I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap. Asking for help was hard—I had never had anyone who truly seemed there for me. For years, I had perfected invisibility—sitting in classrooms without speaking, slipping through life as if my existence barely registered. Silence had been my only shield. But now, I held the faintest hope that help was possible.

It was my first week at Georgia Tech, far from the small town in Connecticut where I grew up. I had left behind my family, where love and validation were foreign concepts. I had known shame and abuse. And yet, as I sat in the counselor’s office, I found myself wanting something more.

“I want to be able to talk to people. Make friends. Speak up in class. Maybe… even date someday,” I said, the words feeling almost absurd.

The counselor nodded, flipping through the results of the MMPI I had taken. I had filled it out with deliberate care, wanting to seem troubled enough to deserve his attention. I wanted to seem worthy of help.

His response was measured but kind. “The results don’t show deception—they’re just not entirely valid, which isn’t uncommon. Let’s start where you are.”

Where I was, though, felt insurmountable. My world had been shaped by emotional deprivation and toxic shame. I had never known what love or connection truly meant. In my family, I had been an inconvenience—something to be tolerated, not cherished. But being away created a glimmer of hope: maybe life could be different.

What I didn’t realize then was that my journey wouldn’t just be about learning social skills or finding the courage to raise my hand in class. It would be about discovering love and all that it could transform. I didn’t know how lonely I had been or that love of a girl was about something more profound than attraction. And love, when it finally came, arrived in the form of a girl named Celta Camille Head.

I met Celta when I least expected it. She was warmth and light, a contrast to the loneliness that had defined my life. In the brief year we had together, she showed me I was capable of connection, of being loved, of being worthy.

There was a moment like many others that illustrated the transformative nature of this experience. We were having a picnic at the Botanical Gardens. I was talking about something I thought was ordinary, but when I looked up, her eyes were transfixed on me, her eyes met my eyes, her face showed delight. That moment, like others, filled me with a sense of awe.

I was seeing myself through the eyes of love and feeling love for her.

But love, I would learn, can be as fleeting as it is transformative.

The fire that took her away left me shattered, caught between the joy of what we had and the void. I thought love would anchor me. Instead, it was a specter in the form of a lady.

In the wake of her death, I retreated further into myself. I didn’t deal with the loss well. I worried about whether I could help others with the same struggles I faced. I felt stuck—trapped by grief and the toxic family I had returned to after college.

A job offer in Wilmington, North Carolina, gave me the escape I needed. There, I began to heal... really heal. I attended the open mics events—spaces where I immediately and for the first time ever stood in front of a group and spoke. And one night, that’s where I met Lynn.

With Lynn, I would come to understand love not as something fleeting, but as something enduring—even in the face of loss, even in the shadow of my past.

Sitting in that counselor’s office all those years ago, I could never have imagined the path ahead. I thought I was there to learn how to talk to people. I didn’t realize I was about to embark on a journey that would change everything I thought I knew about love, myself, and what I could offer the world, including those who had known pain as I had.

This is a love story and mainly about Lynn. But it is also a story about overcoming shame, building self-worth, and finding my voice—both for myself and for those I would one day help.

This section begins with some background about me and what it was like growing up and continues on through my years at Georgia Tech. Originally, the plan was for me to learn about engineering but instead, I would learn social skills, psychology and ways to overcome my social anxiety.

The world felt safe in third grade. I was still thin, but I wasn't afraid. I had a friend, Paul Plourde, and that made all the difference.

One day, I sat at my desk in Mrs. Felt's classroom when a girl named Donna stood up and declared, "I like Bruce!" My face burned. Then, to make things worse, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

The class erupted in giggles. Heat crawled up my neck. I didn't know what to do, so I said the first thing that came to mind, the thing I thought boys were supposed to say:

"I hate girls."

Here is a photograph of me when I was in elementary school.

Mrs. Felt chuckled and turned to the other teacher in the room. "Aren't they a cute couple?"

The room spun. I didn't want to be a couple. I didn't even know what that meant. I just wanted the eyes off me. But later, long after the moment passed, I thought about it differently. That was the last time, for a very long time, that a girl showed any interest in me.

By the time I reached junior high, something had changed. Paul and I were in different classes. That wouldn't have been a problem if I had found new friends, but I didn't. Instead, I disappeared.

I became the quiet one.

The one who sat in the front and yet unlike on TV shows, the teacher never called on me.

I was the one who never spoke, never raised their hand, never laughed too loud.

By the time I reached high school, silence had become a part of me. I didn't think about why. It just was. I sat through class after class without uttering a word. At first, I wanted to speak, but the longer I stayed silent, the more impossible it became. If I spoke now, after months of silence, would everyone turn to stare? Would my voice crack? Would I forget how to form words?

I didn't call it anxiety. I didn't have sweaty palms or a racing heart. I just... didn't speak.

Years later, as a mental health professional, I would come across the term selective mutism—a condition where a person, despite having the ability to speak, finds themselves unable to in certain situations. That was me.

But at the time, all I knew was that I was invisible.

I had always been good at math, so my parents encouraged me to join the band to be more "well-rounded." It was a decision made for my future, not for me. So, I went. But even that small change caused problems. Band practice conflicted with my math class, and I was too quiet to ask if I had missed any tests. No one told me. No one asked. No one noticed.

When I got my first semester grades in junior high, my stomach dropped—D+. I had never failed anything before.

It was a wake-up call, but no one woke up. My teacher could have recommended me for advanced math the next year, but she didn't. I wasn't on anyone's radar. I wasn't causing trouble, I wasn't excelling—I was just... there.

Or maybe I wasn't.

By the time high school rolled around, I had long accepted that I wasn't one of the guys who got noticed. The idea of dating was so far removed from my reality that I didn't even consider it.

But I did watch movies.

One movie in particular haunted me—Carrie.

I watched it repeatedly, but I always halted just before the notorious prom scene, before the blood spilled, before the terror erupted.

Because to me, it wasn't a horror film.

It was a vision.

Carrie was my mirror. She was silent. She was invisible. She was abused, not only by her peers but by her own mother.

My own mother had been venomous in a myriad of ways. This inevitably instilled a deep, corrosive shame that gnawed at the very essence of my being.

And then Tommy saw her.

It didn't matter that he had a girlfriend. That wasn't the point. The point was that he noticed Carrie. He saw something in her that no one else did. And not only that, but he was kind. He asked her to the prom, not as a joke, but because he wanted to make things right. And for one night, Carrie was part of something. She was wanted. She was special.

I wanted that.

Not the prom, necessarily, and definitely not the supernatural revenge. But I wanted to be seen. I wanted someone to look at me the way Tommy looked at Carrie—like I mattered.

I also wanted to be held close in the warm arms of someone just like Tommy did for Carrie when she was on the dance floor. I would have felt so profoundly uncomfortable on any dance floor. Because I NEVER had anyone wrap their arms around me and hold me... then look at me and kiss me.

I wasn't bullied in school. No one stuffed me in lockers or tripped me in the hall. I wasn't tormented—I was just ignored.

But even that stung.

I didn't go to prom. I didn't go to parties. I didn't go out on dates. I watched from the sidelines as other people lived those moments, and I wondered—what did they have that I didn't?

I knew the answer, of course.

Confidence.

They knew how to talk to people. They knew how to ask a girl out without their voice catching in their throat. They knew how to dance without feeling like every eye in the room was watching.

For me, that wasn't an option. I couldn't even raise my hand in class. How could I approach someone and ask them to spend time with me?

Even the kids who were teased more than I was had girlfriends. Even they had found someone.

I waited.

Maybe someone like Tommy would come along—a girl who saw something in me that others didn't, a girl who would notice me first.

That didn't happen.

I know that social skills are important as well and I could not have learned any social skills when I was growing up. I didn't know it but my life and career direction would require social skills but I am getting way ahead of this story.

And so, high school passed, and I left it the same way I entered—unnoticed.

For some, high school is where they meet their first love.

For me, it was where I realized I was invisible.

When I think about this time, I realize how little preperation was offered to us as high school students. I was choosing to enter an engineering school without any idea about whether that was a good match for me... I had not thought about the activities performed by an engineer. I had not considered alternative activities available in other professions that would better match my personality, my interests, desires, goals, values or motivations. 

Growing up, I always knew that I was going to go off to college one day. I surely knew this as far back as Elementary school. My parents encouraged me, beginning in 6th or 7th grade to join the band so that I would have extra-curricular activities which would help me get into a good college.
 

I think that being in the band was seen as an extra-curricular activity that even a shy person like me could do. I'm not sure what the thinking was on that. I had been retreating into the proverbial shell that characterizes the life of a shy person. I was becoming something of a ghost or invisible. I wasn't very assertive.

It's interesting that the most valuable things that I learned in college came from psychology. I was an engineering major. That was all I knew when I set off for college. Unfortunately, at my high school, they did not offer anyone any guidance in high school to help them decide what is a good match for them to study in college. That would have been possible and in many TV shows, I have seen this happening.

My father was an engineer but as much as I wanted to impress my parents and be recognized, I don't think I was trying to emulate my father in terms of a career direction. I did want to and expected that someday I would live in a nice home like we had growing up and I would have a wife and children.

It's also interesting to note that I never remembered my parents telling me what they thought would be a good career direction for me or what they expected... just that I would go to college.

I had no idea how that was going to happen for me. I had trouble meeting people, making friends, I never dated.

I selected the Georgia Institute of Technology (Georgia Tech) in Atlanta because I thought I wanted to be an engineer and I had heard that Georgia Tech was a prestigious engineering school. All the colleges to which I was accepted were far from where I grew up and had been living. This caused me some concern because I would be leaving behind a place that was familiar to me and where I had friends and an extended family.

I felt comfortable with my extended family, including my aunt and cousins. I liked them. I liked seeing them as often as possible.

I wasn't sure I would be able to make friends far away at college.

I had virtually no social skills and I was very shy.

I would end up building a career around helping others with problems or issues like shyness as well as emotional and psychological issues or problems.

I didn't want to leave and go so far away. My friend Paul had moved out of the neighborhood and I wasn't hanging out with him as much. So, the only sense of comfort came from my extended family.

Paul and I had been best friends but when he had to move we drifted apart. It seemed like nothing lasts in life.

I felt lonely when I went off to college.

It was late August when we drove from Southington, Connecticut all the way to Atlanta, Georgia, and the campus of Georgia Tech. We were arriving early for orientation before classes begin.

Parents are invited to join the students for orientation.

The south overall is much less populated than the north but Georgia Tech is situated nearly in the center of the city of Atlanta, GA. I had grown up in a town that had a population of roughly 30,000 and now I was in a city with a metropolitan population of about 5 million. To call this a culture shock would be an understatement.

I felt a mixture of pride and fear as we turn into the campus. Dad was driving and Mom was sitting in the front seat next to him. My sister, Carrie, and brother John were at home back in Southington. Carrie was in high school now.

We were looking for the Student Center. The first things we saw were some athletic fields and the Basketball stadium. Then we came across the fraternity houses - I just knew that was what we were seeing. They all had three Greek letters on the outside.

There were a few sororities too, but I know that males outnumber females by a ratio of more than two to one at engineering schools. That's okay, I was too shy to date.

Maybe I would get to know some girls. Maybe college would be different. I guess I wasn't thinking that it would be far more challenging to meet a girl and to date when one attends a university where males outnumber females by a ratio of two to one.

In the back of my mind, I had been thinking that as an adult, I would also want to form a family and so that would involve dating. That was part of the life plan that I had.

I noticed how Georgia Tech fits into downtown Atlanta like a small hidden or forbidden community within a larger city that was filled with traffic, skyscrapers, and a huge metropolitan area.

Yep, this was going to be a very new experience for me.

For the most part, as part of "orientation", they separated the parents from the new kids, the incoming freshmen. I'm not sure what the thinking was on that. The parents were about to leave and go back home. I was thinking that having parents attend "orientation" was pointless – they would be going back home soon.

I could feel how different this was from what I had known in life – It was unfamiliar. Don't get me wrong, growing up there were not many rules during high school. I can't think of a rule come to think of it. I didn't have a curfew. I just had to be home for dinner.

Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, I had known for many years I was going to go to college after high school. I was encouraged to save money for this but from a practical standpoint, it was obvious that most of the cost of my education would be paid for by Mom and Dad. That included tuition, books, and various living expenses.

The idea that one could be a full-time student at Georgia Tech and have a job didn't seem like something that would be expected of me.

Now, I would be completely on my own. I was about to discover how great that would be.

During orientation, there were daily activities (forced activities) like the first day we went rafting on the Chattahoochee River, and I suppose the goal was to help us to start to connect to others. When I say, we went rafting, I mean I went with other incoming freshmen. I don't know what the parents were doing.

You don't have to travel far to get out of the city with the skyscrapers and find yourself in the country where you could go rafting. That's where I really felt like a misfit. I tried so hard to connect. It seemed like the others were talking to each other and connecting but I could never think of anything to say – to anyone at any time. That left me with a constant feeling of being "different."

I am describing this so that you, dear reader, will understand what shyness is like for me.

I was thinking that if I appeared "different" then it would become increasingly more difficult to connect because I imagined there would be more time for people to notice that I was "different." I wasn't scared or nervous, but nothing was coming to mind to say. I felt a sense of urgency to speak – to seem "normal."

I wanted to make connections and make friends in this new environment. That meant I wanted to appear to be "normal" and just like everyone else. So, I felt an urgency to connect right away.

I didn't want much time to pass by where people might start thinking something like "what's wrong with that guy, he doesn't speak to anyone, he has nothing to say."

Yes, that was exactly what was going through my mind. I didn't want to stand out as a misfit, an outsider. It seemed like such a person is viewed negatively and it makes it harder to later appear to be normal and to "fit in."

As part of this "orientation", both parents and the incoming students were told a truth that everyone needed to understand - not everyone who gets admitted to Georgia Tech is going to graduate.

We were told to look at the person to our left then the person to our right. "One of you will graduate!" You didn't have to spell it out. Two out of three of us would flunk out.

Hearing this, I didn't feel any different. I felt like the weight of this challenge had been there in the back of my mind for some time. I felt a bit frightened, but it was about something more than the classes. I could not imagine what the classes would be like yet.

My fear was about appearing as an outsider and a misfit. In high school, I was invisible, like a ghost. I had come here and would be alone. I didn't want that to happen. I was scared of loneliness.

I wanted to connect. During these activities, everything seemed so much easier for everyone else. So often my thoughts were preoccupied with the fact that I couldn't find anything to say.

I watched others, observed and it seemed like things were easier for others. I didn't have social skills. That much was true.

I wondered if there is a way to get help for my problems. It was then that I realized something powerful and important. I was in control of things going forward! I could make things different for me! I was free.

It might be reasonable to wonder why I had not gotten counseling for my shyness and social anxiety long ago. Maybe it was too embarrassing for me to talk to Mom and Dad about it.
 

Even before I found out about services that might be available to students, I imagined that they must have some kind of counseling center. How did I know that?

Now, I was on my own and I wouldn't have to explain what I was doing or where I was going to Mom and Dad. They were not going to be present. I was on my own.
 

Ah, the freedom felt slightly soothing.

I couldn't share with my mother and father the shame that I had been feeling because of my shyness and lack of social skills. Just as it was when I was growing up, this was too embarrassing to discuss with Mom and Dad.

I didn't know what the experience was like for Mom and Dad, they didn't convey much of what they experienced. They said their goodbyes and good luck.

Now, during orientation, making friends, connecting seemed like a matter of survival.

I had a sense that failure academically, here at Georgia Tech, for me meant failure in life.

Evening fell hard each day with the weight of my isolation echoing through my mind. Everyone else was doing something. If anyone saw me all alone pacing the halls of the dorm, what would they think?

Growing up I had some friends and neighbors and felt somewhat comfortable with them. I had my cousins and my aunt.

Now I had to make connections.

On the second day after arrival, I was feeling an overwhelming need to do something. It felt like more than one day had passed and the weight of isolation had been so heavy. I couldn't face another night pacing the halls. Walking past the vending machines... the TV room. It was so quiet, and I felt so alone and scared.

Now, that night, we were having a barbeque with hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill. I had to try to socialize.

I noticed this guy who seemed approachable. There were only the two of them. I could handle that. Just move close and act calm.

I felt awkward and hoped it didn't show. They were talking about going to fraternity parties.

"Do you mind if join you?" I asked. "Good job," I thought. I was direct and I confronted my fear of rejection.

Before long, we were walking off to a few of the frat houses. We stopped at a couple of frat houses that night, and then the next night we did the same thing, ending up at Zeta Beta Tau (ZBT) fraternity.

This was Rush week when the fraternities recruit new members – new pledges.

I felt different here at ZBT. When we visited any frat house, they all tried to make us feel special, but I just liked this place. The guys that I came with had been socializing with different people at the house. I couldn't dance and did my best to avoid the big room where they did that. 

I would move about with surprising ease in other rooms and outside the frat house. Mainly, I was listening. I let the frat brothers do the talking. 

They did "love bombing." That's the word for it. I knew they were making us feel special as a recruitment strategy and yet it was helpful.

I met one person after another who sold me what we needed to do. Johnny was really friendly and relatable. Danny was cool in an unusual way. Stew was the cook and he looked, well, always like he was high. How the heck could he do that and be a Chemical engineer?

I had the idea that this is what I should do. I needed to make friends and a connection and nothing like this had happened to me in such a short period of time.

Every once in a while, they would ring a bell and cheer when someone declares their intent to pledge the fraternity.

It took so much effort for me to find the courage to tell someone that I would pledge. I was so dreading the event when I would be the center of attention. I realized that this wouldn't last for long before they move on to the next person. Still, I had NEVER made myself the center of attention.

Well, I had to get this over with, right? I put my mind to it and went with the flow. I told this guy named Pat who was standing next to Stew and they cheered and rang the bell. I knew that I didn't want this so I had to force myself to do it knowing that if I thought about it, I wouldn't do it.

It was amazing how fast things change. The moment when they are cheering and focused on me lasted only a few moments and then it was over.

Things changed after "Rush" and classes were getting started. Suddenly, you have been transformed from the person who was treated like they are so special to being treated like a lowly pledge. I don't mean they did anything bad. It's just that the dynamics changed. As a pledge, there are things you have to do. This will culminate in a final "initiation" when we finally become members of the fraternity.  

We were given a pledge paddle early and you are required to wear a suit or jacket and tie to classes for part of the period. You are expected to show up at the frat house every day and kneel down holding your paddle up to ask for permission to enter in a ritualistic fashion. It was out in the open, so it wasn't hazing or anything nefarious. It just felt embarrassing.

I didn't want to be the center of attention anywhere. So, I would dress normally for classes, not bring my paddle to classes like everyone else but I would get it at the end of the day when I was expected to show up at the frat house. I would be sneaky and break the "rules" or "expectations" about what we were supposed to do when I was going to class or otherwise on campus. I couldn't imagine any punishment if I was caught.

Growing up, the only rules or expectations had to do with the needs or desires of our parents.

We did all our studying and homework at the frat house unless we had to do something on the mainframe computer stations, or if there were reasons to be elsewhere for study groups or lab work.

Toward the end of the quarter, we had "initiation" where we would become full members of the fraternity. The fraternity made this somewhat mysterious, and we had assignments to complete in groups. It was actually good for team building and connecting as a group together.

You might have seen some movie that tries to depict a fraternity initiation. Take an oldie like "Animal House" where the pledges bend over and are hit with a paddle and they answer, "thank you, sir, may I have another." Nothing like that happened. We learned a "secret handshake."

Some might call my book a tell-all book – that term is popular these days. While I am not going to be evasive in this book about embarrassing or emotional matters, that doesn't mean I am going to tell you everything, dear reader. I am fine with keeping "innocent" secrets about matters that are unimportant to my story and that include details about the initiation.

So, that was an overview of a few things that characterized my first quarter at Georgia Tech. These were the first few months of my "adult" life on my own. 

Life already seemed better than I had known earlier in life. There are a few things that I left out. In the next chapter, where I use the cliché "Boy Meets Girl" in the name of the chapter, I will introduce some of the other things I was learning about how to make connections.

There are many things I learned in college, but the most important learning came in the form of social skills and how to overcome shyness.

I had a psychologist/counselor for the entire time period I spent at the Georgia Institute of Technology, aka Georgia Tech. All five years. From the beginning of classes in August 1984 through graduation in 1989. This was at the Counseling and Career Planning Center and the services were free to all students at Georgia Tech.

It would take me most of the entire five years of counseling to ask out a girl for the first time.

I started going for counseling so that I could learn how to make connections, which required building social skills and confronting anxiety.

The details about how I did this will be discussed in a later chapter. I just wanted to illustrate how shy I was and how social anxiety held me back. The point of this chapter is that I did finally go on a date during my senior year and that this was a major accomplishment.

I was learning how to start conversations, how to engage in active listening and so many other communication skills.

I didn't realize it for some time, but these skills later would be very valuable both in my career as a psychotherapist and in acting with empathy toward others in my life. It turns out that these skills can be learned.

So, while I was at Georgia Tech, I discovered that learning social skills and overcoming shyness requires practice and homework just as it was with my classes. It turns out that there were other students at Georgia Tech who also were lacking social skills and needed help. My counselor facilitated a therapy group where we could practice our skills.

Of course, shyness isn't just about learning skills. I had a tremendous amount of anxiety. Social anxiety.

I was given an education on how to deal with these issues. So, I don't repeat myself, let me repeat that I will describe this in greater detail later.

It didn't take me long to start making new friends but meeting a girl was different.

If you are asking me if I was afraid and if so, what was that like, I would say that I avoided situations that might provoke anxiety. So, I wasn't blushing. I didn't have situations around girls where my heart was racing due to fear/anxiety. I was avoiding a situation where I might want to get to know a girl. If I didn't know for sure that someone was interested, I wasn't going to take a chance on rejection.

So, I was avoiding the actions that might trigger anxiety and thus I was avoiding anxiety but doing that meant being all alone.

By my senior year, I had come so far, and I was a totally different person. I cannot overstate how amazing this transformation was and how great therapy can be. I saw changes that I never thought were possible. Take the times when I was working at the post office. I made friends fast. I felt comfortable with my fellow students talking and joking as we sorted mail or waited on customers at the window.

The goal of asking a girl out was something that was particularly challenging. The fear of failure or rejection was immense. It's important to note that as much as I had changed this had been a long journey. It took years.

I did see a girl that I wanted to get to know when I was working at the post office during my senior year at college. She was attractive to me. She always wore these John Lennon/airline pilot glasses. I am not sure why I associate these glasses with aviation or airline pilots. They were small and round with an almost black color to them.

There was something mysterious about her. She seemed intriguing. She also seemed "quiet" - like me. She seemed friendly.

I had made friends with girls through that job and could feel comfortable with them. Sharing stories, laughing, being very open about myself and my feelings. If I knew I just wanted to be friends with a girl that made it easy for me to talk to her, to laugh with her, to smile with her.

I had the tools to conquer my fear of rejection. For example, I would ask myself "what's the worst thing that could happen if she says no?"

This was a goal and so I had to try. The goal was that if I was going to find a girlfriend, which I wanted - I knew that much - I knew I had to ask a girl to do something with me. To go on a date. Otherwise, I would remain the extra friend of other friends who were paired up. I had friends who were male and female who I met through friends that I already had.

I wanted something different. I knew at some level that I wanted a relationship that would be exclusive. That is the key aspect of why this goal was important to me and it demonstrates that still my self-esteem and my sense of self-worth were low. Still.

Being friends with someone who has a boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse means that there is someone more important in their lives than me. The ridiculous fear I had was that no one would choose to consider me the most important person in their lives.

Getting back to the girl at the post office that interested me... I would notice that she never seemed to have any boyfriend showing up with her for work or after work. I would stand outside the building where the post office was housed and attempt to build up the courage to ask her out.

This was a popular place on campus for people to congregate. The post office was in the same building as the student union. There also was a cafeteria there for grabbing a meal if you don't have time to go elsewhere. When I say elsewhere, I am thinking of the restaurants that were just off the campus or across the street from the campus. Most of our classes were in buildings that were very close to the student union.

If you had a little more time for lunch, there were places right off-campus. I usually found a way to eat at one of those places every day between classes. There was a pizza place near campus. The "Varsity" was a popular hamburger and hotdog joint, but it was a bit greasy and a bit more of a walk. There was another place that was like a diner. The waiter/waitress would take an order and shout it to the cooks using a vocabulary that all the staff there had to know.

I don't remember this girl's name. She was medium complexion - neither light complexion nor dark complexion as skin color goes for black girls – for guys also but I wasn't checking out the guys, obviously.

She was thin. I had said a few things to her but she had not been saying much in response. I felt I could recognize her reactions as a sign of shyness and not a sign that she was blowing me off – demonstrating disinterest. This was a significant memory and event and that's why I am filling in these details.

One day I found the chance when we both ended our shift together.

"Do you want to go for lunch?" I asked her.

"Okay." She agreed. I noticed she was struggling like me to make eye contact.

I said "or we can go ..."

"Pizza's fine, she said."

"Cool."

So, we started walking together.

While it is true that I felt shy about speaking in classes where people were gathered in groups of 20 or more people, I had walked this busy path between the student union and the next large building with classrooms many times with my head held up high or looking around for friends with whom to stop and talk.

This time I felt like if anyone saw me, they would see me with a new girl. I felt confident. I suppose that there is something that I have noticed that is common about the way any guy and girl walk together whether they are shy or not.

We made some small talk about incidental matters... when we were graduating... what we might do next. I noticed that we were both a bit nervous, but we occasionally held each other's gaze longer and longer. Had I been walking with a girl that I knew as just a friend, I might not have been scanning the crowd looking for other friends, but I also would not have been nervous.

I was turning over in my mind "is this a 'date?'" and all the evidence that it technically was a "date." This experience was both about the girl and about the goal of making a "date."

It was funny what happened though. I could not believe it. I had not brought enough money.

I was fumbling frantically with my pockets trying to find some money. "I have to have some money on me, somewhere," I said. In my mind, I thought "Oh, my God, this is pathetic!" I didn't say that to beat myself up out loud.

She said, "It's okay, I have some money."

In retrospect, the concerns I had were exaggerated in my mind. I am not saying she didn't deserve to have some guy make her feel special. I should have just said that.

She didn't even sound angry or anything but that wasn't enough to soothe my nerves. My heart raced. My face turned red.

Let's just say the theme of this chapter is "boy meets girl" and leave it at that. It was a "date" but I had felt such shame for forgetting to bring enough money and I had asked her to lunch. I guess I felt like I had broken a dating "rule." I wasn't thinking independently enough yet. I let the inner critical parent voice recordings play out in my mind over and over – actual words I had heard from my parents... and because of that I never asked her out again. That's probably worse than having forgotten to bring enough money.

In case you are wondering, the photo below is not of her. I found a free photo online to use. The girl in the photo has a smile that reminds me of the smile that I got from that girl that I asked for a lunch date. What I see in the photograph is a sense of comfort. For a few brief moments, I saw that same comfortable smile on a shy girl that joined me for lunch. I truly believe that was because I also found enough of a connection to share a similarly comfortable smile with her.

Overcoming Shyness and Dating

There are many things I learned in college, but the most important learning came in the form of social skills and how to overcome shyness.

I had a psychologist/counselor for the entire time period I spent at the Georgia Institute of Technology, aka Georgia Tech. All five years. From the beginning of classes in August 1984 through graduation in 1989. This was at the Counseling and Career Planning Center and the services were free to all students at Georgia Tech.

It would take me most of the entire five years of counseling to ask out a girl for the first time.

I started going for counseling so that I could learn how to make connections, which required building social skills and confronting anxiety.

The details about how I did this will be discussed in a later chapter. I just wanted to illustrate how shy I was and how social anxiety held me back. The point of this chapter is that I did finally go on a date during my senior year and that this was a major accomplishment.

I was learning how to start conversations, how to engage in active listening and so many other communication skills.

I didn't realize it for some time, but these skills later would be very valuable both in my career as a psychotherapist and in acting with empathy toward others in my life. It turns out that these skills can be learned.

So, while I was at Georgia Tech, I discovered that learning social skills and overcoming shyness requires practice and homework just as it was with my classes. It turns out that there were other students at Georgia Tech who also were lacking social skills and needed help. My counselor facilitated a therapy group where we could practice our skills.

Of course, shyness isn't just about learning skills. I had a tremendous amount of anxiety. Social anxiety.

I was given an education on how to deal with these issues. So, I don't repeat myself, let me repeat that I will describe this in greater detail later.

It didn't take me long to start making new friends but meeting a girl was different.

If you are asking me if I was afraid and if so, what was that like, I would say that I avoided situations that might provoke anxiety. So, I wasn't blushing. I didn't have situations around girls where my heart was racing due to fear/anxiety. I was avoiding a situation where I might want to get to know a girl. If I didn't know for sure that someone was interested, I wasn't going to take a chance on rejection.

So, I was avoiding the actions that might trigger anxiety and thus I was avoiding anxiety but doing that meant being all alone.

By my senior year, I had come so far, and I was a totally different person. I cannot overstate how amazing this transformation was and how great therapy can be. I saw changes that I never thought were possible. Take the times when I was working at the post office. I made friends fast. I felt comfortable with my fellow students talking and joking as we sorted mail or waited on customers at the window.

The goal of asking a girl out was something that was particularly challenging. The fear of failure or rejection was immense. It's important to note that as much as I had changed this had been a long journey. It took years.

I did see a girl that I wanted to get to know when I was working at the post office during my senior year at college. She was attractive to me. She always wore these John Lennon/airline pilot glasses. I am not sure why I associate these glasses with aviation or airline pilots. They were small and round with an almost black color to them.

There was something mysterious about her. She seemed intriguing. She also seemed "quiet" - like me. She seemed friendly.

I had made friends with girls through that job and could feel comfortable with them. Sharing stories, laughing, being very open about myself and my feelings. If I knew I just wanted to be friends with a girl that made it easy for me to talk to her, to laugh with her, to smile with her.

I had the tools to conquer my fear of rejection. For example, I would ask myself "what's the worst thing that could happen if she says no?"

This was a goal and so I had to try. The goal was that if I was going to find a girlfriend, which I wanted - I knew that much - I knew I had to ask a girl to do something with me. To go on a date. Otherwise, I would remain the extra friend of other friends who were paired up. I had friends who were male and female who I met through friends that I already had.

I wanted something different. I knew at some level that I wanted a relationship that would be exclusive. That is the key aspect of why this goal was important to me and it demonstrates that still my self-esteem and my sense of self-worth were low. Still.

Being friends with someone who has a boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse means that there is someone more important in their lives than me. The ridiculous fear I had was that no one would choose to consider me the most important person in their lives.

Getting back to the girl at the post office that interested me... I would notice that she never seemed to have any boyfriend showing up with her for work or after work. I would stand outside the building where the post office was housed and attempt to build up the courage to ask her out.

This was a popular place on campus for people to congregate. The post office was in the same building as the student union. There also was a cafeteria there for grabbing a meal if you don't have time to go elsewhere. When I say elsewhere, I am thinking of the restaurants that were just off the campus or across the street from the campus. Most of our classes were in buildings that were very close to the student union.

If you had a little more time for lunch, there were places right off-campus. I usually found a way to eat at one of those places every day between classes. There was a pizza place near campus. The "Varsity" was a popular hamburger and hotdog joint, but it was a bit greasy and a bit more of a walk. There was another place that was like a diner. The waiter/waitress would take an order and shout it to the cooks using a vocabulary that all the staff there had to know.

Anyway, I don't remember this girl's name. She was a thin medium complexion black girl. This was back in 1989. Interracial dating was still a big thing and not generally accepted. I knew that on campus it was "safe" for a white girl to date a black guy or vice versa. 

I had a different female friend who was white and she was dating a black guy. She mentioned that it was not safe to drive outside metro Atlanta. I was not thinking that far ahead. 

Anyway, getting back to the girl that I wanted to ask out. I had not thought far ahead to consider safety concerns. I just liked this girl and found her very attractive. Her shy/quiet manner, friendliness and obvious beauty were some of the things that made her attractive.

I had said a few things to her but she had not been saying much in response. I felt I could recognize her reactions as a sign of shyness and not a sign that she was blowing me off – demonstrating disinterest. This was a significant memory and event and that's why I am filling in these details.

One day I found the chance when we both ended our shift together.

"Do you want to go for lunch?" I asked her.

"Okay." She agreed. I noticed she was struggling like me to make eye contact.

I said "or we can go ..." and started naming some restaurants starting with the pizza place.

"Pizza's fine, she said."

"Cool."

So, we started walking together.

While it is true that I felt shy about speaking in classes where people were gathered in groups of 20 or more people, I had walked this busy path between the student union and the next large building with classrooms many times with my head held up high or looking around for friends with whom to stop and talk. I had come a long way in overcoming my shyness.

This time I felt like if anyone saw me, they would see me with a new girl - or actually I would be seen to be going on a date. I felt confident. I wanted to run into one of my other friends... to show that I finally was going on a date and with a very pretty girl. I would feel lucky to be seen with a very pretty girl.

We made some small talk about incidental matters... when we were graduating... what we might do next. I noticed that we were both a bit nervous, but we occasionally held each other's gaze longer and longer. Had I been walking with a girl that I knew as just a friend, I might not have been scanning the crowd looking for other friends, but I also would not have been nervous.

I was turning over in my mind "is this a 'date?'" and all the evidence that it technically was a "date." This experience was both about the girl and about the goal of making a "date."

It was funny what happened though. I could not believe it. I had not brought enough money. Back then, I must not have had a debit card on me, either.

I was fumbling frantically with my pockets trying to find some money. "I have to have some money on me, somewhere," I said. In my mind, I thought "Oh, my God, this is pathetic!" I didn't say that to beat myself up out loud.

She said, "It's okay, I have some money."

In retrospect, the concerns I had were exaggerated in my mind. I am not saying she didn't deserve to have some guy make her feel special. I should have just said that.

She didn't even sound angry or anything but that wasn't enough to soothe my nerves. My heart raced. My face turned red.

Let's just say the theme of this chapter is "boy meets girl" and leave it at that. It was a "date" but I had felt such shame for forgetting to bring enough money and I had asked her to lunch. I guess I felt like I had broken a dating "rule." I wasn't thinking independently enough yet. I let the inner critical parent voice recordings play out in my mind over and over – actual words I had heard from my parents... and because of that I never asked her out again. That's probably worse than having forgotten to bring enough money. 

I just assumed that I had failed to show her that she was special and to follow the dating rules where the guy pays for the date especially if he asks her out. I therefore didn't go out with her again because I was too embarrassed to ask to see her again. I could have just explained that I intended to take her out and buy lunch and with us both being college students it would have been possible. 

Maybe? I would have been too shy to explain that I wanted her to feel special and that she was pretty. 

In case you are wondering, the photo below is not of her. I found a free photo online to use. The girl in the photo has a smile that reminds me of the smile that I got from that girl that I asked for a lunch date. What I see in the photograph is a sense of comfort. For a few brief moments, I saw that same comfortable smile on a shy girl that joined me for lunch. I truly believe that was because I also found enough of a connection to share a similarly comfortable smile with her.

There are so many other important aspects of my education at Georgia Tech which I left out. So, in the next chapter, we will go back and fill in those details.

I mentioned in the previous chapter that I was able to find a way to ask a girl out and I had a date with a girl finally by my senior year. Yes, it took that long. I had not dated in high school and I had not had a date during the first four years of my college education. There might be an exception as I did go out with the cousin of one of my best friends. It's been many years and so I am not sure if that happened during my senior or junior year. I'll describe that below. 

I want to describe what I was learning with the help of my counselor. 

In the sessions with my counselor – my psychologist, I learned ways to speak to people and to listen. For example, I learned about "free information" – the weather, something a person might be wearing, a shared experience like something from class. Then to keep the conversation going, I learned about active listening. That could mean summarizing what someone just said, rephrasing it in different words to confirm that you understand... asking follow-up questions and the best questions are open-ended, that way you don't get a "yes or no" or short answer. An open-ended question invites the other person to speak at length.

In addition to being given reading material by my therapist and discussing things in therapy sessions, my counselor facilitated a therapy group. It turns out that a number of people have similar problems and needs. We used role-playing and other techniques to learn and practice different skills. 

I was learning social and communication skills. 

I also learned a technique for dealing with social anxiety. Suppose I want to meet someone or just be more friendly. I was challenging my fears as opposed to not trying or telling myself something will go wrong. I learned a three-column technique based on Cognitive Behavioral Therapy techniques. This is something I did all week actually. I had a pad of paper, a pen, or a pencil all the time.

I would imagine scenarios and ask myself "what is it that I fear if I acted instead of avoiding what I feared." It wasn't actually those words that I asked but there were so many examples that no single example can capture the essence of the fears. I mean if the fear is that I approach someone I don't know and say something foolish or incoherent, then avoiding the action avoids the negative emotions that might show up in the form of a racing heart.

That is just one of the countless examples and probably not a good one. Anyway, in column one, I write our automatic thought. He/she won't like me. She won't be interested in ME! Then in the middle column, I write the name of the "cognitive distortions that I can recognize. Maybe, for example, I am "predicting the future" which is a cognitive distortion, or I am "discounting the positive" – positive aspects of myself. There are common cognitive distortions that people use. In the third column, I wrote challenging statements. Depending on the situation, I might write about evidence of how I am liked by the friends that I have.

This is something I did every week, frequently, for years. See what I mean when I say that picking any one example might not convey the breadth of potential negative thoughts. To be clear, this happens to all kinds of people not just shy people. I was trying so hard. A simple way to figure out what the automatic thought was is to think about asking oneself, "what's the worst thing that can happen?"

Despite all the improvements I made, I never met girls directly at the parties at the fraternity house. What I mean is that I met girls that were friends with some of the guys that I knew. I did make friends with females in my classes and in other settings but they were just friends. 

My best friend Thomas could trust me completely to hang out with his girlfriend, fiancée, and later wife, Jo-Lee but she was one of my best friends and we spent a great deal of time together when Jo-Lee was here at Georgia Tech after Thomas graduated and moved up north. I had another male friend and I was friends with his girlfriend as well. In fact, she came down to Florida with me on a break between class quarters and we went with my sister to Disney World. 

I have no idea how Thomas got engaged. I cannot imagine him asking out Jo-Lee. This is heartening because, to me, it means that the entire burden doesn't lie upon the guy to ask out a girl. I grew up on shows like "Happy Days" where it was announced that it isn't proper for a girl to be calling a guy and asking the guy out, and etc. This spells certain serious problems for a shy guy. 

Who made up that rule anyway? I know, dear reader, you have heard me rant about this in other parts of this book and the topic will come up again. It has been a great source of incessant pain for me to notice that no female has asked me out. No matter how much the "rule" might make sense to you, that is no comfort to me. I still feel unattractive and undesirable when I think of this.

Oh, and all the things I was learning about social skills, dating skills, intimate connections... it seemed so artificial. I like it better where you just start talking to someone as a friend and find that you have some things in common and then you realize that you are also attracted to that person.

A Date With Jo-Lee's cousin Marleesa

This is my favorite part, next to the story about Donna liking me in 3rd grade. This is an instance where a girl was definitely interested in me and it was obvious.

My friends Thomas and Jo-Lee got married when I was either a junior or senior. Thomas had moved to Massachusetts for a job but they had the wedding down in the metro-Atlanta area near Georgia Tech. 

I was the best man at their wedding. It was interesting. I have one more story to tell here. 

