunts. it was my father that was responsible for the psychological, emotional and physical abuse.

it was nice for awhile there…happy actually. i’d planned ahead for firewood for winter. i’d been working through the joint pains and using yard work as a mindfulness tool. something to distract me while i calmly sorted through the memories of my father. this time was different however. this time i wanted to forget, forget him. forget everything and rather than expend effort rationalizing and minimizing them into neat and tidy memories to be tucked away, i decided to just get rid of them entirely. to finally just move on and face all of the health issues i knew where on the horizon clear eyed, single and with some hope it just might be okay.

that i just might finally have a holiday without pain. i’d learned to live without them all these years so why not finally let myself be free of them and use the mental energy on myself instead of them. and it did work for a bit, right up until tonight.

the last time i spoke with my father he acted as those that 4am phone call never happened, as though he had nothing to apologize for. once i realized he was trying to manipulate me into just letting it go by i finally stood my ground. the words he used were those of a very ignorant and hateful human being i thought, how sad for him that must be. when his son finally tells him to never call him again because he no longer matters to him, those words were like a pathetic grasp for control, control he no longer had.

here i am in the fight of my life just trying to get through dr’s appointments i’ve waited two years to get and all i wanted was clear sailing for the holidays. newp. life had other plans. another shoe to drop.

i don’t know who or how many people will read this but i do have an honest question.

how do you respond to such a person who leaves a voicemail asking you to take care of all his affairs because he knows he’s not going to survive this ‘parkinson’s thing’? he couldn’t have cared less if i lived or died while i was living on the streets of hollywood in the late 70’s.

forced to be a male street hustler for a roof over his head and maybe a hamburger and a coke on a good day. santa monica boulevard and a bus bench near fairfax was good. it was near a carl’s jr. and it was easy to keep busy if cops were around or if no one was looking.

i’d wait for as long as i could. waving off the good looking aggressive types. couldn’t deal with the conceit or the wham bam thank you sam feeling from those. late at night i’d wait for the type that’d let you spend the night. children of trauma learn to read people really well so spotting the ‘companionship’ types was pretty easy. i’m not ashamed of any of this and i’d love to write more about it some day.

i can still recall the local gay papers when the words “gay cancer” first started appearing, everyone was scared and we were years away from learning how it was transmitted. when i say i’m lucky to be here, there are many many reasons i’m lucky to be here.

so here i am not far from what i thought was going to be a quiet and hopeful holiday season to one where i just want to smash every single solitary object i can get my hands on and not stop until my brain sees a blinding white light and my ears go deaf from nothingness…i just want it to end.

i’d say why me but those aren’t the right words… i can’t describe it other than i just want to grab him, someone, something by the ring of the collar to shake the ever loving fuck of them and scream so loud the whole world hears…

W H Y??????

i’m exhausted…i’m scared, scared of me not him. angry too, very angry. every time, without fail when there’s a time in my life when it really does need to be all about me, such as these health issues, one or both of them find some way of trickling back into my life.

my mother passed two years ago right in the middle of my having to sell my condo, uproot my entire life to relocate to another part of the state, oh and landed in the looney bin with clown boy got elected, thank goodness i was already in a place with meds…

and now this… this big pile of steaming shit called my fucked up family has to come along and try to ruin things yet again. i can’t help him. i don’t know him for fucks sake. and what i do know of him is that he’s someone i’d never, ever want to spend time with if i met him as just a person. there’s nothing there between us, there never has been.

i can’t help you old man. you used and abused me for longer than i should have allowed and now it’s time for you to go. go wherever it is that your road takes you and please please go peacefully.

please     finally     leave     me     alone     once      and      for      all.

Goodbye Dad, again…

Goodbye Dad, again…

my father has been leaving voicemails for a few months now. we had a falling out last year when he called me at 4am my time making accusations that were not only hurtful but also incorrect.

i’ve been blamed for everything when it comes to my father. i was never enough for him. me the person was never enough for their own father…and yes it hurts.

all of the numbers i have for him are blocked so they do go to a blocked folder on my phone. (i don’t have a landline and haven’t for well over 10 years.) new vm’s started showing up a few months ago and i ignored them. he never says anything other than “this is your dad…just trying to reach you…okay. <click>”

he finally left a vm that briefly mentioned something about having an operation and that he couldn’t walk for awhile but beyond that i didn’t much more so i called and chose to forego the fake talk and just stick to the facts. this was a few weeks ago, not today.

