My Journey

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
- Robert Frost
1 month ago. Fri 03 Aug 2018 08:04:57 PM IDT

I have often struggled with how we dysfunctional, codependent people have managed relationships. I’m not referring to just intimate relationships, but how friendships are managed without dragging other people through the mud with us? I have thought about this for a long time, and I think I have a possible solution, at least it makes sense to me… It lies in the very nature of codependent relationships.
Every co-dependent relationship is based on one major thing: the need to fix some “flaw” in the other person. To put it another way, it is the deep seated need to “rescue” the other person from…themselves. I have learned that what I wanted was to be validated, for someone to convince me that I was something other than who I thought I was. I tell myself that I am a failure, a bad man, broken, fractured, and unable to live without someone validating me.
Can you see the problem above? If I view myself one way and someone comes along and tells me I’m not a bad man or broken, then I need to start seeing myself through their eyes to feel worthy. If I sense disappointment in their eyes, or if they leave, my view of myself is re-validated and even strengthened. But as we seek therapy and “get better”, what is the reason for others to be around us, if not to “fix” our issues? As I learn how to mitigate my issues and battle with my monsters, how do I define my relationships? Where I once relied on others to help me fix my problem as the basis for relationships, now I have to find a new basis to be with my friends. For many, this would be way too much. For some, the family members see the change and don’t want to adjust to the new person. So they create an atmosphere so the codependent, or borderline is unable to get better…they sabotage therapy so the status quo is maintained.
So what the hell do we do? How can we possibly navigate this goddamn minefield? I have discovered I am able to better handle my issues. Even more so, I am able to look at my monsters and see beyond them to what lies after. Sure, they will wake and they will rattle their cages. I will always feel the intensity, the rage, and the absolute nothingness. Those things will never go away. The issues that accompany BPD will, to some degree, always be there: the fear of abandonment, the black and white thinking, the triggers that lead to the internal struggles, and the chaotic push/pull in relationships.
What I have discovered is when I struggle with an issue, when the monsters within decide to get crazy, just be there and let me talk. I’d like to think I’m not stupid, so I may have an idea of what’s going on…at least for me. What I don’t need is someone to give advice or validate me as a person. Just let me talk it out myself and use you as a sounding board. Do I want validation, fuck yes I do. Do not do it. Just be there to listen and ask questions.
When this happens, I wrestle and fight with the things I’m struggling with. I very rarely find a solution, but I do usually find resolution. That makes me stronger for the next fight. So, armed with this, I have learned I can see the sun for the first time. For the first time, I can look beyond the monsters and issues and be positive about the future. I feel lighter inside, my vision is clearer, my fucking smile is not fabricated. I have felt the colors of happiness for once and drank from the pool of the living. I no longer look to just survive or exist, I am finding purpose and a better idea of who I am…and for once in my God forsaken life, I’m beginning to like who I am becoming.
I have my entire life ahead of me, however long or short that is. I will still have my struggles and issues, but that’s ok. I have spelunked the depths of hell, stood face to face with the very demons who threatened to consume me, and have returned from the land of the dead. Sure, I left pieces of myself back there somewhere and I am weathered and worn. I am bowed and have been bent in every direction, but am not broken anymore. I am not just a survivor, I am a goddamn conquerer.
Thank you for taking the time to travel this journey with me. Rest assured it is not over, there is always something more to write. I will, no doubt, be revisiting my past and things that occurred. I hope that by opening up, you have been able to find the courage within to grow and be stronger, to face your own demons and learn from them.

1 month ago. Fri 03 Aug 2018 07:24:07 AM IDT

This is a 2, 3, or 4 part section on Now What The Fuck Do I Do? This first part is a rehash, with a little added, and then we start getting to the good stuff. Buckle up my children, it should get good.

