Tag Archives: healing

Truth

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Re-read that again.  And again.   A few times.   Until it becomes real for you.  You’re worth it.  ❤️


Puppet

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I try and pinpoint the exact moment when I realised that my emotional movement was being controlled by his dark choreography.   I wasn’t aware until the merciless incessant tugging, left me tangled in the cords, unable to move.

It was then I knew, I was dancing for the Devil.

Liberation first begins with the realization one is captive.

I cut the strings.

I am bound no more.

To all the girls and boys out there who have become insidiously ensnared.

Freedom is within your reach….it always has been.


Flashback

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3…..2…..1….. 

 

heart races

stomach drops

blood runs cold

it’s happening again!

eyes shut tight

paralyzed with terror.

please not here, not now.

 

I’m teetering

400 miles up

on this tight rope

I’m walking.

no one

can hear me scream

but me. 

 

1…..2…..3……

 

don’t say a word

just breathe

in and out.

act normally

open your eyes

touch the ground

it’s not happening.

 

Ghosts look so very real.

Hard to discern

no imminent harm

in pursuit of me.

After all these years,

they still besiege me,

unexpextedly.

 

 


In plain sight

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I stand there before You,
aching for Your
love.

Your affection.

Your approval.

i can’t believe after all this time,
You’ve
never looked at me.

in my pig tails and patent leather
shoes
,
standing in the doorway
wistful and willing.

but You cannot see me.

for i am hiding behind the wallpaper
where all
little girls hide,
the ones who survived.

layers upon layers cover me
redecorated as
years pass,
yet i remain forever unchanged.

frozen in time
beneath this woman
veneer.
waiting and hoping,
will you take me home?


Speed

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Volume blaring

wind kissed skin

motor runs high

I’m free again.

Out stretched road

with miles of driving

no boys in blue

feel like I’m flying.

Push down the pedal

a little more

on a lonesome highway

my spirit soars.

 

photo:  mine,  I-91N Deerfield, MA


Of Mice and Monsters VII

Not long after he shared his fantasy of his torture chamber with me. I was in my home and received a call from him. He told me, “you should really check the unsolved homicides from 1995-1997 in Boston. 

So indeed I logged onto the Massachusetts State police website and told him, “I see X amt. of victims here. They are both male and female. They have a wide range in age and ethnicity. The manner of death varies as does both the manner and means in which their bodies were disposed.”

I continued, “I’m not seeing any identifiable pattern of behavior that would tie any of these victims together.

He replied, ” No, that’s right you don’t.”

So I questioned, “why did you have me go check on these specific unsolved homicides from these 2 years?

Nothing

Did you have anything to do with these?”

Silence

Then…..quiet laughter.

Then, “goodnight Lexi.”

Then the phone hung up.


The following day I phoned the Massachusetts State Police and asked to speak to a detective.   I ended up talking to one and told my entire story. Highlighting his sexual sadism and impulsive violence, the photographs I saw of the pummeled, black and blue woman, on through to the animal killing story, to the sexual fantasy of wanting to abduct a teen.

Sadly, the detective thought that my claim was outrageous, my credibility nill , and he consequently dismissed me as a crackpot.  He told me he would “ keep a report on file.”  This I knew to be a lie.  I felt like this sexual sadist was above the law.  I was pretty sure he believed he was above the law too.

I felt hopeless that day, but things were about to change and a Higher law would set things right.


Of Mice and Monsters VI

At some point I thought I would try and get into his mind to see what sort of pathology (or not) may exist. I held a college degree in Psychology and had worked in the field for several years.  Beyond the obvious of his sexual sadism, and catching in numerous lies, his words and actions weren’t shoring up. Ever. I felt crazy all the time but my gut told me something deeper was wrong.   I needed proof that I wasn’t crazy, that there was something there underneath his mostly charming personality.

I knew I would be unable to be objective. However, I believed I would be able to keep a good “veneer” on not showing my shock if he divulged something that upset me. I also knew that if he got the first hint that I was off put by his disclosures, he would not only shut down but that he would also retaliate against me.

Risky for me indeed, yet things were not adding up and I wanted answers. I felt this sort of going “under cover” with him was the only way I would get my answers. Unless you a person with a burning sense of inquisitiveness, where you are almost “driven” to be analytical? None of the reasons I needed to know, will ever make sense to you. Don’t try to understand. Because by this point dear reader if you can’t understand why I needed answers, you have probably already written me off in the “crazy she should have just left” bin long ago.

I began probing his sexual fantasies fully expecting to hear more tales of sadism. I lied to gain his trust that I too, had a few sadistic fantasies but had repressed mine. Mine however were not sexual. They centered around retaliatory themes about bullying done to me in high school and by the abuse I had endured as a small child.

It worked.

He began trusting me and opening up. I never imagined what he was to say.

He envisioned enticing a young 17-18 year old female student into his van. My first question, “how would you get her in?

He answered, “well that’s where you would come in. Teen girls are much more likely to come near a van when you are asking for directions if a woman is present and asking.”

I let out a sigh…..

“So, I would need you to help me lure her near the van.” He quipped.

Okay” I listened.

Then I would run around and grab her and put the chloroform napkin over her mouth and you would help me shove her into my van, then we drive off.”

I’m quite certain I had to take great effort to mask the absolute horror as it was coursing through me as I was listening to him say the word chloroform. My heart was racing. I felt sweat pooling everywhere. I knew if I bailed now I would never know who was in front of me, nor how much danger I was in. I pressed on.