what should have been a perfect opportunity to say he was sorry for his horrible phone call a year ago, he chose to act as if things are just rosy and fine as they’ve always been. he’s done that his entire life. he’s not at fault. there’s never a need to apologize or take responsibility for his own actions. it’s always the other persons fault and when he doesn’t like someone telling him the truth he lashes out.

after our last call i left him a vm that said “i’m sorry you have to hear this over voicemail but please don’t call me anymore. there’s nothing i can do for you any longer. i have a new life. i live 3000 miles away in boston and i haven’t seen you in over 25 years. i wish you the best in whatever manner that means but please please please. if you respect me as a son, do not ever call me again.”

i thought that would have been enough but it wasn’t. more vm’s showed up. 5-10 second snippets of “just me, trying to reach you, again.” as if that’s my fault? i called the home phone to leave a vm that i had hoped his wife would hear. in that vm i said to her “do not allow my father to call me again. i don’t know what his health his like and if it’s failing there’s nothing i can do for him. so please. i know this will sound harsh but forget i ever existed and please leave me alone.”

i thought that was the end of it and i could finally breathe easy…until today.

today started as a good day so i was feeling pretty positive even though i had seen another vm that had come in late last night. another 12 sec version, more guilt and a sense of urgency. i tried to put it out of mind and focus on the other tasks i needed to get done today. and then i caved…

i figured if i was in a solid place and in a positive mood how could anything go wrong right? wrong.

as usual the phone call turned into him calling me names no child should ever have to hear from a parent. more blame and more name calling is not part of my daily life any longer and it was time i told him the truth in a calm and direct manner.

the statement i made to him wasn’t about the past. it wasn’t about childhood. it was about who he is today and his actions of who is today. he’s never learned that he’s the one who’s chased every person away from him in his life and now at 78 the truth is coming home to roost.

it must be scary to be 78 and not know where you failing health will take you. it’s a fate that many many people face on a daily basis so i don’t have any sympathy there. heck. he’s been kicking me to the curb since i was 2 years old and at my age now you think i’m still going to allow you to tear me down because your a selfish self centered old man?

i owe you nothing…

after he fired off all of the below the belt insults i simply told him “you don’t get to turn my life upside down because you think you’re entitled to call me your son. i’m not your son and i haven’t been for quite a long time. you’ve never liked it when people tell you the truth to your face but there it is. don’t ever call me again. pretend i never existed and i’ll do the same.”

he was still yelling hateful things when i turned off my phone. hateful to the end…

yes today hurts, things like this always do. the difference for me today is it won’t paralyze me any longer. there are no more emotional rubber bands to snap me back to those horrible years. those emotional times that zing you right back to being some submissive boy desperate for his father’s love that he’d let him call him any derogatory name in the book and cry alone behind closed doors so he’d never see the pain he caused.

i may hurt and that’s okay. the fact that i can push past the hurt and see that my life is still unfolding ahead of me is a huge huge step. just one of many but progress nonetheless.

goodbye dad. the mental health field has tried to make me conform to societies norms of “but he’s your father” and that’s not always a healthy viewpoint. sometimes the only way to survive is by letting go of childhood wishes and longings that will never materialize for you. in my case i’ll never know what it’s like to hear and feel what it’s like to have a parent acknowledge they’ve wronged you and show a genuine interest in rebuilding that trust. the trust they themselves broke which has impacted your entire life.

the requirement has never been some grand gesture or pubic flogging by any means. just that one simple phrase and look in their eyes that lets you know they finally get it.

as a photographer it’ll be hard to put away pictures of my childhood. photos of him and me before everything went off the rails. before i ended up living with my grandmother because he made home life so horrible my mother ended up in a mental institution. (the short version, my grandmother and the catholic church did the rest.)

anywho…i’m just letting all of this flow out as it happens and so i don’t implode keeping it all bottled up inside.

i dunno. this october will mark 13 years sober and after everything i’ve been through setting up an entirely new life here in a small town i knew nothing about, and my mother’s passing during all of this as well. i’d say i’m holding up pretty well.

today i had firewood delivered which is a PERFECT mindfulness exercise for focusing on the task at hand rather than all of this other ugly stuff. i don’t care how wet i get. i don’t care if it sucks. i don’t care if i get eaten alive by mosquitos.

school psychologists would always as me about home life or family life and i’d always say the same thing. “we’re like dandelions.” “in what way?” “well, you know how when you blow on them they scatter all over?” “yes” “we’re like that. as soon as you’re old enough to fend for yourself, we all scatter as far away from each other as we can get.”

