La momma morta


Anyone who has lost their mother in death can feel beauty resonate with each note that Maria Callas sings in this aria.  Surely, anyone who believes in God can rest assured in His divine mercy.




La mamma morta.
m’hanno alla porta della stanza mia
Moriva e mi salvava!
poi a notte alta io con Bersi errava,
quando ad un tratto
un livido bagliore guizza
e rischiara innanzi a’ passi miei
la cupa via!
Bruciava il loco di mia culla!
Così fui sola!
E intorno il nulla!
Fame e miseria!
Il bisogno, il periglio!
Caddi malata,
e Bersi, buona e pura,
di sua bellezza ha fatto un mercato,
un contratto per me!
Porto sventura a chi bene mi vuole!
Fu in quel dolore
che a me venne l’amore!
Voce piena d’armonia e dice
Vivi ancora! Io son la vita!
Ne’ miei occhi è il tuo cielo!
Tu non sei sola!
Le lacrime tue io le raccolgo!
Io sto sul tuo cammino e ti sorreggo!
Sorridi e spera! Io son l’amore!
Tutto intorno è sangue e fango?
Io son divino! Io son l’oblio!
Io sono il dio che sovra il mondo
scendo da l’empireo, fa della terra un ciel! Ah!
Io son l’amore, io son l’amore, l’amore
E l’angelo si accosta, bacia,
e vi bacia la morte!
Corpo di moribonda è il corpo mio.
Prendilo dunque.
Io son già morta cosa!


My mother is dying
on the threshold of my bedroom’s door;
by her death she saved me!
Later, during the night, I was walking around with Bersi,
when suddenly
a gleam of light flashes
and brightens the dark path
in front of me!
I look!
My home was on fire!
Like this I became alone!
And around me there was nothing!
Hungry and misery!
The need, the danger!
I fell ill,
and Bersi, good and pure,
sold her beauty
to save me.
I carry misfortune to anyone who cares for me!
It was in the middle of that suffering
that love came to me!
A voice full of harmony said to me
yet live! I’m life!
In my eyes there’s your sky!
You’re not alone!
I’ll dry your tears!
I’m in your path and I help you!
Smile and wait! I’m the love!
All around you is blood and mud?
I am divine! I’m the forgotten one!
I’m the God that rules the world
I descend from the heavens and make from earth a sky! Ah!
I am love!  I am love, the love
And the angel approaches, kisses, and kisses you death!
My body is like body of a dead woman.
Then take it.
I’m already dead!


Pearls of Wisdom


“You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching,
Love like you’ll never be hurt,
Sing like there’s nobody listening,
And live like it’s heaven on earth.”
William W. Purkey


The Fan


Most of my adult life I’ve run a fan, even in the winter as white noise, so that I can lull myself off to sleep.   Don’t ask me where this all began.  I find it strangely comforting.  Everybody has their quirks and that is one of mine.

Seven years ago it used to drive my fiancé nuts to hear the thing humming away.  Now? He can’t sleep without it.  It seems as though I got him hooked on the appliance.  In fact, the kids both have their fans too.  My teenager likes his set on high, my pre-schooler at a whisper.

We were vacationing this past summer at the Cape and we had no fan, so I purchased a “box fan” sound from iTunes.  (Is there anything they don’t sell on there?)

Lately though, I’ve been thinking about converting back to solitude and quiet.  For whatever reason, like everything else lately, it’s starting to aggravate me.  Yup I know! Crazy right? I’m not sure if the Fab fiancé would let the fan go without a fight?   I just feel like we shouldn’t have a household full of fans blowing and humming all night through.  I need to save them from the wind vortex.

Stay tuned….

Any strange habits you’d care to share?



Some  days I wish I was back getting whipped by my Daddy Dom, tied to a tree ball gagged and blind folded wearing nothing but a pair of stilettos.


Things seemed easier, everything was so clearly defined.  I didn’t have to make too many decisions.   If I overate, there were immediate consequences; he beat me so hard I couldn’t stand.  He was like a sadistic drill instructor that was up my ass   24/7.   He probably wasn’t helping to manage my eating disorder out of genuine caring; it was self-serving because he wanted me to remain in a slender body .  After all, he was superficial and shallow and had I gained weight he would have dumped me in a heartbeat.

He told me he loved me but I knew somewhere deep inside me that it was a lie.   I hurt but I ended up being okay with it because on some core level I didn’t feel deserving of love.

So the relationship ended up being based almost entirely upon sex.  Which wasn’t all bad.  Right? I mean sex is good.  Even bad sex is good.  Well, until he started telling me his fantasies were about wanting to abduct teenage girls and torture them.  Yeah, that kinda ruined things.   It’s kinda that oh shit moment where you realize it’s a lot bigger than just your relationship going belly up or the loss of your integrity.

My fiancé is sober almost 3 years from alcohol.  He doesn’t beat me for overeating.  He’s not a Daddy dominant.   He doesn’t tie me to trees and cane my tits til their purple.  When I met him he didn’t even know what “rimming” was.    We are a vanilla couple.  He tells me he loves me but deep down I don’t know if I believe it because at that same core level I still don’t believe I am deserving of love.

What is the old saying, you can take the girl out of the city; but you can never really take the city out of the girl.

It seems like whether I am paired with a sociopathic pig or with a decent man the end result is the same, my feelings about myself have not changed over time.  My long-standing operating belief system says “You are bad”.   It is preventing me from any real chance at intimacy.