Okay, so what would we do with her once we have her in the van?”

“Well the van would be soundproof and she’d be chained to the floor by bolts on her legs and I’d bind her arms making her easier to control later. I wouldn’t take any chances.” he explained

“Right, not after all that trouble.” I said.

“Then we’d take her back to my torture chamber. I haven’t built it yet. But I can tell you it would be awesome, state of the art. All stainless steel. Drainage grate in the floors that bodily fluids could be washed down. . All kinds of hooks overhead to hang implements. Large stainless steel hospital bed. You get the idea. This way you can bleach and clean everything so there’s no trace of anything. Soundproof. “

He was so excited talking about it all. It was chilling.

“So what would you do with her first?” I asked.

“Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!! Other that the obvious of taking her several different ways?”

“Yeah right.”

“I’d pull her nipples off with a pair of needle nose pliers.”

Once again I struggled to maintain composure and made sure not to wait too long without commenting I didn’t want him to think I was faking being into his sick fantasy. The best I could muster was to reality check him.

“If you did that, she would likely go into shock and wouldn’t be alive much longer after that.”

He chuckled, “Smart. I knew there was a reason I keep you around.”

He spoke about various torture methods too gruesome to speak of here. I can say that it involved torturing the girl til she passed out, waking her up with ammonia and other means and then repeating this until she died.  Then disposing of her body in plastic bags in a river.  This was a turning point for me.

This was far beyond the scope of anything I had ever personally encountered. Only the sort of thing one reads in text books or watches on shows like Forensic Files, where the girlfriend/wife/victim ends up dead.


Withdrawal

(stock image- not mine)

When a person puts down their drug of choice, they enter withdrawal.

Sometimes the drug is a chemical like alcohol, cocaine, heroin, nicotine.

Other times the drug may be a behavior like gambling, compulsive shopping, sex-addiction, anorexia, or relationships.

In my case, it is the latter.

Codependency is a form of addiction and is complex.  The codependent has feelings of love for their person of affection, but also has hyper-dependency on that person which is extremely unhealthy and maladaptive.  Sifting that out and sorting out how much is what, takes time and a lot of work.  But the codependent does need to go through withdrawal.  A period where they have no contact (NC) with their partner or person has become their drug of choice.  That person, has become what the codependent uses as a salve to escape from pain and uncomfortable feelings, because they lack the ability to self-soothe.    This usually is because most codependent come from trauma and denied the basic love and care they needed to learn how to self-soothe.  So they turn to alcohol and drugs and eventually people/relationship(s) to feel better/okay.

A Recovery Partner passed this along to me last night and it blew me away because it totally spoke to a deep place within me when I heard it.

 Withdrawal. 

The experience is  you… The experience is you a part of you which has been trying to surface for a long time.  You have been avoiding or postponing this pain for a long time now, yet you have never been able to lastingly outrun it.  You need to go through withdrawal in order to become a whole person.  You need to meet your self.  Behind the terror of what you fear, withdrawal contains the seeds of your wholeness.  It must be experienced for you to realize, or make real, that potential for you and your life which has been stored there for so long.


Tomboy

I have always been sort of a tomboy, I guess.

Doesn’t make for easy dating experience.

Especially first dates.

“So what interests you Lexi?” some date will ask.

 “Guns” I say,   “as in going to a firing range.”  ( Which for me would be like an ideal first date)  I go on “watching serial killer movies and thrillers, yanno that sort of thing.”  I would continue responding to the question, ” studying homicide investigations and the criminal mind, psychopathology overall is of huge interest to me.”      Driving my car really fast down the free way, racing with another car would be ideal but it’s illegal.  Yanno shit like that.  I would love to learn to horse-back ride someday.”

But when you tell the truth, you don’t get a second date.

Because it’s not feminine.   I guess men are looking for June Cleaver with the apron strings and shit.  Men don’t want a chick who digs manly things.  But that’s not me.  I don’t like to cook, sew, bake, quilt, crochet and all that crap.  I don’t know why.  I just don’t.

I even feel out-of-place wearing high heels.   First off it’s hard walking in them and I’ll be honest, they’re uncomfortable as fuck to wear.  I only do it at the request of the person I have been with, but even then I hate it.

I DO like getting all dolled up for the right man, but it’s only as a means to an end.  It’s because of the effect it has on him.  I do it despite hating it because I know it turns him on.  But honestly, I will never, and yes I will use the word never, EVER, wear my nails some porno length again for a man.  They look like claws and it’s just not me.   I hated it.   I think it looks nasty.    I HATE wearing nail polish, all the upkeep it’s a lot of bullshit.   Maybe that makes me a tomboy? who knows reader, you will have to reach your own conclusions.

Maybe it will render me living alone for rest of my life.  But I can promise you it won’t be me living with a bunch of cats (sorry cat lovers) I just don’t dig cats.

But I will be authentic from here on in.   I can’t fake being some cupey doll for someone else.  It takes too much energy trying to pretend I”m something I am not.  And it looks like I am tomboy-ish.

Oh well, there it is.   They say there’s someone for everyone out there.   After I get my shit straight in a few years who knows.  Maybe my Higher Power will put a man in my life who likes tomboy-ish women?


10 days

10 days.

I cried today.

in the shower.

my tears blended in with the water.

with the knowledge that he’s never coming back.

there’s a finality.

grief hurts.

healing begins.

10 days.

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(stock photo- not mine)


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