I mentioned earlier in this book the date with the girl I met at the post office. That was hard. I mentioned the subtle things that attracted me to that girl... but all I knew was that she didn't have a boyfriend and she seemed nice. I had no idea if she was into me, though. Yet, asking for something that you want is an important goal for someone like me seeking to overcome shyness, social phobia, and/or social anxiety.  

Around the time of their wedding, Jo-Lee asked her friend whose name I cannot remember, to show me how to dance for the required "dance" the best man would be forced to do. I felt sorry for Thomas who also had to engage in this ritual of a similar "dance" that he would hate as much as I did, I imagine. The only thing that stands out is the dresses that the brides' maids and maid-of-honor wore. The maid-of-honor held my attention though in the very revealing low-cut dress that made it hard to not notice her breasts.

So, here I am talking about Jo-Lee's maid of honor. 

She seemed friendly and kind as she tried to guide me, and she was acting considerate of my discomfort. Right now, I cannot even form an image of me trying to dance with the maid of honor. I suppose, now that I think of it, I had been making a parallel between the way I thought of her and that character Tommy from the movie "Carrie." Tommy asks out Carrie who is the shy scapegoat in high school. This isn't a perfect parallel since, at this time, I wasn't a scapegoat and I had done so much to come out of my shell by this point. 

Anyway, after the wedding, there was some event with many people over at the home of part of Jo-Lee's extended family. Jo-Lee was from the area. I was thinking about asking Jo-Lee about her bridesmaid, trying to find the courage to do this. I don't remember the details about how I came to find her attractive and I hate that the only thing that sticks in my mind is that she had nice breasts.

Anyway, then Jo-Lee pointed out how much her cousin Marleesa was interested in me. I noticed she was pretty too but don't ask me to describe her for this story. I just remember noticing that and I am considering what followed. At first, I was in denial, still doubting that any girl would be interested in me. I was a junior and this was before I asked the girl out from the post office, which I described in an earlier chapter.

Eventually, I started noticing everything that Marleesa was doing to be nice and show her concern. I remembered they had a dog at that house that was annoying. Marleesa noticed my annoyance and got the dog away from me. I then looked up at Thomas and Jo-Lee who had a look like "see, I told you she is interested in you."

Okay, so I started talking to Marleesa and she invited me to an Easter play in which she was acting through her church. Marleesa was definitely someone who was very forward. Who asked who out? I can't remember how it occurred. I am sure that I started making conversation with her and indicating that I was infested in her. 

She seemed sweet and pretty. 

For some reason, I am now thinking of the words "flirting" and "hitting on" someone. I wonder to this day if this is one of those ways that two people figure out in a less threatening way whether someone is interested in them so as to gather information before asking the person out. 

If I was flirting or she was flirting, I wasn't sure of that. I suppose I can concede that what I had observed indicated that she was infested in me. However, I needed the help of Thomas and Jo-Lee to make it known to me. I imagine that Jo-Lee explained what was happening in a private conversation with Thomas because I imagine he was similarly lacking in "dating," "flirting" and other skills. Again, I cannot imagine him asking Jo-Lee out.  

Anyway, getting back to Marleesa... It was interesting to be meeting the family for this first date after the performance. She seemed so interested that I thought I should kiss her.

She turned her head away and I was silent, and my face was red with shame. I had not done anything wrong other than read a signal wrong. The one time I had not invested hours doing my Cognitive Behavior Therapy homework with the three-column technique and I got it wrong. I felt like the air had been sucked out of me. I was frozen and silent.

For a while, I would reflect on this with shame as if I had done something wrong or broken a rule that I should have known. I had not been forceful at all and as soon as she turned away, I had shrunk within myself. I was just so confused.

She had been far more "aggressive" at the party with others around and here we were outside after dark where privacy might allow such things.

That was the last time I saw her. I wasn't mad - just confused. I don't want to give the impression that she owed it to me or that she was playing games. A girl can change her mind at any time. I just felt shame for MY mistake, like I needed to learn more about making a connection or how to deal with rejection.

The next section and chapters will describe my first experience of feeling "love." 

In this section, I will describe a very special person who came into my life in 1990. Her name was Celta Camille Head. This was before I met Lynn but it is an important story about my development and the development of this larger story depicted in this book.

I recently found a photograph of Celta Camille Head, a high school yearbook photograph through Ancestry.com. I had not known her in high school. In fact, she is 8 years older than me.

In this photograph of her, she is 16. She's thirty-one now when I meet her for the first time.

After I graduated from Georgia Tech, I was feeling good about my career prospects and I had a new direction in life. I had a clear path in front of me. I finally knew what I wanted and how to get where I was going ... or so it seemed upon graduation from Georgia Tech in December of 1989.

The problem was that I chose to move in with my parents after graduation. This would be a decision that haunted me for the rest of my life!

Ironically, just as I somewhat regretted my decision to move in with my parents, knowing how toxic they were, what began in the 90s would make this time period among the best years of my life. I'm talking about the chance I had to meet Celta in 1990. Also, the opportunity that I had to volunteer with the social work team at Georgia Regional Hospital - a state psychiatric hospital was so rewarding. I learned so much and I realized that I have a knack for this kind of work - psychiatric social work.

The work I had done in undergraduate school got me to this point. I knew that I had developed some powerful social and communication skills during my five years of undergraduate studies. I had learned to demonstrate empathy. I had overcome so much of the social anxiety that I had previously.

I want to tell you about someone special that I met.

I knew that some work needed to be done before I could begin to realize my dreams and to find success in my field. I was making a transition from having a degree in engineering to working as a social worker, a psychiatric social worker.

As I was saying, I met Celta in 1990. In an earlier chapter, I stated that I had only one date during my years at Georgia Tech. There was one other time when I went out with a girl who was a cousin of one of my best friends but we had only one date. That was my entire dating experience since I was too shy to date in high school.

I wasn't expecting anything special or amazing to happen in 1990.

I met Celta in an unusual setting. She had been in the hospital when I met her, making this story even more complicated, unexpected, and unplanned. She had anorexia. That is why she was in the hospital for a short while - her weight had gotten dangerously low. She was about four foot eleven and weighed under 60 pounds when I met her. Maybe less!

Even as I write this, I feel a bit uncomfortable mentioning these facts. How can one measure a person or their worth by their weight?

I had a cousin who suffered from anorexia and one of the medical interns mentioned Celta saying that maybe by becoming friends with her I might gain some insight into anorexia. This was different than my usual role as a volunteer with the social work team at the hospital. I will discuss that later.

The idea was that I could be friends with someone, or I could meet with someone as a member of the social work staff. Intuitively I knew that these boundaries are important.

It was Wednesday, January 3, 1990. I walked into a room at the hospital and saw her pacing. She seemed frustrated. I remember how they had dragged her to another building to be weighed. As our eyes met, I could feel a sense of serenity and peace.

This wasn't how I imagined this moment. In my imagination, I had thought about ways I could get to know her and gain some insight into a mysterious disorder called anorexia. I had not been assigned to do a social work assessment on her so I wasn't approaching her in that capacity.

At this moment, I did not feel any sense of pressure to make an excuse to talk to her. My mind was at peace. What was it that I felt?

A smile washed across her face as if it hasn't been there in a long time. Maybe this was my own impression of what life must have been like for her for a long time. I wondered what she was thinking as I moved toward her.

"Hi, I'm Bruce," I said, "I am a volunteer with the social work team, but I am finished with that for the day. I wanted to meet you."

"Hi," she answered. Her smile remained the same. I noticed that she didn't seem to be responding as she usually does when she is approached by members of the staff.

"Can we talk?" I ask her.

"Do you want to go outside?" she asked me.

There was a swing outside where two people can sit together. It reminded me of the one that my grandparents had on their porch.

I realized that at this moment I was not brainstorming or rehearsing things to say as I usually did when I met someone new. For the first time in my life, I was meeting a person and not feeling fearful or timid!

Sitting there on the swing, outside seemed almost like we had privacy, as much as was possible to have when you are out in the open.

I explained that I am not here to gather information. "This isn't my job."

She just smiled.

"You seem almost happy," I said, jokingly.

"I will be here for a while," she said with a bit of a laugh that conveyed a sense of resignation to her situation. She then explained that she had been in the hospital before.

I would visit her almost every day just before she was discharged. We would walk around the grounds and I began to tell her things about myself and my own experiences in life. I think she enjoyed listening to me and sharing even the most mundane events. There was no one else that she described as being part of her life other than a mother and father.

She listened intently... with concern and interest.

Before long she was writing letters - diary entries of everything she observed... the smallest details all laid out for me like some running conversation. Sometimes she mailed the letters to me and other times when I showed up, she gave me the letters.

It did feel a bit awkward because I had not thought that I was coming here to make a friend and I wasn't sure that doing so was okay. I was just starting out in the field. Before long, it seemed like the patients and staff knew we were friends. I was Celta's friend, and I also was part of the social work team/staff. Those were two entirely different roles.

It was March and just two months had passed. "I want to show you something," Celta said, inviting me to walk. "See how they have faces?" she said pointing to some pansies.

I found myself momentarily making out the expressions on the human-like "faces" on the flowers.

On the next few visits, I noticed that the pansies seemed to smile or frown at us as we gazed upon them as if they reflected our feelings that day.

Celta had asked me to draw an image of how I saw her. I laughed and said that I cannot draw, but I asked if I could draw the picture with words. Perhaps she wondered whether I was attracted to her or found her beautiful.

I learned that her name was chosen mainly by her father who was interested in Celtic and Gaelic history. Her sister's name was Gael, as in Gaelic.

She returned to Augusta, Georgia when she was well enough to leave the hospital. Our friendship was growing. Her financial situation was a big problem, and I was worried about her. She was so thin, and I was so worried about her health because it was obvious to me that she was at an unhealthy weight. 

In the next chapter,  I will begin to describe events shortly after she left the hospital. 

In the last chapter, I mentioned that Celta had moved into an apartment in Augusta, Georgia after leaving the hospital. That didn't go so well. Her problems were an enormous challenge. Her weight was so low that I feared she might die. She was also drinking when she left the hospital. 

I will point out later how our love, her love for me, was influential in helping her to overcome problems that had clearly been part of a long pattern for her life prior to when she met me. Before I get to that, I wanted to describe some more details about what was happening during these next few months. 

After she lost her apartment, I put her up in a hotel one evening but that didn't go well. She couldn't stay there and we had to find a place for her.

Finally, she said she had a mother in Athens Georgia. So, we started driving there.

When we got there and knocked at the door her mother came and her first reaction was to turn her away. I didn't say anything, but I had such a desperate look on my face. It's sad but that might have been very influential in her mother – Faye Head – opening the door and letting her in.

I gave her a hug and got her phone number; told her I would be back to visit as soon as possible.

Soon after that, her father rented an apartment for her in Athens.

I met some other friends of hers and her family. It was curious that one of them, a woman said that Celta only uses people and that she cannot love anyone. This was clearly not true. Celta was doing so much that demonstrated she was thinking of me and concerned about my well-being and happiness.

It's important to note that I was living with my parents at the time. This was a temporary situation. I cannot overstate how profoundly disinterested my parents seemed to be in me and my life, my dreams, hopes, aspirations, and desires!

I loved to hear about Celta's talents. She had studied acting beginning before she was in high school.

It was Sunday. April 15th, a week before my birthday. It was a bit cool this morning as we arrived at the Botanical Gardens in Athens. She had suggested this place.

The sun was passing through the misty morning fog as we walked along a path. I reached out to take her hand, feeling as if something emotional was rippling through me at her touch. It was still early in the day and Celta was wearing a white coat made of soft cotton. I was warm-natured and only had a short-sleeve shirt on.

"Can I take off this glove?" I asked. "My hand will keep your hands warm."

She smiled as we gazed at the misty sun above and ahead. This felt so good and right. I felt awkward at first as I saw another couple. Celta and I were not a "couple" per se. I let the thought go. This felt too good.

Her hand was so very thin. As I mentioned, she had anorexia and was very much underweight. I could feel her tiny fingers intertwined in mine which sent a certain particular feeling flowing up my arm, almost like a chill or a soft rippling stream flowing up my arm. Her smile as she gazed at me gave me butterflies. I felt a lightness, almost like floating. I felt serene. And I smiled back.

What did she see in me, I wondered?

"This is nice... good," I said. Adding with a slight chuckle, "I have always wanted to feel this. I mean even as a kid. It is like a hunger that I forgot that I had or that I was too afraid to acknowledge..." I then added, "maybe acknowledging it would have made life too sad because I would know that I wanted something that wasn't available."

She understood that I was talking about what had been missing in my family. Celta always seemed to know when things had not been going well at home.

We developed synchronicity of mind and thought... respect and love... yes, respect and love felt like it was not something I had known previously. This was strange because Celta and I had what seemed like a completely platonic relationship and I have had supportive friends previously. My friends Thomas and Jo-Lee were real good friends, but the way Celta looked at me was different.

And was it platonic? I mean was it free from sensual desire? It seemed that way but occasionally my body reacted differently... my body was reacting sexually even though this would not have been known to Celta.

What do I mean when I say we developed synchronicity of mind and thought? I don't mean the tired cliché of completing the other person's sentences. The way we looked at the world was the same. The way we felt about things. The way we moved toward one another and the way our expressions were mirrored by each other.

The days and weeks passed, and I kept coming to visit her on the weekends...

Celta could seem to pick up on the emotional pain I had been experiencing during the week, with my parents. It was almost like she had a psychic connection to me. Almost like that!

I could talk to Celta about anything that was happening in my life. How and why, I felt such low self-esteem living with my parents... the emotional, verbal, and psychological abuse I experienced from my parents. I could talk about it all.

Sometimes I didn't need to keep talking about something that was on my mind. I had a sense of being in sync with Celta and a sense that she understood and felt with and for me. So, I let myself rest in the comfort of her arms. For example, in one instance, it would begin with my arm around her at the waist and her arms around my back and we just stayed like that smiling at each other.

All week, whenever I became stressed, bored, or had time to dream, my thoughts went to Celta.

My parents seemed completely unconcerned or uninterested in where I went or what I did with my life. I mean they never asked me.

I spoke to Celta for over an hour, maybe hours on the phone each day. We had only one phone, so it's a miracle that it was possible to find the phone free for that long.

I don't think they heard anything we were saying. I could tell if someone answered another phone. Celta could tell from my voice if I was having a hard time at "home." No, it wasn't a home for me.

I struggled to explain to my parents that I was doing the best I could to find ongoing gainful employment. Yet, I never felt good enough. They thought I was deliberately refusing to work as an engineer and use my degree. I thought we had gone over that! I was going to use my undergraduate degree to get a graduate degree. They seemed to think I was deliberately sabotaging job interviews! It was absurd. I would have loved to have a way to get out of that house and live on my own.

Yet, when I saw Celta, it was as if I was ten feet tall. I felt confident, valuable, worthy of love, and important.

Perhaps I was keeping this relationship private in a way - it was mine; she was mine. That sounds like something you might say in a devoted, romantic relationship. Yet wasn't this relationship platonic? Well, it's complicated. When I was with Celta we had not even been kissing. But my body was reacting or responding sexually in subtle ways.

Spring days passed through April and into May and for me it was like I was riding on gentle waves on an ocean – rising and falling – it was so soothing and peaceful. One Sunday or Saturday was like another.

It was an ordinary day in late summer like any other day. Sunday, May 13th. I greeted her with a hug. Instead of parting, we remained in one another's arms. Smiling at one other. It felt so different. I felt at peace... but I had something on my mind that I wanted to share.

"Can you hold me?" I ask indicating her bed. "I want to lie down next to you." There wasn't much room on her bed, but we weren't big. She lay against the wall facing me. My first thought was to curl up into a fetal position, but I turned to face her.

"Something happened?" she said in the form of a question.

"The same things ... my mother... ah actually..." My voice trailed off like a sigh of relief. My breathing slowed. I felt like my muscles were relaxing. I had been feeling restless, but I noticed my body was sinking comfortably into the bed. It suddenly seemed unnecessary to discuss what had been on my mind.

I looked down at her hands to see where they were. She looked at me. I raised her right hand with my right hand, placing my left hand over her hand while turning my eyes up to meet hers. We smiled.

For a few moments, we just looked into each other's eyes. I noticed our breathing was synchronized. I briefly thought I was never good at keeping a beat and let a slightly more amused smile pass across my face which was matched by Celta and from that our smiles drifted back to a more serene smile.

This was hypnotic and I let it last a moment longer. I was lost in her gaze... unaware of anything else. Her eyes looking into mine.

"This feels different to me," I said. "I think I have hungered for this nourishment for as long as I can remember. When I hold your hand, I feel something amazing."

After a brief pause, I added, "I love you."

"I love you too."

On another occasion, I remember how her very incredibly thin body became so evident at one particular moment. It was a warm spring day in early June and Faye, Celta's mother wanted a few photographs of both of us. I wanted copies of the photographs myself. The three of us selected different poses because I wanted to remember and hold onto the image of Celta looking and smiling at me. I needed that so much! It was a passionate hunger that I felt to see that.

Even if the angle that her mother was using to take the photograph could not capture her face or her eyes looking into mine, I would see it. I knew I would see that perspective in my mind's eye when I saw the photo.

Anyway, there was one pose where Faye suggested that I get down on one knee and let Celta sit on my other leg. I remember Celta starting to fall and I was scared. I gasped "grab, hold me" as I tried to find a place to catch her. She had a short-sleeve shirt, and I was aware of her bones around her sides, back, and her arms. I was afraid she might get hurt no matter where I tried to hold her because she was so thin, with hardly any muscle or fatty tissue.

She rested upon my arms and didn't indicate that she had been hurt.

When we were apart, each day we told each other those words "I love you." It was so easy, so natural, and so right. To be honest, I was so excited that I would go first. I guess I am just passionate in that way. But if it was not reciprocated, it wouldn't be as special, or I wouldn't feel such a desire to tell her "I love you."

Sometimes I would put the phone down after talking, lie back, and smile, resting in the serenity and joy of the moment. Picturing her. Reflecting on our shared experiences.

We were both trying to find meaning and direction in life - a purpose. I'm not just guessing. We talked about these things.

At one point she seemed to be searching for something to say about our feelings for each other. She looked up and saw a song playing on the TV. It was called "I Don't Know Much But I Know I Love You" by Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt.

"Yes, indeed!" I said with a smile.

It is hard to overstate how surprisingly disinterested my parents were in anything at all that mattered to me and that included a lack of curiosity as to who it is I that I am speaking to so often... or who I am seeing.

My mother would become so angry at me for "hiding out in my room." Yet, it seemed that both parents had no interest at all in my life! Plus, growing up she never took much interest in me spending quality time with her. It really disgusted me. She brought it on herself by her lack of interest in anything at all about what made me happy or where I was going with my life. It was mind-boggling to me just how any parent could be like this!

This feeling of disgust would come to a head sometime later when my mother reached out her hand to touch me and I recoiled instinctually before I could think about how she might respond to that. It was like realizing I had touched a snake - I have a phobia of snakes. She became so furious and didn't want me staying in her home at all, she was literally spitting and wanted to throw me out that night.

That's all I can remember about that. It was chilling!

The fact that I had an existence apart from her frustrated and angered her. And my father could only go along with his wife's feelings. So, they seemed to criticize everything that I was doing because it wasn't "right" in their minds... as if there is only one right way to do things.

As I mentioned, Celta was picking up on these tensions and how hurtful it was to me. She was visibly sad, disturbed, and angered that anyone would hurt me.

I wondered how many people in the world experienced these kinds of singular experiences. I mean during times that seemed dark, it makes a difference when you have someone who respects, values, and honors you as a person.

I noticed how easy it was to connect to and empathize with Celta as my friend.

I know that the other experiences I had as a psychiatric social worker at Georgia Regional Hospital were extremely positive and rewarding. I could sense that I had developed some amazing communication skills and a capacity for empathy. Patients would tell me this or they would tell my supervisors and they would ask when they would see me again. We shouldn't leave that out of the narrative.

My sense of self-confidence continued to grow as well.

There is something important that I must discuss first before we move further on with my journey of success which we will pick up in the next chapter. 

I left out some details about what had happened when Celta left the hospital. In this chapter, we'll rewind the clock and review some things that I left out.

Celta had a problem with alcohol addiction as well as having anorexia. To a layperson, the word would be alcoholic. When we went to AA later people said "Hi, I'm Bill and I'm an alcoholic."

I like the term "Alcohol Use Disorder" better since I am going into the psychiatric field and I prefer more scientific. At this time in the 90s, we used the terms Alcohol Addiction and Alcohol Dependence.

Celta had been in the hospital because her weight was dangerously low, and they had to get her to a weight where she wouldn't die within the first thirty days of release from the hospital. Yes, they said that to me.

It was March when she got out of the hospital. I found her intoxicated in a single-room apartment to which she had been released. Her father had left her some money to get started. I couldn't understand the situation. I had bought her a pretty short sleeve shirt with a picture of a cat on it. It was like having a girlfriend to be doing this. She had still been in the hospital when I brought it to her. She had liked it.

Now, seeing her like this, intoxicated, I felt so overwhelmed and frustrated. I pulled out that shirt that I had bought for her because it made her smile. I said, "remember this?" I left the shirt draped over the dresser so she would see it when she did get up.

I had been seeing her every day when she was in the hospital. Now, I wondered if I would find her sober when I showed up.

Again, this was not a conventional relationship.

I was somewhat concerned that my supervisors on the social work team might think I was doing something wrong. I was still new to the field and had not had any specific education that touched on professional ethics. Later in my career journey, I would have avoided this probably. I had told Celta early on that I was not meeting with her as part of the staff. I had always told her that we were friends. If someone had asked me, I would have explained this.

It just had felt like an unusual way to develop a relationship and indeed it had been. Plus, she smoked and normally that would not be attractive at all to me. I hope you understand, dear reader, that I do not judge people based on external characteristics, like physical attractiveness. Despite that, her very low weight did frighten me. She was four foot eleven and weighed about 60 pounds. That is extreme anorexia. This meant that she was all skin and bones.

This is hard to discuss because I know that for a person with anorexia, talking about how thin they are can trigger very negative emotions. I so much want you, dear reader, to know how much I respected Celta and loved her. 

I could see and feel her bones when I held her. Her heart was still beating. When we had been close, I would feel a tingling feeling. If I was sitting next to her, I felt it at the point of contact of our legs, hands, and arms. It felt like a current flowing through me and her. It was almost as if the pulsating beats of our hearts were synchronized and felt everywhere our bodies made contact.

Now, I was so sad. I wanted her to be with me. I told her I would be back the next day. I had gone and bought some food from a Subway fast-food restaurant. I thought I knew what she would like.

When I came back, she seemed so bad. She was passed out. She said she had to leave the apartment because she couldn't pay the rent. I had no clarity of mind to problem solve the situation. I took her to the hospital – a regular hospital not where she had been - because of her weight and condition.

After she was put in a room I left for a little while and headed home. I had to think of something. It seemed like she would be okay at the emergency room for a little while.

I got a call and was told to pick her up. They said they couldn't keep her overnight. I felt my voice assume a voice that was like pleading, and I asked for a little more time and said, "what can I do?"

They said, "we are not responsible for her."

I had been working on jobs – everything from being a busboy to a waiter. My parents made sure to add to my level of shame for not working as an engineer. It was reprehensible. I would have done anything to get a job that would pay me enough to not need them for anything. For anyone to believe that I was stubbornly choosing to not work as an engineer, that person surely must not be a rational person.

I hated them but I had to act cordial and see if I could shake that feeling. Yeah, I hate to say that and I only mean to convey what I felt at the time but I didn't tell out of respect and fear.

Many people overuse the word hate. In my experience as a therapist, it is rarely something that people admit to feeling. It's what you feel when you are exposed to something noxious, or repulsive! That is precisely what I mean when I say that I hated them! I found them repulsive!

She didn't have an apartment and I didn't know what to do when the hospital said that she had to leave. So, I decided to take Celta to a motel in Augusta.

She was sober now. We spoke for some time.

She said jokingly, "you can say that you spent the night with a woman finally."

We had not "slept together" as they say. This day didn't even allow for cuddling.

I said, "I better get home, my parents think I am working. It's weird how Mom suddenly wants me to be around her while I live there. Growing up this was never an issue. Now because I moved in with them, they want to SEE me. I can't say I don't want to SEE you to Mom."

It felt good to laugh about this. We had talked about this unusual situation and would continue to do that. My self-esteem was being dragged down due to the emotional and psychological abuse and so I wanted to avoid my mother as much as possible. My father was more tolerable, but he still went along with and supported my mother's point of view.

The next day I showed up at the hotel and her room. She wasn't in. I walked around frantically looking for her. A light rain was falling. This place didn't look too inviting in the day, as they had not kept up the place too well. I passed people as I looked and listened in the rooms nearby. I was never nosy, but I was feeling desperate.

"Have you seen a small woman?" first upfront at the reception desk and then I asked some people who were walking around.

No one was very helpful.

I walked around the front which faced the highway. I fell to my knees, more like collapsing than praying. Then I said in a voice that was audible but not loud, "Please, please help me."

I walked back around and spotted someone who I had seen earlier. "You are looking for a small woman?" a woman said.

"Yes."

"Come this way. I think she went in a room over here."

We knocked on a door. I saw her in a bed with some guy without her clothes on. What had he done to her? What happened? I could see beer bottles. I must have looked pitiful.

I registered voices saying, "nothing happened, she passed out here." ... "She had been looking for something to drink."

I'm thinking "does she look like someone who should be drinking?" and "what kind of guy is this to take advantage of her?"

I looked away as she dressed. She had looked so boney that she looked extremely unhealthy. At that moment I had a mixture of confusing feelings. I had had romantic and intimate feelings for Celta and I loved her. But seeing her like this was not attractive to me. My reaction around her when I noticed how thin she was from time to time felt embarrassing and confusing. Maybe it was more like I feared for her health than that I was repulsed by her appearance.

Back in her room, I told her that I didn't know what to do. She said her mother lives in Athens, and I said I would take her there. It was about an hour and a half away. We weren't sure that her mother would take her, but I felt like we had to try. Yes, she knew how to get there. I thought "don't call, just go. Just show up."

We found the house and I knocked on the door. Her mother saw us and said, "she can't stay here."

I looked at her pleadingly. "I... I don't know what to do. I tried other things." Tears were running down my face as I said, "I'm scared."

She opened the door and we entered.

"I'm Bruce."

"I'm Faye." Adding, "we've had problems and fought before." She was small herself but not sickly underweight.

"Thank you for helping. I don't know what to do."

I said goodbye to Celta and said I would be back to see her soon.

Her father had come from out of state and rented an apartment for her. There was one more episode of Celta drinking before things settled into relatively normal life. When I say "normal life" I mean she was not drinking. She had gone on what seemed like a binge of drinking and then stopped. There would be one other episode months later but that was it.

This was when I met a couple that was friends of the family. The woman was the one that told me that Celta cannot love people and that she is a user and a manipulator. She warned me not to be an "enabler."

Indeed, people with substance abuse or use disorders can be like that. They can act like sociopaths where they use people, lie, manipulate others, and might appear to act like they don't have morals. However, I am a bright person, and I am observant when it comes to the actions and intentions of others. Celta was never asking me to do things that I didn't want to do. In fact, I could tell that she was genuinely concerned about how I felt, and she was extremely concerned about my happiness.

Things were about to become more normal shortly after Celta got settled into an apartment in Athens, Georgia. 

I'll pick up this story in the next chapter where the love story begins to take form and shape.

There is something that is so very profound about this story. I honestly never knew anyone who was so interested in me and no one had made me so happy. This is an observation I was making as the story moves into April of 1990.

As I mentioned at the end of the last chapter, things got better after she settled into an apartment in Athens. Something amazing was happening because she had been living a life previously that threatened her health and was characterized by excessive drinking. Her weight had been so low that it threatened her life. I can discern these facts. 

What was different now? Our connection had undeniably made a difference. 

I knew my parents were extremely judgmental of others. So, I was keeping this relationship to myself. I had enough to deal with when it came to them without getting into a fight if they said anything derogatory. Still, their lack of curiosity was strange.

I was calling Celta every night. We talked for at least an hour. At some point in May, I started telling Celta "I love you" every time we spoke. Just as I was saying goodbye with a promise to call the next day and she would answer, "I love you too." I felt butterflies in my stomach. After I put the phone down, I would look up at the ceiling with a smile on my face.

Most of the time I came on Sundays. She had suggested the Botanical Gardens in Athens. They had a flower bed in front of the main building. In April the pansies were in bloom. I was looking at them holding Celta's hand as we imagined what kind of expression they had on their yellow or violet faces.

Inside the building, they had exotic plants with different names. Some were trees with variously shaped green leaves. A wide range of flowers. Some of the trees sprouted flowers as well. There was a restaurant upstairs and another downstairs. It always seemed too quiet, and Celta didn't even mention eating there. We would walk around the grounds most of the time. They had paths or trails with various plants labeled along the way. Along the parking lot, there was a place that was slightly woodsy.

During this time, when we were apart, she continued to compose hand-written letters to me, and we found things to talk about on the phone every day.

I would treasure those letters. Her letters made me feel like I was with her even when we were apart. I would read them again and again. There is something magical about a person sharing their most intimate thoughts and observations in real-time, uncensored - a stream of consciousness observation.

"I think it is amazing," I said to Celta.

"What?"

"Well, your letters to me are about your experiences and observations. Yet they feel like gifts to me. I used to think that we should not just talk about ourselves and our own feelings. That's not true."

During this time, I would often go to the Catholic Church with my parents and my brother on Saturday evenings. Then I would drive to Athens on Sunday.

Celta started going to the AA – alcoholics anonymous – meetings in the mornings. I thought that her anorexia and the psychological were equally serious, but I was too new in the psychiatric field to know what would be best for her. She told me to come with her.

I said, "are you sure I can?"

"Yes, it's an open meeting."

"Okay."

I sat there holding her hand... occasionally looking around... often my eyes rested on her while she seemed to be listening.

Just before the end of the meeting she gestured to get up and said we can go now. She had told me her religion was Episcopalian which is similar to Catholicism which I had known. As we got up and started walking out the front door away from where we parked and toward the church, holding hands, I felt ten feet tall, that feeling I would have with her.

Sometimes we showed up a bit early and stood outside where they had the meetings. We stood there, arms around each other, looking at each other, lost in words, dreams, and our own world.

One time I stepped away to use a restroom that was in another area and some people were talking. Some of the literature caught my eye. I was feeling a bit out of place though. A guy and a woman approached me. "I'm Linda," said the woman. The guy said, "Oh, you're Celta's boyfriend."

Without a second thought, I just said "Yes," and said we are going to church now. I had not even thought about what I had just said until later and it just brought a smile to my face when I reflected upon the moment. For some reason, I didn't mention that to Celta.

I walked upstairs and found Celta standing by herself in the hallway. I smiled and wrapped the fingers of my right hand into the fingers on her left hand and we walked toward the doorway passing others who were congregating. It felt like a formal procession. That's why they assumed we were boyfriend and girlfriend. What else would one think?

On this occasion, after the meeting ended, we walked toward the front door our fingers intertwined. I opened the doors for both of us hearing the lyrics from the song "Miracles" by Jefferson Starship drifting through my mind. What is so profound about this song is that there is a very sensual and sexual nature to the song in places and yet that never happened with Celta and me. But the lyrics that repeat, "love you so, love you so," were words that I would have communicated to Celta. Anyway, as I remember this the lyrics continue as follows:  

If only you believe in
miracles, baby
so would I
{pause}

I might have to move
heaven and earth to prove
it to you, baby

We walked like this the short distance to the church. I spotted Faye, Celta's mother and we walked there. I slid down the row and next to her mother with Celta on my right – me in the middle. No one gestured for Celta to sit in the middle next to her mother.

On another visit, Celta mentioned that she had met a guy named David at one of the AA meetings and asked if we could visit him. I took it like she was reaching out to help someone like I might do the same. He was staying in a residential facility for people with alcohol problems.

When we got there, I noticed the long entrance roadway into the place. It was a nice summer day with the green grass flowing over a gentle hill.

"Were you here before?" I asked her.

"A couple of years ago for about a month."

We found David and decided to walk a bit toward a shaded area. I reached for Celta's left hand and she took my hand. I guess I felt a little jealous. She looked at me and just smiled. I managed a smile back.

There was another visit where Celta asked to visit David again. I couldn't let her down, but I wanted my time with her. No, she wasn't looking at David like she looked at me. I was a bit surprised at my feelings. I was slightly upset but didn't say anything. As I took her hand we walked a bit and then she reached out to take David's hand too with a playful childlike look on her face.

We were near a swing set. "Have a seat, I'll push you," I said.

I pulled her forward a bit and pushed her back.

David started to talk about something then his voice trailed off.

I was pushing Celta away and she would return. Not too far, just past the triangular poles of the swing set. Her brown hair caught the sun at the farthest crest – just to the right of her head. Everything was quiet. Our eyes were locked. She smiled that look that said she was happy to be with me. I mouthed the words "I love you" silently, and she smiled, in a rhythm with the swing, as she was closest.

It was hypnotic. We breathed with each cycle of her moving toward me and then away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed David shift a bit almost restless. I then felt bad for him. Celta had not averted her gaze from me. She seemed content.

After another few moments, I noticed she was wanting to swing higher. I wondered, "could she fall?" and then gently caught her legs and said, "what if you fall?"

She just smiled.

"It's getting late," I said.

On another visit, we went to a zoo that was near the Botanical Gardens. They had some black bears, a few monkeys, a few wolves, foxes, a bobcat, snakes, turkeys, dear – not in the same enclosure, of course. It was called Bear Hollow Zoo.

I told Celta that this felt like I was going on a vacation when I came. An escape. A getaway – that's a good word.

I got to meet her father too. He was nice and he took some photos of us.

The time I spent with Celta seemed to sustain me through the workweek.

I have no idea why but there was a period of just over a week in early September where she had another drinking binge. I wasn't mad, I was mystified by what happened.

Then things seemed normal again with our relationship. I felt comfortable with her.

It seemed like she picked up on my feelings around this time and the sense that I was hurt and scared. It wasn't like she intended any harm to me. If she had this problem for all these years and it had been so troublesome to everyone, what was different now?

She seemed a bit off the next time I saw her. I guess it was like she felt shame for her problems and the impact they might have on me. I had mentioned previously how someone who knew the family told me that Celta was just a user and manipulator. Those are words I knew that people say to people like Celta hoping to motivate them to change.

But she was beating her problems.

When she had been in the psychiatric hospital, I remember they said they worried that if she died within 30 days of her release, they would be libel. So, it seemed like she had to gain a certain amount of weight. It seemed like they then changed their mind and decided that they can't keep her forever. It had been a grim prognosis and it offended me. But she had lasted all these months and seemed okay despite being so thin.

It felt like love had saved her – not just my love for her but her love for me – our mutual love.

We began talking about our relationship and the nature of the relationship. She had this pensive look on her face as if she was remembering something as she looked away, out the window. Then she said, "I love you, but I am not in love."

"Okay, because... I don't know either what we have." I answered. "And..." I started to say something. "I don't know what to say. I haven't thought about things like this before."

It was a late summer day in September. What was my question way back when she had looked up at the TV and saw a video of the song "I don't know much, but I know I love you?"

Nothing had changed in the following weeks when I saw her. For example, the following week I came and at one point she took a seat on her bed and I looked down at her smiling with a feeling of joy almost bordering on amusement as I looked into her eyes. She was looking up and she had a look on her face like she was in love or delighted by something. I want to say she had a look that conveyed a sense of some "hunger", but she was just looking.

When I sat down next to her on her bed, I was on her left and I touched her right leg. I was thinking that I wanted to be closer, to feel her body next to mine. She moved her legs over mine. My hand rested against her lower back. Her arms went around me.

I felt peaceful, serene. Nothing was said. We just smiled at one another. I could feel every place where our bodies touched. It wasn't exciting but peaceful. I could feel a tingling feeling and chills. Slow and repeated like some wave.

I felt peaceful, serene. Nothing was said. We just smiled at one another. I could feel every place where our bodies touched. It wasn't exciting but peaceful. I could feel a tingling feeling and chills. Slow and repeated like some wave.

The fall moved into the Georgia area and the air-cooled. The leaves were falling off the trees.

We came to the place where the pathway met the parking lot. I looked up to an area in the trees. I was thinking that it was cool enough that there wouldn't be any snakes. I gestured to the left. "Up there, it will be a little private for us." I said adding, "I don't want to be disturbed by the others.

I was telling her what to me didn't sound very exciting - just something about where I used to go hiking when I was growing up. This somewhat reminded me of that. We had woods behind our house where we lived when I was growing up. I was saying that just behind our house the woods didn't go very deep. We were unpacking the food we brought.

I looked up and she seemed transfixed with her full and complete attention on me.

Wow! I almost wanted to ask, "what do you see in me that is so interesting or exciting?" but that didn't seem necessary with Celta or maybe it didn't seem appropriate to me. We had a connection. Wow! What was it that was happening? I had never noticed anyone so interested in me. It was almost as if I had hypnotized her.

Later, I would think, "that was a moment I should capture in a poem."

How did holding hands feel so special? Or her listening to me with interest? Or how can non-sexual touching feel so powerful?

Moments later we were walking hand-in-hand. My mind drifted to the various feelings that I had. Sometimes I had felt peace, calmness, serenity. Other times I felt excited or aroused. That's hard to talk about because I had not even been in the habit of talking about those things with myself.

We would exist in a place of tranquility, peace, and serenity. I tell her, "I can just stay here with you forever."

In the last chapter, I told you about the joy I found in finding someone to love and someone who loved me. I told you about the experiences I had, and I hope it was clear just how meaningful this was in my life's trajectory. It was so important to present the profound and positive impact this had on my life.

This was life-altering.

The experiences I had growing up, in my home environment were toxic to the development of the kind of self-confidence and self-worth that I would need to achieve my career goals. Something had been missing despite all the improvements I had made in my sense of worth.

It's hard to know what you need to overcome a problem that has existed throughout your life. My therapist or counselor in college was very talented, competent, and profoundly helpful. However, we failed to fully appreciate all the negative impacts of abuse and devaluation that I had experienced in my home life from my parents.

Then I met Celta, and something happened. She seemed to delight in me. She was so interested in my experiences. She also was concerned about my well-being and happiness. I knew she was thinking about me for most of the day each and every day! Her diary-style, stream of consciousness letters told me this.

I knew she was thinking about me for so much of her day, each and every day, because of the letters she wrote to me - her diary of sorts composed with me in mind as someone she wanted to share her life with. I had realized that I previously thought that I was not that important to anyone. This is what I meant by seeking a relationship with some aspect of exclusivity or the idea that I could be the most important person to someone.

I knew that I was the only one that Celta loved the way she loved me. Previously, I had friends, but they all had a boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse or the relationship wasn't as close.

After I was with Celta, I felt like I was ten feet tall... confident... worthwhile, and deserving. My self-esteem was higher than it had ever been in my life. I also felt safe trying new things. This idea might seem unexpected. She was just a small girl (woman). I sensed that she deeply cared about me and thought about me and that was transformative.

It's important to underscore these important points before I move on with this story.

When I say that our relationship was platonic, I mean that we were not boyfriend and girlfriend. We didn't have a physical relationship. That being said, we did exchange "I love you" on a daily basis or whenever we talked on the phone or saw each other. We were close and perhaps somewhat intimate and physical but not in a sexual way.

Late in December, something happened. I had moved to kiss her as I was leaving. It was impulsive. Her lips were so thin that I didn't feel what I imagined I would feel. This was my first kiss. I felt confused. She had not turned away or signaled in any way that she didn't want me to proceed. So, why was I uncertain? I didn't have to be shy with Celta. But I didn't want to use her for my own personal "experience."