While I with the ex-Dom I knew that he was a bad man.  I felt bad about myself and suffered a great deal at his hands but I longed for something better.  However,  I figured this was as good as it gets for someone who is broken like me.  In the end I resigned myself that we were just better paired for each together because we were both broken.  He in his sociopathy and I in my victimization.

At present, that the proverbial good guy is finally in my life and I can’t shake off this feeling that I am still not good enough.  Which makes me throw walls up, I don’t want him to get too close.  It’s like I don’t want to infect him with my “broken” poison.   At times when my walls aren’t strong enough to keep him out, I resort to direct self-sabotage methods which are more aggressive,   Mostly verbal attacks.  This causes him to emotionally distance and pull away.   He doesn’t know it’s because I fear he will somehow get contaminated just by being involved with me too closely.

It all started so far back in childhood.  This brokenness.   The feeling unlovable, like I was just “bad.”  I suppose it was a product of the incest, physical abuse, emotional abuse, and verbal abuse.  How much does one have to rehash this shit in therapy before they can be “done”?

I’m just so done with seeing a shrink.   There’s only so much you can tell, the same horror stories without them becoming too activating and re-traumatizing.

I’m coming to the conclusion that maybe some people like me, just stay broken.  I mean, maybe we just do.  Or maybe I just need to take a flight out of the country and just need a geographical break from my life.  Like that movie,” Eat, Pray, Love”.    

Okay.  First pay off  $30,000 in credit card debt.  Then travel abroad.  Then get unbroken.  Find spiritual peace.  In that order.









Mwah ha ha ha!!!


Mwah ha ha ha!!!




I usually dread when I wake up in the morning.  Mostly because my thoughts begin to race as soon as cognition begins.   Fears trickle in slowly at first, a few drops at a time.  Then it’s like a deluge, as if a faucet was turned on in my head.  Will things ever be “good” I wonder?  Will I ever feel happy and free?  Will I ever love myself? Will I ever accept myself? Can I ever forgive myself?  Then depression  sets in.

I lead a very solitary life.  Most days the only people I see are my kids and my fiancé.   I isolate a lot because of how bad I look.

The weight gain from this food addiction has made me want to hide from the world.  I look like bloody hell.   My teenager tells me this on occasion.  Half of me is hurt and and half of me is proud that he tells the truth.  Then he says he’s sorry when he sees my eyes look down at the floor.    I’m not sure whether to believe he’s sorry for what he said,  I think he just feels bad that it hurt me.

It’s difficult to find the motivation to get up in the morning and face the day.  I have a lot of anxiety about all the things that are going wrong in my life and all the things that are about to go wrong.   I want to reflexively face all of them the same way, with food.

Looking in the mirror is not something I want to do anymore because I feel a lot of shame about how I look.    I’m ashamed about it but also know I’ve done this to myself.  So don’t feel I have any right to wallow in pity.

I am destroying my body for food but still can’t stop no matter how hard I try.   It’s so fucked up.    Maybe the answer is to be locked up somewhere for 28 days.

Talking in therapy about it just isn’t doing jack shit.    The therapist is nice but she is ill equipped to help me.  I end up telling her jokes to pass the time.  I already know that my fucked up childhood is where my unhealthy relationship with food began.  I was alone a lot as a kid, desperate for love and attention.  I didn’t get enough of either.  Instead I got abused.   Holes developed in my heart.

As a child I remember family members giving me yummy treats when I was having a hard day.  The same family I wanted to love me.  It was then an unhealthy relationship with food was born.

At some later point rather incidentally, I found myself turning to food when I became upset,  for comfort.  I guess it was like a vicarious way of having a connection with them through eating the food they gave me.  Their presence was unpredictable.   The food that was in my house however, was always at the ready.

It’s been decades of livimg this way.

Eating is what I want to do all day long.   So I eat whenever I can.  If people are around and watching, I will sneak it.   Food always makes me happy.    It helps me forget about all the shame, anxiety, and depression I have in my life.  It’s like it takes me to a better place even if it’s just for a little while.   Everything seems like it will be okay but it’s only lasts as long as I’m eating.   As soon as I stop the bad feelings return, plus a stomachache.   At the same time I know that food addiction is part of the reason why my life is like this.  The more I eat, the worse it gets.

Every addict has the voice of an angel or getting healthier and a devil or staying in the addiction on either shoulder.   So far, the food addiction is winning.

I know that I am killing myself with food.    I don’t want to get sicker but I’m losing hope with this battle.




This one’s for you Sour Girl


From the era where people were less isolated and more connected, this one’s for u

Stone in Love – by Journey – 1981


[Verse 1]
Those crazy nights, I do remember in my youth
I do recall, those were the best times, most of all
In the heat with a blue jean girl
Burning love comes once in a lifetime
She found me singing by the rail road tracks
Took me home, we danced by the moonlight

Those summer nights are calling
Stone in love
Can’t help myself, I’m falling
Stone in love

[Verse 2]
Old dusty roads, led to the river
Running slow
She pulled me down, ooh, and in clover
We’d go around, yeah
In the heat with a blue jean girl
Burning love comes once in a lifetime
Oh, the memories never fade away
Golden girl, I’ll keep you forever

Those summer nights are calling
Stone in love
Can’t help myself, I’m falling
Stone in love

Someone has to like this….

I’m feeling lonely as hell lately and this Chaka song has been playing over and over in my head for days..  Will someone just bond with me over this already? Just say you like it too.  I can’t be the only one that has random songs pop into my head from the 80’s.  Lol


Mwah ha ha ha!!!!


%d bloggers like this: