Author Archives: Lexicon Lover

About Lexicon Lover

Read all about my journey (and musings) of recovery from both complex childhood trauma and incest, it’s manifestation in my adult life through maladaptive behaviors like BDSM, self-injury, eating disorder, substance abuse and toxic relationships; one with whom was a Narcissistic Sociopath.

Irish Spring

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The first person I ever fell in love with was an Irish man who I had known from my childhood.  My mother taught catechism through our local parish, Saint Mary’s.   But it wasn’t an ordinary catechism class.  It was a special education catechism class.  It was born out of a position that my mom was in because the local parish had kicked my step-brother out for unruly and disruptive behavior.  So my mom offered to take in other such children into our home to teach them about Christ so they could all receive the sacraments.  This was the same evil step-brother who was molesting me. Of course no one knew of his profane acts nor would they for years to come.

Cathechism was held in our living room which is where that I first caught sight of Irish Spring. He was a tall gangly boy with curly locks of sandy colored hair and bright blue eyes.  He was painfully shy and rarely made eye contact.  All I knew about him is that his father had died that year and his mother was mentally ill and could not take care of him and his older brothers.   I would peer out of the kitchen, adjacent to the living room, and spy on the ongoings.  I would try and steal a furtive glance of him and my mother would snap at me to go back to my bedroom.  Before I would retreat though, I would see him look up at me, our eyes met briefly and I was convinced that like some feral animal, I had gained his trust.  There was something about those distant eyes of his that drew me to him but I wasn’t sure what.

20 years passed.    I was working at an inpatient psychiatric hospital for children and adolescents.   It was a 24 bed, locked facility for kids ages 5 to 18 who needed acute care.  The hospital was divided into two units: a pediatric unit, where the children were ages 5 to 12 and the adolescent unit where the age range were from 13 to 18.  Their problems ranged from suicidality, homicidality, psychosis,  medication adjustments, but more commonly garden variety aggressive and oppositional defiant behavior.

One summer night on my 15 minute break, I descended the staircase and went outside the building.   I lit up one of my Marlboro Lights, exhaled and was greeted by a Department of Mental Health Security employee whose ID badge read “Irish.”  He was doing his rounds.  He had curly sandy brown hair, a ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes.  He towered over me at 6 foot two.    On a lark, I decided to ask him if he was from my hometown of  Purgatory,  Massachusetts.   He said that indeed he was.    I went on to inform him that I once knew an Irish ‘Spring’ from that town and that my mother taught catechism in my home as a child and I wondered if he was the same Irish Spring.     Of course he asked for my last name and when I said it he said,” oh my gosh! yes I did go to your home.  For goodness sake‘s what a small world. “   We went on to chit chat some more.  He asked me how my mother was doing and my father as well and told me that my father was his confirmation sponsor because his own father had passed away.  I pretended not to have known and just said, “I’m so sorry.”   He shrugged and answered, “Thank you, that was a long time ago now.”

In that moment my heart began to race 1000 beats a minute.  He was the boy that I had set eyes on many times from my childhood living room standing in front of me.  I was so excited! I asked if he remembered me and he said he did not.

No matter, each shift that I went into work I always looked for him on my way up the stairs  and if he was sitting at that front desk I always said, “hello Irish,”   To which he would reply, “good evening Miss.”

I was always secretly hoping he’d be at that front desk when I came to work.  Just as in my childhood home there was something about him that drew me to him.  Now that something had a name, Extremely attracted.

 

 


Vacation

My therapist Lee, is on vacation.  I didn’t I think it would bother me really not seeing as I have so many walls up and don’t share a whole lot of my feelings in my sessions.  I tend to speak about mundane things and not dig too deep.   I mean, I do talk about my mom and my grief and how hard it is to have my son gone.    I keep my feelings safely bottled up behind walls because of what happened before.  You may read that about that here:

Yer Fired!  

I sometimes feel like the floodwaters of emotions have risen too high inside me and the dam will break soon.  So many feelings have been percolating in her absence.   I must have felt some degree of safety in just sitting in her bland and  non-descript office.

I found myself walking through WalMart mindlessly going up and down each aisle looking for something to buy, even though I didn’t really need anything.   Just to I’m not sure, maybe get my mind off of my feelings? Like that one magic item could bring me a piece of transient joy, if only for a moment.  But search as I may it remained elusive.  It felt like I was shopping for comfort.  As if there is a hole in me, a friend I have lost who was dear to me has left a space I cannot fill and I was trying to fill it with a purchase?  How strange yet true.

Well just slip me in a straight jacket now.  So many losses makes me want to insulate more! So I can’t get close to anybody, then I can’t lose anyone anymore.

The last time I can remember feeling happy I was six years old.   First grade.   It was my second year of school following kindergarten  and I was so excited to learn.

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Photo:  me first grade 

Things in my home began declining from then on.  Other than short periods of calm or transient periods of fun,  I haven’t been truly happy since around this age.  It feels like it’s been a three-ring-shit show ever since.

All I know is, deep down inside of me there is a burgeoning sense of change.  Of self-love.   It is never too late to start over.  It’s never too late to be the person you could have been.  It’s not too late for me!!!

 


Rest with Jesus

Rest in Peace,  Aretha Louise Franklin ❤️

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Godspeed….


Judas

The distance you crossed with your pen,

word by word, line by line.

you only ever saw in me

a paper concubine

*

In despair you lifted me up,

healing words of solace

one moment you would comfort me

then you would just transgress

*

Ghost friend that never existed.

things felt strangely amiss.

actions don’t meet the words you said.

you blew a fatal kiss

*

Your prowess with the written word,

can’t match your cunning tongue

your nose pointed up in the air

you are a charlatan.

*

Flummery you speak to lost girls,

you saw me as a whore,

a dullard, just leagues beneath you

a girl you could abhor.

*

Mirrored flaws, becoming each one.

so I’d feel empathy,

then you’d slink into the shadows

used… vulnerability.

*

Gather your gold pieces in hand

pleasure reading my pain.

so unless I am mistaken

don’t, come back again.


D-Day revisited

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I’ve been thinking back in time to my own D-Day, with my ex.   It was April  2010, close to my birthday.   After all my suspicions about him having an affair, I finally got my answer that night while he slept.  I was going through his computer, it was a simple photograph I had found, but what it represented would blow the lid off his life of duplicity and expose his secret life of sex addiction which began as an adolescent and had spanned decades.

Although I had no concrete proof to that point that he was having an affair, there were signs:

1. Porn – shit tons of it 

He always had loved porn, and encouraged, wait no, forced me to watch it with him. Told me that it would “spice up our sex life” and that if I didn’t said I was being a “wet rag” and “puritanical.”  If I would not watch it he would send me home.   We were only living with each other part-time then, between states, so to be sent home by your Dominant in the world of D/s was crushing.  To me, when he introduced porn, I was already in love with him.  When you are madly in love with a person, you don’t always stand on lofty principle.

To the people who are reading this that  want to say, “you should have just walked out the door”, don’t go there. I will tell you this:  when you are molested and raped as a child, it teaches you several things: that you have no boundaries,  no self-respect, no self-esteem, and no “No.”. Only a healthy person would walk out the door; and that is the important thing to note.

So against my straight-laced self’s judgment,  I began the process of my own journey delving into porn.   I discovered there were different kinds of it.  Soft porn which is the sort of porn that involves most heterosexual couples banging each other missionary style.  Then there is fetish porn.  It encompasses all kinds of things.   Pregnant porn, foot worship, Shibari, needle play, water sports.   He watched lots of BDSM porn:, girls getting beaten up and by their Masters with bondage, whipping, caning, flogging, St. John’s Cross. Chicks getting raped by hooded dudes, some of the more violent porn.  KKK vintage stuff beating up their girls, weird stuff.  Incestual films.  Beastiality.  As well as snuff films.

I saw things folks, that cannot be unseen.

2.  Lots of accounts on various sex sites

I also discovered on his computer about 20  sex sites to which he had active memberships.  When I inquired as to why this was, his answer was that he just never got around to deleting the accounts. When I asked when he would get rid of them of course it was “when I get to it, don’t henpeck.”