I would play this back in my mind as I drove away. Yes, I wanted to kiss her. Having decided now for sure what I wanted, next time I would kiss her.

Sometime later I pictured my face turning to the right and moving closer to her as she moved toward me. I had been in sync with her and felt so comfortable. I knew that she might have said that one time that she was not in love but when we were together there were so many times when she had that look of someone who was so happy, comfortable and it sure looked like she was in love. Well, she definitely had "romantic" feelings.

Also, when I was with her, I could see myself and my feelings. You just know those things. There were so many subtle behavioral cues that told me what she was feeling and how she was responding to my touches... how I held her... where I touched her. Everything had been welcomed. I played back memories of how when I touched her she moved closer to me.

As I replayed the imagined kiss – next time - I would begin to tilt my head to the right, bend down, she would be acting on instinct, without taking the time to over-think it – that's what I would do, and she was my mirror. Sometimes we do things as if the moment is such that it is inevitable. She would move to meet my lips... she would be transfixed upon my eyes and I hers. I felt excited as I replayed this in my mind.

It was as if it had happened already, almost.

It would never happen.

On New Year's Day of 1991, I got the worst news of my life. A phone call. I was in my room on the second floor of the house owned by my parents. "Celta died last night," I was told.

"How?" I asked as if this wasn't possible or real. I was stunned. I wanted my willpower to make it not real!

"There was a fire... she died from smoke inhalation." It started from an exposed electrical cord on a TV.

My mind registered information about the funeral, its location, and time but I could not find the words to begin to convey any sense of what I was feeling. I had spoken a few times to the man previously. He was a friend of the family. Tears were flooding my eyes. I just said, "Okay, I'll be there but I can't talk..." my voice breaking. I needed the family to expect me.

I dropped the phone and began to cry so bitterly.

I hurt so much!

I cried so much as I drove the way to the funeral. Just before the funeral, I looked at the closed casket and was overcome. Someone was standing by it and for a brief second, some part of me wanted to open the casket and find out that it wasn't Celta that was inside.

At the funeral, I cried more than everyone else combined. I didn't care how I looked.

It was at the Episcopalian church where I went with Celta and where I would sit down next to Celta's mother and Celta. I was still Christian, meaning I went to church on a regular basis.

Standing outside after the funeral people were talking. I was looking at the closed casket unable to believe this was real. I was still crying. Celta's mother instructed me not to come to the burial. She could tell that I was not going to make it through that event. My state of mind was such that I needed to be told what I should do now.

At the burial the one person who loved Celta most, who felt a visceral sense of grief above and beyond that felt by the others... that one person would be missing. I would not be there. I had followed the directions of Celta's mother and left Athens (Athens Georgia).

I certainly felt betrayed and abandoned by God. However, I did go to grief counseling at the Catholic hospital in Augusta, Georgia. A nun was leading a grief counseling group – spiritual counseling. She was using guided imagery, relaxation techniques, prayer, and biblical references. I met with her a few times and asked for tape recordings of the sessions.

In the group sessions, she spoke about the stages of grief. We were encouraged to bring in things that were mementos of our experience with our loved ones. I listened intently as others spoke. I was by far the youngest. I had studied the grief process in a psychology class at Georgia Tech. I read some more about this from a "clinical" standpoint. I was keeping reality at a distance.

I was in denial at times and at other times I would be overwhelmed with the idea of not being able to see Celta ever again and I would cry and cry.

So much is strange about this time period. The struggles with my parents were never intentionally instigated by me out of anger for anything. They just seemed uninterested in me and my life, other than to tell me what I ought to do.

I suppose I wanted to share the fact that someone had loved me to explain what had changed. It was surreal that there was such denial that anything had happened or changed. I might be in denial as a symptom of grief but I wanted to celebrate the relationship that I had. Where would I begin?

To cope with the tragic loss, I started drinking. A lot.
 

I was put on a tricyclic anti-depressant by a psychiatrist. I had developed panic attacks as well. The anti-depressant had the effect of creating a sense of positive feelings even with my mother standing there one morning ironing something for work with my father getting ready too. Those fake feelings were only transitory. It is reminiscent of the song by REM titled "It's the end of the world as we know it."... and I feel fine. I guess I felt "high."

The days flowed around me like a mystical experience in which I flowed in and out of my body. I wasn't fully alive or so it seemed... betrayed even by God.

It was all a blur. My entire existence.

Somehow, I did get a job finally that could have made my parents satisfied. Everything was always about them. They never asked about anything that was happening to me. So, they never inquired about why I was going for grief counseling because they had no knowledge of this.

Anyway, I got a job at the National Science Foundation as a contractor. I was developing a network for the museum and that involved network programming in the C programming language. I was a software engineer. I did accomplish a great deal in that job capacity and my supervisor was very impressed with my talents.

Again, this was not at all interesting to me. Yet, I was making sure that I successfully met all deadlines and deliverables.

I vaguely remember a summer trip to Las Vegas. The company paid for this to cover some training related to my work. It was amazing. I had this incredible per-diem rate where I was paid my salary plus extra money for expenses that exceeded the cost of the hotel room.

Vegas was probably the worst place for me to go with so much free cash and free drinks in the casinos. Somehow, I made all the presentations for the training that I was sent there to attend. In the evenings and free time, I hit the casinos and made some decent money. Nothing to write home about. Gin or vodka was an escape but somehow, I didn't drink so much so as to get sick at night or even the next day.

As I try to write this now, I have only momentary snapshots with no full-running narrative memory. Just random disconnected sensations. My hands were unable to touch the leather inside a car. The sun shimmers on the pavement. Casinos. Drinks. Sitting at a poker table. Pulling a lever on a slot machine.

I must have done what was expected of me. I don't remember any complaints from my boss.

Yeah, I moved through time like a robot.

The job was going well, as I said. I was proud of how well I was doing.

I was drinking more and more during this time period after the trip to Las Vegas. Everything except beer. Vodka with tonic or orange juice. Gin and tonic. Whiskey with ice, water, or coke. Not so much wine.

I was passing out and once or twice I would puke. I really hated throwing up, always.

I did meet this girl from the home office of the company that was paying me. She lived in Alabama and I was in Augusta, Georgia and we decided to meet in Atlanta, Georgia where I had graduated not long before that.

My supervisor was joking that I had "jungle fever" because I was a white guy who was going to date a black woman. He was black, as well. I didn't let that bother me. Spike Lee's film "Jungle Fever" had been out, and it was an important film. I have always been fine with having a conversation about race if that was something that was desired.

My mother actually asked about my date. I suppose her name sounded ethnic and my mother asked about that guessing that she might be Italian. I said, "no, she's black."

I remember that this was the first time I kissed anyone other than a brief kiss that Celta and I shared back in December of the last year. I mentioned that above.

This was extremely passionate. She brought her kid and left him in the car and parked near the Student Center - the same building where I worked on the bottom floor in the post office.

We were looking for someplace to sit or be as private as possible outside after dark. I remember making out at a few locations here and there. I could feel her large breasts against me, and I was aroused.

My first passionate kiss. Before Lynn. We'll get to that later.

Did I feel guilty about dating so soon after Celta? Maybe. But I wasn't actually feeling nor was I "aware" during this time period. I was so numb that I needed to feel something. To wake up! I was trying so hard to wake up. The tricyclic antidepressant made me feel good for a few moments. That didn't make it a meaningful experience.

Then later there was the fact that she said in December that she loved me but wasn't in love with me. I had only known her for one year, from January through December 31 or 1990. I do know that countless times she had that look like someone in love when she looked in my eyes. I was fairly certain she was trying to protect me from being hurt. But I never got a chance to ask her.

And that kiss? I had stopped, not her. It was my first time kissing anyone and I should have been aware that her lips were so small that if I didn't feel anything at first I should wait or stay there. I was always comfortable with Celta. She had never rejected any of my touches.

My mother had made me feel so not okay and so had my father somewhat. This "date" was a way to get out of the home and to appear normal to my mother. If I was going out with someone from the company that employed my services, it made me appear less worthy of the criticism I had been getting from my parents. That's how I figured it. It was an escape.

Some people with Borderline Personality Disorder or trauma disorders will cut their own skin with razors or something sharp just to feel something. The date was something like that.

There wasn't a second date. I had expressed my concerns about pre-marital sex. We weren't even in a committed relationship. I drove to Atlanta to meet her for a second date, but she never showed. I was frustrated out of embarrassment. Then I just forgot the entire matter by the next day and never thought about the matter further.

The various medications and the alcohol impeded grieving and dare I say reality testing. People who are grieving are in such a state of denial that it is almost like a temporary psychosis. From what I was reading and hearing in the stories of grief that I studied, "normal," healthy people did for a while embrace denial to such an extent that it bordered on delusional thinking.

The loss of Celta could not be washed away with alcohol, grief counseling, or an intimate date.

Poetry as an outlet...

I can thank my mother for introducing me to Martin Kirby, who went to our church and he was a professor of English Literature and related subjects at a college in Augusta, Georgia. He would become my writing/poetry mentor.
 

I would show up on a regular basis for poetry readings where I shared my poetry and got feedback, advice, and guidance on writing good poetry. He also heard me write about my experiences with Celta and listened to my experiences. This was very helpful because I had no other outlet for this or place to talk about Celta and my relationship with her.

He said he thought it would take about 10 years for me to be able to write good poetry about Celta because the feelings were too raw.

I was living in a difficult environment with my parents. I was dealing with a major tragedy and yet the name Celta wasn't even being mentioned.

Between drinking, the different medications I was put on, and the panic attacks, I had to go to the Emergency Room (ER) on two occasions.

The psychiatrist tried me on a major tranquilizer, and I had these horrifying muscle spasms that twisted my body up into contortions that made me think my bones were going to be broken in my neck and elsewhere. The doctor said that in higher doses the drug is used for psychotic disorders but somehow it would help with my depression, I guess. That was the reason I was taken to the ER once. My father took me.

Another time I had a panic attack and again my father took me to the ER. It's strange that they weren't asking why all this was happening. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. NEVER!

The only ones listening to my stories about Celta were Martin Kirby and his wife as well as the attendees at the grief support group. Again, my parents were not interested to learn anything about this matter. They never seemed to have any awareness that I was even going to grief counseling.

This is so utterly astonishing! I had not deliberately been trying to keep everything a secret about what was going on with me. On the contrary, I looked for an opening to discuss the matter. I wanted to repair and improve the relationship. I wanted to share the fact that I had found someone who loved me.

With all this going on, all the problems I was having, I began to doubt that I could achieve my goals in life, my career goals. I wondered how I could help others when I had so many problems myself.

It should be noted that while I was put on a major tranquilizer, my psychiatrist NEVER said he thought I was psychotic. We knew I had problems coping with overwhelming stressors.

After the job with the National Science Foundation ended, another opportunity presented itself in March of 1992. I was offered a job in Wilmington, North Carolina, to work with Corning as a Technical Writer. They wanted someone with a technical background.

This would change everything. I was about to be on my own again. Finally!

My perception that I had long-term "problems" would disappear as if by magic, literally - it was unbelievable. My problem had been living in a toxic environment and that was complicated by the grief and the effort I had made to ignore, suppress, or deny the natural process.

My own doubts about my ability to achieve my career goals in life were contributing to the problems I was having.

It's hard to believe that I had only known Celta for one year – the year 1990 and when that year ended, so had Celta's life.

The tragic loss of Celta did not erase the positive impact she had on my life. There were other positive experiences during this time. I had become more confident.

I had been writing poetry about the experiences I had with Celta and I wanted to share that with others. I had been sharing that with Martin Kirby my poetry mentor but now I wanted to share this with others. It was so important and meaningful!

This section of my book covers building a family as an adult. Beginning in April of 1992, I would move out on my own leaving the life I had living with my parents. You will notice that the "problems" that I had described when I was living with my parents and dealing with grief will almost magically disappear. 

The environment in which I was living with my parents had become unhealthy because of a misunderstanding. It would take me decades to find out that my mother and perhaps my father had expected me to work as an engineer. I knew they were encouraging me to do so with arguments about how much better off I would be financially and how it would allow me to pay part of my graduate school costs but I didn't know that they expected me to do this. 

I didn't know that they felt I had wasted the investment they made. I had honestly thought they knew and understood my plans to go into social work and that engineering was as wrong for me as anything can be wrong for any job seeker. 

For a brief moment, before I moved out on my own, I worried about my own mental health and whether my "problems" would have an impact on my career plans. In many ways, this was caused by the death of Celta and the impact that had on me. That was where things were left at the end of the last section.  Never again would I wonder about this.
 

In this section, I am writing stories that read like a love story when taken together. When I speak of starting a family, I mean sharing my life with another person, eventually as husband and wife. So, this is about falling in love. I had dated a little but no one other than Celta played a role in my history. 

There was a moment when Celta and I almost kissed – do you remember what I described?

I suppose some of it can be confusing. Nothing "sexual" happened. That being said, I never held hands with my male friends, or cuddled with them, or stared into their eyes, felt the need to repeatedly tell them "I love you." You get the idea.

This section of the book will begin to focus on Lynn who is the subject of this book and who is mentioned in the book's title.

It's important to note that the same efforts involved in overcoming shyness in order to be able to find someone to love were helpful in my career journey. So, this section is a very important part of my overall autobiographical story.

Regarding shyness, I would say that I was a "shy person in recovery." I made up that term and you will come upon this later in this section of the book. I use that phrase to indicate that I had accomplished so much with regard to overcoming the paralyzing effects of shyness, but it has been an enduring aspect of my life story.

Cystic Fibrosis and My Life with Lynn Denise Krupey

It's also important to note that the girl of my dreams, the love of my life, the one person I would fall madly and passionately, totally and completely, in love with, had a chronic illness called Cystic Fibrosis. 

This would have an impact on the decisions we made about life together.

The Role of Religion As A Toxic Influence

For the longest time, I was still a believer in religious ideas – the ones I had been exposed to growing up. God, spirituality, heaven, and sin of course. We can't leave that out. I would come to feel such great shame for things I said to Lynn when we were living together. 

Normally, I would have chosen to get married before moving in with a girl. Things were more complicated by the genetic illness with which Lynn was born.

Where the Story Begins and Where it Leads

I pick up the story when I turn twenty-six and move to Wilmington, North Carolina - my home. Things are much different than when I arrived in Atlanta Georgia for college. It's true that I didn't know anyone in Wilmington when I first move there. However, I am not paralyzed by shyness and social anxiety – I had developed social skills as well.

The experience of being in love was more amazing than I had imagined. I could not have known what it is like to be in love until it happened. I suppose no one does... but no one tried to convey the happiness and serenity that comes from being loved and being in love.

Please join me... this promises to be exciting. 

In the last chapter, I ended with the announcement that I was moving to Wilmington, North Carolina. I had a six-month contract to work at Corning Glass. I was working as a technical writer. They needed someone who had a technical background, and I was told that my engineering degree and experience working as a software engineer met the requirements.

I was a bit nervous or had some uncertainty since this was just a six-month contract. What would happen after the contract ended in six months? The past year and a few months had been extremely difficult. I was not doing well, and my self-esteem had plummeted or so I thought.

As it turns out, I only had to move out on my own and get my life back on track. I had to resume my quest and continue with my career journey. 

It also is obvious that the only problem I had had was that I chose to live in an environment that had become toxic in terms of my relationship with my parents. 

I had spent over two years thinking about how unacceptable I was in the eyes of my parents. I could NOT make them happy for me to save my life.

What do I mean when I state that I was living in a toxic environment? I constantly worried that I wasn't good enough... I wasn't making my mother happy... My mother had made it known that she believed that I was stubbornly unwilling to work as an engineer. That nearly constant psychological and emotional abuse hung over me like a dark cloud... Other than when I was with Celta.

When I was with Celta, I felt acceptable... loved... special. I felt good enough. I could just be.

Prior to coming to Wilmington, I had been writing poetry and sharing poetry with a friend of mine named Martin Kirby. I give my mother credit for introducing me to him. It was interesting that she noticed that I might like poetry.

At any one time in life, there are things that stand in stark contrast to everything else that was going on. I mean, my parents had seemed to be completely unaware of everything meaningful that was going on in my life at that time. They were not at all interested in knowing that Celta existed and had played a role in my life. They didn't care to know why I had been so sad for the past year. My family showed no interest at all in my career plans or what I had done to move forward with those plans.

None of that ever seemed to matter at all. That was so exasperating but then my mother introduced me to a poet and English Literature professor because she knew that poetry was interesting to me. Yes, I am grateful that she noticed that but why could they not notice all of the other things that mattered to me?

The subject of the writing that I shared with Martin, my poetry mentor, was not something that either parent cared to know about. So, I'm grateful that my mother cared enough to introduce me to this talented professor of English literature but that was the extent to which either parent demonstrated an interest in anything that interested me or that would make me happy.

Anyway, this new interest of mine in poetry would prove to be important as I started to build a life as a young adult.

Before I moved to Wilmington, I had found a roommate who had a room for rent and her name was Donna Bender.  She was a thin pretty woman who had been in a domestic violence relationship and had been involved in the domestic violence community.

When I moved to Wilmington, I obviously didn't know anyone, other than my roommate. I did socialize a bit with my roommate. I remember going downtown to a gay bar with her once. Apparently, a guy was interested in me and I remember Donna telling that person that I was straight. It was interesting.

This wasn't my main source of entertainment or enjoyment after work and on the weekends.

When I first arrived, that first week, I had in mind that I needed to make friends. I thought I would see what activities are available in the city. So I picked up an entertainment weekly paper. I had in mind looking into the poetry reading scene in the area. I believe my poetry mentor Martin had suggested this to me.

This is how I would build a social network and a social life.

That first week when I arrived, I decided to call the contact person from the announcement in the newspaper. That person's name was Jean Jones. He would go on to be an important friend of mine for many, many years.

I had asked Jean on the phone if people read their own writing and he confirmed that this was the reason we gathered for the poetry readings. Yes, people read their own poetry.

So, I made a decision to attend, and I had in mind that I would share my poetry with the group. This was something for which I had to prepare mentally before showing up. The choice to share my own writing was based on two factors. One was the fact that I truly wanted to share my experiences with others. I had been through an amazing series of experiences and I wanted to make a connection with my stories. The other reason was the fact that I wanted people to know me.

Somehow, I found the courage that very same first poetry reading that I attended to share my poetry. I cannot overstate the courage, effort, and conviction that was required to do this. I had been a very shy person as you know, dear reader. The mere concept of being the center of attention in any group had never occurred in my life. I had avoided that.

I had tried to speak in class at Georgia Tech but never found the courage to do that. 

So, if I did find the courage to read my poetry at the poetry reading, this would be a first for me.

I can only imagine that my experiences with Celta were so very transformative. There was one other thing that was very important to consider which I haven't mentioned yet. I had done volunteer work at Georgia Regional Hospital in Augusta, Georgia. 

The experience as a volunteer at Georgia Regional Hospital was important because I had a specific plan for my career and the rest of my life. I knew I was meant to work as a social worker but that would require that I go to graduate school. The undergraduate degree was in engineering which would allow me to enter graduate school in social work. However, I figured I was going to need experience in an area that is closer to my field of interest.

I knew I wanted to be a mental health professional and more specifically a psychotherapist. Georgia Regional Hospital was a state psychiatric hospital and so that was perfect for me to get experience. I volunteered with the social work team. I also knew that I would need letters of recommendation to get into graduate school in social work.

So, volunteering at Georiga Regional Hospital helped me to advance my social and communication skills as well as give me the experience that I would need to make the transition to social work. 

In addition, this experience was very helpful in my ability to gain a great deal of self-confidence. I did interact occasionally at some staff meetings with perhaps 8 or so people there. They included social workers, a psychiatrist, and some medical students.

None of that involved being the center of attention. However, I did feel like I had been helpful to others. I knew that I had a great sense of empathy and respect for others. People opened up to me without any hesitation for the most part. Some patients had problems that made it hard for them to communicate - this was related to their being admitted to the hospital.

Still, it seemed that so many people were happy to share their stories with me. I was able to get them to open up. I got a sense that I was helping them. Sometimes people just want someone to listen to them and to try to understand them and what they are experiencing.

While those experiences were helpful in increasing my self-esteem and self-confidence, I have also described the painful experiences that were so destructive to me and my sense of self-worth and self-confidence which only increased following the death of Celta.

With that background, I found myself in a different place emotionally and psychologically having moved to Wilmington and out of the situation in which I was living. It truly was like magic and it was like night and day when you consider just how different everything was when I settled into that first week in a new city.

There was another theme that exists in this book. First, when I went off to Georgia Tech as an adult and lived on my own away from my home, I found that experience to be transformative. Now, I moved away from living with my parents, and again almost like magic life is different, better... more healthy.

I don't mean to call my parents bad people, it's just that I needed to be an adult and make my own decisions. 

That is the situation that describes me when I showed up at the Coastline Convention Center at 7 PM Sunday, the first Sunday I had in a new city. Shortly after 7 pm, the sun was setting on the Cape Fear River with the red, orange, and then blue light reflecting into a room with the lights turned low to create a peaceful atmosphere. Large windows lined an entire wall from the ceiling down to nearly the floor. We were on the fourth floor.

A small group of people was there... perhaps 10 to 15 people moving about quietly, each taking their turn to read. A woman named Dusty was the emcee. She was such a special person and that probably had a factor in my choice to summon the courage to do something I had never previously contemplated.

I somehow found the courage to walk to the front of the room after getting some directions from Dusty. She had an air about her that was motherly and serene. Peaceful. Welcoming.

I heard my voice on the microphone and it was an unusual experience. I had never heard my voice amplified. "Is that what I sound like?" I wondered. If you had asked me a few years earlier, when I was in my first two years or more at Georgia Tech if I would ever do this, I would have said it was impossible.

During my last two years at Georgia Tech, I knew I would have to do this - put myself at the center of attention in a group setting - but I also knew that finding the courage and self-confidence to do so was something that would take a tremendous amount of work and effort. 

I had NEVER done what I did this first night at the poetry reading!

Something special was happening that evening. This was the beginning of my life as an adult. This was my becoming. My greatest accomplishment! Finally! I did it. It almost seemed like a test. This was a very, very different test for me. And I passed. I did what I had wanted to accomplish.

I recited a few of the poems that I had selected. I was nervous and I hoped that it wasn't too obvious. I liked the applause and the recognition. Dusty was standing to the side of me as I was finishing up. Her smile was comforting. It said, "thank you for sharing." "You did well." It was accepting. She was about a generation older than me and I realized that this acceptance from a mother figure was something that I had wanted for so long.

The feeling from the experience overall, as I stepped away, from the group was, "you belong." "You did well." I felt like the nervousness that I felt could be contained within the warmth of the room and the welcoming nature of the setting. I belonged. Yeah, I felt like I did belong. This soothed my nervousness and helped me relax.

There would be more Sunday nights just like this. Dusty called this sharing of our personal poetry a sharing of a gift to the group. I liked that idea. I had personal poems about Celta that I had wanted to share.

On the second night that I attended I approached Jean. I knew he had a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree with a specialization in poetry. He was the contact person that I found in the weekly paper announcing the group. I shared with him a poem I had been working on about a memory I had with Celta. I called it "The Swing."

The poem was about a memory I had with Celta when I had gone to the park in the summer of 1990, less than two years ago. She was on a swing.  I had been pushing her away knowing she would swing back to me. First, she would pause at the farthest point from me, her brown hair backlit against the early afternoon sun. 

She had asked me to take her to meet a male friend of hers. I left that out. I noticed how her look had been transfixed upon me. Her friend's voice had faded as if whatever he was saying didn't matter at that point. I could tell he was looking at us. Out of my periphery, I noticed his movement that said he felt awkward and maybe intrusive. Yet at that moment despite the fact that I am incredibly sensitive to the feelings of others, I felt mesmerized.

As I write this in 2021, decades later, there are aspects of this memory that are new along with my ideas for the poem. Back then I was using words like the undulating motion of the swing and I had the notion of pushing Celta knowing she would come back to my arms. 

Jean was friendly and helpful, crossing out large parts of the poem.

It's funny how memories flow back to us like waves when we least expect them to do so. Celta's movement on the swing was wave-like in nature. I had mentioned that in the poem. But my poetry mentor, Martin Kirby, had said that it would take ten years for me to write truly good poems about Celta and our experiences.

Somehow, I would find a way to move on with my life. I was going to meet another special girl named Lynn. I had hardly noticed Lynn, yet. I had still been processing the loss of Celta... and when I shared poems about these things, which was such a challenge, Dusty called our poems gifts! 

So, sharing our hearts and memories with someone or a group is a gift! Nice. I liked that! I liked that very much!

This was the beginning of a quest to pursue a set of goals, dreams, and aspirations. I knew I was going to be tested again in the career I had chosen. I would have to rely upon skills like this and courage like this.

Friendships and Family...

There were a number of regulars that came to the poetry readings. This was where I would build friendships that would last a lifetime. I am about to describe one of those individuals, Lynn Denise Krupey who will figure prominently in this book.

Another important friend who was coming to these readings is Thomas Childs. I have considered him to be part of my family of choice. Thomas, along with Celta, Lynn and my second wife Elee are the four most important people to me – those individuals who have been most dear to me in my life.

In the last chapter, I spoke about attending the poetry readings at the Coastline Convention Center. It was April of 1992 when I arrived in Wilmington, North Carolina. I started attending the poetry readings on Sundays.

This was part of my new identity that I was discovering.

Somehow, at these poetry readings, I felt a sense of belonging. Everyone was so welcoming, and the atmosphere was serene and accepting. However, I was aware of the fact that most of these other poets had a degree in English.

I wanted to understand a poet and the ideas that poets have - these poets. I wanted to connect with people who express themselves through the written word.

Martin, my poetry mentor, gave me enough courage to believe that I could be a poet. As a reminder, I had been visiting him and his wife (I might have left her out of the story earlier) for coffee, tea, and reading poetry – his, mine, and that of famous poets. He was a professor of English.

Some of the craft of poetry would allude me, such as meter and rhyme, but I learned that there is a form of poetry called "free verse" that doesn't require as much effort to be expended in the craft and I could get to the point of communicating ideas and sharing ideas, which was the most important aspect of what I wanted or needed.

I'm only saying these things because I have always had some insecurities about my talents.

At this point, as I started this phase of my life, I noticed that for the first time, those insecurities were virtually gone. I know this because I was making friends and connecting with others. I was a part of something that was important. Something special was happening on those evenings and at those poetry readings and other events.

There was something serene about the setting that made it easier for me to get up in front of a group of people and read my poetry. The sun would reflect across the Cape Fear River casting the soft rays of sunlight into the room.

My ability to get up in front of a room of people every week was an amazing accomplishment for me. Again, I have always been shy, fearful, quiet. I NEVER put myself at the center of attention anywhere EVER... until I started coming to the poetry readings.

This ability to be the center of attention would have a profound impact on my choices and my future as I built a career for myself. I would reflect upon the struggles and accomplishments that brought me to this point.

Dusty, the emcee for the poetry readings, made it easier too. She worked at the lounge on the fourth floor of the Coastline Convention Center, where we had the readings. She had a magical quality of attending to the guests of the Convention Center whether they were there for the poetry or not.

Something about Dusty made you feel welcome and comfortable. She was a motherly figure in a way because she was older than some of the other regulars who were like me in our twenties.

I also had noticed this other girl that was coming every week for the poetry readings. There was something about her that got my attention. Her name was Lynn.

She was very thin. She had a cough and that's related to her condition, Cystic Fibrosis - a genetic illness. I must have overheard Lynn talking about that. It's not the kind of thing that you ask someone about... like "why are you coughing all the time?"

Lynn was quiet but I didn't think she was as shy as I was.

She did share her own writing and she would share or read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot. I'm not sure when I first noticed this.

There are so many little things that you observe when someone intrigues you.

Lynn definitely intrigued me.

What was it about her? Did I already think that she was the most beautiful girl imaginable? Do I dare admit to myself that I am entertaining such irrational thoughts? I don't think it was love at first sight but something about her intrigued me. I was a bit surprised that I was thinking about finding a girlfriend after the loss of Celta.

When I had previously "dated" someone in 1991, the year following the death of Celta it was at a time when I was still in shock – something akin to what a heavyweight boxer must feel right after he has just been hit with a few blows to the head, he staggers, trying to stay on his feet, stumbling about, dazed, confused, disoriented, not thinking clearly at all, on the verge of passing out. That was me for most of 1991 and into 1992 in the wake of the loss of Celta.

Back then, if you had asked me if I was ready to date or find someone meaningful to love, I would have said that the question makes about as much sense as it would to the boxer in that state of mind.

I had not been thinking or feeling for so long ... until sometime in May or June of 1992.

This was different. Undoubtedly, being on my own and living as an adult had allowed me to grieve normally and heal.

I wish I had known about my weakness and vulnerability around losing someone important. That would have been helpful later in life. But at this point in 1992, I was blissfully unaware of this coming darkness.

I should add that it wasn't only Lynn's looks that made her attractive to me. There was something that united all of us who were regulars that came to the readings and I held everyone in high regard. There was a connection that I felt to the people I was meeting.

That being said, Lynn was stunningly beautiful. Her voice was hypnotic and alluring. She had all the things that one considers in feminine beauty and shape or so it seemed to me very early on. She seemed perfect.

I loved her voice both when she was at the microphone and when I was close to her. And her face, her skin, her legs seemed like gentle features I might have created in my own mind if I had the imagination to do such a thing.

Yet, I noticed she was alone.

I would come to the readings and try to get a sense of whether or not Lynn had a boyfriend. I didn't want to risk rejection.

Asking a girl out was a very difficult thing for me to do. I would calculate the possibility of rejection.

To avoid that I was trying to come up with a plan for seeing her outside these readings that would be something easy and without the burden of her having to size me up to determine my value as a male companion when she heard the question that I was trying to pose or the request. 

I was wanting to see if she would want to spend some time with me - as in just me.

I was like a shy person in recovery. That's a phrase I just made up. It's the best way to describe the way I thought of myself and my fear - my concerns, my judgments about how to proceed.

We were coming up on July 4th and nearly 3 months after I started going to these readings. My social life involved going out a few times with my roommate, Donna, who was nice, but we were not making a connection like I was making at the readings. Plus, I wasn't into Donna romantically.

A big poetry reading was coming up this Sunday the day after the 4th of July. I thought of Fort Fischer where Jean Jones works. Fort Fischer is a historical place. There's also the aquarium nearby. And there is this jetty that goes out to some tiny island which is a mini-animal conservation spot of sorts.

Anyway, the poetry reading was a big deal. Flyers were everywhere it seemed. Maybe I just noticed them in town because I was into that kind of thing.

Yeah, we (Lynn and I) could go together. I was pretty sure she wasn't seeing anyone else.

How it was possible that she didn't already have a boyfriend, I didn't know.

On the last Sunday before the 4th, I found myself at a table by the window at the lounge where the readings were held. She seemed receptive to me. Sure, why not. At some point, I found the courage to ask her "do you want to go to the poetry reading next Sunday with me?"

"Sure," she said.

"Oh, my God," I thought. "It worked. Okay, I need to do more."

"Can I call you?"

Before long I was getting her phone number. 

The sun was still above the Cape Fear River and reflecting back into the room a kaleidoscope of orange and blue. It seemed that my awareness of a room full of people had departed and I was only aware of us.

While this was happening, I added, "We could go down to Carolina Beach on Saturday too. There are things to see down there."

"Okay," she said in a voice that was soft and warm.

I was surprised too... not because I expected to be rejected but because of how much I wanted this. I wasn't reflecting on matters at this point. I was just acting on instinct.

In the back of my mind during the next week, I was thinking about what to do. I wanted to have lots of suggestions to offer Lynn. I wasn't sure what she would like.

I had called her and said that I knew of a peaceful and scenic spot where we could go. Maybe we could go to Fort Fischer and see if Jean was working there, or to the aquarium.

So, now, it was July 4th of 1992. I picked her up at her home on Wrightsville Beach. We drove through Wilmington and continued toward Carolina Beach. It was somehow amazing just how easy the conversation was going for both of us. I would have expected that I would have been nervous.

There is a jetty that runs out to a tiny island south of Carolina Beach where the Cape Fear River meets the ocean. It's the farthest point south if you drive down Highway 421/Carolina Beach Road from Wilmington, North Carolina.

We decided that we would go to this spot.

This is our first date. I think it's a "date." I don't have much experience dating and so if you are wondering, dear reader, what I mean by saying I was shy, these are just a few examples of what it is like. I don't think Lynn had a great deal of experience with these kinds of things either.

Since I was driving, I double-checked to see if this was where we wanted to stop first. She agreed.

So, I parked the car near the beach near that jetty that I mentioned.

The jetty is not on the open ocean, so the waves only gently lap against the beach and the rocks that form the jetty. It's just a bunch of rocks that have been stacked against one another to make a bridge of sorts. On top of the rocks, they put pavement to make it into a bridge that could be crossed.

We walked out there toward the jetty together, but we were both shy a bit about the nature of the relationship that was developing.

As we started walking onto the jetty, I noticed it was a bit slippery because the saltwater had washed over the bridge recently.

I had not expected this to be slippery. I could not let her slip and risk anything bruising or scratching her perfect skin... not to mention the fear I would feel if I saw her fall.

But I was so nervous.

I had to do something. I reached out my hand to her.

"Wow!" I thought, "She took my hand. Wow! And why am I repeating this thought?"

My fingers crossed over her palm between the thumb and the first finger on her hand. I felt a tingling sensation beginning in my fingers and rising up my arm, like the small soft waves beside us. The sensation came to rest in the center of my chest.

I took a breath as if I needed air. It was a lightness that I felt in my chest as if a weight had been taken off me – as if my own weight was pressing down with less force than previously.

I wasn't expecting to feel anything like this. I was just catching her to keep her from falling.

"Do you want to keep going?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, pausing to take in the scene with me. Her straight blonde hair swayed in the gentle wind. The gentle waves washed against the rocks below us. It was peaceful.

There was something interesting that I was feeling. Holding her hand was "exciting" - like I had never felt excited before (which isn't true) ... AND this moment was also relaxed and peaceful. It might not make sense because being excited and relaxed are usually different feelings.

We walked for a bit further but then decided that this was getting too slippery.

"What's next," I thought. Then I said "Jean works at Fort Fischer and they have a tour of the historic site. We could go there."

She agreed.

I guess I was eager to spend as much time as I could with Lynn. I didn't want the day to end. I didn't want to drop her off and leave.

We let the windows down and Lynn eased back into her seat, letting the wind blow softly – we weren't going fast. She looked comfortable and dreamy. I wasn't sure what that meant other than that she was "comfortable" or relaxed as she sat back in her seat looking out the window. I didn't have much time to see if she was looking at me at this moment.

That same feeling continued as we walked the grounds at Fort Fischer – a Civil War historic site. We spoke to Jean for a bit.

It's hard to recount everything that we did that day, but I wanted to say that while I was coming up with things to do, Lynn was contributing to the conversation and helping come up with ideas. She wasn't just saying "sure" or "okay." For one, that would have been discouraging to me and secondly, Lynn didn't seem like the type who went along with things.

I was desperate to find out that Lynn wanted to spend time with me and was therefore an equal participant in these decisions about what we were doing together. 

I had a feeling then and later that the reason she didn't already have a boyfriend was that she didn't need a guy to complete her nor was she looking to be in a relationship. That would happen to both of us but perhaps neither of us was looking - to be honest, I was more inclined to desire a relationship with a girl than she was... but I am getting ahead of my story.

The day faded into the night and we made our way to downtown Wilmington.

We saw the fireworks that night, over the Cape Fear River and near the Battleship.

After the fireworks, we were walking back to the car and we walked by the place where she worked at a historic home that had been converted into a shelter for youth runaways. A co-worker of hers asked her if I was her boyfriend. I heard her say "No, we are just friends."

Darn. I thought this was a date. Actually, even if it was an all-day date, we were still just friends.

I could wait.

The next day I picked her up again and we went to the poetry reading down in Carolina Beach.

There must have been a few dozen people when I read my poetry. This was a major accomplishment. I had an awareness of being nervous and I wondered if others picked up on the shakiness in my voice. There could have been a hundred or more people and I would have felt equally anxious.

Lynn took a seat on the side of the stage facing where I was standing after I read. She took the microphone and read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot.

I was taking photographs, including photographs of her.

As I reflect on these two dates or days spent together, I realize that I cannot fill in any more details. Decades have passed.

Looking back at the nearly three months when I was sharing my poetry, it's interesting to note the subject matter of my poetry... It had been about grief and a special friend named Celta. Yet here I was totally focused on this new girl named Lynn. It's hard to overstate the meaning and importance of this.  

In the last chapter, I mentioned that I asked Lynn out and we spent a weekend together at outdoor events in Wilmington and Carolina Beach, North Carolina. This might be taken out of context to imply something more intimate happened... something more than holding hands. That's not what I meant.

I dropped her off at her home after the fireworks on the fourth of July and picked her up the next day for the poetry reading that was also in Carolina Beach.

Plus, it's hard to describe but there was something more that I felt just holding hands for a few moments when we walked out on that slippery jetty. That's the thing with feelings, sometimes we discover a language that exists that cannot be expressed in thoughts or words... after all, words are the medium by which we think.

I was still struggling with my shyness but only in vague ways. I had insecurities about whether I was really that special if only one person, Celta, had looked at me like I was their whole world like they could love me and/or choose to be with me exclusively.

Maybe she was shy too. I played these ideas over in my mind. "What does she think of me?" "Is she into me?"

As I said earlier, this was a bit surprising to me. I had been grieving the loss of Celta for a long time, but I would not have pursued Lynn if I was not over that loss.

After that fourth of July weekend, I was so invested in wanting to see Lynn every day and as much as possible. I would find myself at work trying to come up with things we could do together that afternoon. It wasn't hard because she lived across the street from the beach. She lived on Wrightsville Beach just across the street from the beach, the ocean. Her mother, Diane, and stepfather, Bob, owned a house that was to be their retirement home and she was living in that house.

I have to admit that I was working hard here to persuade her to make plans with me.

In this story, it seems like for the first month or two I was having to try hard to persuade Lynn to spend time with me that day. That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to be the focus of someone's interest and attention.

I was very invested in making sure that I did nothing to cause her to back off for any reason at all. It would not make sense to talk her into doing something that she didn't want to do. That would defeat the purpose.

From my conversations with other guys or from TV shows (no one incident stands out), it seemed that I wasn't like any guys that I knew. I just felt like I was more feminine for as long as I can remember like I wasn't fully male. Plus, guys seem to make assumptions that a girl is into them if they are seeing them regularly and they will pursue more of their "desires."

Anyway, as I was saying, I don't identify with those ways of thinking and if that means that I am not very masculine, you are catching on dear reader. I am not much of a man.

I certainly didn't assume anything. I would take whatever I could get in terms of a relationship with Lynn.

The topic of whether we were seeing anyone else never came up. I am sure with my persistence she must have known that I was only into her. It was difficult because I had to ensure that I never did anything to push her away. It wasn't that I had low self-esteem, but I just sensed that she was strong - psychologically and emotionally. I mean I sensed that she didn't NEED to be in a relationship, and I didn't feel entitled to her time.

In talking to other females years later, I have learned that many of them do want to be in a relationship and to be a wife someday.  This is not something I would ever recognize with Lynn. She seemed to find our relationship to be something that happened to her as unexpectedly as it did for me.

I felt a bit weird to be pursuing and not finding the interest I had reciprocated for a while. How could I know that would change?