 

So, after all has been said up to his point, now what? The way I see things I have two choices: 1) I can either remain where I am and hope that someone comes along to fix me, or 2) I can get up off my ass and learn how to live again and develop the skills to help me manage/mitigate the issues I struggle with. Ultimately this choice is mine, and mine alone to make. I am responsible to no one for my choices, save myself. I already know my answer.
I have swam in the deep waters. I have plumbed the depths of the dark caverns of my soul and found that they are not as scary as the monsters we read in children’s books. Oh, I was told they were worse. I was led to believe they were so evil and terrible that one small gaze upon them would turn me to a pile of salt. I was once terrified of what I saw, what I felt within me, and was convinced there was no way I could overcome.
I will not lie, when the Beast wakes and the demons rattle their cages, it’s hard. It’s difficult to manage. Sometimes all I can do is sit in my office chair and listen to loud, heavy music to try and drown our what they are trying to say and how intense the pain is. Or, when the nothingness comes, and whispers things to entice me to lay down next to her, the depths of despair that I can travel…it is incredible. So, I listen to music then too, not heavy, but a little more mellow. They say music soothes the savage beast, and in this case, I would have to agree it at least calms the tension due to a lack of anything.
At one point all I could see around me is a swamp, a swamp of rage, frustration, pain, fear, shame, despair, worthlessness, and guilt. I could not see any way out, there was no hope. I was convinced that the only recourse I had was to live a life of mere existence and survival or put myself out of my misery and rid the world of one more fuck-up. It comes as no surprise to me that 1 in 7 Borderlines attempt suicide. I don’t think it’s because we are weak, if you think that…I would like to invite you to walk just one day in my shoes. No, now I think it’s because the emotional intensity and disregulation is too much to handle. I used to think I couldn’t go another day, just waiting until the time came and I felt the monsters within waking up. I’m really not an overly outward emotional person, I actually cried for a few seconds when I told my therapist about the sexual abuse. But when these battles begin, sometimes it’s all I can do to just sit where I am. Otherwise I know I will get up, walk out of my house, and right into an oncoming car.
Are there times when the monsters still get loud and angry, fuck yes. My father asked me about a year after I got out of prison if I still thought about it. I wanted my response to reflect the accuracy of how often I thought about it. I replied, “There is only one time when I don’t think about it, or what I did…when I’m sleeping.” The same thing applies to the things within. The battles always rage, it never ends. The only thing that changes is which enemy I fight and how we choose to do battle. 

1 month ago. Thu 02 Aug 2018 02:08:00 AM IDT

I have always considered myself as strong, tough, a survivor. I have a high tolerance for pain, and have taken a lot of it…and gave as good as I got. We’ve all heard the expressions: “Never let them see you sweat” and “Real men don’t cry.” I learned at an early age that in order to be a man, to be tough, I had to be confident, resilient, and had to have all the answers. I had deluded myself into thinking to be tough meant you don’t have weaknesses…and emotions are a person’s biggest weakness. I had never let anyone in, because then they would discover my fatal flaw…something I knew deep down, I’m not strong. In fact, I was the opposite of strong. I spent most of my life running from my demons and those things that tormented me from within.
I ran from he idea I lived in an abusive household. I ran from the idea I was terrified of letting people get to know me. I even ran from the idea that I liked myself. Why? What was it that was so terrible and horrible that I had to run from it? Other than the shit I started doing around the time I was 16 or so, and when I tried to take someone’s life when I was 23, did I do something so heinous that I couldn’t even look in a mirror? What else was there in my life, what else could there possible be lurking around inside? I had a feeling that whatever it was, that thing was waking the beast and rattling the demons’ cages. I had to investigate, search, and root out that little mother fucker and bring it to light. I stopped fearing what the shadows within hid from me. No, in fact, I got angry at it. I didn’t know wha it was, but I knew it was something.
Then it hit me. Rather, I finally said out loud what I have known this thing to be. I’m not going to lie, I’ve thought about it every day for 30 some years. It wasn’t repressed, or forgotten, it was at the very forefront of my mind…every goddamn day and it has been the crux of all my anger, guilt, frustration, fear, hopelessness, and even my shame. It was the thing that to this day, still causes me to hate crowds, feel vulnerable when I shake hands, and encourages me to withdraw when someone asks questions. Because of this “thing”, I question my purpose and my self-worth, I question my sanity and why anyone would want to be around me. I question who I am and what I know…I even question the questions. Are you ready? Will you step a little deeper with me into the rabbit hole? Don’t worry, I’ve already been here. It’s safe. Even if it opens up your own trail, there is safety there. Things that are hidden are powerful as only as long as they remain hidden, tucked away…secrets. Once they are let out, the hold no power.
I was sexually abused when I was probably around 10. I knew it was sometime around then because my father had moved out of the state and we were living in a different place. To my knowledge, it only happened once. He was my best friend, I was staying the night at his house. We were playing some board game in his room and the next thing I know he was asking if I wanted to do something. I knew it was wrong, I knew I should have said no. The next memory I have is my pants pulled down and he was sucking my dick. It didn’t go on very long, I don’t even think I got an erection. I damned sure didn’t cum. That has haunted me every day since it happened. Did I tell anyone? Fuck no, I had no one I could talk with…no one I could trust, not even myself. There are only a couple of people who know about this, so don’t go blabbing it around town. Well, a couple of people people and now you.
See, issues like rage and guilt can be considered masculine things. it’s a tough guy issue. Shame on the other hand is something entirely different. Physical and emotional abuse are one thing, but sexual abuse? People look at you a little different, kind of like it’s not ok to play in their sandbox anymore. It pisses me off, sexual abuse victims being looked at as though it was their fault and now they are going to turn into pedophiles. Fucking society.
Nope, I don’t give a fuck what people say or even think. I have written these blogs for one sole purpose…healing. Not mine, primarily, but yours…my readers. Sure, I have put this out to be invite you to look at it with me, to stand over this fucking, goddamn, heap of trash and just say, “Yep, it’s trash.” No judgements, no condemnation, placing no value on it whatsoever. Simply acknowledge it for what it is.
The band Disturbed remade a song titled, “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel. Stop here, go listen to it on youtube if you haven’t already. It’s a song about what happens when we stop listening, stop talking with each other. We fragment, become little gods of our own, withdraw from others, and eventually hide from ourselves. We need to stop being so goddamn silent and afraid of saying things. We are human beings and need relationships. We need to open up and invite others to look at our trash. If they don’t want to, fuck the shallow bastards. I’d rather have one or two quality people who will accept me, and me them, and want a deeper bond, than 500 people who just want to say, “hi”.
I am anonymous here, I can sit and type at my desk and say whatever I want and be whomever I choose to be. I can pretend I have no issues, or I can write about being so fucked up hide behind that and tell the truth about my struggles. Can you?