3.  Late night phone calls made in the bathroom while I slept

I would wake up to find him sitting on the toilet with his phone in hand and I’d ask him, “what are you doing?”  He’d snap  back at me, “is it OK if I check my voicemail? I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and I just wanted to check the time of my appointment, is that all right with you?.”   To which  I’d say ,”it’s 3:13 AM that’s all,  most people don’t take their phone in the bathroom at 3:13 in the morning.”  To which he’d quip,” I didn’t want to miss it.

He always had an answer for everything, It amazes me how quick he was on his feet. He never missed a beat in coming up with a response. Which is why at the time I wasn’t too accusatory or suspicious  because I know if I was lying, I’d be stumbling and bumbling over my words.  His heartbeat never went over 60 bpm and he look square in my eyes to tell me whatever it was he had to say. He couldn’t possibly be lying and keep a straight face,  right?

4.  The inconsistencies

There were inconsistencies that I would find.   For example he told me one time that he had a throbbing headache and that he was going to lie down that he had been snow-blowing for several hours and that he just need to take a break.  I got this feeling told me that something was off I just didn’t believe his story.  I took the half hour drive down I snuck around the corner of his house to check the snowblower and it was dead cold.   It should’ve been piping hot after four hours of snowblowing and yet it wasn’t.   There were these types of inconsistencies showing up everywhere a lot of the time.

Back to that photo.  He loved keeping pornographic photos of women on his pc.  He said he just loved the female naked body.   Of course in the beginning of our relationship I had felt insecure and even threatened by these images.  Why did he need to look at them? Why wasn’t I enough? He plainly stated it just was the way he was and it was how he’d always been.  He  reassured me that I was beautiful and not to worry about those photographs they were just a two-dimensional image.

On D-Day, the photo I found had never been there on the pc the week before.   I confronted him.  It was a photo of his hand with his Rolex watch, touching some woman’s snatch.   He explained without emotions, that the photo was from years ago.

So I told him then he should have no problem right clicking on said photo and showing me the time stamp that it was indeed from years ago.   He got angry saying that I was being controlling.  I said, “No you’re caught.”  When I insisted he show me , he told me,” get your things and get out, it’s over.”

I began to cry realizing I was right. I didn’t want to be right.   I began to beg him to tell me what happened. Saying I had been so good to him that I deserved answers.   He grew quiet.   Then he softly answered.”you really want to know?”

Yes, I sniffed.

“I went to a gang bang the first summer we were  together but I didn’t participate.  I only went.   I only touched her with a latex glove on my hand.  I was so nervous that I couldn’t even get an erection.”  Like it was somehow less bad that he went and only watched a woman get porked by 10 men on a table in some dark basement but he only took photos and only touched her with a sterile glove? WTF?!!!

I knew he was lying but I asked, “had you ever gone to a gang bang before?

“Yes,” He said ,”but that was before I knew you.  I felt really guilty this time because I was with you.  I thought because I was with you that I wouldn’t do things like this anymore.  But I swear all I did was touch her with a rubber glove.”

I lost it and flipped out and started screaming at him because I knew I was being lied to. I knew all the 13 Bacterial Vaginosis infections I had gotten with him, that I never had my whole life,  had to come from some place.

He asked me to leave.  To continue to pack my things and leave or he would call the police.  So I did.   I called my AA sponsor who came to help me with the boxes.  I left.

Three weeks later he called me.  He wanted to confess more.   That it was a lot more than a gang bang.  Craigslist hookups, swinging, women from AA, women from CVS, prostitutes from the red light district, hookups he got from fuck sites, old girlfriends he never disconnected with, friends with benefits. He even blew a couple of men. WTF? he the devout homophobe was actually bisexual?      I needed to catch by breath.  Oh, he added there was also one time that he paid money to go and watch a woman get fucked by a horse but that was cancelled at the last minute.  Was there anything he hadn’t fucking done?

I was numb.  I think I went into shock except I knew I needed to get to an OB/GYN.  And fast.  There were bits of flora and maybe fauna there were up in my muff that didn’t belong.  No wonder I was getting infections!!!Holy jumped up fear HIV running through my mind at rapid speed.