during the summer i’ll have my coffee on the deck and when it’s dandelion season i’ll hand pick every last one of those suckers until they’re all gone. my inner dialog going…

“nope…nope…nope…not in my yard you don’t”

get rid of the weeds in your life. they suck the energy out of you and they leave nothing beneficial behind. ~R

Winner Takes All…

Winner Takes All…

From one of my favorite stories of the Big Book of A.A. Winner takes all is about a young woman born legally blind but keenly aware she was the lesser wanted child of her siblings. This is the last chapter of the story and it was the one that gave me my Aha moment. Regardless of how things do or don’t turn out with my Father. None of that is relevant. Today is relevant. What I choose to think and feel is relevant. How my actions reflect those thoughts and feelings are relevant.

It’s hard when you have to say goodbye to a parent, especially one who’s still living. I don’t hate my Father but I don’t like him either and that’s a very valid feeling. I wish him the best in whatever capacity that might mean for him today. For myself? I’m moving forward to continue my healing process.

Hope for me are the positive things I can see on the horizon. Those in the front window of my imaginary car. The rear view mirror serves me no purpose any longer. It’s utility is reserved only for short and subtle reminders of where I’ve been and where I never want to return.

Although my Father may have been the primary cause for stuffing and swallowing my feelings of guilt and shame all these years. That doesn’t mean it’s a permanent state of being. The choice is mine, on a daily basis.

Today. Today I choose to be happy and I hope you’ll do the same. ~R

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Enough…

Enough…

For anyone new to the site I’d like to offer some insight to my Twitter and #SurvivorCulture tweet. My site needs work so you’re probably seeing a happy post about getting back to my previous therapist. Which definitely is good news…especially given the current circumstances.

My father and I tried to forge or repair some sort of relationship last year and it blew up in my face pretty badly. That’s always been the history when it comes to my father and me. When in doubt, blame the kid.

My father has an anger and mental abuse problem and he’s never owned it. I owned it for him by swallowing every single form of abuse he chose to dish out. Verbal, physical and the worst of all. Complete shut out and denial. If he didn’t want to hear something he made sure he got his way and never ever had to live with consequences.

Well. Here we are today. Him leaving me voicemail after voicemail playing the aging old man and I’m sick card. Uh uh. That’s not how life works.

The last time I saw my father was over 25 years ago. We’ve had sporadic phone contact over the years and always at my reaching out to him rather than the other way around.

My usual role as the hurt little boy wanting the love of his father has been a hard role to live through and it’s come at a great great cost. No regrets though. Truly. Because that life is no more…

The #MeToo movement came along at a time in my life when I was already trying to unravel and make sense of my childhood. What I had planned on was it accelerating my having to deal with my own childhood sexual abuse. Not only was my childhood traumatic and painful, he’s still coming from this utterly disgusting catholic altar boy silence and denial upbringing.

I’m still working through the dynamics of an older female family member having been my abuser. Not entirely sure where I’m going with this blog but I hope to get back to my photography. All of the images on the site are mine now and I still have a whole other site to convert over.

Thank you for reading and thank you for being here. ~R

 

why bother part 2…

why bother part 2…

well, the house is fully automated. lights on timers. varying so as to project someone home. bills are all automated although i’m sure electricity and other services will eventually get cut…

in the meantime, there’s no reason to keep up this charade any longer. this site is paid up for two years, it’ll stay online until non-payment happens.

i haven’t found homes for my cats yet but will soon and i don’t really care what happens to my house once i’m no longer here. when you’re gone, nothing matters, nothing hurts anymore either.

that’s all i want. no more loneliness. no more pain. no more being taken advantage of. no more being brushed aside, diminished or shrugged away.

i thought i could do it. keep going no matter the costs. keep going in hopes of some mythical release or indescribable amount of love and safety the likes of which no one has ever know was finally going to magically wash over me and i’d finally know what love and safety felt like…that was the hope anyway.

childhood sexual abuse and non-stop trauma can damage someone beyond repair. i sacrificed not only giving up the idea of ‘wanting’ kids but intentionally making sure that my name ends with me.

i’d like to think i’d be a great father. one of those fathers who’s always fascinated in anything you’d say or do. a father who’d share the same childlike imagination in stories and in real life so that everything would always seem possible. a father who’s very presence meant you’d never ever have to feel unloved, unsafe or unworthy. a father who’s one look was enough to let you know you’d be okay, you were protected and you were loved…

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