1 month ago. Wed 01 Aug 2018 05:24:46 PM IDT

I used to struggle with the issues of guilt and anger over my child abuse and thought that was those were the core issues. When I finally acknowledged that the core was something far more sinister, more cunning, more deceptive, I felt like I had found a part of myself and could heal. The issue at the core was not anger or guilt, it was shame. Shame for not being able to stop the things that I saw, things that happened to me, and shame for the things I had done.
But his shame that I had deluded myself into thinking was anger and guilt, once I embraced it, brought together the fragmented pieces of who I am. See, the fragmentation or feelings of disconnectedness from ourselves is an illusion brought upon by the lie of shame. This happened or that happened and it wasn’t your fault, but you are still demanded to feel shame for it. It’s a lie. I wish I could tell you that this awaking I had blew open the gates and I found complete acceptance and healing.
What I did learn is that I care very deeply about things. I’m not sensitive or overly emotional, I just care very deeply. Which is one reason I have very, very few friends. I won’t go into that now, perhaps later. What I will say is that since I have understood this core issue and accepted it, I have begun to see things clearer and am a lot more positive about the future. For once, I have hope. I don’t assume that I will never have struggles, on the contrary…I know the creatures inside will never go away. All I can do is learn how to manage them more effectively.
But with the good comes the bad. I am a firm believer that the things we have walked though in our past are going to teach us how to walk through more difficult things in the future. What things you ask? What could be worse than what I have described in my past blogs? I have not had an easy or good life. There are those whose struggles are not as bad as mine, yet there are those who have gone through a hell I couldn’t even conceive. But, this is my struggle, my issues.
I have always tried to see myself as a survivor, not a victim. I refuse to be known as a victim. I have considered myself to be pretty tough, I have a high threshold for pain and can take some serious punishment. I thought myself resilient, reasonable, and thoughtful, to say the least. Then I started exploring things that went beyond vanilla sex, I started looking into the kinkier things and found excitement. There are so many things I want to explore, I feel like a kid in a candy store. But I have this one goddamn hang up…shame. I had come to believe that I felt shame when I was given things, because I was not worthy. I felt shame when I had an orgasm, I thought because it was selfish.
Ok, at this point some of you may be saying, “Damn this guy is fucked up, he really needs therapy.” to you…fuck off. I don’t need or want you judgement, and I am in therapy.
Ya, why in the fuck would I feel shame having an orgasm? Why would I feel shame wanting to do the things I want to do, they aren’t illegal? All I know is I feel so much shame, if I could, I would hide from myself and castrate my thought and feelings from the rest of me.
I have tried to resurrect the emotions tied with this so I could be very descriptive, but they seem to elude me. All I feel now is the nothingness, and it has seduced me into holding her. As I sit here, I feel absolutely numb. If you don’t understand, go research Anhedoina.