And yet,  part of me desperately loved him.  Strange to those who have not been through it.  Your brain goes through distinct phases of grief.  Shock is the first.  I could not wrap my head around that any of this was real.  It could not be.  Because I loved him.  I who graduated with honors from college could not have missed shit?!

Cognitive dissonance.  Trying to merge the intellectual part of what you know with the emotional part of you can’t yet grasp.  They are on a seemingly parallel course.

You are not ready for that degree of pain so your mind protects you in its own way.

I did what I thought to be a right course of action.  Like any good empath, caretaker, and codependent  I researched and then signed him up for the local chapter of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous or SLAA.  He was already in Alcoholics Anonymous AA (as was I) and had 20 years of sobriety. I figured how hard could it be? just plug in the word sex where booze should be and he’ll be all set.

He got a sponsor.   I jumped into S-Anon, the spouses version of the SLAA program, to understand his addiction and help stop my codependency.  I also went to a few SLAA open speaker meetings to hear some first hand accounts of recovery. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear some grandpa talking about how he molested one of his grandchildren and felt really guilty about it.   Hells bells! I had expected to hear just straightforward stories of spouses  cheating on each other?  not some registered sex offender.  It kind of turned my stomach to be honest and yet I felt bad for the guy as he was driven to act out  compulsively but desperately wanted to stop.   Then there was the woman who is having emotional affairs on line behind her husband back. A man who is crying in tears because he couldn’t stop cheating on his wife and didn’t really know why he was doing it because he really loved his wife.   The last man story I heard was a gay man who was having all sorts of sex with all sorts of people.   Ob his lunch break, after work, before work, rest stops. I’m not really sure if he wanted to stop quite yet or what but he recognized that he had a problem.

So he finally got a sponsor in SLAA after going to a few meetings.    So did I.  He got the books, so did I.   But on the way to one of his SLAA meetings one night, he never made it.  He had lied and said he was at a meeting but he was really in a hotel banging someone from who knows where.

It broke something deep in me that has never repaired, thus far.

He later told me he began masturbating at age 13 in between classes in junior high.  He’d go into the bathroom stall and jerk off.   He’d continue this behavior on into high school.  He began sleeping with a married woman who was in her 20’s when he was only 17.   As he got older his sexual behaviors changed more.  As his alcoholism deepened so did his depravity. He laughed and told me that he asked one woman he dated to put a lightbulb inside her honey pot, still attached to the lamp and then turned it on.  He said it lit up her whole tummy.   I asked him why he did that and he said, “to see what it would look like.” I told him I was pretty sure if it broke she could’ve gotten electrocuted and he laughed saying,” well it didn’t break.”

He would go to bars and bring intoxicated women back to his apartment and fuck them after they passed out.   He told me “they got what they deserved.” Then he would steal their panties and they would wake up the next morning wondering where their panties went and he would say to them , “I have no idea I don’t think you had any on.”   Then he would laugh to me and say, “stupid cunts.”   He said by the time he got married he had a huge stash of panties that he kept hidden behind his wife’s dresser.   To this day I believe it was a form of trophies that he was acquiring to relive each of those women and each of those nights.

He was of course not only a sex addict but also a sexual sadist.

I spent a solid year in S-ANON meetings working on no contact with him, learning from the experience , strength,  and hope from others, so that I wouldn’t get sucked back in, should he ever come to hustle me back when he found himself with a hard dick and a thin pool of options.   I chaired meetings, made outreach calls, and shared my story.   I never thought I would hear from him again.  They all told me that I would and that if I didn’t work on myself I’d go right back.  Sex and love are potent ties that can bind.

He came knocking unexpectedly on Valentines Day one year and a half later.   I opened my door and found him standing there with a box of chocolates in hand.   I let him in.   He tried to make a few moves on me but because of all the hard work I did I showed him to the door. His jaw dropped.  I was not the same woman he had left a year and a half before.

Valentine’s Day for those of you who don’t know are days that sex addicts come knocking on their exes doors; as well as other holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc  because they can’t find anyone to screw.  Not.. because they miss anyone  as I was later to find out in the meetings attended.   Those holidays are days that sex addicts can’t find anyone to screw because all of their potential  partners are home with their spouses and cannot  “play.”