Why was I so obsessed with and excited to just be talking to Lynn or sitting next to her on the beach... maybe holding hands?

I noticed that the first couple of months with Celta were more "comfortable" for me and there was more of a sense of mutual interest. With Lynn, for nearly the first two months, I felt like I had to persuade her to do things every day. Maybe it didn't take a full two months for me to start seeing that Lynn was very interested in me. I was just frustrated for a while that I had to try so hard to persuade her to spend time with me.

To be clear, as I describe this I honestly wasn't thinking of Celta at all - for the first time.

Anyway, this time that I spent with Lynn... It was becoming something of a routine. I guess I liked it when her stepfather or her mother was there.

"Is Lynn there?" I'd ask if they picked up the phone.

With her mother, Diane, the response was "just a moment." With Bob, it was a deep voice with no friendliness in the tone saying "hold on." Then I would hear, "it's Bruce."

I remember how I would show up early sometimes after work. At one point, I was parking down the street from her home and would pass the time reading from the paperback book that I had. It had the stories "Alice in Wonderland" and "Through the Looking Glass" by Lewis Carol.

I respected what she had said was a good time for me to show up. I was too nervous about showing up early. Again, there was no way I was going to do anything to make her uncomfortable or to act in any way with disrespect.

I didn't have to work really hard to persuade Lynn to go out each day. I just wanted her to call me more, sound excited when I called, and help me to feel that she was interested in me. 

Later, I would later find out from Lynn that initially, for a little while, I was more interested in spending time with her every day than vice versa. 

That would change.

When I recount stories like this to people, these days, they seem to comment from the perspective of how things normally work when a guy and a girl are dating. For example, I was talking to a female friend of mine and she said something along the lines of "a woman wants a guy to..." I try to explain that I am not like most guys. I don't think Lynn wanted a "traditional guy."

Growing Comfortable Together and Serenity

I don't know when it happened exactly, but it seemed like things were going more easily for me. with Lynn. I didn't feel like I had to try as hard to persuade her to spend time with me. I could tell she was becoming genuinely interested in me. This is what I "felt" or "sensed" – how exactly, I can't say.

She smiled when we were together. It seemed that her mother was noticing this too.

One day, it felt so natural to bring my camera over and photograph her on the back porch where she was living. She sat on the railing, her head against the corner board with the setting sun reflected off the marshlands behind her home. Her mother was in the other room and she seemed to me to be happy. That felt good. It suggested I was being discussed.

Lynn was so amazingly beautiful in my mind's eye. I saw her there posing for me... one soft and beautiful leg raised with her head against the corner railing of the porch... the sun reflecting off the water on the marshlands behind her home. 

Boats would sometimes ride up and down the marshland waterway. This was somewhere between the intercoastal and the ocean. Today was quiet and serene as I photographed her.

Discussing my future plans...

I was glad that I had someone with whom I could talk about my dreams and plans for the future. I needed that. Yes, we talked about Lynn's interests, but I am reflecting on my need for confirmation of my plans. I had been moving forward with my career plans.

It was a major change in my career from engineering to psychiatric social work. I needed someone to bounce ideas off, to assure me that I could accomplish what I wanted to accomplish... that I was healthy and competent.

I was glad to be receiving the validation I needed about my career plans from Lynn. She was intelligent and someone I respected. She listened and asked questions. When I talked about what I specifically had in mind for starting graduate school, for example, she was very supportive. That included my plan for how I would pay for graduate school.

Lynn knew I was eager to start to move forward with my plans and she encouraged me to do that.

I knew the contract job with Corning was ending soon. Somehow things still seemed okay. I'd figure things out.

An epiphany

It was September 2, 1992, when I had this peak experience, an epiphany.

We came to Wrightsville Beach, after my work at Corning. It was evening and we sat down together near Johnnie Mercer's Pier. The sun was still above the horizon and behind us.

I liked this feeling. It was peaceful. I NEEDED to feel this.

It seemed like all the time, my mind was so busy trying to figure things... Always, worried about impending problems - a job ending, where I would work next, how I would get into graduate school. 

Something inside myself told me to enjoy this moment. To be here now and forget about everything else.

It was the clearest thought that I have known... I felt serenity. My eyes moved between looking at Lynn and watching the waves coming and going. I wasn't trying at this moment to work through my plans with Lynn's support and advice. I was just at peace.

For Lynn, this was just another day at the beach.

I was excited to be able to hold her hand and walk north down the beach at Wrightsville Beach... aroused. It seemed so right. Sometimes I wondered why I was the one asking for her hand when we were walking together. Maybe other people don't ask themselves questions like that, but I wanted to be sure that she was into me and wanted that contact with me.

I liked being seen with her. I felt special. I liked that she was so glad to see me.

Lynn was into pottery and I would show up at the Art Center to pick her up. I wanted to know and celebrate everything about her.

She would show me around the place. She would show me her work on the different shelves in various rooms. She showed me the kiln which is used to bake the clay after it is shaped. Sometimes I would sit and watch her shape earrings or work with clay on the wheel.

The wheel is used for larger items. It does just what you would expect, it spins the clay around a center. Lynn explained that some of the bigger items on the shelves were too big and heavy for her to do. She was almost my height. I'm five foot seven and she was about five foot six. But she was much smaller than me and thin. Healthy looking but thin – yes, I noticed and can add that she was shapely.

I cannot remember how she introduced me that first year. I'll explain what I mean later but you might recall that after the first date on the 4th of July, she said to her co-worker who asked if I was her boyfriend, "no, we're just friends."

Yes, we were becoming an item. Yet, the word boyfriend or girlfriend had not been used, yet. I reflected on all of this and felt that everything was absolutely amazing to me.

The First Kiss

There was the synchronicity of desires. It was October. What we did when we were together was not something discussed or planned. I mean so far, we had not been talking about what anything means. I can't speak for what was going through her mind but while I might have had a desire that she take my hand first when we went for a while, I didn't say "why don't you do reach for my hand first."

I suppose I was more impulsive. I don't know but somewhere I got the notion that typically guys make the first move and call girls, ask them out. This did not apply to our relationship. Lynn was self-confident enough to speak her mind. She recognized my more feminine traits – not that I looked effeminate but I mean in terms of how I acted.

We were just sitting together on the beach in October, and we knew what we wanted. I looked into her eyes. I was sitting on her right. I could feel where our arms touched, our sides and legs.

I moved toward her instinctually and without hesitation or fear. Her head was tilted slightly back and turned a bit to the right as my face tilted to the right. Her blond hair waved a bit in the gentle wind. I reached my arm over onto the sand, then brought my lips to hers.

My left arm moved over her right shoulder and onto her back. I felt her right arm move to my back as she leaned forward. My right arm moved to her back. Our lips parted ever so slightly as we kissed.

I was only minimally aware of others on the beach. It was more as if I was aware of where we were and that it was not dark yet. 

We were not that far from Johnnie Mercer's Pier. We had not gone looking for privacy.

It seems that we were communicating something for which there were no thoughts or words... It was as if we had discovered a new way to communicate. Feelings, passions, desires. Inescapable, undeniable, and so right.

This was a new aspect of our relationship. I imagine she and I hungered for this as much as she desperately needed air in her lungs.  

The summer flowed into fall and colder months, with colder nights.

In November, we went to the beach dressed in warm coats... the sun had set and it was dark. We climbed a lifeguard's platform. We were standing. The wind blew across the dark beach making it even colder.

"It's cold," she said as she turned in the direction of the ocean. I was behind her looking in the same direction. I wrapped my arms around her from behind her.

I was confused about my physical arousal. This had not been the first time I noticed this happening. I was still haunted by religious brainwashing but everything that was happening was so right. I'm not just talking about this night. Our feelings, passions, desires spoke making everything seem so inevitable.

Don't imagine, dear reader, that during this time period I am leaving out details about what happened. You don't have to wonder if I left out details about whether we went further than kissing or holding each other. I'll get more specific, in a moment, about what was happing during this time period.

I felt a sense of peace in my life. As winter moved into Wilmington, I found work in the human services field working with individuals with developmental disabilities and other similar problems. It's amazing how we can find solutions that match our career trajectory when we are psychologically healthy.

Lynn and I would kiss so passionately at my place when the roommates were out and at her place on Wrightsville Beach. My roommate Donna had rented a second room to a nice girl named Terri.
 

It was awkward when I showed up to see Lynn at her place and her stepfather, Bob, was there because he was not much into making conversation. He spent almost one week every month at the house. He was a pilot for one of the big airlines and so he made good money. I felt like I had to make some conversation with him because technically it was his house along with Diane, Lynn's mother. My parents would have made it known if this was their home.

At one point, I had to ask Lynn, "should I be more polite to him and think of things to say?" I asked her.

She said "no, he's just like that. If he doesn't talk, you don't have to talk to him."

This is what I mean by Lynn having a strong sense of self-esteem. No one was going to control her or disrespect her! I wish I had maintained that attitude with my own family as preparation for how I should insist that everyone treat me. There was nothing shy about Lynn when it came to her life, what she wanted, how she expected to be treated.

It was just awkward from time to time when he was there. If he answered the door, he would just say "come on in" and then shout "Lynn."

I would then hear, "coming" from Lynn.

Bob didn't try to make conversation. He acted as if I wasn't there. So, I didn't say anything either. There was no "thank you for inviting me in." "How are you today, Bob?" Still, if we were hanging out together in a common room and Bob was there, I didn't like Lynn to walk away because if Bob came walking by it felt awkward because he didn't speak.

I didn't need his approval though. It also was clear that what we did together was none of Bob's business!

Lynn's Character & Intimacy at Her Place

Lynn was quiet at the poetry readings or elsewhere. She wasn't looking for recognition or attention in those settings. She wasn't trying to achieve something. I remembered going canoeing with some of the regulars at the poetry readings. I thought I was the newbie at the readings much more than Lynn was. But then I remember this guy named Will referring to Lynn as "the girl in the canoe with Bruce."

Lynn had been coming to these readings longer than I had. She even had a degree in English like most of the other regulars. To me, it had seemed that she would be the one who fits in more naturally with this crowd.

Anyway, Lynn knew I felt a bit awkward with Bob in the house so we would go to her room and shut the door. We talked for hours - when we talked.

It was so refreshing to have this privacy. Her mother would stay for a week every once in a while, but she completely respected Lynn's privacy.

Most of the time we were alone.

I was confused about my body's reaction when I was kissing Lynn so passionately on her bed. I wasn't trying to get aroused sexually but it was happening.

I have to talk about Lynn's medical condition. Lynn was born with Cystic Fibrosis (CF) which affects breathing. Her frequent cough made that obvious. CF causes excess mucus to build up in her body and that causes problems with the lungs and her digestive system. She had to take pills when we went out to eat to help with digestion.

So, as we were getting passionate, on her bed, from time to time, she seemed to want or welcome me being on top of her when we were kissing. I was careful to support my weight to be sure that I wasn't creating problems for her breathing.

I asked "am I heavy? can you breathe okay?"

This scene was somewhat common. You will note that I haven't mentioned getting undressed during this.

There we were... I was on top of her, and I was trying to support myself. I asked, "Am I too heavy?"

She paused for a moment to answer "No" and then drew me closer to continue kissing me - yeah, French kissing as they say. I was surprised that she didn't need to come up for air more often. Anyway, our mouths would part, and our tongues were intertwined. It seemed natural as if it was instinctual. It was mutual... and inescapable. 

I could feel her arms wrapped around me holding me as we kissed. I didn't have to worry about her breathing because she held me so tightly. It seemed like she was telling me to stop interrupting and asking this question.

Of course, she would tell me if I was heavy, and we would shift positions.

On one such occasion, I was on top of her kissing her passionately, my hand underneath her back, sliding down toward her waist. Her arms were wrapped around me. I could feel our hearts beating against each other, her breasts pressed against me. Her shirt was loose-fitting.

My hand first slid under her shirt and against her back. It seemed like my fingers were erogenous zones. I felt her soft skin, as my hand caressed her back and then her arms.

As I supported my weight with my left arm, my right hand moved across her stomach and up the side of her body. She squeezed more tightly. I could feel my heart beating against her - fast and loud. I could hear it beating.

She didn't seem to notice that I was aroused as our waists pressed against each other.

Her arms slid under my shirt and she held tight. She preferred to squeeze me tight, and I preferred moving my hands against her body, caressing her. I didn't stop to tell her to do the same to me, caress me. I didn't want to interrupt what was happening. She seemed to be holding me tight to tell me not to stop. It was a signal of "don't interrupt." 

It would require an interruption for her to actually say that.

I slid a bit to my left and moved my hand toward her breasts. I was so excited as I reached under her bra and caressed her breasts. I was concerned that my hand pressing against her left breast would be uncomfortable, so I moved my hand over to reach under the top of her bra toward her right breast.

This was frustrating for her too. She sat up and loosened her bra and let it drop off. She was still wearing her shirt at that point. I moved toward her and she met me. Her body seemed to be telling me she wanted, needed, or hungered for this to happen.

As we resumed, I caressed her breasts feeling waves of excitement.

I hated to pause because that allowed intrusive ideas to interfere with what was happening and to create confusion... religious ideas (brainwashing) that had filled my head from childhood.

I was reacting sexually even though we were not having sex. This wasn't genital contact... yet.

I felt embarrassed and confused when I had to clean myself secretly in the bathroom right next to her bed. It reminded me of being a child and discovering how it felt and what happened when I rubbed my genitalia. The release of fluid had seemed like something that needed to be kept secret – hidden. So, that instinct was still there, unwanted and just confusing.

The idea of hiding my reaction from Lynn made me feel ashamed like I regretted what was happening. This was a foreshadowing of what would happen later when we were living together. My head had been filled with all these religious ideas that were just so confusing and messed with my mind. To imply that I regretted making us feel good and physically demonstrating my feelings would be wrong and hurtful to Lynn.

In these earliest moments of passion, during this first year together, everything seemed so right  - our bodies were speaking to one another each time we were intimate, not sexual but intimate. My body was responding as if it was sexual.

This scenario could describe more than one such occasion when we were together.

I was not thinking about the depth of our intimacy and how far we had gone in terms of sexual or sensual intimacy. What I mean is that while I felt that annoying instinctual shame about how my body was reacting, I didn't think that we did anything wrong. This was the most physically intimate I had been in my life.

Yes, dear reader, if it's not obvious, I was still a virgin like Lynn. I was so amazed that Lynn had been available when I met her in 92 because she looked so beautiful to me. But she wasn't like other women who needed to be in a relationship.

If you are wondering as to why we didn't go further, why we didn't remove our clothing when we were alone in her room at her home with no one else in the home... it was more of a problem with me. Lynn was aware that I was Catholic and that I went to church on Sundays or Saturday evenings. Fondling and sensual caressing was one thing, but she understood that one thing would lead to another if she had started to undress. 

I know this in light of how she acted after we were living together. She knew that sex was a hangup that I had as a Christain and not something that bothered her as much.

Lynn wasn't shy about asking for what she wanted or acting upon her desires. Neither one of us was coercive but there are ways to act that signal a desire for closeness. I've always seen in TV shows and movies where it is the female in a relationship that wants to wait.

I suppose she was looking for signs as to how far I wanted to go. 

The Christmas holiday approached, and I was talking to my roommates about taking some photographs of a neighborhood that really went all out in decorating their homes around Christmas. 

That's when my roommates, Donna and Terri said they wanted pictures of Lynn and me together. We decorated a tree and they asked us to pose together in different ways. It felt good to know that this somehow meant something to my roommates.

I noticed how comfortable I was now with Lynn. 

The best gift that Christmas for me was what Lynn told me. I was telling her how uncertain I had been about whether she was interested in me early on in our relationship. She laughed and said, "I'm glad you were so persistent."

Okay, so I was right. At first, she wasn't invested as much in the relationship as I was.

I thought I can't imagine anything better than hearing what I was hearing now. To know that she was glad that I was so persistent. This said so much to me. We had both in our own ways found that this relationship happened to us in ways that were unexpected.  

I'm definitely going to embrace this life with Lynn.

Lynn and I were "an item" and that felt so right. I never took things for granted. I would savor every little thing as if my mind was taking snapshots to populate an imaginary photo album within my mind.

Remember Dusty, the emcee for the poetry readings? She worked at the Coastline Convention Center as I mentioned. Because she was so welcoming, I would go there alone sometimes or arrive alone before Lynn joined me. Dusty would ask about Lynn and what was happening with her... how she was doing.

So, among our social circle, people saw us as a couple. Still, there were some formalities to be discussed.  
 

It was almost July, and this would mark the fact that a year had passed since we started seeing each other.

It would be an understatement to say that I was a feminist and that this was something that was attractive to Lynn. I suppose if I had thought about it, I would have said that I was very feminine.

Anyway, the obvious fact that occurred to Lynn was that nothing was said about the nature of our relationship. I mean when we first went out, she had answered at the end of the first day, when asked if I was her boyfriend, that we were "just friends."

I had not pushed the matter. It's also important to realize that if Lynn thought I was seeing someone else she would not be doing with me what we were doing. She had a very strong sense of her own self-worth. She knew that she deserved to be treated like she was special.

It was Friday, July 2, 1993. The sun had set and we were outside at my place. We could hear my roommates from time to time inside and the TV. The sliding glass door was open except for the screen door to keep the bugs out. The light was just fading from the sky.

With just enough light still in the sky, we found a spot that was outside the lights from the sliding glass doors that lead into the living room where my roommates were watching TV. This says something about how much Lynn wanted to be intimate with me.

No, we were not undressed but it would have been awkward if either of my roommates walked out and came upon us. I think they knew this much. Maybe Lynn did too. Yeah, they had a good idea of what we were likely to be doing.

I guess we could have just been talking. As I mentioned earlier, having someone to share my dreams with was so valuable to me. I wanted and needed that confirmation that I was on the right path in life. I knew I was, but it still mattered that this was confirmed for me.

After a while, we took a seat on a lounge chair and another chair outside. I sensed something was on Lynn's mind.

Lynn said, "Are we more than friends... do you want to be more? Do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"

I was taken by surprise because I had realized that of course, we were so much more than "just friends."

I did feel comfortable and understood enough about Lynn to know that this was not a question that I had to fear. It wasn't like we were going to surprise one another with our feelings. Lynn had already told me she was glad that I had been so persistent. So, why had this not come up?

I said, "Yes, definitely."

I commented with almost a bit of amusement in my voice, upon the passionate moment we had shared sitting on the lawn just moments ago.

I said that I don't kiss my friends like that. So, we are boyfriend and girlfriend or vice versa... does it matter? I guess we both realized that we wanted to make this official.

"We are boyfriend and girlfriend, right?" I asked her.

She said, "yes, I wanted to ask, though."

I said "I am so glad you asked this. It's important. You are so important to me. I feel so amazing. I want to say something more, but I guess you know... but I want to say something more."

I caught her smile as I looked up. That only made this more special. I mean the idea that I could make Lynn feel special and happy was a wonderful feeling for me.

"I love you," I said without thinking and her eyes lit up like something amazing.

She answered, "I love you too."

I felt butterflies in my stomach. I don't mean the kind of feeling that I get when I am nervous. This was real and yet I almost thought I was dreaming.

"We should tell my roommates," I said. "They will like hearing about this. I like how they add to the moment. Do you know what I mean? It's like they are genuinely excited when they see us together."

So, we joined hands and walked inside. Donna was sitting down near the TV and then looked up and said, "Hi."

Terri walked into the room also.

I said, "This is my girlfriend, I mean, Lynn and I are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Yes, we know that," Donna said looking at Kelli with a curious and amused look on her face.

"We were just talking about this, just now."

"We knew that already," they said laughing. I noticed that there was something pretty about the way Donna smiled and laughed.

"Well, we just were talking and decided this now... or we made it official."

It's so great when others are happy for you. When other people in your life rejoice at your happiness.

I was discussing this with a female friend recently and she was thinking and observing things from the perspective of how things generally work out in relationships. Please understand that what Lynn found attractive about me were those traits that are more commonly associated with females – my feminine character traits. 

At the time, back then, things like this were not discussed or put into words. Gender identity was not being discussed back then and so there were no words for what I was noticing or feeling about myself. But I don't mean to make this all about me. 

On the contrary, this is about us both. 

I cared deeply about the relationship and she knew that even if I didn't come out and say it. That's a guess. Like the guess that I didn't have to worry about how the conversation would go when she asked if we were more than just friends or if I wanted to be more than just friends.

I told my roommates that I had worried about the fact that I had to try so hard during the first month or two to get Lynn to want to spend time with me every day.

Lynn said, "luckily Bruce had been very persistent."

I said to my roommates, "it's great that you were both here for us to mark this occasion."

Terri looked surprised. "This is the first time that you have called each other boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Well, yes, but I guess everyone knew... Knew we were seeing each other," I said.

Even I was a bit amused at this point.

I admitted to everyone that I was so glad that I had the courage to be persistent.

From roughly this time forward, I wasn't feeling shy around her and she had never been shy about speaking her mind and saying what she wanted.

Everything was comfortable and serene. We were in sync. We were best friends. And more. In the next chapter, I will fill in some details about both of us and how we spent our time during this period. I will later expand on the work/career aspect of my life.

I noticed that during this first year we didn't have "dates" in a traditional sense. We didn't say "let's go on a date." After I no longer had to persuade her to do something with me after my day at work or on the weekend, we just did everything together.

She was working but not full-time. I'll explain why later. I was working at least forty hours per week. So, we came to know each other's schedule and we discussed together, "what do you want to do today?"

Sundays we went to the poetry readings at the Coastline Convention Center. Sometimes we would show up there on other days to just visit Dusty. We also attended different events in downtown Wilmington by the Cape Fear River.

Our social circle was almost the same. I had gone to the poetry readings to meet people and among them was Lynn. In addition, I was making other friends and most of them were mutual friends. One of our longest and best friends was my dear friend Thomas Childs. He was a mutual friend. Like Lynn, he had a degree in English.

There were other poetry events that we attended besides the Sunday poetry readings and the big poetry reading in Carolina Beach that I mentioned earlier.

For me, I was making professional connections – technically I was still a paraprofessional. I was meeting people who work in the mental health and developmental disabilities fields. This was leading to new job opportunities.

Lynn made friends through her pottery which was a hobby of hers. She made colorful jewelry and other objects like plates, bowls, cups, and plant holders and so much else. Through that work, she got to meet people and socialize with them.

The Azalea Festival was in August. The Art Center had a booth there. It was at a park that is situated between downtown Wilmington, Wrightsville Beach, and Highway 421 that heads down to Carolina Beach.

At the Azalea Festival, Lynn was there with the Art Center's pottery exhibition and that occupied most of Lynn's time. So, I could only show up to see what she was doing and then try to occupy myself somewhat alone at the other exhibits. The first two years when I attended this, I didn't have anyone to join me at the festival and I felt a bit frustrated because it looked like fun and I wanted to see everything, but Lynn was busy. I was making friends but I still felt a bit lonely at times like this.

Around Halloween time we went on a tour of haunted Wilmington. No, I didn't believe in ghosts, but it was still fun. It was just Lynn and me, but I think we ran into some friends. It felt mysterious. Wilmington is a historic town, and they try to make the historic district entertaining during this time.

We had a few favorite restaurants depending on the occasion. For lunch or dinner, we could go to a place that had awesome fries with special seasoning and burgers. We had nicer places that we frequented for special occasions like Valentine's Day.

Each year, I started going to a Christmas party that was at one of the homes of some folks in her pottery class. I didn't know any of them, but it was nice to go with Lynn all the same. It felt really good to be seen with Lynn. I thought she was so incredibly beautiful. Plus, I was feeling comfortable with her. I don't know if I went the first year that I was with Lynn. I don't know how she would have introduced me.

By the second year, I was her boyfriend, of course. That felt good.

It gives me the same chills now that I felt at the time running up my back and neck. 

I'm not even holding her hand now as I write this. I remember though. I remember her speaking to someone or a couple of people and my arms were wrapped around her. I could tell she liked it. She would take my hand or place her hand over mine as I wrapped my arm around her waist.

She was good about recognizing me and sensing that I felt out of place. So, she would try to mention something about me to whomever she is speaking to. Maybe bragging about my career plans, my current job, where I was going.

I can see a similar scene that was some event with her pottery group during our second summer together. 

In the memory, we walk in together hand-in-hand. I am being only clingy enough to signal that I feel a little out of place. We had discussed this already. I said I don't know the people, nor do I know pottery.

We were outside on a porch. I said "here sit on my lap and you can talk to your friends" taking one of her hands and allowing her to face her fellow pottery classmate/friend as she sat down.

I could not help but notice how shapely her legs were. It was strange how she had not gotten a tan despite living across the street from the beach. I felt a bit excited or aroused and shifted in my seat. She hardly noticed. She was sitting with her right leg over her left and I also noticed her small sexy feet moving ever so slightly. My hand was high up on her leg because her shorts were not too long. It was nothing obvious though. 

It didn't strike me that she was showing off her figure at all.

It just seemed comfortable to her... for me, it was comfortable too. The "excitement" I felt subsided, and I just felt peaceful.

She was so considerate too. She turned to me with a smile and said, "are you doing okay, sweetie?"

"I'm fine," I said with a smile that was intended to reassure her.

Yeah, it felt good to be with Lynn. I could feel chills up my back and on my neck. I caressed her leg in a more provocative way when no one was looking. She just smiled, amused and I could tell she wanted more. I had seen the look. This wasn't the time.

At moments like this, I also caught my breath. It was strange that sensation and the best description of it - "take my breath away." One might imagine that this would signal fear or a feeling of shortness of breath. No, this was different. It felt good.

It feels good. The memory.

We were doing almost everything together, at least by the time we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. It was comfortable and serene. My thoughts were wrapped up in her. The next chapter expands on this concept.

As I talk about my goals in life and my plans it occurs to me that I should talk about what Lynn might have wanted out of life. I certainly don't mean to imply that she lacked ambition.

First, let's consider my observations of our other friends who were poets and/writers. Many of them had a four-year degree in English. Some of those who were part of the poetry scene had degrees in other fields. By and large, though, most of them had a Bachelor of Arts in English.

If you are thinking as the world thinks or as people think in America, you might think that this degree is not very practical. That's because people only think about how they are going to make money with their degrees. They might say "what can you do with an English degree?"

By this time, I would have found that offensive and would have told anyone that I found it offensive. 

I know that my siblings and parents never made such statements to me or around us during this time period that were critical of people who don't get more "practical" degrees. That would have crossed a line and been obviously offensive to me based on who I was with - who I loved.

Dear reader, Did I say I loved Lynn? I'll get to that.

Anyway, yes, I had conversations with my siblings and parents during this time period. 

Lynn's self-esteem and assertiveness were contagious. That is one of the things I found so attractive about her. One of her statements that she commonly used was "that's unacceptable." I really wish I could think of a context where I heard this statement. I'm sure it might have been in relationship to something I said. The point is that I had become much more assertive too. I was no longer taking any kind of abuse from anyone.

I know my parents were very critical and judgmental of others and so I didn't talk about Celta that much because, at the time, I was not in a position to be assertive and say that I am profoundly offended by anyone saying anything critical or judgemental about Celta and the problems that she had. 

Things had changed when I was with Lynn. 

In many little ways, I would have made it evident that I would have rebuked any statement that was insulting or critical of something like the choice Lynn made to get a four-year degree in English. 

Anyway, I grew up in a household where the man is the head of the household and he supports his wife. This was not what I wanted nor would that have been acceptable to Lynn.

The next relevant fact is that Lynn had to qualify for an insurance program for people with Cystic Fibrosis. It was a state program that had income requirements. People with Cystic Fibrosis require medical care on an ongoing basis to maintain their health. In addition, she had medications to take. There was equipment that she needed for her health needs. The point is that she couldn't take a chance of not having medical coverage. Therefore, she had to limit her work hours and her income.

So, now, what were her dreams, or what did she want out of life? She had discussed with me the idea of getting a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree in poetry as our mutual friend Jean Jones had done. With his MFA he wasn't using it directly for employment purposes. 

Therefore, from a certain point of view, Jean wasn't using his degree, per se. This is relevant to the fact that I mentioned earlier that there was a misunderstanding about me not using my engineering degree. I had stated previously in this book that I definitely should have gotten a degree in English or Psychology to avoid the expectation that I would get a job as an engineer.

Jean had been published in academic press publications and had quite a publication history.

Lynn wasn't seeking that kind of recognition. She said her poetry was initially just for herself. Obviously, she was sharing it at the readings but that's it.

We both valued having someone in our lives that admired and respected us. So many people seem to instinctually look for a relationship as something they feel they ought to do. 

Lynn and I did value the relationship itself. If it had not been "right" or if there had been "problems" it would not have lasted. It seems like between Lynn and me, I was the only one who dreamed of a relationship and getting married as an important goal in life. That being said, our relationship just happened and it was surprising and unexpected. 

Of course, we argued. We were constantly talking about every little thing... the meaning of life for us... debating topics. I know how I felt when I said something mean or blurted out something. I didn't let much time pass before I apologized. I just don't remember anything that stuck in my mind as worthy of including in this narrative. I guess the reason is that we moved past any problem.

Gift-giving...

You think of holidays... Remember from the last chapter, how Donna and Kerri were so excited to get photos of the cute couple? Yeah, it was all magical and fun - delightful.

This was the first time I had thought about wanting to buy gifts for someone I loved. Yes, loved. After that evening around our one-year anniversary, when Lynn brought up the topic that we needed to declare that we were boyfriend and girlfriend, I had said "I love you" and she responded, "I love you too..." after that it was common and comfortable for us to say, "I love you."

She might have conceded that I was the more impulsive in the area of romance. I would be the first to say "I love you" many times - not always. She was more likely to call me "sweetie" or "honey" and I tended to just call her Lynn. It is only in retrospect that I realize how wrong I was not to use such terms of endearment. 

I did tell her those words "I love you" so extremely frequently. I wasn't shy about saying what I was feeling.

We both liked public displays of affection too. This would not diminish over time. I didn't have to be the one to take her hand. She was somewhat playful and mischievous. It wasn't corny like playing "footsy." She had a sense of what felt good to me. If we were out somewhere, she might take my hands and sit in my lap... caress my legs, or face and arms.

I remember Valentine's Day the February after we declared that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I felt so good walking into a shopping center and looking at the roses. I asked someone for help because I had never done that before. We had discussed going for dinner. I must have hinted at what my plans were, and she was thinking that she would pay for dinner. We were going to go to a sushi place.

I wanted to be seen or noticed as I picked out the roses. Remember, I am a shy person, and yet here I was seeking to draw attention to myself.  It might have been at a grocery store, but it was just magical to me because I had wanted to be seen. Before my time with Lynn, I didn't bring attention to myself. I felt chills it felt so good. I felt like I was ten feet tall!

In the past, buying gifts for me was a quiet matter. But today, I just wanted to be noticed and I spoke up. "Hi, I need roses for my girlfriend" I declared so the employee would hear me and the other customer. "Yes, for the card, something decorative maybe? It should say 'I love you,' obviously. I guess I will write Lynn and sign Bruce." I wanted to be saying this out loud.

"Oh, you can pay at the register when you leave the store," she said. And I thought, "great, more people will see me carrying flowers for Lynn. They'll know I have someone special and someone who thinks I am special."

It was like the second Christmas. We both had ideas about what we wanted but I went to a jewelry store. I had no idea what to buy. I walked in and waited for the lady behind the counter to come.

"I need a gift for someone I love – my girlfriend." It seemed important to say more than just 'my girlfriend." I wanted to say "for someone I love" and for that to be heard by anyone and everyone. Yes, I, the shy person, wanted to be seen and noticed. 

"Okay, do you know what she prefers – silver or gold?"

"Silver," I declared. I wasn't being cheap, but I just knew she preferred silver. We looked and looked. I had to admit what my budget was, but I was thinking of Lynn and not trying to win the approval of a store clerk. She could tell that I was thrilled to find something that we thought was pretty. I had asked her opinion and another girl there who was a little younger. My dream-like smile must have given away my feelings, plus, there was the declaration that this was for "someone I love."

When we were together, everything about us said that there was no one else in our lives. Two creative types falling in love know what they feel. I guess. I mean we had not needed to say to each other that we aren't seeing anyone else.

I thought about everything that was happening in my mind, turning over the events. I didn't take anything for granted or think about it as a routine thing that happens in life. In other words, finding a girlfriend wasn't just a stage in my life that I had expected.

I know from my own observations that becoming a couple can be seen as an event that happens quite often. It could have been that way if I just followed the guidance of the future that was laid out for me when I was still growing up. You might get a sense of what is supposed to happen in life. At some point, boys will be into girls as the most important thing to them and vice versa.

Have you ever heard the song "That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be?" by Carly Simon? 

It's peaceful and sweet but there is a sense that there is a bit of melancholy as she sings:
"My friends from college they're all married now
They have their houses and their lawns
They have their silent noons
Tearful nights, angry dawns
Their children hate them for the things they're not
They hate themselves for what they are
And yet they drink, they laugh
Close the wound, hide the scar"

This was not like that. I had seen "love" in my family and elsewhere and this wasn't that. What I had seen was routine. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend because that was the way I always heard it should be. 

This was our own experience.

Also, Carly Simon seems to overuse the word "hate" regarding children hating their parents. Do any children hate their parents really? Hate is a feeling and not a choice in some instances and that feeling was something that I have felt but that's another story. 

Getting back to Lynn and our love...

A touch, a look, a smile, was a declaration of our love. We were two poets sharing our love publicly like reciting a poem.

The same could be said if someone saw us kiss. I'm not saying we kissed passionately in public and made others uncomfortable, but it was slower and more expressive – a slight pause to make sure our eyes met, a smile first, then a gentle meeting of our lips.

Some of the substance of this chapter includes things that I thought about holding back for later to avoid being repetitive. Our relationship would grow in intensity and I might want to describe a slightly similar scenario again.

If we had argued and she got upset, for me, I felt bad about us being mad. I would approach her, smile, say "I really love you and I'm really sorry." She would smile with amusement because she couldn't stay mad no matter how much she wanted to.

I hope it is obvious that it would not be acceptable for us to lose our temper and slap or hit. I just don't remember the substance of the arguments. That should be obvious and a given fact in every single relationship... but I have heard from females who were hit by their husbands. 

Let me jump ahead a bit to present how an argument might play out. I don't even know what we were fighting about but it got to the point that we were going out together for a book signing event in which our friend Jean Jones was releasing a chapbook of his at a coffee shop downtown. I was driving.

I think my brother and his girlfriend were with us. Note that the fight was not enough to keep us from our plans. Anyway, we took a seat upstairs. We sat down together without saying anything. I announced, "I'm going downstairs, I'll be back."

I walked downstairs and then approached Jean. "Let me get two copies, Jean," I said. Can you sign one to or for Lynn, please?"

I then ordered an iced tea and walked upstairs. Lynn had a sullen look on her face as I rounded the table. I guess she had not noticed the iced tea or maybe she didn't notice that it was prepared the way she liked it with a lemon.

I first handed her the chapbook and said, "This for you, Jean signed one for you, too."

Lynn looked at me and a smile spread across her face – an amused smile as she briefly looked at our guests and then back at me. "How can I stay mad at you when you do this?" She said with amusement.

I responded, "well, it doesn't mean that I don't love you just because we are fighting."

Anyway, that night my brother left soon after that either because he was bored or because he sensed that Lynn and I wanted time alone. I hesitate to give him too much credit for sensing such things. The ice had broken between Lynn and me and we wanted to make up for the lost time that evening.

What attracted me and what I shared with Lynn...

One of the things I mentioned above, in this chapter and earlier, was about her dreams, goals, interests in life. Perhaps she would get a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree. Oh, she also spoke of getting her own kiln – it's used for baking pottery (after you shape the pottery it must be put in the kiln). Anyway, I had not talked about my goals and plans.

Lynn was very practical, I noticed, and this was attractive to me. When I spoke about my plans or ideas for the future – e.g., my graduate education plans or job opportunities – she would ask questions, let me bounce ideas off her. I would be thinking out loud in a way. 

I would think out loud to her, saying "So, this is what I need to learn as I move into a career in the helping professions or the psychiatric field...." and I would discuss how I was thinking of paying for graduate school – yes, there are loans specifically for this purpose.

It was refreshing to have someone again who would hold my desires for success as I defined it in such high regard.

A deepening of the relationship...

As the relationship grew and we approached the second year the topic of marriage was being discussed by both of us. This was a conversation that emerged naturally, organically. It wasn't something that should or ought to happen. It just happened.

This section of the book will describe the life that Lynn and I were building for each other in Wilmington, NC.  Lynn is a poet and she is into pottery. I admired her talents. I shared her dreams of further education for herself. She was going to get a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree in poetry. 

I was going to be a psychotherapist and I had a passion for creative expression. Lynn and I had met at the poetry readings. I was finding that we had a shared social circle of poets and artists. The artists were more part of Lynn's social circle. She was skilled in pottery and had a circle of friends around that activity. 

We get engaged and want to build a life together as every normal person wants.  

It's amazing how much this silhouette in the photo above looks just like Lynn.

Before I continue with the story about how we got engaged, I want to share another story.

I wrote love poems. I said I was a poet. Is this a surprise that I was inspired to write love poems?

There was one time when I had written a love poem inspired by my love for Lynn. I decided to share it at the poetry reading. It would be a surprise for Lynn. We went to the Coastline Convention Center together like we almost always did.

It was a Sunday in late May of 1994, nearly two years after we started seeing each other. The sun was sinking low, and the room was getting slightly dark. Dusty had turned on a slightly dim light up front near the podium. The poem was inspired by a story from the old testament and a song by the Electric Prunes called "I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)."

I was still a Christian back then. I am an atheist now. Lynn had a belief in supernatural things, but she was not Christian. I laughingly say that I "want to believe" but I am not now an agnostic. I am now an atheist but that was not the case when these events were unfolding.  This might be hard to understand for some people – someone who dreams like me only believing in objective things that I know from science and objective reality provided by my five senses.

Anyway, I thought the title was somewhat unoriginal. "Dream-like Visions from the Song of Songs." "The Song of Songs" is called "The Song of Solomon" by Protestants. I heard the song "I Had Too Much To Dream" when I was watching a movie called "The Believers." Let me share a YouTube link to the song and then I will share the lyrics below.

The lyrics go like this:

Last night your shadow fell upon my lonely room
I touched your golden hair and tasted your perfume
Your eyes were filled with love the way they used to be
Your gentle hand reached out to comfort me
Then came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

The room was empty as I staggered from my bed
I could not bear the image racing through my head
You were so real that I could feel your eagerness
And when you raised your lips for me to kiss
Came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream
Too much to dream last night
Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream

Dear reader, I apologize that I don't have the original version of the poem that I read back then. I will offer you a more recent modified version of that poem. While it was used in a horror movie, I like the magical dream-like quality of the song.

You might notice the words "but you were gone, gone, gone." This implies grief and loss. At the time when these events were unfolding, I was blissfully unaware of what would happen years later.

There is little that is more magical than being able to get up in front of a room of people and declare your undying love for another person. I could feel the driving power of the song...

I loved the applause. It was so obvious what this was about! People were stopping me as I walked away from the podium.

I then sat next to Lynn at the table as someone else was about to start reading. I noticed Lynn was doodling. One of our mutual friends said how much he liked the poem. I turned to Lynn and said, "well, what are your thoughts?"

"What?" she said in the form of a question. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening."

I just shook my head and smiled. She added, "I thought you were only reading poems I already heard." I could tell she was embarrassed. Her face was blushing. She added, "Oh, I'm so sorry sweetie. Let me read it."