1 month ago. Wed 01 Aug 2018 12:59:52 AM IDT

Caveat: I wrote a small novel and it was suggested I break it up over three days. I will make no apologies for what I write, this may offend you, and if it does...Here's how the next three days will work. Day 6 (below) is an attempt for you to undersatnd my inner workings. The next day, obviously Day 7, will be a bridge between Days 6 and 8. I haven't been able to get in the right emotional state of mind to write very eloquently, if that bothers you...I don't give a shit (Let's just be honest). Happy reading, I hope you take something away from this, and as I have said many times, feel free to email or comment somewhere, I really do rather like sharing rhe things we struggle with and have grown from.

 

To all of you who have been wondering where I have been, I apologize. Lately I have been wrestling with another type of beast that I have discovered laying within. If you are not familiar with BPD, or to better understand what I am saying, I would suggest for you go to YouTube and look up “I am Borderline self regulation project”. I think it’s the most accurate representation of what I, personally, experience daily. I have not looked back on my previous blogs, and will probably repeat myself more than once. I’ve slept since writing them…at least a little bit.
Let me clarify what goes on with my issues. I have C-PTSD and BPD. Within me lies two “forces” than I battle daily (These explanations are ways I describe what goes on inside of me and how I feel…they are illustrations and metaphors). The two “forces” I refer to are my demons, who live in cages and the Beast within who gets really pissed off when he wakes up. The Beast signifies my rage. Imagine if you will when Bruce Banner turns into the Hulk…only worse. It happens in the blink of an eye and is very intense and extremely destructive. This rage I feel is the strongest emotion and demands the most energy to fight. If I fail to keep any of these things under control, it could very easy lead to someone (me) getting hurt or worse. This rage embodies all the anger, guilt, self-loathing, failures, and shame (yes I said shame) that I have carried around from all the years of abuse.
When I refer to my “demons rattling their cages”, it is an example of all the intensity I have inside. Borderlines lack an emotional regulator, we can go from 0-15 in no time and there is no release valve. We feel everything, all emotions, at once and they are the extremes. Thats not to say I’m laughing and crying at the same time, I rarely laugh or cry. It’s just referencing the intensity. I would agree with those who have studied this topic that for a borderline, the emotional intensity is so extreme, it is physically painful. I think that’s where my suicidal ideations come from, When wave after wave of this things washes over you, you get so goddamn tired of fighting and trying to manage.
But I have a third creature that resides within, that I have named the "nothingness". When the beast and the demons come alive, it’s a frontal attack. I can see the forces gathering and know that they are coming. With the “nothingness”, it’s more like it is creeping around, hiding behind the others. I can feel the storm of nothing, a void, brewing gathering it’s strength and seductively calling me to come. It’s a welcome relief from the other two, but the despair and thoughts of failure and worthlessness it brings can be crippling. It masks itself as something else, something less evil but in the end, is much more devastating.

2 months ago. Wed 18 Jul 2018 02:55:37 PM IDT

I apologize for the delay in writing, writer's block sucks. I think I need to take a break from writing, I know it's only been four days worth of writing, but to someone with BPD, it gets really exhausting. I get emails from people sharing their thoughts, experiences, and even parts of their soul. I find that very refreshing, and encouraging. I believe everything happens for a reason, especially when we struggle. I would argue that if we spent our life seeking out pleasure and happiness, life would grow weary, we would become complacent, and stop growing.

I spent most of my younger years, ok, up until I was 28, apologizing for everything, even those things that weren't my fault. I was probably around ten at the time and was visiting my father. My brother and I spent about a month every year together, visiting the same parent before one of us moved with the other parent. He and I nver had a decent relationship, I think he resented me as he was always charged with taking care of me. This time was no exception. Our father had told my brother that he was in charge and not to eat and spoil dinner, we would eat when dad got home from work. I think it was bareky after noon and I decided I wanted to eat something. My brother met me in the kitchen and we had a few words, very few in fact, because as soon as I talked back to him he lifted me off the floor and threw me across the kitchen. I only stopped when my back hit the oven. It was a good throw, to be honest. I was pretty small at the time, but I'm sure to get the distance he really had to put his ass behind it...valiant effort.