It is been eight years since my D-Day.  He continues to contact me sporadically.  I will save that for another post.   His last words when we broke up were, “even if you’re with someone else, I will always own you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

For more reading about this period of my life start here:

Of Mice and Monsters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of interest, Alcoholism has a success rate of only 8-12% with AA being the most successful program to treat the disease.  It goes without saying that the other some odd 90% spend their time is in and out of rehabs, actively drinking, incarcerated, or die to the Disease or disease related complications

It has been said that sex addiction is more difficult to treat because involves a biological process as a part of the addiction.   95% of  sex addicts will relapse.  Relapse is a part of recovery as with any addiction.  The statistics for long-term recovery are difficult to find but are said to be lower than 8-12% as with alcohol and drug addicts.


The Lost Gnostic Gospel of St. Thomas: Heresy or Holy?

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Photo:                                                      Pompeo Batoni -The Crucifixion 1762

In 1945 in a Village in Nag Hammadi, Egypt; a peasant stumbled upon an amazing find while searching for fertilizer for his crops. Buried inside an earthen vessel lay 13 ancient codices containing 50 papyrus texts that had been buried and once thought lost and destroyed to the world forever.
“Whoever finds the meaning of these words will not taste death.”

These texts once translated several times over, are now understood to be the early Christian struggle to define “orthodoxy” — scriptures such as the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Philip, and the Gospel of Truth.

The documents have been scientifically authenticated to be carbon dated to the time period in question. The author(s) considered themselves to be Christians however relied upon and often referenced the Greek Philosopher Plato. The documents were rejected by the Church as Heretic.

I have read 3 translations of the documents and they do parallel a good deal of that which is contained in the Synoptic Gospels.

Is this another case of the Church that Absolute Power Corrupted Absolutely?

Were they trying to suppress ideas that were counter to the other four established Cannonical Gospels in order to make a round peg fit into a square hole so they could keep their version of events? their propaganda spinning?

Or was it indeed a rogue counter-culture religious sect trying to pass on their twisted version of a “time capsule” they wanted to leave behind?

Where does the Truth lie?


78, 79, 80 Hike!!!

1978- Dr. Hook -Sharing the Night Together

1979- Poco-Crazy Love

1978- Ambrosia- How Much I Feel

1980- Robbie Dupree- Steal Away

1979- Cliff Richard- We Don’t Talk Anymore


3:47 am

The bad moon is rising

cursing me once again

hours drag past, lids weigh heavy

tik tock goes the pendulum clock

fluorescent flashes,  flickering, dancing across the wall

muffled sounds from a distant channel singing it’s muted lullaby

profound perseveration  persisting

hot-poker searing memories shroud me in a soft adrenaline blanket

knight after knight

night after night

obsessive rumination of unrelenting pain and problems

solutions drip from faucets of logic, then drain down gutters to nowhere

tik tock goes the pendulum clock

an infinite loop of

hope turning into despair

body aching, muscles contorting  becoming twisted, knotty, tangled vines

ensnaring me to the mattress

time melts, regroups, defying physics

eternity in the space of some hours

tik tock goes the pendulum clock

exhausted now, shaking, hypnogic images form in my peripheral vision

spectral apparitions, angels? demons? in the far corner of room

fear can’t restrain my pummeled body from collapse

sinking down, submitting to sleep

cognition surrenders,

until dusk falls again…

 

 

 

 


Dust the Crack Cocaine Off

Morgan Hanbery is better than any Prozac at inhibiting the Seratonin at the synaptic gap in my neural network.

Double blind studies are underway at the NIH that show promise in both depressed patients and their neurotypical counterparts alike.

Mwah ha ha ha.   Love her.


Requiem

Invisible child seen, not heard

given something to cry about.

sought your own switches

received many stitches

you’re no good, you know

Never had a “no”

~~~~~

His fast hand was

life’s quicksand

given a slipknot lifeline

a lynching of the heart

tightening each time

lies proliferated

~~~~~

Secrets oathed in darkened rooms

hiding the profane

innocence corrupted

silent rage erupted

love lies bleeding

Life is receding….

 

 

 

 

 

 


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