I handed it to her and turned to face her, moving closer, my arms rested on her chair and I leaned in, tilting my head, and slowly brought my lips to hers... she was too embarrassed to be the one to part lips, I felt aroused as she held my lips there, with her hands on both sides of my face. Just for a moment – there were others.

"It's okay," I said. And with a smile, I added "you know I really love you."

"I love you too, honey."

She then looked down and read the poem.

This would become an inside joke for us. I would kid her about this in different ways... maybe something like "If I share a poem about our love I hope Lynn is listening?"

Her way of making up for this in the future was to read my poem on various occasions when she didn't have anything else to read. She would ask if I had the poem and then share it with the group. I can't count the number of times that happened. It demonstrated her appreciation and recognition of the value of our love.

Here's a recent version of the poem.

In this dreamlike vision
I lay in her lap,
while her hair flows in the gentle wind,
On the beach.

Is this real?
I reach up to touch her
but she is gone... gone... gone
and I am laying on the sand.

Looking skyward I see her
in a vision.
She searches for me,
calling my name, saying,
"I am his and he is mine."

I try to get back
to find her
and that infinite beach
where we would walk hand-in-hand
or lay on the sand
holding each other
together
forever.

The vision -
the dream -
(incomplete)
the love
never ends...

Getting Engaged!

I said, "I also need to get you a ring ..." pausing to let her register it. The next memory I have is of us in a jewelry store.

We didn't plan a marriage at the same time when we were planning to get engaged, though this was definitely implied. Those details could be worked out later and they were complicated by factors outside our control.

We were discussing the meaning of this step for both of us. It was a lifetime commitment to live as husband and wife. It felt natural, right, and appropriate while simultaneously being amazing and wonderful.

Words like "wonderful" and "amazing" are so overused that the full impact of these words needs some elaboration. Let me tell you what happened.

We were in love. Getting engaged to be married is the natural expression of that commitment that was intended to last forever.

I remember we were at a jewelry store at the mall. We explained that we weren't rich when an employee approached. A big diamond ring wasn't a necessity. Again, Lynn was the practical one. About two hundred dollars was what we would spend.

I wasn't much into jewelry but Lynn was and she even made jewelry in her pottery class/hobby.

I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was racing. I was thinking to myself "this is real. I'm not dreaming. This is real." It was an almost ticklish feeling.

They measured Lynn's finger. I said, "are you sure?"

"Yes, let's get this one," she said looking at the lady.

"Your fiancé can come to pick it up next Monday," the lady said looking at Lynn.

I came to see her on that Monday and by then it felt like a routine day. We were alone at her place on Wrightsville Beach. I had not noticed if Lynn was aware that I had the ring that day.

I laid the bag on her bed and turned as she entered the room.

"I want to marry you ..." I began as I started opening the box. Then I noticed that she had tears of joy in her eyes. It took me a moment to take this in. My first thought was, "you knew I was bringing this" so I was surprised by her reaction.

She placed the ring on her finger, tears running down her face. Then she brought her arms around my neck and brought her lips to mine. My legs started to get weak. I raised her up by her waist a bit and laid back onto her bed bringing her with me, on top of me. My left arm then went around her shoulders. Her right arm dropped down by my lower back. She squeezed herself tightly around my back.

I felt her breasts pressed against my racing heart. Her heart was getting louder as she pressed her lips harder. I could feel her legs on my legs. I could feel the teardrops on my face.

I paused and said, "I am in love."

She answered, "I love you so much."

It was the most amazing thing I had ever experienced. Making Lynn this happy was a memory more intense than anything since. I have never been happier.

She was crying tears of joy and this was bliss! Serene. Then our lips met again, and she moved like she was ferociously hungry... like a wolf might devour a meal.

I remember sitting on her porch upstairs – it was half a flight upstairs to get to where the kitchen met the back porch. She was on the phone with her mother.

There's so much that I left out of this story.

The next phase of our relationship was moving into a home that Lynn's mother, Diane, bought in Wilmington.

I haven't even talked about the career that I was starting. Again, my choice of career was very significant for both of us. I was going into social work and the values that are reflected in that career choice were definitely something that was attractive to Lynn.

I actually had a very busy life during this time period but you wouldn't know that from what I wrote so far... You might think that we were just dreamers in love. But as I noted, Lynn was very practical and that was what attracted me to her. I'll continue to demonstrate this throughout the book.

I've focused on the relationship we had found together - Lynn and I. That connection is so crucial to the overall theme of this book. Relationships matter!

My career journey was taking off as well.

It is undeniable that the joy I brought Lynn was the happiest feeling I have ever known. I say this despite the fact that I feel very passionate about the career I have chosen. I very much like helping others and knowing that I can help another person find healing from emotional or psychological pain or negative experiences.

The title of my book indicates that I am a Clinical Social Worker, or a psychiatric social worker... a mental health professional, and a psychotherapist. So far, this might seem like a love story. It is. However, this story, everything I have written about so far and will describe later is related.

Being able to meet Lynn took a tremendous amount of effort and in a way, this was a story of success. Remember, when I was learning to overcome shyness, back in college (undergraduate college) I was interested in dating, finding a girlfriend, and ultimately having a family?

Self-actualization for me was found in the relationship I had with Lynn.

The same effort to overcome shyness would be crucial in my career including, but not limited to, my choice of career. 

So, we got engaged to be married and our relationship grew.

We had in mind a life together forever as husband and wife. To live happily ever after. This story is a bit complicated though. Let me explain.

Like everyone else, we wanted a "normal life."

The problem was that Lynn was born with a chronic illness called Cystic Fibrosis (CF). This is an illness or disease that may not be known and understood by everyone reading this. It might be hard to understand the impact of CF on our love story.

Cystic Fibrosis affects about 30,000 people in the US, so it's a rare disease. It causes excess mucus to build up in the lungs and digestive tract.

Because of the impact of CF on the digestive tract, Lynn had to take a bunch of pills with every meal and had to use inhalers and other medications to maintain her health. She also needed various medical equipment for health maintenance.

Cystic Fibrosis affects a person's breathing. This includes, but is not limited to, decreased oxygen saturation in the blood and scarring of the lungs. This scarring comes from infections. Because CF causes excess mucus to accumulate in the lungs, this creates a breeding ground for bacteria, and the bacteria cause infections.

Over time, the scarring due to infections grows. This scarring is permanent. Decreased lung capacity then makes it hard to breathe. Lynn had some equipment to clear out the mucus that was accumulating in her lungs. I also learned the tapping exercises to loosen the mucus.

They taught me this at the clinic where we went for Lynn's medical checkups and treatments. I would cup my hands a certain way and tap her back, the side of her chest area, and the front of her chest. Sometimes she would or could do this on the front of her body, in her chest area. However, that can be tiring and so I needed to learn to do this right.

Lynn provided feedback on where I needed to do the tapping. She could tell where the mucus was in her lungs and where it needed to be loosened and cleared out.

She had a persistent and distinctive cough, also, as a result of this buildup of mucus.

Again, this mucus was a breeding ground for bacteria, as I said. So, we had to clear the mucus out.

As it is a genetic illness and she was born with it, it is a pre-existing condition. Maybe if I was able to get a job with a large company there might have been a way to get insurance coverage but even then, that's not guaranteed, and what if I changed jobs?

People might wrongly think that I am talking about the financial burdens of Lynn's medical care. I am not in any way speaking of the potential financial burden of her medical care and how insurance might help with those expenses. Even a so-called good insurance plan is NOT the solution. 

Insurance is all about protection against things that might go wrong and the financial burden that one incurs when this happens.  Take property insurance as an example. You purchase this in case your home is robbed or damaged. You can't buy insurance after your house is robbed and hope the insurance agency will pay to replace the property that gets stolen or damaged. You need to have insurance before your property is stolen. 

I had that happen where I had property insurance and something was stolen. We estimated the cost and value of the stolen item and I was given a check or payment that was based on the current price of similar items. 

So, this was about access to medical care that was crucial for Lynn's survival. I'm not complaining about how expensive this treatment might be. I am talking about the need to guarantee that she had access to medical care necessary for her continued living.

We discussed with the staff social worker(s) at the clinic when she went for treatment or for a checkup. We discussed the state health care plan that covers people with Cystic Fibrosis.

This seemed to be the only option. However, to qualify for this health care plan, her income had to be kept below a certain level. She had to live in poverty.

In addition, as husband and wife, if our combined income exceeded a certain threshold for a married couple, she might be dropped from the health care coverage that paid for her medical care.

CF is fatal, also. It used to take people's lives before they reached 18. However, people are living into their 40s and 50s, and beyond their 50s, now. Obviously, this is not enough! I would likely live so much longer than that. At the time, I told myself that they would cure CF soon.

This is the tragic aspect of Cystic Fibrosis - the shortened lifespan. It's hard for the person with the disease but it's also very hard for a spouse. I mean Lynn was my source of happiness. I was totally in love with her. I could not imagine a life without her.

We had to cherish each moment and live our lives in each and every moment. Dwelling on the reality of her shortened lifespan would deprive us of the experience of a normal life - normal in the sense of falling in love, getting engaged, and living together forever as husband and wife.

Our forever would have to exist in each moment we had.

Now, consider the cost of treatment. It is estimated to be over $6000 per year and could cost tens of thousands of dollars. We are talking about something more serious than our financial woes -  we had to know that she could get the treatment she required - it was a matter of life and death, literally. Even with her mother being married to Bob, which meant that they had a substantial income, they never took a chance on her losing access to the insurance plan. They didn't say "Bob works for a big airline with great insurance so Lynn is safely protected."

Taking a chance on not having access to medical care was not an option. It would be morally and ethically irresponsible.

Lynn was relatively healthy for a long time when we were in our 20s and 30s. Occasionally, she had problems though. She might have to go into the hospital for IV antibiotics. That would bring the costs into the tens of thousands of dollars but I'm getting ahead of the story.

As you can see, this creates a problem in terms of taking our relationship to the next level and getting married.

What does a couple like us do? Just because a woman has Cystic Fibrosis doesn't mean that she doesn't have the same desires, hopes, and dreams as any woman or any girl. People with CF fall in love like everyone else.

I bet, dear reader, that you haven't put that much thought into a scenario like this. Unless you are living with this as a couple, you cannot know what it is like. I mean we wanted to take our relationship to the next symbolic level - to get married. This desire should come as no surprise.

Lynn had to deal with both of these issues - having a serious and potentially fatal chronic illness AND also being denied the option of a normal life where a woman gets married and has a wedding.

It was so painful and infuriating!

How dare we be denied the right to marry just like everyone else!

Occasionally, I would feel guilty back then about having sex without having had a wedding. I didn't like the fact that she called me her fiancé and that I was calling her my fiancée and yet we were having sex. I really hate talking about those moments. I didn't like how it made Lynn feel.

I don't remember what I would say but it would lead to Lynn asking, "do you regret what we do?"

I would always respond, "no, of course not." And I would feel such shame for making her feel like I regretted making love – expressing our love through sexual intimacy.

My sister worked for an insurance company and she may not have supported universal health care. Years later it would make me want to spit in the face of both of them for what I once heard that sounded like an expression of moral and emotional indifference when Mom said "the world's a dangerous place." It was offensive and disgusting.

I wanted Carrie to speak up and say that she had not considered a scenario like the one Lynn and I faced. I may have just misread what I was hearing by what Mom and what Carrie didn't say. At the moment I heard that it was disgusting, though.

I hope to share this book with Carrie and hope she will understand my momentary sense of outrage. I don't hold a grudge about this but it did hurt me.

Also, as I was Christian, I had been brainwashed with ideas about how you are supposed to act sexually. The teaching was that sex should occur only when two people are married. This would be problematic in our situation, obviously.

I had decided I was going to live as Lynn's husband even if we didn't officially get married. Our sacred union would not be denied based on the impossible position that the state put us in. I would say that in the eyes of God we were two that became one as it has always been... one body, one soul... one being. In the eyes of God, we were married.

Lynn's mother, Diane, was not burdened by the kind of religious dogma to which I was subjected. That was why she had no problem with buying a home, as an investment and renting the home to us. This was a decision she made after Lynn and I got engaged. This decision by Diane to buy a house coincided with her offer to allow us to rent the home. It was an investment for Diane because she only charged $200 for rent - $100 each from me and Lynn.

I should clarify that Diane clarified that she was doing this for us to live as husband and wife. Lynn was still working when this was done, and I was going to graduate school.

The discussion with Diane about the rent was more along the lines of what we both could afford as opposed to a conversation about two people having separate finances. Lynn and I had maintained our own bank accounts due to her need to qualify for her health care insurance. They look at resources in addition to income. That doesn't mean that either of us had kept anything a secret regarding our bank accounts and how much was in them. I always explained everything I spent with Lynn because she was very practical, and she expected me to do so.

Anyway, I knew that Diane wanted her daughter to enjoy all the benefits of marital life. That meant that she expected us to have a healthy sex life together when she bought a home for us where we could live as husband and wife.

Here is the thing about why I am breaking with tradition and discussing intimate things. It was an issue for me due to some religious brainwashing. Only on rare occasions, maybe 2 or 3 times during the entire many years that Lynn and I lived together did it occur but that was too much. I may have had some doubts about what we were doing intimately due to those "traditional" values. I mostly understood that there was nothing normal about our circumstances and that the moral ideas about not making love outside marriage could not apply in this situation.

That being said, on about 3 occasions I shamefully gave voice to a bizarre concern that we were acting immorally by not being married.

Anyway, it's not like Lynn's mother said something like, "I expect you to have a healthy sex life together." However, there were so many little ways that I knew this. I'll expand upon this below.

That was so refreshing for me. It honestly never occurred to me that any aspect of our life should be avoided when Diane was present. We picked out a bed together. Diane bought the bed for us. She bought a home with one bedroom.
 

That was so refreshing for me. It honestly never occurred to me that any aspect of our life should be avoided when Diane was present. We picked out a bed together. Diane bought the bed for us. She bought a home with one bedroom.

She was there to help us decorate the bedroom and the bath area – one bedroom. A bathroom right next to the bedroom and closed off from the rest of the house. One closet. Things would not have occurred the same way with my family and It's probably why in many families a mother or parents are not present when their son or daughter is furnishing or decorating their bedroom area.

I just knew that if Diane had heard about my religious brainwashing, she would have been mad. So, Lynn protected me in that regard on those very rare instances where I expressed some doubts about how we expressed our love for one another. 

Some of what we did together as we were furnishing and decorating the bedroom was interesting. I wanted to convey my love and desire for Lynn and for her mother to see this.

We shared a mischievous look, a brief kiss, as I gently pulled Lynn to me with her mother right nearby. As we looked at the shower area there was more of the same. I stopped to take in the sight of Lynn imagining seeing her naked body walking from the shower, obviously looking dreamy as Lynn was talking to her mother at this point.

I didn't have to tell Diane that "I am thinking about seeing your daughter naked." We didn't have to say "this is where we will have sex" as we looked at the bed together. To me, I was thinking that I was free to be comfortable about these matters even though Lynn's mother was right there with us and it seemed more important to demonstrate my intent to make Lynn feel good as we expressed our love for one another sexually.

This was happening at some point after we got engaged. Lynn and I had slept together, including at times when her mother had been visiting – Diane still lived out of state at this point and would come and stay in the home where Lynn lived on Wrightsville Beach. When I say we slept together before we moved in together, I don't mean we had sex and so I had not seen all of Lynn, yet. We had not yet had fully nude genital contact. The only erogenous zone I had seen was her breasts.

I had a sense that Diane had a knowledge that this would be how things would work out if Lynn had fallen in love – that if the state knew that she was married she would lose her insurance which was not an option.

I know that Lynn and her mother discussed everything. Yeah, the very specific topic of how Lynn was going to make sure she didn't get pregnant was an issue that I learned about later, but it did NOT take me by surprise.

I felt like I could have stated that Lynn would protect her health but that wouldn't make sense. Diane knew that Lynn was aware of her health concerns.

That conversation about how Lynn and I would make sure she didn't get pregnant did not occur when I was present, but I knew that she wanted Lynn to be happy. This taboo around sex was my brainwashing. I was more afraid of Diane finding out that I had these doubts about making love with Lynn.

I remember a conversation I had with Lynn sometime later. It was about a conversation she had with her mother.

Lynn's health was such that she could not support another life. She had problems with digestion. So, I just asked her, "when you and your mother talk about our sexual relations what do you say?"

Her answer was "she just wants to know that I am not going to get pregnant."

"Okay, so what did you say?" I asked.

"I just told her not to worry ... we are careful," she answered.

I thought "Okay, that makes sense." My response was, "okay," and then I smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"It's great that you can talk about this and that she wants you to be happy."

When Lynn and I had this conversation, we had been having sex for a while. It was beautiful to note that Lynn did not wait for me to initiate sex on these occasions. This reflects the fact that I wanted to know that Lynn loved and desired me.

You might recall that I had been uncertain earlier when we first started seeing each other, about whether Lynn was interested in me as much as I was interested in her. That is what I mean here but in a slightly different context.

Lynn also needed and hungered for closeness. It was an expression of our relationship which this book is about – relationships and connections.

That need for closeness was complicated by the need to make sure that she doesn't get pregnant. It might sound bizarre therefore when you hear her say "oh, sweetie, you are too close" in a voice full of the sexual passion of the moment. It just meant "I can't get pregnant."

I wondered "had Lynn kept the details about how we were making sure that she didn't get pregnant to herself and not shared them with her mother to protect her from thinking about some aspect of intimacy that had to be avoided by us?"

I kept the reality of just how serious her illness was out of my mind as much as possible. 

The life I had with Lynn seemed ideal in many ways. As husband and wife, I saw myself as having achieved the greatest thing I had always wanted in life - a family.

I said that we could not have children. Nonetheless, we were a family now.

My friend Jean commented upon how much Lynn and I argued. I, therefore, feel there is value in addressing that topic.

In an earlier chapter, I discussed an incident that puts things in perspective. Jean was only partially a part of the scene. I think it is worth it to present this event again.

Lynn and I had come to a book signing by Jean Arthur Jones and a video presentation at a coffee house downtown. He had released a chapbook of poetry. Lynn and I had been arguing about something and our conversation was almost non-existent as I drove downtown with Lynn next to me.

After I had Jean sign a book for me and then one for Lynn I then brought it upstairs and of course Jean went on with signing other books for others. He didn't see what transpired next when I returned to Lynn upstairs. 

When I handed her the signed copy of Jean's book, she let her beautiful smile wash over her face as she accepted the book and then a smile as she slightly laughed a bit frustrated because she couldn't stay mad at me.

I had answered, "well, it doesn't mean that I don't still love you." I was commenting on the things that made me mad. It also said a great deal about the fact, the truth that nothing that happened EVER changed the nature of my love for Lynn.

It was an experience that I remember as an epiphany that Lynn and I recognized. Yet it was only one such experience. I would always feel bad when we weren't talking. I couldn't stand letting that go on for hours.

Knowing that no argument was going to divide us was an observation that was profoundly important. It was an absolute truth that we knew! Always! I would use some version of this scenario to break the silence.

As a counselor, I heard clients talk about their relationships. I remember hearing someone say that he and his girlfriend have a "really special relationship." I was baffled as he had described a tension that had existed for days and a distance between them that had gone on for days. That didn't seem like a special relationship at all!

I absolutely could not stand the tension and the idea that Lynn wasn't happy or that I hurt her feelings. Maybe I blurted something out that I regretted. I didn't usually get a gift like that evening when I brought her the book – I just happened to be planning to do that already that evening. At other times I would get close to her and smile, get her to make eye contact. She almost seemed frustrated that she couldn't stay mad.

It almost felt like I was arguing with myself as I was discussing things. I was thinking about old ideas that I had accepted without thought. We discussed everything so we were going to disagree from time to time.

Anyway, some of these arguments came from the influence of religious teaching/brainwashing that I had been exposed to in life. I had embraced certain absolutes as a result of that teaching.

These were not times when we demonstrated disrespect for one another. Sometimes I wonder if some couples let resentments exist and they accommodate them by ignoring the topic just like families consider "politics" to be taboo.

Our Home

We got two cats that we named Tip and Boo. Diane set up a swinging door to the garage so that the cats could get out there to the little box. We both had cars, but we kept them outside because we used the garage for other things. I started to gain some weight and Lynn bought a machine where I could run or walk on it for exercise. I also had weights and a punching bag. Gestalt therapy encourages us to act out our anger but I'm getting ahead of myself.

We bought two ladders, stained them, as opposed to painting. Diane brought a stud finder so that we could put nails in the wall for the bookcases that we were building across the back room toward the right where we also set up a computer. Oh, we got cable internet when that was available.

The backroom to the left would be a spare room with a couch that we could offer a guest if they visited, like Lynn's cousins. We put a larger TV in that room too. It wasn't a flatscreen – this was the 90s!

In the bedroom, we had another TV. Next to the bed, Lynn had the equipment that she used to receive inhaled medications. We both liked Star Trek and would watch that on a smaller TV in the bedroom. I was getting busier and busier, so I watched TV less than Lynn did. Due to Lynn's income limits, she couldn't work as much as I did.

She did sell her pottery on consignment at various places and at certain events. 

For meals, we had been learning to cook together for some time. I wasn't as practical as she was which just meant that she would say whose turn it was to cook or if she wanted me to cook dinner for whatever reason. We handled cleaning the same way. She basically directed me as to how she wanted to see things cleaned.

We took turns emptying the litter which would not be possible if her health got bad. It's not good for her to breathe the dust. I do feel guilty for asking her to do that at all. It was part of my denial of her condition. Some of the cleaning I had to do for the same reason, to keep her from inhaling certain things. Her lungs were not as strong or healthy as mine.

Memories and Dreams of Abuse

Memories of the abuse I experienced growing up were never far from my mind or they were not far enough from my mind... they were not buried deep enough, unfortunately. I was still having nightmares related to the abuse I had experienced in the past.
 

I had been assaulted - verbally, physically, and emotionally. Adding to that the emotional neglect from my parents and it's no surprise that nightmares would find their way into my nights...

In my dreams, I would sometimes be striking out at my parents. There was a point between waking and sleeping that made it seem like I was hitting the bed, punching it. So much time has passed, and I have processed it over the years. As a result, the memories have faded.

What I remember was being afraid that as my hands were flailing about in the bed that I might hit Lynn. That is what I remember! It makes my blood run cold to imagine that. 

I remember that I would describe, to Lynn, the actual memory that was related to the nightmare that had awakened me. This was over a decade since I had left home and so the abuse that I was remembering was still creeping into my dreams. 

Nights with Lynn in bed right next to me. Just as my hands swung in my dream in efforts at fighting back, so did my arms seem to be flailing about in the bed. Sometimes I would be hitting the bed or punching the bed.

I only remember that she had assured me that she wasn't afraid and that my hands had not moved as much as I imagined. Oh, and that I did shout loud enough for us both to wake up. This was happening until I was about 30!

Serenity and Intimacy

What I do remember is an awareness that my desire for nurturance growing up explained why I sought to cuddle so much. I also had tension headaches and some stomach problems. I would rest my head on her lap as she caressed my forehead.

Prior to when we moved in together, though, we had not had sex.

After that things were different.

She knew how attracted I was to her. For Valentine's Day, I suggested that she get a sexy and revealing outfit at Victoria's Secret or some such place. I was so touched that she did this. I felt like she had not usually tried to look beautiful or attractive to the same degree as some females do. She didn't wear much make-up or look like some females that I might otherwise think are objectively attractive. Despite the fact that she was not trying to look beautiful, to me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world and she knew that.

Anyway, getting that outfit, that sexy, revealing outfit, this was my gift. She knew it aroused me. I would find myself unable to contain myself and would get up and gently say "can I take this off?" and she would laugh about the effort she had gone to and how soon it came off.

It seems strange to be talking like this... about intimacy. But it was so new a discovery... every time. I would marvel at the idea of someone desiring me - emotionally, sexually.

These days we see on TV and in the movies and I heard growing up that this was something physical. The closeness that Lynn and I had was something different, mysterious, and an awesome discovery as if no one has known about these things until we discovered these experiences. Maybe it is the creative part of me that is inclined to think these things. - the romantic poet.

What I am hinting at is the fact that unlike the notions I got from family and my other observations from our culture, men don't have to take the lead. We don't and shouldn't make the first move, expecting our wives and girlfriends to agree to what is happening.

With my parents, it seemed like sex was taboo but at one point my mother made some comments that made it seem like it was her obligation to meet her husband's desires. I cannot overstate how different things were with Lynn and me. There was not even a hint of role expectations.

As far as sex goes, Lynn didn't wait for me to bring up the topic of sex on every occasion when we were intimate. It was also not a situation where either of us was expecting the other one to know what to do. We discovered each other's bodies and what felt good. It was like exploring. I guess she didn't direct me at first and vice versa because we didn't know what the other one was comfortable doing.

Unless we were both in bed already and the lights had gone out, neither of us was "not in the mood" much of the time and this was beautiful to me. We could tell if one of us was busy, tired, stressed, or whatever.

I think that is rare. How often do two people find that both are "in the mood" at the same time? Or how often do two people respond to each other as if they are responding in sync? ... No awkward approaches and the other person turning away.

Also, I NEVER remembered a time when a loving glance or smile could be resisted by either one of us. I'm not talking about necessarily anything sexual. Just imagine a couple together and one is watching TV or distracted and the other one looks and tries to get their partner's attention, but they blow them off as if they've gotten too comfortable or some old resentment has been there. Yeah, that song by Carly Simon "Coming Around Again" has a line "I know nothing stays the same." 

No, that didn't happen to us ever. Things only grew in our love and desire for one another.

Returning to the matter of sexual intimacy... All of this is mysterious to me. But sensuality is a good and right thing. Our bodies are our gifts to one another.

And closeness wasn't always just about sex. Lynn would choose to sleep nude signaling her desire to be that close to me.

I was talking about serenity and passion. The former, serenity, implies peace and diminished arousal of emotions. Passion is the opposite. For a husband and wife, passion can imply sexual passion.

Yet, the most beautiful woman in the world, Lynn, could both arouse me with her body next to mine and bring me a serene sense of comfort as we fell asleep. My hands holding her bare breast.

It's important to realize that every person has different erogenous zones and responds to different forms of contact. For some females, the breasts around the nipples are not erogenous. It just doesn't create a response for them.

I had discovered that if I held her breasts and moved my hand ever so slightly, she would respond with arousal. So, if I started getting aroused, I might check to see if she was awake enough for sex. If not, or if she felt like sleeping, she would gently place her hand over mine and say "sweetie, I am sleepy."

She wasn't quiet either. During sex, I would ask at times "did I hurt you?"

She would answer as soon as she could, almost desperately, "don't stop."

If you are thinking that Lynn might have been fragile, that's not it. I just wanted to be sure that what I was doing felt good.

I want to share, in the next chapter, some information about a poetry magazine that Lynn and I created on the web in 1995. This will depict another shared interest that we had and something we did together.

The worldwide web was still fairly new in the 90s. Lynn and I were both interested in poetry and I had the idea of publishing a poetry magazine on the web. This was in 1995.

I had a goal of becoming a psychiatric social worker and I was learning a great deal about psychiatric issues at this time. I will describe this in greater detail later.

Anyway, we were thinking of a title and I thought of a term that I heard in the psychiatric field – word salad. The definition from dictionary.com is as follows: "incoherent speech consisting of both real and imaginary words, lacking comprehensive meaning, and occurring in advanced schizophrenic states."

I had remarked that at one time, years ago, I had struggled to make sense of poetry... like when I was growing up. I once had the impression that poetry was hard to understand. Maybe I just had bad teachers.

This seemed like a good name that we both liked. So, we called the magazine "Word Salad" or "Word Salad Poetry Magazine." I got a domain name online and started creating a static website. This was prior to WordPress and so I had to work with Microsoft Word or perhaps WordPerfect (yeah, back then both programs were equally popular).

I would then create a list of pages for each poem with links on the main page which would serve as a table of contents.

Lynn let me do everything related to the presentation of the book on the web.

I also did what was required to try to get submissions. Back then, newsgroups were very popular, and your internet service provider included a list of newsgroups that you could subscribe to. It is similar to a forum today, but they were more open and not controlled by any particular owner... meaning there weren't strict rules about what you could post.

Consider something like this today. We might join groups on Facebook, but someone is an owner and creator of the group or there are a small group of administrators for the group. Unsolicited requests for submissions posted to a group might get you kicked off for sending spam.

Newsgroups were not like that and you could find appropriate groups where you could find creative people who are writers and poets. That's what I did.

Poetry submissions started coming into our email account for the magazine.

Keep in mind that at the time this idea of an online magazine was very new as well. That is no longer the case.

We decided to publish four times every year. Around the time when we were getting ready to publish an edition, I first asked Lynn to sit down in front of the computer and see what she thought of some of the poems we were getting – which ones did we want to publish?

She said she wanted me to print out all the poems that I got. I did that and she started creating piles for rejects, those we might want to publish, and those she or we liked. She might show me ones she liked right away along with the ones that were in the "maybe" stack or I would look later... sometimes I would start off indicating which ones I liked.

This was really taking off and it was amazing.

At one point, we got an interview with Ben Steelman who is a reporter with the Wilmington Star-News. We sat down together with him outside near his office in town. It was memorable.

We got some submissions from our friends as well.

A similar process occurred when Lynn would edit/proofread my papers for graduate school. She would ask me to print out the paper and she would go about marking up typos or other stupid mistakes I would make in my writing. It's strange how easy it is to make all these errors even if I was a much better writer than might be indicated by some early drafts of my papers.

In the next section, I will describe some aspects of my career. None of that would have been possible without the support, nurturance, and encouragement of Lynn. That journey might have started in the 80s when I decided I was going to go into social work, but it took off in 92. That just happens to be the same time when I met Lynn.

As I mentioned, Lynn and I couldn't have a wedding because our combined income might make her ineligible for the state health plan that would cover her treatment.

Okay, so this speaks to just how madly in love with Lynn I was. Anything happening to her was terrifying. I had asked her to marry me, given her a ring, and committed myself to her forever. But without a wedding or a "legal" marriage.

We even tried going to the Catholic church to get married but without a marriage certificate and they would not allow that. The fact that we didn't have a wedding didn't change anything.

If you are thinking that I imagined getting married to someone else someday, the answer is NO! I had found the one for me! Lynn. So, my commitment to Lynn was forever.

Let this all sink in for a moment. We were in a rush with time hoping that they find a cure for Cystic Fibrosis - a genetic illness - so that she would live past her fifties. That's what I needed!

Treatment can cost several thousand dollars per year during good years. Even her mother could not afford that and their good insurance wouldn't cover Lynn's medical care.

What do I mean by a "bad year?" And what was it like in general, even during good years?

Occasionally, she would use an inhaler but that didn't seem to happen very frequently.

I drove her or we drove together to her clinic appointments in Chapel Hill. From Wilmington, that was a drive of over two hours. It happened for the most part only once a year.

They would check her oxygen saturation... take X-rays to see the scarring and the buildup of mucus in her chest.

Lynn was good about letting me sit in on every meeting, such as when she was taken to a room to be examined by first a nurse and then a doctor.

Most of the time we were very lucky because she was so very healthy for someone with this very serious and debilitating disease.

I might have turned away or left a room when they wanted to collect a mucus sample. Lynn understood that I had a weak stomach.

Anyway, so much of this was becoming routine. Most of the time.

I asked so many questions all the time. "What is that dark spot in her chest area that you described in the X-Ray? Is that mucus or scarring?"

The doctor would answer, "well, here is some excess mucus that needs to be cleared, and here is some scarring?"

"Wait, how do we clear that mucus?" I asked.

"Have you learned how to do the tapping?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, we learned about that from the physical therapist." I answered, adding a question "but it's still worrisome."

Then I asked, "What about that device that she is supposed to wear, is that better?"

"Not necessarily," the doctor answered.

Then Lynn said, "it doesn't clear it out for me, I can tell it's still there." Then she turned to me and said, "I told you about the problems and asked for your help the other day."

I felt so guilty. "Oh, my God, Lynn, I am so sorry." Adding, "it's scary for me. I know you need me and I'm trying. I'm scared when you are not well. That makes me feel guilty because I should be there for you... but I get sad and scared about the meaning of these problems."

I paused and added with tears running down my face, "I want a 'normal life' ... and if anything happens to you... I just love you so much, you make me feel good and happy. I can't imagine not having you with me."

"I know sweetie, I have had more time to deal with this," she said.

"Okay, so I still have a lot of questions," I said.

"Okay, ask away," answered Lynn with a smile that said she knew I really cared.

Then turning to the doctor, I said, "so, how often and for how long should I do the tapping to clear up the mucus as it builds up?"

"Well, about 15 to 30 minutes at a time in the evening would be good," answered the doctor.

"And the scarring, that looks big, what..." I could barely get my words out I was so full of anxiety and sadness... trying hard to be strong for Lynn.

It is SO MUCH easier to do this with clients or patients at a psych hospital.

Dear reader, I hope that is somewhat intuitive but maybe I shouldn't assume. I wasn't in love with my clients or the patients I served. We weren't sharing our lives together. They were not in love with me either. At least I hope not – that's another issue for later.

Also, the big secret that I have been avoiding is that Cystic Fibrosis is a deadly disease! I could lose Lynn forever!

My blood runs cold when I think of this as it did at the time. It's interesting how similar sensations can feel so different. When we were at the clinic discussing these matters, I could feel chills running through me... not the kind that I felt at the touch of Lynn's hand or her lips on mine.

I was, for the most part, able to push these issues out of my mind and not think about the reality of it. But on these visits, we had to look at this darkness in our life. Scarring and mucus appeared as dark patches on the X-Ray of her lungs and this darkness on her lungs was like the darkness in our lives.

In answer to the question I posed about the scarring, the doctor said, "her lungs still have a capacity to breathe and get enough oxygen to function in many normal activities."

During the visits, I would learn about how the scarring makes the lungs less elastic and that makes it harder for them to expand and get enough air to engage in certain activities that we take for granted... running, hiking, or walking long distances. And scars don't heal.

So, even if they had a cure that doesn't mean that everything would be fine.

When her health got worse...

There was a time in late 1996 when Lynn had to go into the hospital. Her lung functioning had gotten poorer or weaker and they wanted to put her on IV antibiotics in the hospital.

The doctor had explained that they wanted to go after the infections in her lungs. They had to try some of the latest antibiotics that were thought to be more effective in people with Cystic Fibrosis (CF). They were always learning new things about the disease and people were living longer.

It was scary for both of us. Waiting there in the lobby of the hospital I tried to stay positive and tell myself that things would be okay.

Then she was brought to an inpatient unit that was used for treating individuals with CF.

When Lynn asked me to get her something from downstairs – a drink and a candy bar – I was somewhat glad to have that opportunity. I was struggling to stay still. That's how anxious I was. I had a strong urge to walk. I couldn't sit still hardly. I was also sick to my stomach. That's what happens when I am anxious or scared. I felt queasy or nauseous.

I held her hand as they inserted the IV. I asked the nurse "what is that?" referring to the fluid that was being introduced into her IV.

"This is just saline solution," she answered... adding, "the doctor will give us an order to tell us which medications to give her."

I was sitting on the bed looking at Lynn. No words were spoken for a few moments.

"Do you want a book, or to play cards?" I asked, "or how can we pass the time?"

Lynn asked for a book by Anne McCaffery, one of her newest books that she had not read. Anne McCaffrey is a fantasy writer and I knew that she was a fan of her books. So, I just needed to know the title of the latest book.

"I want to stay with you," I said.

"I understand," she answered. "I am glad you are with me."

"Me too."

I added, "I can just be reading something too, a book that I like, as I sit with you."

"Okay, that sounds good."

"You can go meet my friend Carolyn," she said. This was a friend who also had CF and she lived in Chapel Hill. We were living in Wilmington about two hours away. I'm not sure how Lynn connected with Carolyn.

"Yes, we will see her when you get out too," I said. "Before we go home.

Visiting hours don't usually allow people to stay all night. That night I was in bed next to Lynn, on her left. She was asleep with my arm resting on her stomach or her chest. I just wanted to feel her breathing. We made sure the IV was out of the way.

I heard the door open, and I looked up to see a nurse checking in. She didn't say anything.

This finally ended and she came home. Our life went back to normal.

My Other Family

I was still maintaining a relationship with my parents and siblings. But I only saw them for part of a day most of the time when they did visit.

I think that when my brother and/or sister came they came for part of the day only, as well. I guess they were too good for us or so it seemed to me at the time. I could be wrong in the way I am interpreting these events.

While I had sought their advice regarding the moral dilemma of living with Lynn and how we couldn't get married, it seemed clear that they understood I had no other options available to me. And it seemed infinitely clear that we were living as husband and wife and that we made love routinely (almost every day).

Then we went to visit for Christmas, and Lynn suggested that we sleep in different beds because we were under their roof. Symbolically, this felt so uncomfortable. It cheapened the relationship, made it seem less than the union of two becoming one body and one soul.

In my mind, we had been married in the eyes of God. When Lynn said that we should sleep in different beds at my parent's house around Christmas, that seemed to only confuse me.

In retrospect, if I had said that they must see us as two people who are committed to one another like any husband and wife, she would have been open to my reasoning. I should have said, "well, if they dishonor our union, I am not going there!"

I should have said to them that if they want me to visit for the holidays, we will be sleeping together like any married couple.

To be honest, our union seemed more holy or special than anything I saw in my grandparents, cousins, parents, or even with my brother and his wife.

I would be so affectionate with Lynn everywhere and all the time. I had seen my parents kiss, but it was so perfunctory. I am not saying that a couple should make out in front of others, but they should look like the kiss says something like Lynn and I did. We took the time to meet each other's gaze and slowly moved toward one another, letting our lips meet and pause for just a moment.

I don't remember my brother ever showing that kind of affection when he brought his wife for the holidays.

I am just saying that as a shy person I was doing things that are not "normal" for a shy person.

With Lynn and me, it was inescapable and unavoidable... for us to hold one another, hold hands. I also loved this because it was a declaration that said, "I love Lynn!"

Actually, I NEEDED to be close to her and feel her body when I was visiting for Christmas. I had felt uncomfortable with the entire arrangement and it sickened me that I didn't protest when Lynn suggested sleeping in different beds.

In my mind, this was not any less holy than the union of my parents, or grandparents, or less holy than any union of any husband and wife. If anything, this was more special than what I had seen. In my extended family, I never saw anything that said, "I can tell they are in love."

You might wonder why I am even saying this, dear reader. It's not to denigrate others but to exult the depth, breadth, and holiness of the union of Lynn and Bruce. 

Intimacy Issues as a Form of Discovery

I do know some things about how couples make love. As a psychotherapist that is something that is discussed. I learned about the male and female sexual responses. I studied master's and Johnson's research on activities that are practiced by couples.

What was unique about our relationship, the one Lynn and I had was that neither one of us expected the other person to have any experience in this area or to be sexually compatible. It was more of an area of discovery for both of us.

Some though not all gay men do enjoy anal sex. Often among heterosexual couples, this is more pleasurable to the male because they think the anal passage is tighter. While some females may want this, it is more common for males to ask for this.

This was not something I was seeking in my relationship with Lynn nor was she.

Speaking of same-sex relationships, oral sex is another way that people express love and is commonly practiced by gay men. I would learn this from my clients. 

Oral sex is practiced quite commonly by heterosexual men and women as well.

Anyway, I knew that this fluid is made up largely of the same components as mucus. That fact made oral sex seem unappealing. Previously, I mentioned when Lynn was in the hospital or at the clinic and she was asked to provide a mucus sample, I noted that I had a weak stomach, meaning it made me queasy.