I wish, my dear reader, I could tell you I got up off the ground and stomped his ass, but I didn't. Nope, never mind that he probably would have kicked my ass, my worry was the beating I would have gotten from my father. So, I ran out of the house crying in anger and shame (If you think less of me for that, go fuck yourself. This was I think one of the last times I can recall crying). So I left and went for walk, trying to calm the demons that were raging inside of me. Why was he so adamant about not eating. It was lunch time, we had breakfast, and all I wanted was a small bowl of goddamn ice cream. I think what pissed him off was not that I wanted to eat, but because I said two words in defiance to him, "So, what." Doesn't matter, he was wrong for acting out. Period.

I decided to walk to my grandmother's house, about 200 yards away from my father's and hopefully wait for my father to arrive. As I walked through the woods and arrived at the dirt road, my father pulled up. He stopped in front of me and told me to turn around and go home. I could barely hear him, almost like he was in a tunnel. No, I was intently focused on the smiling, beaming face of the person sitting next to him...my brother. We learned at an early age how to twist things and manipulate the situation to our favor, and we were good. Not good enough to fool our parents, but good enough to fool a lot of people...and he was better, much better than I. When we I got home, they were there. I had to apologize for my actions toward my brother, and that beating I was worried about getting from my father, I got it anyway.

I'm tired of apologizing. I'm tired of secrets and the constant worry that someone will look at me and see them. There are many things I could share with you, many, many demons inside who have names, but somethings I share only with those whom I am very close to. That's my perogative. But I have no secrrets anymore. I have sttod on the house top and shouted them out for all the world to hear. Those very few people (three I can count), who know me, know me well. The one person, knows me so intimately it scares the hell out of me. In that relationship I find grace, acceptance, and I am not ashamed of anything. That one, and the others, give me strength to press on ad learn more about myself. They give me the courage to face my demons and not be afraid of their chaos. I am who I am, and I am free for that. But only because there are those who see me and see beyond my scars and hideousness. And you, my beloved reader, because you have continued with me so far (and there is more to come), have grown also. Maybe you see it in yourself, maybe not yet. But you have grown. You read what I wrote, and the seeds are planted. Something insdie of you stirs, hungers, desires to call out to break the chains that have you bound. You may not know it, but there is strength in you, strength to embrace who you are and what you want. Fight the good fight. 

 

2 months ago. Sun 15 Jul 2018 11:59:10 AM IDT

I was stuck all with writer's block. You know, even with all the ideas in your head and papers full of thought from brainstorming, an idea is considered but when you start going down that rabbit hole...SMACK, right into the wall. I hate writer's block. I thought about writing about the agression I feel with as a result of never feeling safe, never feeling like someone had my back. So I would over compensate with control...Nope, not going down this hole now. I'll save this for another day, perhaps Day Five.

No, I spent my time today reading blogs and emails from people I am in the process of building friendships with, even from those blogs that pull at my heart strings.  I have realized in my short time here, something I have never found in my recently turned 47 years of life: Honesty, openness, courage, and strength. I read of people I have never met talk about their struggles, their pain, their joys, and things that bring them comfort. I saw it when I first signed up, I read it in the first emails I received.

I hope you see it, we, this community, is the very definition of Pluribus Unum, "Out of the many, One." As a people, we seek unity in diversity and here it is so obvious. We all have different ideas of what BDSM constitues and how to play the game. For some, it consists of just playing roles without any emotional attachment. For others, the acts are not near as important as the connection. Let's not stop there, the acts themselves vary from person to person. Definitions change, each relationship is unique. Since I have learned to embrace who I am, completely, I have found new freedoms and confidences I thought were hidden from me.

You who have joined me on my journey, you who have reached out to me, you have helped me and given me the strength to bare my soul and wounds still raw so hopefully I can discover another layer to who I am.  I have seen in this community, people who are not afraid to look within, embrace their pain, and muster the courage to share it with others here in an open blog. I know who I am, I can bare myself without fear of your judgement or ridicule, because I know if you snicker at my pain or call me weak, then you are to be pitied.  For me, sharing who I am and what I have survived is the next step in my growth. There are those here who openly write of their struggles and pain, all the while afraid of ridicule, assholes trying to be fixers, and pathetic individuals who prey on their emotions. 

I have seen and met some of the most couargeous people here, in this community. Courage is not the absence of fear, but action in spite of it (I have no clue where I heard that). To you who have the courage to face your pain and grow through it, for what it's worth, I salute you. We are many people with differnt ideas and predilictions, but we are one in that we share a common theme...we are human trying to find our place and acceptance in this world.

I am aware none of you need my approval or acceptance, who the hell am I? I'm just trying to affrim what you already know. You are stronger than most everyone around you and you have the courage to face your pain. You can do this because there is a community here that supports you...I have read the comments in the blog.

Be proud, you are appreciated, valued, and valuable.

Bishop

2 months ago. Sat 14 Jul 2018 01:06:49 AM IDT

I've noticed I have a tendency to repeat myself. I like to think it comes from when I taught basic english class to budding college students (that's not english 101, I was a English tutor for work study) and tell them as I rap my knuckles on the desk, "When I repeat something, it's very important, you will see it again." In reality I think it's just because I'm getting older and my mind isn't the steel trap it used to be...or maybe never was.  I have an extremly cold, morbid sense of humor. My first inclination is to make a joke and laugh internally when tragedy strikes. When the shuttle "Challenger" exploded in 1986, for example, I was finally a thriving comedian. "Did you know Christa McAuliffe had two blue eyes? Yep, one blew this way and the other blew that way." Hey, I never said the jokes were my own. 

I saw my first dead body when I was about 16. A jeep blew through an intersection and was t-boned by another car a block away from my house, the occupants of the jeep were all drunk. The jeep hit a telehone pole head on and a girl who was in the back seat was ejected from the jeep. She landed in someone's yard about 40 feet from where the jeep had impacted the pole.  It honestly looked like she face planted the pole and bounced off.  Don't get me wrong, we still attempted to bring her back, goddamn did we try. I can still hear every rib crack and remember the counting in my head, one one thusand, two one thousnd, three one thousand, four one thousand...and on and on, until we counted to 15, then a breath. Never mind the blood, the sticky taste of copper, or the taste and smell of hard liquor,  just wipe as much as you can out of her mouth. When you get home, you can wash off anything that might still be on you. It's exhausting to do, adrenaline coursing through your veins, nothing else exists except for what's right in front of you...the lifeless body of a teenage girl. All because some godamn fuck tard decided it would be cool or ok to get his stupid ass behind the wheel after he had been drinking. I hope he learned from that day. As long as we worked on her, my mind was numb, blank, hyper focused. My world slowed down to a crawl, the 15 compressions felt like the took 15 years. Why wasn't she breathing, why wasn't this doing any good, what am I doing wrong? My first thought when I saw the scene, and when I was home trying to rid myself of the evidence that I had failed her, her friends, and her parents, was an image of her flying through the air with a cape.  The friend I was hanging out with coudn't understand why the occasional snicker escaped my mouth.

I raged afterwords, I still do. I feel guilty, guilty for the thoughts, guilty for not bringing her back, guilty for not killing the driver of the jeep. I started drinking when I was young, as a reward for getting my father another beer. By the time I was 11, I would get drunk often...and I raged then. I don't mean just getting angry and stomping around the house, or wherever I was. No, I mean I turned a solid shade of green and exploded all over everything and everyone around me. The gates of hell opened and out the demons came. I pretended I was invincible, willing and able to fight any male that would step up. I was a stupid drunk, and angry drunk, a really bad drunk. Maybe I'm still a little stupid and angry, I don't drink. Whenever I feel the need to do so, all I do is think about what it cost me in the past. Squelches the desire really quick.

That's how I respond to things: quiet, hyper-focused, intense. It used to be worse than its is today. Through therapy I ahve grown to use coping skills which help me mitigate these issues. I haven't raged in a while. It was so bad when I was younger that I would get drunk and try to wrap my car around power poles. Looking back the only thing that probably saved my life: I was too drunk to take off my seatbelt.