These observations about mucus meant that I did not expect, nor did Lynn expect oral sex despite the fact that this is "normal" and commonly enjoyed by the recipient and the giver, regardless of sexual orientation. Those who do speak about these things with researchers or their therapists are the source of my knowledge.

No part of our bodies was "taboo" though. We both endeavored to explore anything that would increase the pleasure of one another in bringing about an orgasm. So, we did everything short of activities that would involve tasting each other's bodily fluids.

I felt such incredible love for Lynn that I wanted to demonstrate that in every way possible. I knew she wanted to do the same for me and with me.

But it was more of a case of exploration and discovering what brought us the greatest pleasure and what we were both comfortable doing.

I felt so lucky that this was happening. I felt lucky to know that I wasn't expected to do anything with some level of competency as I had heard discussed when I was a psychotherapist providing couples therapy or with my individual clients.

I felt lucky also that we weren't talking about sexual competency.

Sex was for us a way of expressing our love and it was intense and intensely pleasurable as a result of the love that we felt for each other. 

However, it is true that some people mistake this extreme pleasure for love. There is a big difference between making love with a spouse than just plain sex, though it is easy to get confused by the feelings.

After we knew what activities we were comfortable doing we could offer or ask for certain things. I was still a believer (a Christian), and so I saw this as a blessing, a miracle, and a true sense that we were one body. Our bodies were our gifts to one another. And that was holy! More holy than I could have imagined.

I'm a romantic and I believe in the concept of the two becoming one and are united forever, which is as long as we exist.

In this section, I will describe the years of my career after I finally reached my career and professional goals, dreams, and aspirations. This was twelve years of hard work, never giving up, never letting any obstacle remain too much of a challenge for me to overcome. I was passionate, motivated, a very hard worker, relentless in pursuit of my goals.

It's also important to understand that for people like myself, we feel good when we are able to help another person. It feels good. That being said, what we do is NOT about us. It's about the client or in an inpatient setting, it's about the patients.

This is the backdrop to the life I was sharing with Lynn.

I suppose that is a feature of empathy - you feel with another person. So, if they find relief, you feel it with them. If they are happy, you rejoice with them.

Of course, if a client is depressed, manic, fearful, or traumatized you empathize which is like feeling with them but you have to stay grounded so you can help them. You have to resonate with a person and act in sync with them so that you can guide them toward a better more positive mental state or mindset.

Anyway, this section will pick up at my graduation from the University of South Carolina in the School of Social Work and my entrance into the field that I had been pursuing since I was 18, twelve years ago.  

Over the next four years of our life together, I was becoming successful in my field. I had gained a great deal of experience as a social work volunteer, followed by my jobs in the mental health field before I got my degree. These jobs were as a paraprofessional.

Lynn had been so supportive along the way and nothing would have been possible for me without her support. So, all the hundreds of people who were helped by me owe Lynn a debt of gratitude as well. I definitely needed support. 

I graduated from the University of South Carolina with a Master's in Social Work in May of 1996, but the education of a therapist/psychotherapist never ends.

By the time I graduated of my graduation with a Master's in Social Worker (MSW), I had a job to start in an inpatient psychiatric hospital named Brynn Marr Psychiatric Hospital in Jacksonville, North Carolina.

This seemed like a perfect opportunity because I had worked at "The Oaks" - a psychiatric hospital - as an intern which I mentioned previously in earlier chapters. The Oaks like Brynn Marr were somewhat similar.

I was hired with the title of "Therapist" on the adult unit. I was one of two therapists on the unit. Half the patients were assigned to me and the other half were assigned to the other therapist on the unit.

What I mean by saying that I was assigned half the patients, was that I was responsible for all aspects of their care while they were in the hospital, and I was responsible for discharge planning, also known as case management. That doesn't mean that I did the kinds of things that nurses and psychiatrists do. I just meant that I was the primary point of contact.

The other therapist on the unit, Leslie, had a master's in social work (MSW) like me and she was a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW).

I had taken the clinical exam right away after graduation and applied for the certification/credentials/license of Licensed Clinical Social Worker – Provisional (LCSW-P). I did this at about the same time I was starting work at Brynn Marr as I had to first graduate from college with my master's degree before I could take the clinical exam or seek that provisional licensure.

There was a substance abuse counselor as well, but he only offered group therapy sessions. It's interesting how lived experience as an addict allows people to work as a counselor without the same educational requirements, i.e., a master's degree.

Our supervisor was more of an administrator than a therapist or counselor.

There were several group therapy sessions every week that had to be run by either myself or the other therapist. We could provide individual therapy as well for each of the patients according to their needs, problems, interests, and diagnosis. I like the idea of a psychotherapist doing most of the therapy groups.

I found that the patients loved to have the opportunity to receive individual therapy sessions with me. This was incredibly good for my self-esteem and my sense of competency. You know that you are doing something right if you are finding that patients want to spend time with you for therapy sessions.

I did have a great deal of flexibility and freedom in offering or being available for therapy with patients.

In terms of group therapy, I had learned techniques in my second year of graduate school. I had observed the skills and talents of Chris Hauge at The Oaks who was a mentor of mine and who supervised me during my second-year internship.

I had picked up a workbook that had a number of ideas and techniques for running therapy groups – some ice breakers – to supplement what I had already learned.

The only problem that I noticed was that the hospital wasn't able to provide therapy services to those who didn't have good insurance. This was a for-profit hospital, and I didn't like the profit motive.

As a social worker, I had been motivated by a desire to help those who are most financially vulnerable within society. So, the idea of not being able to treat those who don't have good insurance didn't sit so well with me.

Later in my career, I would provide psychotherapy to individuals pro-bono. I NEVER wanted someone's ability to pay to be a barrier to my services.

You see this in so many settings. Sometimes it seems that the only people who "get it" when you are needy and need help are those who have struggled and dealt with poverty or homelessness themselves. We feel an obligation to share whatever fortune comes our way or whatever might be helpful.

That wasn't me though. Even before I knew real poverty, I could "get it" and empathize with the most vulnerable people in society.

Let me give an example of what I mean about my own values. There was a patient named Victoria - whose real identity I cannot reveal. She was there for anorexia and complications related to that. It became clear that she did not qualify for any more Medicare inpatient hospital days and I was asked by my supervisor to just focus on a referral for her to get treatment elsewhere.

This was my first job after graduation and so I didn't think of myself as necessarily an expert on eating disorders. However, if she wanted individual therapy with me, I wasn't going to deny her that.

My supervisor also wanted her to attend group sessions every day while she was there. I guess the staff started to think she was "difficult." Whatever challenges she might present, that wasn't a factor in how a patient should be treated.

She had said she felt that this was a hostile environment for her as a result of this. She had specifically asked that I be her therapist and not the woman therapist on the unit who was about my age but may have had a few more years experience than I did.

At one point, this topic of the hostile environment on the unit came up when I was sitting down with my supervisor. I was sitting alone with my supervisor when he asked me, "do you think this is a hostile environment for Victoria?"

I answered, "Yes, I think this is a hostile and non-therapeutic environment for her."

There was a point in the middle of the day when they were going to speak to her - the other therapist, perhaps the substance abuse counselor, the administrator (my supervisor). It seemed like they were ganging up on her. I made sure to be there to support her.

I remember her listening and she seemed uncomfortable, and I felt it too. I had positioned myself so that I was at her side beside her while the others spoke in a way that was confrontational, I felt. Symbolically, I felt it was normal and expected even in this setting for me to represent her interests. 

To make clear where I stood, I said "I have discussed how I agree that this has become a hostile and non-therapeutic environment for you, Victoria."

She was told that she needed to attend groups every day. 

She said emphatically, "fine, I'll go to Bruce's groups and that's it!"

Of course, that made me feel good. I'm not saying that Victoria wasn't a challenge. It just felt good to hear that I had made such a positive impression on a patient. This wasn't the only such experience.

In addition, it bothered me that my supervisor was seemingly implying that I could not provide therapy for Victoria because she needed to go to a place that specialized in eating disorders. And because they were not making money on her stay there! 

It was clear that it was about the hospital getting paid and that disgusted me!

She wanted therapy and would come by my office or I would walk around the unit and she would approach me asking to meet with me.

They seemed to want to just get rid of her since they weren't going to get a great deal of money from her. The master's level social worker that was also working on the unit seemed to have lost the passion that had inspired her to go into social work - that's how it seemed to me. That was confusing to me.

There were some patients like Victoria who had Borderline Personality Disorder, which can be challenging for therapists. I know my co-worker, Leslie, (the other therapist on the adult unit) used this term pejoratively and as their excuse for not being able to connect with and make progress with some patients.

There is a great book that gives the reader a great way to understand borderline personality disorder - it's called "I Hate You, Don't Leave Me." Some people will vacillate between idealizing and hating a person.

I believe this is a result of certain parenting styles.

At times I felt like I was walking on eggshells with Victoria. I felt challenged to demonstrate that I cared about her and was concerned for her welfare. Sometimes she would walk away angry and then come back or get up to go but then sit back down.

I remember her storming out of the office saying "you are just like everyone else, you don't care... I can't stand you."

Then the next day I saw her, and she approached me in the morning as if nothing happened. She just said, "can you meet with me for therapy?"

I answered, "yes, after group."

She smiled and said, "I'll be there for your group, I'm not going to Leslie's groups."

"I know," I answered with a smile of amusement, adding, "I'll see you in a few minutes."

You just have to be thick-skinned and not take things like this personally.

Thinking about being a couple

As a sign of my dedication to helping others and my enjoyment, I want to describe an experience when I was working as hurricane Fran was about to come ashore.

I had to learn to think about more than myself and my own lack of fear of hurricanes. Lynn would be worried about me working late as a hurricane comes ashore.

Lynn was much more afraid of hurricanes than I was. She was from California where they have earthquakes, and I would say that at least with a hurricane the earth doesn't open up like it's going to swallow you. We had debated which was worse a hurricane or an earthquake. To her, the waiting and suspense of knowing the hurricane is coming made it worse.

Anyway, Hurricane Fran was due to make landfall on the Cape Fear River in Wilmington after 8 PM.

I was sitting there talking to Victoria and the hour was a few minutes after 5:00 PM. I noticed a phone call coming in. Lynn had my direct extension.

"This is Lynn, I need to take this," I said to Victoria. I must have mentioned Lynn. 

"Hello, this is Bruce," I said not entirely sure yet who was calling.

"Hi," I heard Lynn say followed by "what are you doing?"

"I'm working," I said.

I could hear Victoria laugh as I said this.

"You need to come home." She said, "The roads are flooding and ..."

I listened to her concerns and said, "Okay, I will leave now."

"Be careful, honey, I am worried," She said adding "I have seen some of the roads. You might not be afraid of hurricanes as much as me, but you need to think about me."

"I'm sorry," I answered Lynn.

Victoria had been listening and she was understanding of the situation. I told her that I needed to go because Lynn was worried, and I said that I would see her the next workday. I wasn't sure if that would be tomorrow, Friday. As it turned out, I didn't come in on Friday after the hurricane, but I did come on Saturday. Victoria was there on Saturday.

Overall, I made good progress with Victoria, but I wasn't able to get her placed in a treatment center for eating disorders. Instead, she ended up moving in with another patient that she had met in the hospital.

Success and Accomplishments
 

It was amazing to me that I was able to overcome the social anxiety that I had throughout most of my life. The only manifestation of this anxiety existed when I had to lead therapy groups. I needed to be able to meet the challenges and do what the job required.

This was the career I had chosen, and I was determined to succeed. The sense of accomplishment that I felt in what I was doing - in being able to lead therapy groups - was rewarding and filled me with joy.

I had come a long way in my journey over these past 12 years!

I would feel a bit of anxiety when I had to run therapy groups, but I found a way to not let it show. I knew that I was talented and had a great deal to offer. This confidence in my competency made things easier for me. I also knew that if I wasn't doing a good job, the patients would have indicated this.

All eyes were on me during the groups, and I realized they were looking at me for guidance and treatment.

People came to my therapy groups and seemed to be getting something out of it and they seemed to want to listen to me.

Four years earlier, when I first arrived in Wilmington, I read my poetry to groups of people. I had stood up in a room and declared my love for Lynn in a poem. Now, I was doing something similar every day on the job.

There was something amazing about the realization of this. Like everything else happening in my life at this time, I didn't take anything for granted. I had a sense of awe whenever I reflected upon these things... and I did reflect upon everything that was happening.

I should say something about the setting... where I was working.

Brynn Marr Psychiatric Hospital was located near the Marine base at Camp Lejeune. Many of the patients were affiliated with the Marine base but not all, obviously.

One might imagine that post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was a common problem that patients were confronting when they were in the hospital since there are veterans and veteran families. Combat experience can cause PTSD, obviously.

That being said, there were not that many veterans with PTSD that I treated. It could be that most veterans are men and it's harder for men to talk about traumatic experiences.

I saw a large number of women who were patients at the hospital and most of them had no military or combat experience.

I did work with one patient who reported that he thought he might have PTSD due to past combat experience and his fears and concerns were related to events that might have a basis in traumatic events and experiences during combat.

As I listened to him, it became more and more obvious that he was actually suffering from a psychotic disorder.

You have to keep your mind open and listen to others. You can't have pre-conceived notions such as assuming that a story that sounds like a traumatic combat memory is that. The location where Brynn Marr was located did not dictate how I thought about the experiences or patients. In other words, I didn't look for trauma disorders.

Anyway, as I was saying above, I knew that I was good at what I do. I knew I was competent and talented. That's an amazing feeling. I had a tremendous amount of passion for helping others and I had a tremendous amount of compassion and empathy.

In the last chapter, I mentioned being employed at Brynn Marr Psychiatric Hospital. While the work with clients was rewarding, the values and norms of the setting were not a good match. I then worked in two public mental health settings. The second one was Sampson County Mental Health Center. That lasted just about 9 months before I wanted to move into private practice.

I was able to complete all the requirements for licensure as a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW) within the state of North Carolina before I left my employment at Sampson County Mental Health Center.

It was clear that whatever problems I had on the jobs at this agency or at Brynn Marr Psychiatric Hospital had nothing to do with how I performed with clients or patients.

During this time, I had sought feedback, counseling, support, and guidance from my colleagues. I had joined the local chapter of the Society for Clinical Social Workers which had regular meetings where I could interact with colleagues in a congenial setting where we got to share our ideas, request feedback on casework, and learn from one another.

It is through these meetings that I kept in touch with Chris Hauge who was a mentor of mine as I have mentioned previously.

I had approached Chris seeking advice on entering private practice because I looked up to him... I had known that he had kept a private practice for some time. He had been very supportive of my goals as they related to making a positive difference in the lives of others.

The Keys to Success and Accomplishments

As it turned out, Chris said that he was considering retirement and that he was cutting back his office hours. He offered to let me rent his office space at a certain rate per hour if and when I used the office. This was a very affordable way for me to find success.
 

I believe it was about $15 per hour - Chris wasn't using the office anyway during these hours. He told me the hours in which he used the office and when the office would be available. He shared an office with a partner - they had the main waiting room and reception area and two private office rooms where providers, like myself, could meet with clients.

If I had to build a private practice on my own, it could be challenging to get started. I would need to build a base of clients that would be paying every week for treatment with me. If you rent an office full time you have access to the building any time, day or night, but you pay a monthly rate to do this.

The cost to rent an office every month would be higher than the costs that Lynn and I were paying to rent our home - though her mother had been renting it to us and therefore we had gotten a great deal, a cheap rate for renting a home.

Chris gave me a key, introduced me to his partner and we discussed how I would record the hours in which I was going to use the office. He had a schedule I could consult to find out when the office was available.

There are so many things to consider when you are pursuing a career in this field and when you are seeking to work in private practice. As noted, I had to consider Professional Liability Insurance also called malpractice insurance, which are different names for the same thing. Chris needed to know that I had this coverage.

Billing is another issue. I had to file insurance claims for treatment with a client's insurance company or agency. So, I had to get registered with various insurance companies including Medicare.

I had contracted with someone to do the medical billing as well and I got a post office box (PO Box) for non-personal mail.

Having all my mail go to Chris' office didn't seem like something that I wanted to do yet. If I did not go to the office because I didn't have a client that day, then I might miss my mail that day. There was a place where I could get a PO Box close to our home.

It's great to have someone with whom you can consult when you are doing all these things and Chris was helpful in this regard as well.

Then I had to advertise in the newspaper and online. The internet was still a bit new in the late 90s, but I was able to create a website.

Other Advice That I Received from Colleagues

It's important to reflect upon the support I got from colleagues as well as the therapy or treatment that I had been receiving.

I became interested or curious to learn something about psychoanalysis and I began to study this formally from an organization that provides certification in psychodynamic/psychoanalytic therapy. The organization provided learning objectives, credits, coursework, as well as certifications for mental health and psychological professionals.

I would go and see Marjorie Israel, who worked out of her home. She was a clinical social worker like myself and I met her at those meetings.

Marjorie invited me to her home office. It was an interesting and scenic location. She had a nice yard with flowers and plants in a beautiful and serene garden with a curving sidewalk.

I would lay back on her couch and do free association or recount my dreams. It was reminiscent of Freudian psychoanalysis with the psychoanalyst and the couch. Marjorie said that she had to modify her approach since psychoanalysis traditionally had been done with a client coming four or five days a week for years.

Oh, I was paying her out of pocket, also. Lynn and I didn't have a great deal of money but she was supportive of me getting the guidance and support that I needed.

She also engaged in more talking than traditional psychoanalysis. 

While so much of psychoanalytic theory is hard to prove with research, I was interested in a technique where I would not be censoring anything at all. I was interested in making sure that I covered everything going through my mind – my motivations and hidden desires. I didn't want any issues from my past to interfere with my role as a therapist for clients.

It is so special that Lynn didn't ask me to work for a big agency that might offer "good insurance." We both knew that insurance wasn't the answer. She was born with a pre-existing condition. Even forcing insurance companies to cover pre-existing conditions is not a guarantee that we would need.

Starting My Practice

One of my counselors cautioned me that Wilmington was a saturated market, meaning there probably isn't a market for another psychotherapist in the Wilmington area.

I was going to prove him wrong, which would make him happy actually. I mean, he had my best interests in mind. He was speaking only about the market for therapists.

I did start to pick up clients rather fast. I had selected a few words to use in the advertisements as specialization areas that I hoped would be problems that people in the area had and/or things that interested me.  So, initially, I thought of advertising that I could help individuals who are dealing with anxiety, depression, eating disorders, and relationship issues. 

I had previously had problems with relationships which was manifested in the form of shyness, social anxiety, and social phobia. 

I added that I could use hypnosis to help with quitting smoking, weight loss, or other problems.

This seemed to work out well for me. I used a second phone number that rang at my home, but the location of where I was living was not revealed.

One guy started paying me out of pocket for weight loss.

Then I picked up a client who had relationship issues. He said that he was gay and asked if I could help. I reported that I could help. To me, relationships require active listening. So, I would demonstrate that in the sessions with the client and help him to learn how to increase his communication skills in the same way.

It's interesting that people in relationships that are non-traditional relationships will understandably want to know if we (the therapists) are comfortable listening to details about their intimate relationships.

Returning to the topic of psychoanalysis, we get terms like transference and countertransference from this field.

Transference is about how the client reacts to or responds to the therapist. It can relate to projection where a client projects onto the therapist ideas and feelings that exist in another relationship.

Countertransference is how therapists respond to the client and the client's behaviors. I was working on my own "issues" to ensure that none of my past was carried into the therapy sessions with others and would cloud my judgment. This was part of why I went for analysis with Marjorie.

Anyway, I also picked up a client who was dealing with major depression. Another issue that I was treating was anorexia. I had taken on a client who was in college and had come home with her family hoping to return to college later.

My client base was growing, and it was getting to the point that I needed more access to the office than what was available while renting from Chris. I also found that by paying a flat rate every month, I could save money.

Recognizing these accomplishments was amazing and a cause for celebration. So, Lynn and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. Everything was amazing and a celebration was called for!

This has been an overview of the various types of clients I was seeing and the problems or issues I was treating. Later chapters will go into more detail so I will ask you to keep reading with me.

First, let's talk about family life so that you, dear reader, will know that I had another life outside the office. 

Family life is what makes life meaningful and joyful. Being able to pay attention to maintaining a balanced life is crucial when you're working in the field of mental health. Some psychiatric disorders impact us as therapists who witness the pain of others.

You might think I am only talking about the traumatic experiences of clients who have been hurt but anytime one is dealing with negative emotions all day one can find that it puts a strain on us as therapists. We listen to the despair, sadness, and negativity of others and it can have an impact on us.

The responsibility that we bear for the well-being of others requires us to have a life full of joy and peace outside the workweek. We need balance in life.

Wanting my family to be impressed with me

Of course, we want those who are part of our family to be proud of us. I was certain that I had the admiration of my brother and sister and that I had made my parents proud. As far as I could tell at the time, it had seemed that they would have been proud of me, finally. Their investment in my education had paid off. I had used it to get another degree, a graduate degree, then to get credentialed/licensed in my field.

They had to be proud. I had not been questioning this at the time. I just assumed they were happy for me as well. I had found love! That would make anyone feel good to know this about a family member.

Anyway, my career path was carefully and deliberately chosen with the aid of psychology and a psychologist/counselor when I was in college. Then in the many years after that, I pursued employment opportunities based on my aptitudes, interests, and values. While I got advice and support from others, I made all the decisions myself with the insights I was gaining.

I had told my siblings and my parents why we couldn't have children and why we couldn't have a church wedding or a marriage license - Lynn's medical care could be cut off if she lost health care coverage.

The fact that my sister worked for a company that sold health insurance was a topic I didn't know how to address. In retrospect, this had nothing to do with "insurance" because no insurance company should have to pay for a pre-existing condition. We need a medical clinic and a doctor to worry about her treatment, not an insurance agent.

Anyway, I also obviously wanted them to be impressed that I had overcome so much to achieve so much success in life. I had gone to college with zero social skills and now I was counseling others and treating people with problems I once had.

Career Success and Friends

My friends were proud of me, as was my wife, Lynn. I had a social circle of like-minded poets who were part of the poetry scene in Wilmington. These friendships continued to grow.

Sometimes when I was learning experiential therapy techniques that were part of the human potential's movement, I was able to persuade my friends to participate in encounter sessions. This would be like using these techniques for those of us who are not coming together to work on a psychiatric problem. You don't do therapy with your friends or your wife for that matter.

I might invite my friends to try something like psychodrama – a fancy word for role-playing. Alternatively, I demonstrated guided imagery and visualization techniques.

It was nice to see that my friends were interested in what I was learning and wanted to try things out with my guidance.

I also demonstrated clinical hypnosis with Lynn. She was receptive to the idea of visualizing her body fighting the symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis... maybe visualizing where the congestion was and directing her body to try to loosen it up.

Anything to bring healing was worthy of trying.

Most of the time she kept falling asleep when I did this. This was a bit frustrating to me but amusing.

I guess it reflected the trust and serenity Lynn found when she was with me.

Lynn's Extended Family Visits

Lynn had a cousin who came to visit a few times and we went to Scranton, Pennsylvania to see her cousins.

One of those occasions, when they came to visit us, was in the summer of 1997. This was so much fun because the kids loved me. They had two girls. One of them Becca (short for Rebecca), was maybe five years old when she met me, and her sister, Tammy was 12.

We gave her cousin, Mary, and her husband Frank, the spare room that had a couch that opened into a bed. Their daughters Becca and Tammy slept in the other room where we had the bookcase and the computer.

Unlike visiting my parents during this time, it never crossed my mind that there would be an issue with the fact that Lynn and I had not had a wedding. We certainly didn't pretend to sleep in different rooms or in a separate bed.

I believe I only made one visit to my parents for Christmas as a result of Lynn saying that we should sleep in different beds. That might have been right after we moved in together in 1994 and were living as husband and wife. So, we have jumped ahead a few years and I don't know if it would have even occurred to us in 1997 to consider sleeping in different beds at this point. 

It's worth noting that when we went to visit them in Pennsylvania even before this, it never occurred to Lynn to bring up the topic of sleeping arrangements. Of course, we were going to sleep in the same bed or bedroom when we were visiting.

Getting back to her cousin's visit in 97...

On the first day of their visit, we went to the beach at Carolina Beach. This wasn't far from where Lynn and I had gone on our first date all those years earlier.

I loved spending time with both Becca and Tammy.
 

We found a spot on the beach where the waves came from the open ocean. And after the grown-ups, not including me, got comfortable, I was being called upon by Becca and Tammy to go into the water.

As we started walking into the ocean, Becca reached up with her hands to me and said, "pick me up."
 

So, I held her in my arms and the three of us -Tammy, Becca, and I - went into the deeper water as they requested.

We were riding the waves.

I was drinking salt water and asked for a break to wash out the nasty taste in my mouth.

Becca was soon asking to go back into the water.

I looked at her mother, Mary, and asked, "how far can she go?"

Mary said, "as far as you want to go."

I thought, "of course, it's not like I'm going to let anything happen to Becca. Plus, she can swim."

I knew there wasn't a rip current that can pull you under very easily so I felt confident that we could keep going as far as they wanted to go.

We went far enough that when we were riding the waves, my feet were barely able to touch the bottom without being in over my head. I would try to jump up at times and Becca would stand on my legs pushing me down at that moment when I was about to jump up and over the waves.

It was so amazing and so much fun. I felt like a big brother or a father figure. It didn't seem that her father had any problem with the fact that the kids wanted to spend more time with me than with him... Lynn's cousin didn't mind this either.

The "grown-ups" stayed on the shore talking. What I mean is that Lynn, her cousin Mary, and her husband Frank were deep in conversation while we - Becca and her sister Tammy - played in the ocean.

Yeah, this was so exciting. I think that I was meant for this.

They spent a few days with us, and I became the one that was responsible for entertaining the kids. I didn't mind and in fact, I loved it.

I noticed my heart was racing the entire time. I couldn't sit still. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, though. I just was full of energy and excitement. I couldn't even slow down enough to use the bathroom; I was so full of energy.

I took both the girls to the nearby grocery store and a few other places because they wanted to spend time with me. I let myself be carefree and child-like. Yes, I was a responsible adult, but I still had the ability to be playful.

This might be useful when I do play therapy if I get clients who have children.

Then the girls, Tammy and Becca wanted to go roller skating. So, I went outside in our neighborhood and let them skate there. 

Lynn and I were living in the house at 2240 Brucemont Drive, the place her mother had bought for us. It was a quiet street without much traffic so that was ideal for this.

During the visit, the grown-ups wanted to go roller skating too. That was the only thing I could not do. The little girls were completely able to do this.

Lynn and her cousin, Mary and Frank could roller skate, along with the girls but I could not do that.

We drove to the University of North Carolina, Wilmington campus. They had a network of sidewalks where they could go roller skating. We rented roller skates for the adults. The girls had brought their own skates.

Lynn encouraged me to try to skate. I could not get moving. It was frustrating. Everyone else could do this and I could not. I gave Lynn my hands and let her pull me around on the skates for a little while. This was one of the times, other than at bedtime when Lynn and I were alone together. We let the others go ahead and skate while Lynn tried to teach me how to skate.

Her cousin or the girls would approach us, say a few words and it seemed that they could sense that I felt uncomfortable and frustrated. I wasn't being rude but I said I felt embarrassed.

Finally, I just took off the roller skates and walked a bit next to Lynn. The girls were roller skating still.

We later drove up to Scranton, Pennsylvania, and stayed with her cousins for a few days.

Welcome and Unwelcome Touching

What I am about to describe is important to note because not all sexual touching is welcome, and gender has nothing to do with that. I have been touched in my genital area when I did not want that to happen and had said so. That would be sexual assault.

No, means no! No matter what!

Lynn was a bit mischievous on the drive up there. While I was driving, she unzipped my pants and started stimulating me. I said, "what if someone comes up on the right?"

She knew what made me feel pleasure and how I liked to be touched. It had to be gentle and there are places where I do NOT want to be touched down there. But Lynn knew how and where to touch me and where not to touch me.

This was different than the impression I got from my parents. My mother would describe sex as something she owed to her husband. She had said when I was a young adult that "even if she might not be in the mood, she understood that a man has needs."

Yuck, that seemed so cold, unromantic, and just plain disturbing. I also had rejected all those traditional ideas such as the man being the head of the household.

I felt lucky to know that she wasn't the one in the relationship who had to wait to initiate sexual contact, which was something I had been noticing for a few years now. I liked that a great deal.

I wanted a more egalitarian relationship, and I definitely did not want to be the person within the relationship that had the greater sexual appetite or interests.

Like the highway we were traveling, the relationship was a journey that we both were on together.

Spending Time in Pennsylvania with Lynn's Cousin

When we were staying with her cousin, Lynn and I slept on an inflatable mattress on the floor in their living room, but Lynn's cousin gave us their kid's bedroom to get dressed and shower.

There's a contrast that stands with my own family and Lynn suggesting that we sleep in separate beds when we are in their home. Granted I am now talking about events in 1997 but even if it was 1994, right after Lynn and I moved in together, it would NEVER have occurred to anyone in Lynn's extended family to ask us to sleep in different beds or imply or suggest this. 

It just would never have occurred to anyone.

If I had been more assertive and just said to my parents that is not acceptable and we either won't visit for Christmas or we will get a motel, Lynn would have gone along with that.

With her cousins like with her mother, that was the last thing that ever crossed my mind or their minds! 

I feel a need to make that clear, dear reader.

Again, when we came to visit them, I was like the big brother or babysitter. I suppose that word is a misnomer when it comes to spending time with a girl who is in her early teens. I was the one who spent time with the kids while the "grownups" did their thing together.

It was exciting for me. Lynn was happy to see her cousin.

The girls loved to show me places, where we could walk to have fun - the park, a nearby school with swings... or they would show me things in their rooms. We played games in the yard or on the driveway outside. They weren't tomboys. They just liked having fun and showing off.

Many people have noticed how much I enjoy and relate well to kids. Lynn's cousin clearly enjoyed, and Lynn appreciated, the freedom that they had while I occupied the kids.

They could just forget about their kids for a few days!

It was a perfect arrangement!

Does this imply that I wanted to have kids? Yes, of course. Lynn felt bad about this. She knew that I understood the situation and she knew that I was in love with her.

I might love my job. I might love the kids but being in love with your wife is obviously different. Neither the job nor the kids in my life when they were around could meet the deeper and more profound needs that exist for a person like me or for a couple. At least that was always my impression.

Lynn was mine, chose me, wanted to live with me, and that, more than anything else, brought me the deepest and most profound joy and serenity.

I haven't known anything more profoundly important than this love that we shared. Nothing else has meant as much to me as Lynn.

Some parents have described the bond they have with their children to be even more important than that of a couple. I can't imagine a more intimate bond than Lynn and I had. 

In the last chapter, I mentioned that my private practice had grown so very fast. It was amazing. There were many different clients that I was seeing with different problems or issues.

I had been getting so many clients and so it would be more affordable to get my own office than to rent an office from Chris at the rate of fifteen dollars per hour. I began to do this calculation when I had been spending close to 40 hours in a week face to face with clients. 

Getting My Own Office

With the support and help of Lynn, I selected a location in downtown Wilmington, on Chestnut Street.

The rent was about $400 per month. Since I had been paying Chris $15 per hour when I used his office, every hour after 26 per month cost me more than $400 in the month. So, it was clearly more cost-effective to have my own office since I was easily needing the office for more than 26 hours. 

Within about a month, I was spending more than 26 hours with clients in one week. In a month, I would be losing a tremendous amount of money by paying $15 per hour to Chris. Don't get me wrong, the kindness of Chris was infinitely valuable to me. Getting my own office was just the most cost-effective action to take. 

Everything was amazing and wonderful beyond my wildest dreams. This was real. I was feeling so proud of everything I had accomplished. I knew I had finally reached the height of my success - everything that I had been dreaming of for so long.

Lynn and I met with the receptionist at the location, and she was really nice. She said that she would meet and greet clients when they come in and ask for me. Of course, she knew about confidentiality.

They had a nice waiting room that was never full. A lawyer had been renting the office next to mine. It was a long building with about 10 different offices down the hallway. There were a few other therapists like me and others in different businesses.

Next to my office, there was a conference room that any of us could use. There was a calendar behind the counter where the receptionist sits that is used to book the conference room when you expect that you will need it.

I now had two phone numbers to give my clients. One of them went to the receptionist and she would ring my office if I was in and not in session. I had a way to indicate that I am with a client and should not be interrupted.

It was late in 1998 when I made this transition... from a small private practice and renting an office for a few hours per week from Chris Hauge to having my own office with a receptionist, a waiting room of my own, full ownership of the single office room, and access to a conference room.

Lynn and I started looking for deals at yard sales to decorate the office. We went to Office Depot and bought a desk and a nice comfortable chair for me to sit in next to the desk. We had to act quickly because everything was happening fast.

We picked up a nice or fairly decent couch for a great price at a yard sale. I obviously cannot remember now decades later what things looked like. We also picked up a few nice pillows to make the couch comfortable. No one was going to sleep here but they could be helped to feel more comfortable.

We also picked up a whiteboard for notes and illustrations with clients. Obviously, I needed to put my degree up on the wall along with my license and certifications, i.e., the certification as a Clinical Hypnotherapist with ASCH (the American Society of Clinical Hypnosis) as well as other certificates I received at various training workshops.

Lynn was a great help in picking out and decorating the office. I am not someone who cares how things look, so I needed help to feel comfortable that I had an office that looked inviting, comfortable, and professional. I am sure I would have been self-conscious if I didn't have Lynn's help.

I knew we needed - I needed - a couple more chairs in case I wanted to do group therapy. I figured I would need to do more of this than the availability of the conference room might allow.

The conference room had a big table that filled most of the room. There was a phone in there and a large whiteboard at one end of the room.

I also picked up some toys, a toy box, dolls, and a few other things. this was for play therapy. There was a couple that came to me to get help with their children. So, I needed a way to work with them. It is easier to work with children by letting them play if they are under the age of ten or twelve.

I had studied play therapy since that time when I was a first-year intern at the New Hanover County Mental Health Center in 94. While I wasn't thinking I would have lots of kids come to see me, I thought I should have something for kids if necessary or if it would be helpful.

The receptionist could call clients if necessary, she could help with typing, make copies, perhaps help with billing, as well as accepting payments from clients as they come in or after a session. I had a billing person who would help with billing clients for their sessions, so I didn't ask the receptionist to do any of that.

We discussed the ideas about what she might want to do for me. I thought that due to the need for confidentiality that I would make calls to clients, but she could certainly pick up calls if they called into the office to cancel, reschedule, or to state that they were running late. She would announce to me when someone showed up and I would come down the hall and greet them.

I didn't like having to collect payments myself, but I still felt that it would make sense for me to arrange payment agreements and accept payments personally rather than have the clients pay the receptionist, most of the time. Sometimes clients would leave a check upfront with the receptionist.

Sometimes, I would get anxious if someone was running late and I would walk down to the waiting room to see if I had missed the announcement. Plus, the receptionist only worked nine to five, Monday through Friday.

After those hours, I had a key to enter the building, a key code to enter into the alarm, and I was expected to lock the door, obviously.

So, I was ready to get to work.

This was amazing! It was a time for celebration! I wanted to tell everyone I knew just how thrilled I was. I wanted to celebrate!

It was so wonderful to have someone to share this with - Lynn. So, we marked it with dinner and marked the occasion as it was so important ... I wanted to mark the importance of this accomplishment through a metaphorical plaque of honor to be remembered as an important marker in the history of my life and I want it told for generations to come!

I did it! And a celebration was just what was called for. 

I was reading a number of different books when she came to me. I had a few books stacked near the bed. It was April 15, 2000. A normal day in the life of a psychotherapist who felt on top of the world.

Yes, I'm talking about me.

Two of the books were somewhat related to one another. One was from the study material that I had on psychodynamic/psychoanalytic therapy. I had been pursuing credentials in this area though I was aware that the theories were hard to prove.

I suppose there are a number of concepts from psychodynamic/psychoanalytic theory that is useful to know as a therapist. Defense mechanisms, like projection and transference, rationalization, and repression.

Then there was a book on ego state theory. This did seem like a valuable framework for understanding the different states of mind that describe the normal processes of life. Making love is a state of mind altogether different than other states of mind - I certainly am not in that same state of mind when I am at work.

The other book was called "Paperclip Dolls." This was peculiar. It was written by a woman who had different alter personalities put this book together. She said she used pictures from magazines to create a scrapbook that depicted parts of herself. Hmm.

Was she one of the dolls? That seemed to be what she was suggesting. She seemed to have discovered aspects of herself from the work she had done using these pictures that she cut out of the magazines.

I had only recently stumbled upon this book.

I had been treating people with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) which is discussed in greater detail, dear reader, in another book in this series of memoirs. There were some conspiracy theories circulating about government mind control and other bizarre things. I had clients who were sharing some unusual ideas about what had happened to them early in life.

Treating DID was only a small part of what made up my private practice. Dissociative Identity Disorder used to be called Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) and it is based on the idea of people having different personalities due to early life trauma.

I had been searching the web for information about DID, treatment, abuse, trauma, and other terms. Those were keywords I used in my searches. I found forums, chat rooms, web sites. Directories and more. Some were directed perhaps to therapists and other mental health professionals. However, even those were available to the public.

Many confused people could end up believing in things that never happened. Delusions. Some people seemed to have become certain about what happened to them, and yet if it were true, it would be an explosive conspiracy theory or set of conspiracy theories.

What had happened to these people? So many curious ideas were running through my mind. My mindset was somewhat philosophical. Curious. Inquisitive.

I let that go. I looked up and Lynn was at the bedroom door.

She had a mischievous smile on her face. "I want sex," she said.

"Me too," I said, my face lit up with a smile. I took off my shirt as she was unbuttoning her shirt.

She dropped her pants on the floor and removed her bra. Seeing her breasts, I felt aroused and excited. My heart was racing with excitement. I was aroused as I removed my pants. I paused captivated by the sight of her as if I was seeing her for the first time.

She dropped her pants and underwear and I paused for a moment to take in the sight of her and she let me look. Lynn knew how much pleasure I found in looking at her. No doubt, it felt good for her to know she was so beautiful to me.

"Perfect," I said. She smiled. Looking down she noticed I was excited, but she let me look for a moment as I paused taking in the sight of her... adding the words "Amazing! Beautiful!"

I started to move toward her but before I got very far, she was getting onto the bed.

She was on top of me, her tongue inside my mouth, mine inside hers. We were moving. She was on top.

I could feel both of our hearts as she pressed her lips against mine. Her arms around me squeezed tighter and tighter. I could feel her breasts against my chest.

She said, "I feel like I can't get close enough."

"I know," I said, returning to kissing her.

She was supporting herself somehow, just slightly elevated near our waists.

She paused for a moment as she felt me between her legs. "Oh, you're too close, sweetie," she said with a sigh of pleasure all the same.

This might be confusing but remember, Lynn can't get pregnant. She was telling me that she wanted to be a part of me when she said she can't get close enough, but despite that desire, she had to be sure that she didn't get pregnant.

She continued to move and wrap her arms closely around me. Her kisses were so desperate and passionate. She was hungry! So was I.

Our arms and bodies moved as I caressed Lynn and she squeezed me tighter. I had a habit of letting her squeeze maybe because I was concerned about her comfort.

Those words repeated in my mind. "I feel like I can't get close enough."

"I feel like I can't get close enough."