From the things that happened, I lived a life of guilt, anger, and resentment...mostly of shame. I kept their goddamn secrets and tried to be a good son. What did I do that made the family split apart? I promise to be good, just come back home and be a family. When I did something I knew/believed to be wrong, I would punish myself. I did this, no toys for a week, or no tv for a month. It never lsated, I was always back to playing with my toys or wtaching tv. I felt even more shame and guilt for failing. Was I ever going to be good enough, why is everything my fault? No, I said, I'm not good enough. Everything is my fault, and no one will ever want to be around me.

I had to take a few breaks in writing this, I hope the reading isn't too hard to follow.  Still, If you would like to reach out and share I would encouarge it. It is very therapeutic. email me if you would like.

 

 

2 months ago. Thu 12 Jul 2018 09:33:02 PM IDT

Again, Trigger warning...Please be aware these posts can cause anxiety, disassociations, and disconnections

After reading my last two posts, I have concluded that I would have failed english 102 and effective communications. I feel as though I have done myself, and you, my dear, poor reader, an injustice by glossing over these situations so superficially. So I am going to endeavor to modify my writing and how I describe these events.

 

A couple of years after my parents divorced for the last time, I was visiting my father in another state and we were drving in a two tone, blur and grey, Chevy Silverado on some country back roads just outside of a little town. The town was so small that it only had two stop lights, one didn't work and the other just blinked. The ongoing joke was we had to check our family tree before dating anyone. I remember the day, it was a warm southern day but not overly hot. My father owned a small construction business and we were just taking lunch. His "life lessons" always consisted of lectures, not healthy communication, about doing what he says and not what he does.  I developed a keen ability to shut him out without his knowing...except for this day.  I had allowed my body language to slip my guard and was hugging the passenger door, eyes looking out the window and wanting so desperately to be anywhere but where I was. Obviously he understood what was going on and asked me if I would rather he shut up (I hate those words, shut up, the are so goddamn disrespectful and final) and stop lecturing.  With someone so domineering, controlling, and manipulative, the answer was obvious, "No father, please keep spewing your worldly wisom and knowledge that I may grow someday to be half as brilliant and wise as you are." But such honesty would only bring disastrous results. I shook my head no like a good, obedient son and muttered, "I'm sorry".

Evidently I was not on my best game that day, he was convinced I was lying to him. Yet, instead of pulling over, yanking me out of the truck and beating the truth into me, he changed his tone and gently began to probe what was really going on in my head. He insisted that he valued open and honest communication, where all parties should be able to speak freely no matter what. If I wanted him to not lecture anymore, I should just speak up and say so...after all, I was a man (granted I was about 10). He asked me to repeat after him, "Dad, I wish you wouldn't lecture me. Please be quiet." I refused, at first. Something in his body language, voice inflections, and words that he chose to use did not add up...I sensed a trap. "Repeat after me"...(I shake my head no). "It's ok son, I won't get angry. I'm trying to teach you something."... (I shake my head no again). "Son, really, it's ok. Just repeat after me."

Dammit, why did I think for a minute that this was different? I was smarter than this, I knew better than to trust him, trust anyone. Why was I so weak in this moment to let my guard down? Like a dumb, naive kid I did what he asked, thinking for just a minute that maybe, just maybe, I was wrong and could actually be honest about how I felt and wha tI thought.  Nope, it was not to be. Not that day, not ever between he and I.  He said it again, "Dad, I wish you wouldn't lecture me. Please be quiet."  Hearing tires skid so roughly, and the sound of gravel being violently displaced still takes me back to that day, although not so badly now.  I actually think I saw him turn a dark shade of green and grow beyond what his clothes could stand. I think he actually put it in park before the truck stopped moving.

He jumped out of his door, slammed it shut...the silence for just those brief few seconds seemed so serene, so sublime. No, he wasn't green. I could see his face was a very deep red, the veins popping out of his forehead as he flung my door open. I distinctly remember his big, meaty hand grapping my shirt and felt the pull as he yanked me out of the truck. In some way, I am thankful that is the last thing I remember about that day, except that was the worst beating I ever got from him, or anyone else for that matter. 