I dropped a bit and let go with a smile. She sensed what had happened.

She just smiled. "I came already," I said.

"That's okay."

She was still above me smiling.

I asked genuinely curious, "that was good for you?"

"Yeah. I am glad you felt good."

"But you didn't."

"Yes, I did," she said.

"Not really," I said... adding "You were so hungry for sex and you didn't have an orgasm, how can that be good enough?"

"We can do that another time, she said, adding, "I'm happy."

"Wow, so am I," I said with a chuckle.

I reflected upon how amazing it was that this was happening so often, nearly every day as if we had just gotten engaged... as if this was the "honeymoon phase" that I heard described somewhere – something that exists for one year.

The passion was so incredibly intense. You would think we had just gotten engaged a few months ago... or that we had not seen each other in a few weeks or months.

She got up to start the shower for us. I lay for a moment reflecting on things.

I felt a wave of serenity wash over me.

I was in love. Because she was in love with me. We were one.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you so much" I added.

I then smiled or laughed a bit.

"What?" she asked.

"I was thinking of that song by the Moody Blues and how I would like to sing it to you, but I can't... I can't sing."

"'Cause I love you,
yes, I love you,
oh, how I love you,
oh, how I love you.'

I like the way the singer sings those words like he is overcome with a feeling that MUST be cried out the same way you cannot contain yourself when we make love. But it's not the same thing, I can and would cry out those words in public. Then it repeats... those same words.

'Cause I love you,
yes, I love you,
Oh, how I love you,
oh, how I love you.'"

Then I said, "That's how I feel! I want to tell the whole world that I love Lynn."

I then added, "and you KNOW I would do just that, over and over, no matter how many times someone has heard it!

She just smiled.

I had the thought that I would have shouted these words out to the world not just after we made love but anytime. So often and in so many ways I felt these feelings of intense love for Lynn and an intense desire to tell everyone about it.

Shortly later that evening, I was still thinking about Lynn's happiness and what that meant for her.

I thought about how much I cared about her happiness, her dreams, and her aspirations. She wanted a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree – could I help with that?

What about a kiln so that she could bake her pottery at home? Maybe I could earn more money and buy that for her.

This section of my book describes events that are dark and horrifying. This marks a radical change in the narrative of the book. Nothing that happened prior to now could have prepared me for the horrors that await.

At the end of the last chapter, I was on top of the world. I certainly would not have wanted anything to change. I would have done anything imaginable to hold onto the life I had with Lynn. I was crazy in love.

My career that I had spent the past sixteen years building was about to come to a sudden, crashing end.

Most of the events described within the chapters of this entire section occurred within one month - August of 2000.

John Freifeld became obsessed with destroying my credibility and my career. He had moved from Virginia to Wilmington and moved in with the first person he referred to me for treatment. He would brainwash some of my clients into thinking that I was the cause for all their problems and why they weren't getting better. That included one client, Sadie, who had successfully completed therapy with me and previously had said she was very satisfied with the care that I had provided.

Freifeld composed a complaint letter to the North Carolina Social Work Certification and Licensure Board (NCSWCLB) on behalf of five of my clients, including the client who had been satisfied with my care when I last met with her for therapy. The complaints were the same, verbatim.

One of the complaints was that I planted false memories of Satanic Ritual Abuse. I had previously looked into how it was that two of my clients had begun to believe that these bizarre things happened to them as children.

Everything that mattered to me was under assault. Lynn's disease suddenly took a turn for the worse. This more than anything was terrifying to me. She was my whole life. I was madly in love with Lynn. She was part of me. We were one body. We were husband and wife.

How do you cope without the one person that connects you to the world and everything meaningful in the world? Whatever success I had found in life was made all the more beautiful and amazing because I could share it with Lynn. Now her life was in jeopardy.

The issues that clients presented to me could be addressed with rational reasoning. That had worked for a while. However, there was no similar way to cope with the loss of the entire life I had built with Lynn. Again, most of the chapters in this section occur within one month of 2000. So, there wasn't time to go ask a therapist for advice or guidance.

Previously, I would ask my colleagues, therapists, psychologists, or my psychoanalyst how I might handle complicated matters that might have an impact on my success as a psychotherapist. Now things were changing too fast - literally from one day to the next. It wasn't clear to me when I should have canceled all appointments with every client.

It would have been easier if I caught a serious illness like a virus in August of 2000. Then I would have known to cancel all appointments for as long as necessary. It's easier to tell when we have something physical happen to us. 

There are things of such darkness and horror—just, I suppose, as there are things of such great beauty—that they will not fit through the puny human doors of perception.
 

- Stephen King, from Skeleton Crew

Days before, things were normal. We were happy. We weren't focused on the fact that Lynn had a terminal illness that she had been born with. I am not saying we were unaware of this fact, but life just seemed normal... until it wasn't.
 

This might seem hard to understand to an observer. I guess we needed to believe that something could be done about the problem... that they would find a cure and we would live happily ever after.

Cystic fibrosis reminded us that it was a part of our lives. It seemed like a petulant child who had to be noticed. It was part of Lynn. She had that gene defect such that when a person has two copies of this recessive gene, they always have the disease.

We had lived a life that we wanted to be "normal." Lynn's health had been good for someone with this disease. So, we were lucky.

Most of the events in this chapter occurred in August of 2000. However, things started to change in late July 2000.

We noticed in late July two things that were very troubling. One was that Lynn was losing weight, and the other was that she was having trouble breathing. That can happen from time to time with Cystic Fibrosis, so the full weight of this didn't hit right away.

I had not noticed, but Lynn told me she was having trouble keeping weight on her. To me, she still looked perfect - beautiful as ever. This is one of the signs of deteriorating health for someone with Cystic Fibrosis. She had to take pills with every meal the entire time that I knew her. It was routine. However, it is a reminder that the disease impacts her digestion.

We knew that something was wrong because she was struggling to breathe. She would become weak just doing routine things around the home. She also couldn't go to work.

It's hard to talk about this without crying. I know it's hard to understand what it is like unless you are living with this.

We went to the clinic on July 21, 2000, in Chapel Hill, which was about two hours away. They admitted her to the hospital for IV antibiotics. They had found on an x-ray that there was a heavy mucus build-up throughout her lungs and there were large black marks that indicated scarring. Her oxygen saturation was lower, which meant that she wasn't getting enough oxygen in her body. 

This lasted until July 28.

When she got back, she was having the same problems with breathing.

When Lynn started getting sick in August of 2000, she set up a place to eat and watch TV in the spare room that we had. She was short of breath and needed me to bring her food in there. She would fall asleep in there because she was too tired to walk back into the bedroom. We also couldn't make love or enjoy any kind of passionate togetherness.

Every night before going to sleep, she would also use a machine that delivered inhaled antibiotics, steroids, and other medications to open her airways. I brought this setup into the other room also.

Lynn and I had never slept apart in all the years we were living in this home, together, other than one month but it had to be with my work. That could not work out well for me, so the job only lasted a month. There were a few times when I was on call for a job or away at graduate school when we slept apart, but that was it.

Wasn't everything just perfect the other day? Wasn't she telling me how close she wanted to be to me? She said "I feel like I cannot get close enough to you" as she wrapped herself around me and kissed me so passionately. It felt like just the other day even though that was in April. But in May, June, and July, things seemed great and normal. If she had been getting worse, it wasn't noticeable to me until this time in late July.

What I mean is that it was almost like one day everything seemed so perfect and right and then Lynn was sick. Very sick!

These changes in her health hit me like a loud, hard slap in the face. Each time I saw her struggling to get enough air to walk across a room, I was so frustrated, angry, and I felt powerless.

I thought "this is not right! She is only 34!"

She had been talking about getting a Master of Fine Arts degree from the University of North Carolina. 

She should be thinking about those things! She should be thinking about normal life and a career just like I had built a career. I was so bitter. This wasn't right! It was not fair!

She needed me to bring her meals to the spare room where she was having to spend most of her time.

She was gasping for air at times. I could see that she was short of breath. It was so maddening for me because I couldn't fix the root problem. I could bring her food and things she needed but that wouldn't fix the problems.

Sometimes I didn't want to wait on her because it meant admitting how bad her health was, and that meant she might be closer to losing her fight with this disease. I was terrified. I also felt guilty for not wanting to be there for her whenever she asked!

I felt shame for my actions! I do know that Lynn understood the feelings of powerlessness that I felt. She knew this was taking a toll on me. I wasn't being mean and irritable at her for asking for my help. But, I was in denial.

"Of course, I will carry you into the bathroom and help you shower," I would answer later to make up for my bad previous behavior.

Later, Lynn said she wished I had kept in touch with our friends on a regular basis. She was struggling and didn't think she could be the source of support that I needed. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to think that I should reach out to a friend for support.

Inpatient Hospitalization

Lynn was admitted to the hospital again in August of 2000.

I was blaming myself for every way I had failed to help her enough. I felt guilty that maybe I had not done enough to clear the mucus from her lungs. I mentioned earlier that I would do something that involved tapping on her back, her left and right sides, and on her chest. This was to break up or loosen the mucus that built up in her body. This excess mucus was a breeding ground for infections.

These infections and excess mucus were causing problems with her breathing.

I felt guilty that I had not kept the house cleaner. Lynn was worried that dust and other particulates could get into her lungs.

So, we went to the University of North Carolina Medical Center Hospital in Chapel Hill, because they had specialist doctors who worked with cystic fibrosis and other lung diseases - they call them pulmonary specialists.

The IV antibiotics are adapted to the person's body. They also have different ways of delivering antibiotics. Once she was admitted to her room, they set about inserting an IV in her arm. This time, they had to run the IV all the way up her arm to get it closer to her heart which will pump the antibiotics throughout her body and I guess it is close to her lungs, where the infection was.

This was unusual, more complicated, and a longer process.

It was painful to watch them piercing her body with a needle. I would NEVER have let anyone do anything to break or bruise her skin under normal circumstances. It was killing me to see this happening as I held her hand.

No, this wasn't the first time she had IV antibiotics, but this was so difficult for her and by extension, it was difficult for me. I was trying to be strong for Lynn. We were both crying.

As they finished getting the IV into her, I had to get up and walk a bit to keep from passing out. I paced around that floor of the hospital and returned to her side. I felt ashamed for leaving her. It was just a few minutes and I had made it through the procedure, but I was beating myself up for every failure on my part.

This reaction on my part had not happened previously when she had to go into the hospital. There was something more symbolic and disturbing about this time. This time the reality of her survival was the thing that overwhelmed me.

I stayed with her and tried to do anything she wanted or needed. Anything to make the time more passable for her.

They let me sleep in the bed with her. I don't think they had the heart when looking at either of us to ask me to leave. I think there are dorm rooms or other places where family members can stay when someone is in the hospital.

I must have looked like hell. I felt so overwhelmed.

The days were something of a blur. It felt like a bad dream.

I would tell myself, "This isn't happening."

You cannot unsee the woman you love gasping for air or short of breath doing just the smallest of things... routine things.

My entire reality was now like being in a fog, or I felt like I was in a dark and misty place. I felt like I had wandered out into the mist and sanity itself was somewhere in the distance like dim lights along the coast as seen from a boat on the ocean.

Things were changing for me and I felt powerless over it all.

I felt such despair and hopelessness.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. They were going to find a cure someday. A cure for cystic fibrosis. I had hoped and prayed so long and desperately. This was happening too fast for me. One day you are on top of the world, the next day the love of my life is fighting for her life and might die.

I tried reaching out to my family. Lynn had said she wished I had kept in touch with our friends, but for some reason, I thought to reach out to my parents and maybe my siblings.

I was about to find out that to my surprise they didn't have the capacity at this moment in time to demonstrate any compassion or concern during all this.

What kind of mother, father, sister, or brother doesn't know that this is extremely painful and a time when I would need help and support? That's a rhetorical question. I am sure that my readers understand the pain I am describing.

In their defense, I suppose I shouldn't assume anything. I can only imagine but I cannot know what was going through another person's mind

In a previous chapter, I hinted that I was losing my faith. That isn't entirely true. I did pray desperately that what was happening now would change, that Lynn would get better, stronger, healthier. I also prayed that the pain I was feeling would be bearable also, so I could be there for her.

I had those feelings of a fog hanging over me as I tried to navigate life overall. I had an important role to play in the lives of others. I was a psychotherapist.

The nightmare of everything happening with Lynn was about to get more complicated and confusing.   

[Disclaimer: I have used aliases to protect the confidentiality and identity of clients or patients. No other names have been changed.]

I knew that something was happening to me. This was different than what I had ever experienced previously in my life. So far, I described the impact of what was happening to Lynn and what that did to me.

I tried to act like things were going to be okay with Lynn. For a while, we might have thought things could return to normal.

I drove back home on Monday knowing that Lynn was going to be in the hospital for a while.

I tried to return to work thinking I could still do my job. I had an appointment to see a woman and her two children. Both parents were asking me to work with their children because they were going through a difficult divorce. I had been working with both clients, the mother, and father for some time.

Play therapy seemed to be just the thing I needed. I had met with each parent as well. 

I had a few other clients that didn't seem to present too many challenges. One was an older woman, named Anne, who was dealing with major depression and some addictions - not to alcohol or drugs but to sex. She wasn't really old at fifty-eight.
 

Something happened on three separate days in August. I was falling asleep on those days.

This is going to sound strange because I have no factual proof of what was happening, what caused the problems I was having, or why.

Alice just happened to come in during the morning on those three days. Alice had come down from Pennsylvania or Virginia with a guy named John Freifeld. He was practicing therapy without a license, without any credentials. He had not even gone to college other than maybe a community college and he had not studied psychotherapy. 

He and I had a falling out earlier around issues related to what he was doing. He was diagnosing people with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and it was really messing with people's minds. I had some of them as clients and they thought they might have DID but I was wondering if that was actually the case.

To this day, I have no recollection of what Alice discussed in any of her sessions or what she looked like. I just know that she came down to Wilmington North Carolina with John Freifeld.

I have told this story many times to different therapists so while I do not recall what Alice looked like or what she discussed, I do know the dates and times when she came to meet with me during the year 2000 when this was happening.
 

She like a few other clients of mine were getting support or treatment from John. 

Now, in the 2000s, it's possible for people to be peer support specialists based on their lived experience. John was not my client but I knew from my clients that he didn't have that training or those credentials, either. Maybe he was jealous of me or he just was obsessed with hurting me.
 

As an aside, I would later learn that he knew that people like me had between $1 Million and $3 Million in liability insurance. This will be an important fact to know later because while he wasn't my client he was very persuasive and so I wondered if he somehow intended to benefit from a civil suit that my clients might bring against me. 

Bear with me while we deal with some events that are and were confusing to me as well as disorienting.  

So, as I was saying, I remember having an appointment with Alice on this day, two days after I returned from Chapel Hill having seen Lynn. This is important to know because the "sleepiness" I am about to describe would have been more likely on Monday after driving all night.

It was Tuesday, the 8th of August of 2000 when Alice came in during the morning, at 10 AM. I let her go to the office while I used the restroom. I had a big Coca-Cola that I picked up at the convenience store near my office on Chestnut Street in downtown Wilmington. This was the first time that I noticed something unusual happening to me. I had a 32-ounce cup. I remember this because I needed the caffeine that day.

I was unusually tired from driving back from Chapel Hill where Lynn was in the hospital. But that was late Sunday and now this was Tuesday.

I found myself struggling to stay awake! That's all I remember about what happened after Alice came to the office.

Over time I have found that my mind wanted to fill in details about these sessions with Alice but honestly, there is just a blank spot in my memory around everything related to her other than the sense that I became extremely sleepy after she came to see me.

I have memories of going to the men's room and splashing water on my face during this hour with Alice. I thought pacing or cold water would wake me up, but the feeling lingered for hours.

Rebecca came in at 1 PM and laid down on the couch facing the wall perpendicular to me as she always did. She was tall and attractive. She had been coming to me because she had relationship issues - she had been unfaithful with her husband and she thought she needed help with her sexual addiction.

Today, again, I had to get up again and use the restroom to try to wake myself up.

"How could I help anyone if I could not stay awake?" I couldn't think clearly enough to figure out what I should do at this moment.

Vanessa came in the next day. She was one of my clients with DID who had been coming from the Myrtle Beach area. She had just been released from the hospital for treatment related to her condition – DID. Her psychiatrist had made those arrangements.

She had been suicidal, though, for a person with DID, it manifested as a plan by one personality to harm "the others." Yeah, to her or them, they were a system with different people, and the fact that they all shared the same body could be forgotten by one personality or another.

Vanessa, after being released from the hospital, now was frightened that something nefarious had happened to her while she was at the hospital.

She was talking about how some cousins had raped her repeatedly at some point in the past. Sodomized her. Held her down. Again, this was that same day August 8, 2000. It was 3 PM.

One of her personalities, inside, was a teenage boy who went by the name Victor. He liked to cut the body and now he was threatening to kill the body with a gun. I wondered why she had been released if she was still in this state. I was feeling like I was responsible for finding a solution to prevent her from acting on her plans to end her life.

She showed me cuts that Victor had made on her arms and legs. She seemed amused as she described this.

Again, Vanessa spoke about her husband sodomizing her. Ironically, this was what seemed to startle me enough to feel awake finally. The way she described it made it sound like it was a brutal and sadistic form of torture.

"Sodomized," she had said. It echoed in my mind like a sharp, cutting blow to her motionless body.

She said she could not move as her husband did this. She froze. But again, her husband did this despite the fact that she had said it triggered reminders of her trauma.

Yesterday's session with Patricia came rushing back. Patricia had started therapy at the same time as another client with DID had started seeing me. They both had reported that they had known for some time that they had different personalities. Those clients found me in a newspaper advertisement. 

That seemed like a lifetime ago – about 18 months had passed.

I would think during this time that it was a good thing that Patricia had never met a few of the other clients that I had with this particular disorder of DID or who reported that this was their disorder. This distinction is important because John who wasn't a mental health professional was diagnosing people with this disorder.

Patricia had no contact with any of my other clients and I knew that John Freifeld didn't know about her. 

I had set up a support/therapy group for people with DID but Patricia never attended that group. So, she didn't have the same problems. I would learn that those who attended the group had exchanged phone numbers and were spending time together. 

Anyway, Patricia, on Monday, had described how her father had done something disgusting for reasons that were hard to understand it was so offensive. She described an abusive scenario in which he had defecated into the toilet and then pushed her face into the toilet bowl.

This event which she was describing had occurred years ago.

This might be a lot to consider and my reactions at this time were confusing. 

We have one character, John Freifeld, doing therapy and diagnosing people with DID. Some of them were clients of mine. And Alice was one of those clients that were sent to me by John. 

At the risk of sounding crazy, I wondered if there was a connection between my unusual experiences and John Freifeld seeking to hurt me or, as I will explain later, he would encourage my clients to file a medical malpractice claim against me and to file grievances with my licensure board.

On Monday, August 14th, after spending the weekend with Lynn in the hospital, I was back in the office and Alice came in at 11 AM and Rebecca came in at 1 PM.

I began to wonder if I was somehow experiencing the symptoms of my clients. Was I trying to escape in my mind from the reality of what was happening to Lynn? I mean at the time I was wondering if there was a purpose to what I was experiencing. It was one of those existential questions about suffering.

During the rest of this past week, I was so stressed about what was happening to Lynn. I couldn't sit still. I couldn't sleep. I was tossing and turning. My heart was racing. My stomach was upset almost all the time.

I knew about dissociative disorders. If I was going to zone out in response to something there would have to be a trigger of some sort.

Nothing stood out about last Tuesday and now today, Monday.

This was just nothing like I had ever experienced. There was nothing to which I could compare this experience.

Anyway, the day dragged on and I couldn't shake the feeling.

My thinking and my perceptions were foggy, like looking at the world through a fog. 

What is strange is that this was different than the metaphorical fog I felt described the experience of dealing with what was happening to Lynn. My reaction to the experiences of what was happening to Lynn was that I was agitated, anxious, my heart was racing, and I would have trouble sleeping.

Now, today, Monday, I was struggling to stay awake all day.

I had not discussed this with Lynn because I felt she had enough to deal with.

For months and years after this, I would have a powerful sensation - a memory or flashback - where I would see myself walking down a hallway and I would be thinking that the observing me wanted to shout at the vision of myself during this time, "wake up, wake up."

"What are you doing?"

Returning to this Monday in August, after returning from spending time with Lynn in the hospital...

I found myself in the men's room several times trying to wake up and squeezing my hands against my forehead and my face trying to figure out what is happening and to stay awake. I couldn't even focus on a plan as to what I should do about these experiences.

I just walked about like some zombie or a robot. How was it that no one was noticing anything?

Yeah, looking back, I would think I should have stayed home or called someone to get myself "grounded" ... just as I had helped others. My mind wasn't clear enough to do even that when it was happening.

Then the next day would come and I would be so confused about events the prior day. I wasn't sure I had dreamed what happened or if it really happened.

On Thursday, August 17, beginning late in the day it started to happen again. The fog hung over me into Friday. I wanted to say that I couldn't sleep that night, but I actually got home at 6 PM and fell onto the bed asleep.

I had vivid dreams that night. I remembered that snakes were appearing in the dreams... Sinister-looking - a diamondback rattlesnake with an expression that seemed to embody evil itself. That's just what was going through my mind. It was like I was in the presence of something evil because while the face of the snake was not distorted in any way, it had a human expression. I remembered thinking this is what evil would look like.

This was the third incident when my mind was not acting like it normally does.

As I write this, I have a degree of clarity, but it is still foggy. There are some things that I cannot recall.

As an aside, I did write a collection of poems called "Puncture Wounds" with another poet friend of mine in the late 2000s. It was inspired by my experiences with Freifeld and a few others.

My poet friend Jean had said, "maybe you did find yourself in the presence of evil." He was Episcopalian like Celta had been – it's very much like the Catholic faith. He invited me to receive some blessing at Church one day years ago.

I remember Jean had said, "if you believe in one you have to believe in the other." He meant belief in God, who is good implies a belief in Satan and evil itself. Yeah, Freifeld seemed soulless. Like a vampire. The collection "Puncture Wounds" is partially based on the themes and symbolism that go along with the vampire legend.

Reflections

These events, whatever they were, and my behavior during this time have never been explained. I have to live with that knowledge. I wanted to know like everyone else who is in an emotional crisis wants to know what happened and why. These experiences seemed to happen after I had met with Alice but I cannot be certain.

I have NEVER had experiences like this previously or since then. More than two decades have passed and I have no answers.

It wasn't a dissociative disorder because in those cases the experiences must last longer than one month. I had never heard of someone saying that they had a dissociative disorder just one time in their life.

It wasn't a psychotic break because I have never heard of anyone saying that it happened once during a brief period of their life and never again. Usually, a psychotic break is the first of a series of episodes and medication is required.

I've never been on medications for either of these conditions nor have I been diagnosed with a psychotic disorder or a dissociative disorder. 

We always have to rule out the influence of mind-altering substances. I am going to qualify my statements in this regard by saying that I have never knowingly used mind-altering illicit drugs or street drugs. I also have no evidence to support the belief that I had been drugged. I cannot say why it would have been done.

At times I have declared this idea that I was drugged, and some people have accepted it as if it were a fact. I merely stated that Alice had the opportunity to put something into my open soda cup.

The limited nature of these episodes also would have been something I would ask clients about to rule out the influence of a mind-altering drug.

There were other ways in which I was acting irrational and confused... making bad decisions. Some of this happened later. But things were never so overwhelmingly strange and bizarre as on three occasions in August of 2000.

This is all I can offer in terms of what I remember and what is lacking from my memory. The lack of any memory of Alice, what she looked like, or what she discussed is also strange and inconsistent with the rest of my experiences.

[Disclaimer: I have used aliases for clients to protect their identity and confidentiality.]

While all these things were happening, while I was trying to stay to hold onto my sanity amongst the grief over what had changed in my life with Lynn and the feelings that I had been drugged, I learned that grievances had been filed against me with the North Carolina Social Work Certification and Licensure Board (NCSWCLB). Everything was happening all at once.

This was during August of 2000. For the most part, this entire section of the book covers just one month in my life when everything changed. I was in a fog. Things didn't seem real. I was trying to process that the love of my life, Lynn, might die.

Everything had been fine just yesterday – I mean it felt like just yesterday. It felt like one day things were great and the next day I was living in a nightmare. There had been some gradual worsening of Lynn's health, as I tried to indicate previously; but I had not noticed what was happening.

I had been on top of the world, successful in my career, living a happy life with my wife. We had a "normal life." ... until it wasn't normal!

How could I mount a defense against the complaints or grievances? For me, I never imagined anyone would complain about my services. I felt shame!

Looking back, I had not been reflecting on the reality of all the people who had been totally and completely happy with me over the past decade! Easily hundreds of people!

It wasn't comforting enough to know that these individuals had been brainwashed by John Freifeld. Why was he so obsessed with me? I learned that he had composed one single grievance letter or statement and the same exact letter or statement was signed by five clients. I knew that these five clients were receiving treatment or interventions from Freifeld.

Let me give a summary of what was said. Again, this was the same exact grievance statement signed by five clients. That in itself is strange since each client had different issues. They all had Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and two of them had been referred to me by John Freifeld.

Technically, some of them may not have had DID. Not all were referred to me by Friefeld but they were all associated with Friefeld or receiving services or support from him.

They didn't feel that I could treat DID. They claimed that I insisted that I speak to their alters – ironically, that was what another client of mine named Tracy said she hated that John had done. Tracy had said that she felt like she had to respond as if she was speaking as one of these other personalities whose existence was supposed to be a part of her existence.

 She had not been involved in this grievance since she had returned and left the area a couple of months ago.

They speculated that I was working with them because they were female, and they speculated that when I left the room to use the restroom it was to masturbate! Gee, I wonder where they got such a bizarre idea? 

Tracy had to leave the area because she rejected the sexual advances made by John months earlier and things got out of hand as a result of that. 

So, one can imagine where someone might get such a bizarre idea that their therapist, when leaving the office is doing so to go masturbate! Maybe I had an overactive bladder but that's a fact I would have loved to leave out of this story.

They claimed that I spent too much time in sessions with them. They also claimed that I planted false memories of satanic ritual abuse.

What do I mean, brainwashed by John Freifeld? 

Well, Sadie was one of the clients who had left my services over two months previous to this. She had NEVER once mentioned the topic of satanic ritual abuse or anything that bizarre. She had NEVER expressed any dissatisfaction with anything I had done. Neither had her mother, other friends, and family, nor her wife. Yes, Sadie was a lesbian and she had a wife. 

She definitely never had any thoughts that I was helping her only because she was an attractive female. 

Only two of my clients even spoke about these ideas that existed in the conspiracy theories that had been circulating on the web. You might recall, dear reader, that I had done a web search to find out about the bizarre nature of what some clients had started sharing with me just a few months ago and for the first time. 

Most of them had all been working with me for well over a year and had not discussed any of these bizarre "memories."

Going down that rabbit hole had only happened as a result of what they were revealing to me. This had only just happened, it was just with two clients, and was not a part of our therapy sessions until just recently.

They had retained lawyers and filed malpractice civil suits against me as well. My malpractice insurance company assigned me a lawyer who helped with the NCSWCLB complaints/grievances as well.

Lynn was in the hospital during this time, and I was going to have to tell her about this. I dreaded bringing more stressful information to her. I knew how much she loved me and wanted me to be happy and successful. 

[Disclaimer: I have used aliases for clients to protect their identity and confidentiality.]

It was August of 2000, and Lynn was in the hospital. It would have been easier if I was physically ill because then I would know to stay home and not see any clients. Instead, I made trips back to our home and I tried to work.

On one of those days when I was feeling like I had been drugged, something very unusual happened with Vanessa, one of my clients who had been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). She had just been released from the hospital as I noted earlier.

She had been diagnosed by her psychiatrist and she had been to a treatment center for people with DID.

I didn't think she had any contact with John Freifeld until I learned that she signed that grievance letter to the board – the one that I would find out had been written by John. All this information was still coming in.

I was with Vanessa in a therapy session. I started speaking to one of her child alters. I was sitting in my office chair which had wheels on it, and it was rocking. I was dozing off. Before I knew it, she was on top of me in the office. Her lips had met mine.

I recoiled and rolled back slamming my chair against the desk behind me. No one had done anything like this to me! "What the hell," I shouted and stood up.

She was laughing and "Cinnamon" seemed to be out. That was one of her personalities that had been seductive. My hand moved up and I clenched my fist.

This triggered a change and suddenly Victor was out. When people are newly discovering their personalities, they don't switch very quickly and it looks more dramatic. The transition from Cinnamon to Victor was faster than with other clients who are newly discovering or revealing their different personalities.

He (she) took a swing at me and hit me in the face. I knew I was still looking at a female. I was completely disoriented by what had happened. But I was awake.

Clearly, I could not meet with Vanessa any longer as her therapist. Yet, I still felt shame. I was the therapist. I was so trusting.

Michelle had been drawn into this as well. When she was in therapy the next day, she said she had spoken to Vanessa and heard all about it. She had been mad and spoke up for me, she said. She was bragging that she had said that "the only reason she could hit me is that she knew I couldn't hit her back."

I was there in the hospital explaining this event to Lynn. I never kept any secrets from Lynn. I also would NEVER knowingly allow anyone to get that close to me. It just never happened. From the day I started seeing Lynn on July 4, 1992, until now, I had never had an experience like that. I couldn't quite wrap my mind around how it happened.

I should have known that Vanessa had this seductive personality, and I should have been more careful. Right? But I had been so out of it. I was dozing off.

Vanessa had that laugh that said she enjoyed my discomfort. Only the younger personalities didn't like the way Victor or Cinnamon acted toward me.

To be unfaithful to Lynn was unthinkable. I had never thought of anyone romantically other than Lynn from the moment I moved to Wilmington in April of 1992. This wasn't a pleasant experience in any sense of the word. In fact, I felt violated.

My impulse to strike Vanessa was in part a form of anger turned inward against myself. That being said, I was disgusted with what she had done!

I wasn't going to hide this from Lynn, but it still hurt to talk about anyone else getting so close to me. I had clients over the years that were attractive, but I had processed those issues of countertransference with my psychoanalyst. 

This event was not like this at all. I think Lynn knew this, but it was still shameful to bring this news to her while she was in the hospital fighting the infections in her lungs and trying to build her strength. I could tell she was hurt all the same.

I could barely speak the words of apology which was strange because I had always demonstrated guilt and remorse, whenever I said anything hurtful to her. I would profusely apologize. Now, I wanted to keep the thought, image, and idea so far away from our minds.

We moved past this, somehow.

Lynn's Hospital Struggles

I stayed and watched her try to walk around the unit and she had to do that with an oxygen tank by her side. Any moment she might need help.

I would be told that I needed to stay in the dorms, and couldn't stay all night with Lynn in the hospital but that was not enforced. I would curl up next to Lynn and hold her trying not to hurt her arm where the IV had been inserted. I am sure the nurses could see that I was crying when Lynn had faded off to sleep. I was trying to be strong for her when she was awake.

I would take her down to the lobby and outside for fresh air. Her mother was visiting as well, but that hardly registered with me. All my thoughts were with Lynn.

Let me repeat that again. All my thought were with Lynn.

Occasionally, I registered that my family barely showed any concern at all for what I was experiencing. Maybe I had shut them out somehow.

What we were experiencing.

Some of these insights only recently came to me. At the time, I was too focused on Lynn to reflect upon how messed up it seemed that I was being treated by my family. I haven't been able to talk to my sister about this to get insights into what was happening. She thinks I am deliberately trying to make her feel like a worthless sister.

They didn't come to visit Lynn or me. I mean for all practical purposes; Lynn was like a daughter-in-law. We didn't have a wedding and they knew why - it was related to Lynn's health and need for insurance. The failure of my siblings and parents to visit Lynn disgusted me.

I truly wish I had a way to discuss these things with my sister and for us to make sense of things. Unfortunately, she gets very upset when I try to do this. It's so very hard to figure out how to deal with something like this when you can't talk about it.

I was also shocked that they had not been there to visit Lynn because it just didn't make sense even for them. I don't know, maybe our family wasn't the most sentimental or emotional people, but this was just so extreme. Their seeming indifference made no sense to me. I was not spending much of my time thinking about things like that, though.

Problems with My Career

I had to explain to Lynn what was happening with my career. I said that the North Carolina Social Work Certification and Licensure Board (NCSWCLB) had received five complaints from individuals who I thought were associated with Freifeld. I was still getting information drip by drip.

I had malpractice insurance and I was assigned a lawyer by the insurance company.

I would later be informed that the grievances were known to have been composed by John Freifeld. I would also learn that the grievance statements to the NCSWCLB were all the same - verbatim. My lawyer would convey this to me over time.

Lynn didn't need to hear all the details about the nature of the complaints.

This was stressful enough for her. I knew that she wanted me to be happy and that this was overwhelming her.

Lynn's Future After the Hospital

Lynn's health was stressful enough without these things happening also. She said she couldn't focus on healing and help me deal with everything I was going through in my career and in my life.

I had the bright idea of renting a room for a couple of days to a guy. I can't even remember how I found someone to rent a room in our home.

No, he wasn't a client of mine. It's reasonable to wonder about that because, at this time in August of 2000, my life was for the most part split between taking care of Lynn, being at the hospital with Lynn, or worrying about her well-being and trying to make money.

This guy to whom I rented a room ended up stealing my car. I had left my car keys out and he drove off with my car. I called the police, but they couldn't call it a theft at first because he had lived here. That seemed strange.

Eventually, the car was located, and I found out that it was totaled. This was another stressor making Lynn's life miserable because she had cosigned for the car and we owed money on the car. This was the last thing I had intended to have happened!

Lynn's Concerns About Her Discharge

Lynn was concerned that I also had not kept the home clean enough for her and she was going to have to be on IV antibiotics when she was sent home. This was to keep fighting the infections in her lungs. As I explained elsewhere, the infections were scarring her lungs.

Lynn was worried that because I had not kept things clean enough, the dust and other particulates in the air would affect her lungs and cause more infections. So, she said she was going to move in with her mother when she was discharged. I assumed this was just temporary but I still felt shame.

What could I do at this point? She was also overwhelmed by everything I was experiencing in my life and she couldn't face all this.

Only years later would I put together the fact that she was so overwhelmed because of her love for me and her desire to see me happy and successful. So, just as her illness affected me, so had the failure of my career and my private practice affected her.

It was all too much for her. I felt survivor's guilt in a way. I wasn't the one with a deadly disease. Lynn was only 34 and it seemed like she might die. So, it wasn't like I could say that I am having a hard time myself. At least that was what was going through my mind. I was constantly beating up on myself for every way in which I was letting down Lynn. I felt worthless.

I felt powerless.

It had seemed that cystic fibrosis was about to destroy my entire life, as well as threaten the life of the woman I loved. I feel selfish to say that it was destroying my life. I cannot say that I was dying, not literally. I felt survivor's guilt because of this fact. I felt I didn't have a right to speak about how I was experiencing all of this. That might be part of the reason why I didn't reach out to friends and say, "I need your help" or "I need your support." or "I need to talk."

Lynn had known the devastating pain this would cause me. I just had a hard time thinking about "me." It's ironic that by not focusing on how this was affecting me, I didn't appreciate that this was an emotional, psychological and existential crisis for me.

To be honest, it happened too fast for me to get in to see a psychotherapist or a doctor for help to deal with this. If I had a physical sickness, I would have called my doctor and gotten an appointment in a day or so, maybe a week. With a psychological crisis or sickness that comes on so quickly, we don't think in terms of emergencies that must be addressed immediately.

I was like a walking zombie without Lynn.

She was now staying at her mother's place in Wilmington, the place on Wrightsville Beach.

I was beating up on myself for not keeping the place clean enough for Lynn to feel comfortable living in our home... but in reality, there was more to the story of why Lynn was living with her mother.

I was reflecting on the entire month that and what had happened.

We had two cats and they used the litter box in the garage. Sometimes I would forget to clean that also or before she went into the hospital the second time, I didn't want to do it myself. I had been in denial and struggling to admit to the fact that she could not do the things she used to be able to do.

Every little failure or thing I forgot to do made me feel ashamed. I hadn't been stubbornly refusing to do these things. I hadn't been angry at Lynn for not helping with any of these chores that would have been shared in the past. No, I just was in denial of what was happening and what her inability to do certain things meant.

It might have seemed like an easy calculation, that cleaning the home and doing other things to make it more likely that Lynn could come home is the most obvious thing for me to do but that just wasn't registering as something that was so obvious. Plus, I was terrified that Lynn might die. I kept pushing that thought away. In so doing, I was pushing a part of my reality out of my mind.

My normal capacity for planning and problem solving wasn't working at peak levels, to put it mildly. All the resources within me that had served me and guided me throughout the years were non-functional at this time. It seemed like those faculties had shut down.

We all need help at times in our lives - a supportive person like a therapist, friend, family member.

Dear reader, you might wonder why I could not offer myself the same support and guidance that I might offer a client. You might wonder why I couldn't draw upon my own skills. Up until this point in my life, I would have been able to step back, plan, figure out what I need to do, and then do it.

I would have done something.

I cannot overstate this fact, but I would have done anything imaginable to hold onto the life I had with Lynn – to hold onto any life with Lynn!

We were still in the month of August of 2000.

Clients depended upon me also.

Despite the grievances of those five clients, I had dozens of other clients whose therapy was going along well and things were fairly "normal" in that regard. I felt a responsibility to try to help them.

I couldn't just wallow in the grief and pain of losing Lynn forever. I also didn't know what to expect regarding Lynn's health. I felt powerless to help her so I didn't know what to do.

I had developed a coping mechanism to deal with the issues of being in love with someone who had a terminal disease called cystic fibrosis. I (or maybe we) had lived life as they say "in-the-moment." What else can you do? I mean, whether you are talking about Lynn who had lived with this her whole life all those years before she met me or if you are talking about me knowing in some way that I might not have Lynn forever, we both had to focus on what we had.

That strategy might make the best sense in a way, but it can also lead to denial. I know that this is what I was experiencing in August of 2000. In essence, it was like telling myself "This isn't happening. Everything is fine." But things were not fine. Lynn needed me and I wasn't giving her any sense that I could be there for her.

I wanted and needed to believe that the situation with Lynn living with her mother was temporary. Lynn's mother, Diane had separated from her husband, Bob, and was living down in Wilmington all the time. She had gotten a job as a psychologist in one of the schools.

On about the fourth of September of 2000, I heard Lynn tell me that she might not come back to me. I couldn't even begin to have a "logical" conversation about this because I broke down and started crying.

I was moving through life on autopilot.

I was in denial when I heard those words from Lynn that she might not come back. I thought, "this is not happening."

This is not happening. I could not wrap my mind around the reality of what I was hearing.

I reflected upon the weeks and months before the nightmare had started.

Just a few weeks earlier life had seemed so "normal." We were so in love. I had felt her body next to mine and knew that the love, passion, and romance had not faded at all in all the years we were together. If anything, it had only grown.

We had been so close just weeks earlier. Falling asleep with my arms around her. My heart and breathing synchronized with hers. I had felt such a sense of serenity as she drifted off to sleep. I tried desperately to hold onto that memory and that peace, but I couldn't.

My mind kept trying to conjure imagines and memories of this serenity of falling asleep, our bodies touching... the image of both of us facing the front window in the bedroom.

Her heartbeat and breathing slowed little by little as she transitioned into sleep. That was just a few weeks ago but it felt like the day before.

It might have been the day before but for her disease - cystic fibrosis.

There were other things that were happening in my life, but I was so consumed by the changes in Lynn's health that I could not function as I once had. I had tried to go on coping and working but things were different now.

I was just trying not to believe that it was really happening. The life that I had known for years could not end so quickly, could it? It was mid-September and I had nowhere to go.

A meteor had come crashing down upon the life I had known, obliterating everything.

I kept thinking about how everything had been so right and normal yesterday – not literally yesterday but that's how it felt.

Then everything changed and I had not seen it coming. I would have done something surely if I had seen danger ahead or if I had known that life would become so extremely challenging.

It wasn't long after Lynn first stated that she might not come back to me. How could this be? I NEVER imagined a life without her. I also had not foreseen the problems I was having in my career. Who would believe that some fraudster - John Freifeld - would be able to do anything to hurt me or my career and reputation with my clients?

I heard those words echo through my mind. I was just remembering some conversation with Lynn not long before this time when I said "what can he do to me?"

No one who had not come in contact with Freifeld was complaining about my competency or performance as a psychotherapist. I did have problems and had noticed over the past month and a half I had not been myself or at my best. It didn't seem that anyone actually noticed that I could not still provide psychotherapy for them.

People were still calling me for appointments, but I had to close down my private practice.

The fact that there were grievances at all made me think that I better put all therapy sessions on hold for a while. I didn't know where to turn for help though. It had been a few months since I had an appointment with any of my previous therapists.

I then heard from Diane, Lynn's mother, that she was planning to sell the house she had bought for Lynn and me to rent.

I had to move out of our home.

It seemed like just a few weeks ago everything was perfect in my life and in the lives of Lynn and me. But it also seemed like it was during another lifetime. How can things fall apart so fast?

My mind went to that song by Don Henley called "New York Minute." It was just the first week of September of 2000. The lyrics went through my mind.

"He had a home
The love of a girl
But men get lost sometimes
As years unfurl
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn't matter anymore"

And then Don Henley sings

"If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail."

I had tried so hard to hold onto Lynn!

Then Don Henley says

"And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fool's advice
And take care of your own
'Cause one day they're here;
Next day they're gone"

Darkness was all I knew now.

And finally, the most poignant lines from the song read

"I pulled my coat around my shoulders
And took a walk down through the park
The leaves were falling around me
The groaning city in the gathering dark
On some solitary rock
A desperate lover left his mark,
He said "Baby, I've changed. Please come back."

What the head makes cloudy
The heart makes very clear"

I was that desperate lover crying out to Lynn "Please come back!" My head might have been cloudy, but my heart was so desperately clear in what I wanted and needed with every fiber of my being.

I used to think about this many years earlier after Celta died in a fire. I had just spoken to her the previous day. Now, with those words from Lynn that she might not come back, I was lost in darkness without a compass or guide.

Not long after that, Diane, Lynn's mother, announced her plans to sell that house. I had moved out already.

A meteor had come crashing down upon my life. The home we had known was being obliterated. My home!

On September 7, 2000, I was summoned by Diane to retrieve what I might want from the home. I wanted Lynn. I didn't want to see these boxes. Lynn wasn't even there. I wondered how she was doing.

The kitchen table was still there. The living room couch still sat where we had it along with the chairs. This is where we would entertain guests - our friends - and family.

I felt like I was dead - literally. I know that might sound hard to imagine.

When we experience stressors in life, our minds and bodies react in different ways. We might become anxious and the fight or flight response kicks in. It's like being on the plains of Africa and seeing a hungry lion. Our bodies need to prepare us to run. Something like that happens in response to any type of stress that humans face - we respond based on our thoughts as if we were in physical danger.

There are other responses like the freeze response which animals use as well. One might imagine an animal playing dead as a survival mechanism. We might also think of this as a turtle withdrawing into its shell and hoping not to be noticed by a predator.

Something like that happened to me on that day when I showed up to gather what I might want. I wanted Lynn.

I was so overwhelmed, and my body felt like it was shutting down. I went into the room where we had the computer and the bookcase. It was around the corner and not visible from the living room. I put my back up against the wall on the left next to the closet with the mirrors on it.

I slid down the wall and raised my legs up at the knees and stared blankly ahead. I was vaguely aware that Diane was frustrated and angry at me.

I was supposed to be doing something. She needed to sell the place. I was expected to act. But instead, I just stared ahead blankly. Like I was dead. I wasn't trying to be difficult or put on an act of defiance. I felt dead!

I could vaguely register that she had called my mother when I didn't respond at all.

Diane was either mad at me for acting this way or frustrated.

Everything I had known was here... This was our home. It felt comfortable for me and now it was being packed up and put into boxes.

Life as I had known it was disappearing like ashes from a fire. The love of my life - Lynn - was a reality that was fading away. It couldn't be. My home was being deconstructed and taken down as if it had no meaning.

I wasn't being told that Lynn didn't want me to keep visiting her at her mother's place.

It was too easy to deconstruct the life we had. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Lynn had lost her ring.

There had been no wedding and no official marriage certificate.

We weren't talking about what this meant. There were no goodbyes.

It was a reverse of the first few years but all in the space of two months.

Lynn and I never had to talk about "are you seeing someone else?" She brought up the issue of whether we were more than just friends, one year after we started seeing each other. But it was just a formality. Everyone and anyone who saw us knew we were more than just friends back then.

The engagement happened without actual planning. I mean it was just a part of us saying to each other, "I'm in love with you." I remembered how I had given her the ring and she was in tears – tears of joy – as I opened the box. I had been shocked because I had thought she knew I was bringing her ring over that day.

We had NEEDED to live together after that. As much as Lynn needed as much oxygen as she could get so had we needed to be together.

So, when Lynn said she might not be coming back, I didn't have to ask what that meant. I wouldn't ask or speak it!

No, no, no, no!

This is NOT happening! This is NOT happening!

What happened next, I don't remember. The next few days were dream-like. I was seeing the world as if I were looking through smoke, ashes, and fog. And all I could do is watch.  

[Disclaimer: I have used aliases for clients to protect their identity and confidentiality.]
 

For a few weeks in mid-2000, I had been making over $1000 per week. Yes, indeed. I had forgotten to mention that previously in this book. Things were really taking off for me. In June, I had been putting in more than forty hours per week and loving that. I wouldn't want to do that forever, because I wanted to enjoy the life I had with Lynn - before everything happened. There were a couple of weeks where I brought in over $2000.

I had plans. All that collapsed in August and into the first week to ten days of September of 2000. I am not going to offer an itemized list of how I went from being on track to making six figures per year to nothing. The funds that I had were not all for me, of course.

I want to try to comment on the nature of what was stated by the clients who filed grievances with the North Carolina Social Worker Certification and Licensure Board (NCSWCLB). I mentioned that I knew that John Freifeld had composed the entire grievance/complaint letter for the clients. I found out from my lawyer that the board was aware that he composed the entire statement that they made.

Some aspects of this complaint letter were vague and likely a form of projection. John filled their heads with the idea that I had only been interested in meeting with them each week because I found them attractive. It seemed to me based on my experience that he was projecting his own motives toward women onto me.

I do not know exactly what was going on at the home of Jessica, the first client he referred to me when he was still living in Virginia. In case I was unclear, when sometime after John referred a few clients to me, with Jessica being the first one, he moved in with Jessica, her husband, and son. 

This arrangement grew. Clients who came to my support group for people with Dissociative Identity Disorder exchanged phone numbers and then started spending time over at the home of Jessica where John provided "support" as he called it but it was really more accurate to call what he was doing therapy. 

When I described the actions of John to my fellow clinical social workers they agreed that what he was providing therapy and that I should tell them that I cannot continue to provide therapy to them while they were seeing him. A much fuller explanation of what he was doing is available elsewhere. 

It is likely that these clients got worse due to the interventions of John and they needed someone to blame. So, when John told them they could and should file a grievance against me and sue me that must have made perfect sense.

I mentioned that I had turned to my family for support when Lynn became ill. I am not sure how hard I tried to get support from my family.

I couldn't ask Lynn's mother to reconsider selling the house and allowing this incredibly special relationship to end. I had no idea what Lynn was thinking at this point which is so painful to admit. 

My shame at not being there for Lynn made it hard to discuss what was happening to me and the problems that we had in a way that would have been easier in the past. 

We couldn't get married for health and insurance reasons, so it had seemed too easy to deconstruct our life. In retrospect, Diane knew we were living as husband and wife. So, I was like a son-in-law.

I had always been welcomed for holidays with Lynn. More than that, Diane bought the home for us. Sure, it was an investment but her decision to sell it when Lynn decided that she didn't think she would be coming back demonstrated that it was for us and that she knew that I was the one that had made Lynn so happy.

She must have remembered that.

I had nowhere to go now. Lynn took the cats. For a while, I asked to take the cats, but I was feeling sufficiently guilty, and I was on the run soon... without anything that I had known for so long. When I say on the run, I mean that I had no stable living arrangement for a long time. I had no home.

I would end up leaving my clients stranded as well without an explanation.

Dear reader, if you have any unanswered questions now, please understand one thing that is key. I was so out of it, so in shock, so unable to process everything, so overwhelmed... I couldn't figure out anything myself!

I entirely expect readers to have many more questions. When you fully appreciate my state of mind, you will understand why I do not have answers or did not know then... anything.

This might be a good time to make a transition to another section of my book. Where I went and what I did as I bounced around from place to place was as a ball dropped down some steps.

Here's a poem that I wrote as I reflected upon the horrors of this period, including the inability to handle the trauma of my clients as I had been able to do in the past.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

I'd like to think
I'm just like
anyone else -
that we all have limits...
There's only so much
we can take...
So much -
Pain... Fear... Loss... Trauma.
There's only so much
any of us can experience
and remain sane
and true to
our ideals, our values,
who we are and
the person we have become.
When the pain,
the fear, the terror,
the trauma
exceeds this limit,
We snap
and for a while
we drift away...
away to someplace
in our mind,
someplace utterly unknown,
unexpected,
outside reality...
maybe we come back
and then maybe we don't...
It depends on what
might call us back.

Through the next few years, I was someone without a plan and without hope.  I have a short chapter that is a letter to someone else who loved Lynn.

Diane was Lynn's mother. In my healing, I have come to forgive myself for my mistakes and to love myself. To develop a sense of self-compassion. It was devastating to discover that I was not mentioned in Lynn's obituary. We will get to my reflections upon that in a moment.

Dear Diane:

What I am about to write is not about me or for me. I need to honor Lynn and her legacy ... to talk to the world about her value. I'm not writing this letter for personal reasons.

I wanted to announce a book that I wrote that honors Lynn and what she offered the world. This letter is a chapter from that book. It's up to you if you want to read the book. It's my autobiography but Lynn features prominently in the book. I titled it "Memoirs of a Healer/Clinical Social Worker – Autobiography of Bruce Whealton." It can be found online.

I spend a large portion of the book trying to make sense of what happened in 2000 to me. At some point during this period, I heard that you thought I needed to have learned more about emotional intelligence. And you thought that my impulses were not in check.

I couldn't forgive myself for not being there for Lynn when she needed me in 2000 when she got sick. I never reached out like this because I imagined I didn't deserve any compassion or understanding. I understood what I would feel about anyone who caused Lynn any pain.

So, I get it. Let me repeat it. I know how I would feel toward anyone who caused Lynn any pain!

I wish I could have helped with the obituary or contributed toward telling the world how special Lynn was.

We might think, "well, that's okay, Lynn didn't have anything to prove, or she wasn't looking for recognition in her actions."

I know differently – at least when she was with me. She loved that I had been willing to declare my love loud and clear for anyone who would listen. I give examples of his in this book.

Take, for example, a time when I got up in front of a group of people at the poetry reading at the Coastline Convention Center and read a new poem – a love poem – that everyone knew was about Lynn and dedicated to Lynn. She had been doodling because she thought I was going to read only poems she already heard. She felt so embarrassed when she realized what she missed.

After that, she would read that poem of mine on various occasions - the poem that was dedicated to her, about my love for her, when it was her turn to share at some poetry reading - and when perhaps she didn't have something to read of her own.

As I was saying, this letter is part of a chapter in a book that does just that. It's my autobiography.

Diane, you are right, I was acting crazy in 2000. I know I was supposed to be there for Lynn. But when it came to matters of the heart, my personal life, my choice of Lynn, I was driven by my passions.

And it seems like we are dishonoring Lynn by not acknowledging or accepting her judgment during those years we were together!

Lynn wanted someone crazy in love with her! Do not EVER doubt that I was not totally and completely in love with Lynn. That is something that can be known to be true above all else!

There are few things in life that I know or believe for certain. My love for Lynn is one of those things that I know with absolute certainty.

There might be many things that one might say about these things, but no one can say that I stopped loving Lynn ever or that I wasn't still totally and completely in love with Lynn even during the 2000s!

During that next decade, I was still in love with Lynn. I would break down in tears ten years after we went on a different path.

I have no idea what Lynn was going through. I was afraid that reaching out to her directly would cause her pain by reminding her of the love we once had that had not lasted. I have no idea if that was the right choice.

I used to ask people who I met on Facebook. They were nice and I was only giving them her phone number which was available to the public. They were really moved by the love I had conveyed and my desperation. I heard a few of them did call her but we didn't get anywhere.

I didn't know what to do.

I made a new friend who was a writer named Ryan Miller who was introduced to me by Jean Jones – a mutual friend of Lynn and mine. I would stay with him when I visited Wilmington and I would share stories about my life with Lynn, revisiting places where we had gone.

To this day, I do not have a full understanding of what was going on with me during a period in 2000 – I think it was mainly just in August. I have tried with the guidance and counseling of others to find those answers.

It might have seemed like I had a long-lasting problem but I think that Lynn would have noticed such a problem. 

It wasn't like I was always that same person that let down Lynn when she needed me and did such crazy things. To believe that would be to dishonor Lynn and her judgment. Winning, earning, deserving the love of Lynn was NOT something I took for granted. For all those years, I would think about how lucky I was and how much I needed to continue to deserve Lynn's love.

I couldn't believe when I saw her in mid-1992 that she didn't already have someone in her life.

Then when I gave her an engagement ring, I saw tears of joy and there has not been a more joyful moment in my life - I was overjoyed that I could make her that happy! We had picked out the ring together and I thought she knew I was coming with the ring that day. I was taken by surprise when I saw the happiness that I brought to her. I'll never forget that.

What I am saying is that I could not possibly have been in my right mind back in 2000 when she decided and told me that she wasn't coming back home. I wasn't myself.

I had so many draft letters that I consulted with therapists upon that I meant to send to Lynn.

Earning her love was the single greatest accomplishment in my life. To lose that... to hear that she might not or isn't coming back home... I was speechless.

Lynn saw something was happening to me. She said she wished I had kept in touch with our friends because she couldn't provide the support I needed.

There was no closure. Lynn didn't say "I need you to get help before we can go on together because you are acting crazy" nor did she previously state that she knew I wasn't strong enough to bear the weight of what would happen when her health would get worse. I would not have hesitated to get the help I needed so I could be here for Lynn.

I came to feel worthless and undeserving of her after what happened. I also had no idea what she was feeling or wanting later. I certainly didn't want to cause her any more pain. The way I was in 2000 at a certain point during that year, was completely different than the way I had been.

Sometime in 2009, I went to a poetry workshop that Lynn attended as well. I was in the same room with Lynn, she was right next to me. My heart was racing. I was so nervous and confused. I couldn't form any words. It almost seemed like someone had created this opportunity... but I wasn't able to realize if that was true or not.

The poem I read was called "Fugue State." I suppose I had been lost and confused, in fog, without Lynn.

Then when it came around to her to comment, she said "I pass." I had already been shaking and nearly hyperventilating. Within moments I got up and went out into the night walking.

I did not know I would go crazy when Lynn got really sick, and I had feared losing her, forever. It doesn't mean I loved her less than you did. My experience was that of being completed by Lynn and unable to exist without her. So, when she got sick and might die, I felt like I was dying.

Again, I had survivor's guilt and felt it was wrong to make excuses for myself. 

There was a moment when I just shut down while you wanted me to pack up things from the house as you were selling it. I wasn't trying to be difficult nor was I acting out. I have studied the Polyvagal Theory recently and it seems that what happened was that I had reverted to the primitive brain's method of coping by shutting down.  I was drawing inward and away from the higher brain functions that are typical of social animals.

Something inside of me died during that time period.

It is my hope that trusting Lynn's judgment is a valuable way to think about the life we had. She would not have stayed with me if she doubted my life, saw me as an unhealthy person for her - unhealthy psychologically.  

The psychologists who were hired by the social work licensure board spent all of one afternoon assessing me. They found things that Lynn had never seen. They found things that none of my counselors, psychologists, or therapists noticed. 

They found and arrived at conclusions that I didn't challenge because I was not well at the time. I had survivor's guilt, a lack of self-compassion and self-love, and other problems. I am merely pointing out that what it might have seemed like was that there was something wrong with me that was best kept from Lynn. That's what I felt and why I didn't return to pursuing Lynn like I once had.

Lynn wasn't shy about telling me what was not acceptable! About where I might want to improve or what I needed to work on.

Crazy in love is just that. I felt like I was going crazy at the thought that I would not have Lynn!

Lynn wanted that or she would not have stayed with me as long as she did.

I think everyone should know that if Lynn truly doubted that I was in love with her more than anyone or anything else, she would NOT stay with me. With my book, they will know this.

That was real.

Year after year, I lived as someone who wanted to be your son-in-law.

Lynn wanted someone who came and apologized right away when I said something hurtful. She wanted someone who didn't let us stay angry at each other for long.

I would apologize profusely and demonstrate how sad I was to have upset Lynn. She saw that and knew that. I always felt that I could not take for granted having Lynn and that she could and would leave me if I was disrespectful toward her or if I wasn't making her happy.

If she doubted that I was in love with her, I believed at the time that she would leave me. This is me saying that Lynn was so special that I felt lucky to be chosen by her and I was so desperate not to do anything at all that would cause me to lose her.

I never found an instruction book with answers to what one should do if anything like this happens or if one finds oneself in the situation in which I found myself beginning at some point in 2000.

Even now I understand my choice of words might sound odd because I am talking about things happening to me instead of my actions or inaction. I often felt like I couldn't find self-compassion regarding these matters because I didn't have a disease that was threatening my life. However, I had been overwhelmed beyond my capacity to cope. If anyone saw that coming, I would have welcomed their counsel and acted upon it.

There was no formal discussion between Lynn and me about going our separate ways. I had been visiting her at your home. Then she said she might not be coming back.

Just as so much that was good about our relationship didn't need to be said, we knew it before it was said, so had Lynn slipped out of my life. I knew what it meant when she said she might not be coming back but neither of us wanted to say what it meant. All I knew was that she had to focus on her health and that she couldn't help me – it was too stressful for her.

Did that mean she lost her love? I never let myself contemplate that. She had a strong survivalist instinct. I find some slight comfort in knowing that her desire for my happiness and success was part of the reason why what was happening to me overwhelmed her. It's not a real comfort but it's a reflection of the fact that she did understand better than I did what was wrong with me at the time.

Instead, I became aimless and without a sense of what to do to get Lynn back. 

Should I have tried harder to get her back? Should I have contacted her directly instead of letting others reach out to her? Those questions will haunt a part of me forever. 

When asked recently if I was over her, it was obvious to the person asking, I think, that the answer was no. 

In the years later, I lost all the photographs of the life we had. The way the house was packed up and the life we had was deconstructed made everything so hard without closure. I am trying to honor her and create a memorial for her. 

I could use some photographs of her and I hope you can find it in your heart to let me honor her memory. 

I dedicate this chapter to my dear friend Thomas Childs, who continues to live in me and in my memories of a very important part of my life. There is a Thomas-sized hole in me that I will never fill in; it's my way of keeping him alive.

I took the photograph of Thomas above in 2008 down by the Cape Fear River near the Battleship.

Sadly, Thomas passed away in 2010, or he would be writing a recommendation for this book. He would recommend this like he recommended my poetry collection, which you can find on Wattpad also - it's called "What Really Matters."

Just like he did for that book, he would say that he is "honored to be asked by me to recommend that you read this." Trust me. I know my friend.

Some of my most meaningful and lasting relationships of mine were formed beginning in the early 1990s. Second, only to Lynn and Celta, was my friend Thomas Childs and my second wife who hasn't been introduced yet. Obviously, my connection to Lynn had a romantic component that was lacking in all other types of friendships such as my friendship with Thomas. However, that doesn't exclude him from being considered a part of my family.

As I write this, I am thinking of the song Empty Garden by Elton John. The lines that stand out are "a gardener like that one, no one can replace... and I've been knocking... most of the day...and I've been calling."

This was a time when I felt really connected to a group of people - a social circle. That being said, some of us really clicked. Thomas was one such person in particular with whom I felt really comfortable. We felt a sense of belonging to each other. This was my family. I felt at home in this life that I had.

It's amazing when you can sit down together and not worry about stilted conversations. Not worry about what you should say. Not worry about if you are okay or not. Not worry about whether you made the grade or are good enough.

I could talk to Thomas on the phone for hours when we connected sometime after I had been through my own dark time, or dark night of the soul as it were. I wish I had reached out to Thomas during those dark years. We could have supported each other.

Lynn had wished I kept in touch with our friends when she became ill in 2000. I felt like I had abandoned my friends. For those dark years that began in 2000 and lasted until sometime in 2006, I tried to make it on my own.

That was the biggest mistake I ever made in life!

Then in late 2006 or early 2007, I came down to Wilmington from Chapel Hill. I met Jean - a mutual friend - at the bus station and I asked about Thomas.

We picked up as if no time had passed. I would speak for hours on the phone with my dear friend. We had the same interests of course and so we could find things to share. TV shows or movies that we should watch.

Current events. Our writing. Things to laugh about together. Commentary on things. Philosophical ideas. Reminiscing.

"Oh, dear Thomas, I could have used your help, my friend. It was so hard when Lynn got ill in 2000. She said she wished I had kept in touch. I could have just picked up the phone.

"I was so scared. This wasn't supposed to happen to Lynn at just 34. We had a life planned; it was perfect."

"The biggest mistake was not calling and telling you what was happening, my dear friend."

Instead, I wallowed in the misery of what was happening.

Had I called Thomas, I would have discussed the challenges I was facing in my practice and in my career, as well.

I used to share some of the things I was learning with my friends.

Let me tell you more about this, dear reader. About this part of my story. It's about the importance of friendship.

It's so important in times of stress. Emotional support is key.

We had a social network of friends, as I was saying. This was from the poetry scene. I was part of this group. This was my social life. We felt we were doing something important, together.

Indeed, we were. Thinking. Writing. Sharing ideas. Creative ideas.

Our group included in the beginning, Thomas Childs (my friend), Lynn Krupey (girlfriend, fiancée, wife), Dusty (didn't catch her last name), Jean Jones, David Capps, Jeff Wyatt, (David) DJ Ray. I could live within the sanctuary of these people and the scene, as it were.

There was something comfortable, safe, and meaningful about this reality.

This was our time to become something. I was going to be defined by all of this and the relationships that I was building. I was growing up and forming a family... a family of choice.

Arriving on the Scene and Necessary Balance in Life

I could have been afraid and failed to attend that poetry reading at the Coastline Convention Center in April of 1992, and thought to myself, "I can't read my own poetry in front of others."

What good would it be to show up and be a ghost? What good would it be to sit there and watch others all the while thinking about how I don't fit in?

I can't imagine how my life would have been if I had not come out for this poetry reading that first week. I might not have met Lynn and shared a life with her. I might not have had the confidence to pursue my dreams.

That confidence grew out of the events that happened when I did decide to attend that poetry reading. It demonstrated to me that I could speak in front of a group and be the center of attention. I learned that I had something special to offer to others.

Through my relationships and connections with others back then, my life was transformed. I had not been in a good place before that time when I first arrived in Wilmington. Friendships like I had with Thomas and the relationship I had with Lynn were so valuable and they nurtured something special in me. I was able to give that to others as well.

This book might not have existed and you dear reader, might not have known me at all. I came with ideas about what might or would likely bring me happiness and meaning in life. And that is what I found.

That's what shyness can do. It can paralyze you and prevent you from making the connections.
 

Yet, I felt a need to share. To give my gifts as Dusty would say. Dusty was the emcee who worked at the Coastline Convention Center.

Dusty said that we were "sharing our gifts." I thought I was sharing something personal. Lynn wrote for herself; I would grow to learn. But Dusty said these were "our gifts." Wow!

Indeed, sharing something of yourself with another is a gift.

Some might say that we were a bunch of idealistic artists, but I had come there with a degree in engineering, which would be the springboard for graduate education in Social Work and toward becoming a Clinical Social Worker.

It might be more accurate to say that I have had values, passions, and interests than to say I was just idealistic.

The creative side of me might have been somewhat aligned with the values that drive a person to pursue a career in social work.

To us who work in the field of mental health, we need the support of others. The work can be rather frustrating. The work can also take a toll on you as you support those who have been hurt by life or harmed by others.

Spending hours with people who are overwhelmed by major depression and anxiety disorders can and does take a toll on you. You need balance and support in life. Emotional support.

In order to be a social worker, I learned social skills and how to deal with what I called shyness. Those same skills allowed me to share myself with others in my personal and social life outside school, training, the job, and everything else.

I wrapped myself in the warmth of the friendships I had formed. Back in the 90s, the welcoming nature of Dusty was always a source of comfort. I could show up for drinks at the Coastline Convention Center if I was feeling overwhelmed and alone, and Dusty would make me feel welcome and expected.

She would seem to have this genuine interest in me and was so glad that I showed up. Later, she would ask about Lynn, of course. I would feel less and less alone but occasionally overwhelmed by things in life.

I remember the warmth of Lynn would envelop me as we sat on the beach at Wrightsville Beach during cold winter nights. That memory would sustain me as well.

Then it was the comfort of a friendship like I had with Thomas. Again, our conversations were so comfortable, and the time together felt comfortable. Not stilted or desperately searching for something to keep the conversation going.

In a larger sense, this was a time and place that I knew was something amazing. Everything seemed so right and comfortable. I knew I was on the right path and that everything was going right.

I had a sense of belonging.

I knew who I was and what I wanted. We as friends would talk about the struggles, challenges, and doubts which existed from time to time in our lives.

Changes in the Late 90s and Into the Next Century

At some point, I regrettably got over-invested in the job beginning in mid-1999. I only allowed time with Lynn and those times when her family came with their kids which I mentioned earlier in this book.

So, unfortunately, I allowed myself to stop spending time with my friends, and my social life of writing and attending poetry readings was not happening. It was a crucial missing piece.

Fast forward to the summer of 2007, and I started visiting the area again. Life in Durham had not been rewarding in any way.

Anyway, on one of those visits back, Jean was having a poetry reading in celebration of a new chapbook of his poetry being released.

This was one of those visits back to the place I had called home. I was happy to see my new friend, Ryan. I was thrilled to see my new friend, Ana – obviously not the Ana that attacked me. I was thrilled to see Thomas and Jean. I was happy to see David Capps (he had been part of the scene back in 1992, though he was inscrutable to me).

Here is a video of Ana Ribeiro reading poetry at the Word Salad Poetry Magazine Event in Wilmington in October of 2009. In the video, we are at the lounge where I saw Lynn again as described in the next chapter. This is not the same location where Jean was releasing his new chapbook, so it's a different evening than what I am describing.

Here is a video of David Capps reading poetry. He was there this evening that I am describing but the video is from a different evening.
 

I knew Lynn would be there and so it was a bit surreal. There was no longer a "we" which was what made this surreal. It's hard for me to explain. I felt queasy and I had a knot in my stomach.

This was a reality that I had never envisioned. She had gotten new lungs and so she was still living, but there was no "we."

The autobiography of my life would need to include this reality. Thomas was that glue in that he had been our mutual friend - a dear friend who had been part of "our" shared life together.

He had navigated the roads of time maintaining a relationship with us both. Jeff Wyatt had been a mutual friend as well, but I seemed to sense that he was a bit colder than he had been in the past. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Thomas, Lynn, and I had been mutual friends but now there was no "we" that was Lynn and me. This wasn't supposed to happen, and it just felt so uncomfortable for me.

There had been no breakup and things had been so vague and confusing all these years.

Knowing Lynn was going to be there made me tremble, my heart was racing with anxiety. A good bit of alcohol made this only slightly more bearable.

I could sense Lynn nearby while I spoke to David Capps. My face was flush not just from the alcohol. My heart was racing, pounding.

I wanted to find something to say to Lynn with every fiber of my being. But I couldn't do it. I just felt uncomfortable. Lynn and I talked about everything – we even fought and got over it. Thomas and I had not argued nor had Celta and me before that. It seemed to me that being able to get into an argument and get over it, move past was a sign of how much more comfortable I had been with Lynn than anyone else.

This was frustrating so I stepped outside through the side door as people were milling about. I had noticed Thomas step outside. Ana was there too, talking to Thomas. Ana had not been part of the scene in the 90s.

I tried to bring up the topic of my discomfort with Thomas. This wasn't the first time I brought up the topic with him. What could he do? What could he say? I couldn't make sense of this new reality.

I did remember how in the early 2000s, I had enlisted people I met on Facebook to contact Lynn prior to this evening. They heard the story and were moved to call Lynn. She was polite but we never got anywhere.

I was still carrying the weight of profoundly low self-worth. I had no sense of worth as a person and whether we call it shyness or something else, we have to take action, or nothing will happen.

Sadly, Lynn might not have known that I still loved her or was in love with her...but she probably did.

I mean whoever these people were who called her they were moved with such a profound feeling of inspiration to want to connect Lynn and me again.

Life Changes

Later, Thomas had been happy to find out that I met someone else that I was going to marry.

Her name is Elnaz Rezaei Ghalechi (Elee). We got married in Ankara, Turkey. She had been submitting poetry to Word Salad, which was being published by Jean and me. Word Salad Poetry Magazine was started by Lynn and me in 1995. Later, Jean became the co-editor and co-publisher.

Thomas was a brilliant poet as well. I am sure we published some of his poetry.

Elee and I married in November of 2010 and when I got back, I found the news on a voicemail and on Facebook.

My dearest friend Thomas had died. He had died of a heart attack.

When I first heard the news, it didn't register. I had just seen him. I had spoken to him and he was happy for me. We had so much more to discuss!

No!

Elee responded appropriately. She was on the other side of the world and yet she understood better than my own sister. Elee consoled me as anyone would respond to news of this nature.

I started drinking when I heard the news about Thomas. My mind became a smooth flowing river. I thought this was a way to cope but it wasn't. It just made me sick.

Whatever was inside me wanted out and I clutched a table to stay alive. I fell to my knees due to a combination of grief and what the alcohol had done to me.

I had not made it to the funeral. I felt such shame for that. Would I have found the strength to speak to the crowds at his funeral? I think I might have done so. I wasn't the same person I once was but I could and would have had words to say. Or maybe I would have cried and cried.

Both.

It's hard to describe the hole that is left by a dear friend. It's hard to describe friendship and the love that we felt.

For someone like me to be at a loss for words is something in itself! I'm usually rather verbose... but what words can convey the specific things that connect two people and create that comfort among one another?

Had I made it down there, I would have found the words. I would come to feel great shame for years... To not even make it to the funeral of your dearest friend!

Anything I would have said about his brilliance should have been known by anyone there, but I would gladly repeat and confirm it. I can say that he is not gone! He lives in me and can't be taken away as long as I live and can write.

That's what I would tell his family!

That's the point of all these chapters that move between the past and the present... in this single chapter, I've covered events that have spanned eighteen years in this chapter, and each year, month, or day flow around one another in one stream of consciousness full of sound and fury, signifying everything!

What I most wanted to say was something only Thomas would understand. What we had was ours! It was for us and it was epic!

Dear reader, did you expect something less hyperbolic to come from me? You should know me better by now!

Writers like me are loath to employ trite statements that just sound like what you are supposed to say when you speak of someone who has passed. No, when I write, I mean it quite literally and explicitly.

There are so many times in which I have thought, "this reminds me of Thomas," "I would love to talk to Thomas about this" or "I should talk to Thomas about this, he would appreciate it."

The past is there in me. We are all together in that home that Lynn and I shared on Brucemont Dr. in Wilmington... or at a bookstore... maybe a coffee shop down by the Cape Fear River. I am haunted by the ghosts of the past, but that's a good thing!

I'm not going to try to summarize a friendship that began in 1992 and lasted nearly two decades until his death. The formality of a funeral has passed. On such occasions we find the necessary strength and words to speak.

Later, we realize how much was left unsaid and how much cannot be known by anyone besides the one we lost, in this final paragraph of this chapter, that person is Thomas Childs. 

Some people have questions like what happened to my first wife, Lynn. She died in 2015, I found out. From cancer. There had been no "we" for all these years. Merely talking about her and what happened has been so painful.

Before I met Elee, my second wife, I had tried to get back with Lynn, but it never worked out. As I said in the last chapter, the times when I saw her down in Wilmington were very awkward and surreal. What could my friend Thomas do? Other than understanding what I must have been feeling.

I couldn't say anything when she was right next to me.

I had been more comfortable with her than with anyone else in my life. We had trusted each other implicitly. We had such a connection. I had stated the fact that I would have done anything imaginable to hold onto a relationship with Lynn. That fact cannot be understated.

I should have said something when she was right next to me. I had previously tried so hard. I didn't want to call her after a certain point about three years after we had started living our own lives - she with her mother and me in another city.

I had asked others to contact her and convey how much I felt for her. Obviously, those who heard my story were moved to call her and to convey this information. I had hoped to get some information that might lift my spirits.

I believe it was too painful for her to have to move on without me. I didn't want to cause her more pain. I don't know how she dealt with the memories of when we were in love.

I am so sorry!

Lynn had this survivalist instinct due to her illness. After we watched "Titanic" we were discussing the movie with a friend of hers who had cystic fibrosis like her. Her friend and I had agreed that we would jump back into the boat as the girl did to be with the guy.

Lynn disagreed. We had been living together for years at that point. So, I guess she was saying that she would not jump back into the boat to be with me. I know with one hundred percent certainty that I would jump back to be with her if she was in peril instead of getting into the rescue boats that would result in my near-certain survival.

I would NEVER be able to go to safety on a rescue boat with Lynn in a sinking ship. She would not find any justification in dying on a sinking boat just to be with me a bit longer. She might have found it senseless to stay on a sinking ship. I would have done anything to be with her, to help and protect her, no matter what.

So, there was a combination of factors that kept me paralyzed from contacting her from 2003 until her death in 2015. I had not wanted to make her life more painful. What I was going through was extremely traumatic for me and she was in survival mode.

There was another occasion when I almost spoke to Lynn during another awkward moment, years after we had been apart.

It was in late 2009.

Jean had invited me to come to a lounge on a Saturday evening in downtown Wilmington. He told me he was having a workshop for poets. We would share a poem to be workshopped. We would read it and ask for support or feedback from the group.

I had called him earlier that afternoon from Wrightsville Beach near Johnny Mercer's Pier.

I had been here at this location not long ago... up at the front area is where they have the poetry readings and music. I don't think this place existed in the 90s.

I have some videos of me reading some poetry at that location.

This next one here is a video of Jean Introducing me.
 

I heard Lynn would be there.

My mind had been racing with ideas about what I would or should say to Lynn if I said anything. This would be an interactive event... My heart raced throughout the next few hours as I headed in that direction.

What would I say?

Recently, I figured out in my mind that I had been a good person - always. So, the idea that I was undeserving of her was a false belief I had back then. It's sad that I figured this out after she died!

I had gotten so close to saying something on another occasion earlier as I mentioned in the previous chapter.

That evening came... I was told to go to the room in the back by Jean.

A few people were talking and then they left the room. Lynn was standing there - alone. I was right nearby.

Had others planned this? Left us in a dark, quiet, private room.

I was thinking and at the same time, my mind was trying to muster the willpower to do or say something. I was thinking of something to say. My heart pounded hard in my chest. I felt frozen – not cold but motionless. I was composing thoughts "I... I what?"

I imagined myself saying "I love you." and her answer would be "I know."

Wow! I just realized what a cliché that would be. It's right out of "The Empire Strikes Back" when Han Solo is being frozen in carbonite and Lea tells him. "I love you."

I'm sure I would have broken down, falling to my knees, weeping bitterly, crying "I love you so much. I NEVER stopped being in love with you."

My mind's a bit blank as I think back to what happened after that uncomfortable moment when I was there alone, close enough to touch Lynn.

Others filed into that room from the front. They took seats. Four to my right. Jean is the "leader" – he sat on the right. Three on my left. And then Lynn. My hands and arms were trembling. My breathing was fast and shallow. I'm sure others could hear me nearly hyperventilating.

The rotation was coming around toward me. I had selected a poem that I wrote called "Fugue State." A fugue state is a symptom of some dissociative disorders. I said they are caused by "trauma", but I could have just said extreme stress or distress. I had written this about the dark times I had known not too long ago.

Sometimes I don't know what I want to say until I say it. Below is the poem that I wrote. It's in free verse.

(I realized later that it was the imagery of dreams, disorientation, desolation, and despair are that I was trying to convey. I didn't know how to do this with rhyme or metered verse.)

Holding the poem in my hand I begin to read.

Fugue State:

In the dream...
I think it's a dream -
I'm not sure how I got
here or where I was going.

It's dark.
I look at the street signs
that I walk past,
and for a time I'm
not finding any that I recognize.

Then I begin to think
that things look a bit
familiar but I'm...
uncertain.
I want to run
but I'm tired
and unsure how far
I have to go.

I try to remember
but nothing comes to mind
to explain
how I got here...
where I am going...
where I live -
where my home is -
or if I have a home.

I don't seem to be injured.
I want to remember...
I begin to question
whether I even know
for certain
who I am?

The people I pass
look unfriendly -
not dangerous;
they just don't convey
anything resembling kindness
or friendship.
They don't know me.
They don't pay much attention.

What should I say anyway?
Ask them to tell me who I am?
Or ask where I am?
I cannot ask how to get
where I am going
because I do not know that.

I don't know if I am afraid of the ridicule
or convinced of the futility
in even trying to get help.

I want to fall down on my knees
and cry... cry out to someone,
"Please help me!"

But I'm paralyzed by my fear
and all I can do
is keep walking
and hoping that somehow
things will become clear
and make sense.

--------------

I can't remember the feedback that I got.

When it came around to her, to offer feedback on my poem, she said "I pass."

I got up moments later, the feelings were overwhelming me. I walked out into the night, moving fast. I stopped into a bookstore and looked at some books. I got a call from Thomas, who was on the way.

"Okay, I'm heading back there, I'll see you in a little while," I said to Thomas.

I returned and took a seat near Jeff Wyatt in that front room near the bar. He had been friends with Lynn and me just like Thomas had been. He went into massage therapy at some point.

Here's a video of Jeff Wyatt reading poetry at the Word Salad Poetry Event. Lynn wasn't at the lounge that particular evening.

I suppose that my last words to Lynn were "Fugue State." My life had been like a bad dream... I had existed without an identity for a while... lost... without direction... without a sense of where to go or where my home was or where it might be someday.

I had not thought that was a very good poem until recently. As I read this recently within the past year or so, I thought "wow, that was good... that is poignant in the way that I convey such feelings and experiences that are so hard to convey." 

I wasn't even mentioned in her obituary.

To this day that hurts so much to think about it.

I mean it really hurts. My tears blur my eyes and roll down my cheeks as I write this in 2021. It feels wrong that I didn't try harder when she was right next to me.

There was no closure. I had failed to just say those words. I love you!

And with that, I will end this book.

Please look for more of my memoirs. This is part of a series of memoirs or autobiographical stories.