 

*Disclaimer*

I honestly don't know what these blogs are going to invoke within you, what thoughts or feelings they may conjure. I don't know how you will view me, and in all honesty I really don't give a fuck.  To be honest, I used to think my father was the epitome of what a dominant was supposed to look like, coupled with all the BDSM porn videos. If you think for one second that I am anything like the way he used to be, you and I will never be friends.  Granted,he has taught me so very much in the time he was living, 99% of it was what not to do. It is not pity, sympathy, or even false acceptance I seek. No, my dear traveller, what I seek is something much, much deeper... Something deeper than words can put description to.  I moved 23 times in 23 years, never staying in the same house for more than 8 months (except when I went to prison). I never learned how to carry normal, superficial, conversations...I grow very weary of them, very easily. I yearn for more than the mundane, the vanilla, the "normal". We use terms like "love" so often in our daily lives that, for me, it has lost any sort of meaning and specificity. I yearn for something much deeper. I would invite you to reach down into the very depths of your being and see what is there, that which you truly seek, where no one else has looked or ventured...now, go a little deeper, just a little more, one more push...there, that's where I would like to meet.

 

2 months ago. Wed 11 Jul 2018 11:29:16 PM IDT

****Warning: Triggers may lie ahead, please proceed with caution****

 

I'm not exactly sure just what I am going to write, so I will put the warning in now in case I get too graphic...you have been warned. Ok, I have add a possible trigger or two, just an fyi.

I like Khalil Gibran's quotes, or most good quotes that give encouagement and support in times of suffering and pain (physical or emotional). One of my favorites is, "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."  Another of his quotes is, "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."

I am convinced that there is a purpose for everything that happens to us, whether we know it or not, whether we admit it or not. I do not put those quotes or claim that they were wirtten for me, as if I am someone who has endured so much that I am to be lifted up as someone with a flawless character. Actually, I believe it's just the opposite. I see those kinds of quotes as a means to encouage me to seek patience and understanding in everything, good and bad. I have been told that I over-analyze things too much, seek to see siutations from every angle possible (for those who watch Game of Thrones, season seven when Littlefinger tells Sansa something like this will get it).  I half-jokingly add that I thought about being told that for two weeks. I also believe that we must be able to understand the past, otherwise we are destined to repeat it (I heard this from somewhere, but cannot recall where from).

I was born in 1971, to an alcoholic, emotionally and physically abusive father and a mother who was emotionally non-existant.  I say this, not to shift blame to anyone, but to merely give a factual understanding. Neither am I a victim, I refuse that title, I am a survivor.  Back then, things like adultery, abuse, and alcoholism were dirty little secrets that no one talked about...ever (at least in my family). Everyone knew what was going on, but it could be denied as long as no one mentioned it.

One of the few memories I have is of the last time my father was in the same state as my mother. Before I turned 9, my parents married and divorced 5 times...to each other. I remember a time that they got married, were in my uncles house and I was the best man. The judge mentioned the, "till death do you part" comment and I could not stop laughing. I don't recall how old I was, pretty young, I got a serious beating for that.

Anyway, the last time my parents were in the same house, my father was drunk and had kicked the front door in. I rememebr the scene as I stood in the steps. My brother and I had come from downstairs, we stopped about half way down the stairs, he a couple of steps below me, looking over the railing I could see my father standing over my mother with a phone cord wrapped around her neck.

That was hard even now to write, 38 plus years later. I won't finish the night and what happened, let's just say he was finally arrested and agreed to leave the state, if the DA would drop the charges.  The thing about why I mentioned that is, had I been asked ten years ago about my childhood I would have said it was fine and I wasn't abused. I'm fortunate, in that I have never been sexually abused, but there was an abundance of emotional, psychological, and physical abuse.  It's amazing what we can reason as "normal".

Needless to say, I was diagnosed with severe PTSD and quiet Borderline Personality Disorder and have been in therapy for a number of years. I have a service dog who assists me in my day to day public endeavors, which people always attribute to me having because of my time in the service. When they find out the PTSD is a result of a combination of things, they lower their head and just say, "I'm sorry."  Deep down I want to tell them to go fuck themselves becasue I am not a victim. What the hell makes combat related PTSD any more honorable than any other trauma? how does anyone know the primary cause of my issues, perhaps it was child abuse, but maybe it was military related, or the nine years I spent in prison, or the other things I have seen. Rant over.

If you have gotten to this part, thank you for taking the time to join me. I wanted to establish a base line moving forward, I think this is a good start. Again, I welcome any comments or suggestions you may have. Feel free to email if you so choose.

I apologize for any grammitcal errors.

Bishop