Love

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 make 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. He 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.  

I had heard months earlier that she was having "flashbacks" and "panic attacks" and that was why she and her husband needed John to be living there for free. Yes, that was stated at some point. They thought he was helping her. My efforts to point out how they were getting worse and not better with Freifeld's help were not effective enough.  

These individuals who met in one of the groups that I had I believed were spending time over at Jessica’s home. I heard that he had a few rooms set up for helping them process or deal with their memories/flashbacks of past trauma. Again, they were well aware, as I explained earlier, that he was not trained to know how to set up anything of this nature.  

I had discovered the "conspiracy theories" on the internet following some interactions with two of my clients. I had just done some searches online with various keywords and that led down a rabbit hole.  

I remember how I had as an activity for therapy groups that were like scrapbooking. It seemed like an icebreaker or a way to facilitate discussion. I had used this with various clients over time. I'm only mentioning this because I remember a book that I stumbled upon online called "Paperclip Dolls." That made me think of that workshop on dissociative identity disorder (DID) that I organized in early 1999 with Louise Coggins, MSW, LCSW.  

Louise had mentioned ritual abuse in more than one context, including at that workshop. And she talked about using scrapbooking with magazines as a creative form of therapy. 

I thought I was hearing facts and I did not put "ritual abuse" into a context with "satanic ritual abuse" which was part of the conspiracy theories that were being spread across the internet during this period. My discovery of these "conspiracy theories" was only after I had noticed a bizarre theme coming up in therapy with Jessica and one other client.  

Anyway, the book "Paperclip Dolls" was another book that was in that same vein of a person discovering and reconstructing memories of "satanic ritual abuse" and mind control programming. By "programming" I mean something like behavioral psychology techniques where some cue or trigger could elicit a deliberate programmed response. Think of how Pavlov's dogs would salivate in response to a buzzer or a light because it had been paired up with dispensing food for the dogs.  

Somehow the author of "Paperclip Dolls" had discovered that she had been abused as a child and she had discovered the memories of this from various images in magazines that caught her attention. These discoveries and the sense that they caught her attention seemed to confirm that her new memories must be true. She came to believe that she must have been part of a government program that involved mind control.

This is what the author of Paperclip Dolls had discovered. I hinted earlier in this book that I had been flipping through that book on a very memorable moment and sexually intimate experience that I had with Lynn back in April of 2000. At the time, I had no idea that I was going to be accused of planting false memories of "satanic ritual abuse."  

I wish I could offer more details about how any of my clients had begun to believe that things like this happened to them or why they believed it happened to anyone for that matter. Again, I didn't know what was happening at the home of Jessica, where John Freifeld was living and seeking to help a few of my clients.  

I had mentioned that my colleagues - members of the local Society of Clinical Social Workers - suggested that I tell these clients that I could not help them if they were also receiving treatment from Freifeld. For one thing, everything had been happening so fast that I had not had time to implement this policy. I also don't know how he or the clients with whom I spoke about this felt.  

Family Connections

I mentioned that I had turned to my family for support when Lynn became ill. Any reasonable person would understand how traumatic or tragic all this would be and why I would need support.  

Up until last year, I have maintained a relationship with my parents and my sister. I mentioned earlier that I had not spoken to my brother since shortly after I made a call to child protective services. I had seen him lose his temper and push his daughter Emily up against a wall like she was a rag doll and she had told me when I asked her about some marks, that “your brother did that.”

As I was saying, I had maintained a relationship with my siblings and my parents until recently.

Then it hit me. It seemed so insane that they were not there at all during this period. They had not visited Lynn in the hospital to see how she was doing. Heck, they never even sent a card to me or her. They seemed indifferent to my suffering.  

My sister, Carrie Whealton, has never married or been in love. However, it's not reasonable or rational to suggest that she would not understand what it would be like to lose the love of one's life. She has parents and grandparents.  

I'm not saying that I am JUST angry that this happened. What I mean, is that there has never been any explanation offered for how or why they could have acted that way. It made me feel like I did not matter at all in their eyes. My success did not matter. My happiness didn't matter.  

I cannot spend my time speculating on how or why they made those decisions. I know that I deserve better. 

I suppose I could have been upset at Diane for not caring at all that I had nowhere to do, no income now and I was devastated beyond being able to cope with life at all. But my sense of survivor’s guilt kicked in. So, all I felt was shame and worthlessness. 

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.

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!

This might be a good time to make a transition to another section of my book. Where I want and what I did as a bounced around after this, as a ball dropped down some steps, will be described in the next section.

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.

You will learn about what was happening… not why. You won’t read about someone with a plan or hopes. First, I have a short chapter that is a letter to someone else who loved Lynn.

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?  

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 putting 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, fading away. It couldn't be. My home 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.  

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 know to cancel all appointments for as long as necessary. It's easier to tell when we have something physical happen to us.    

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 searching for information about DID, treatment, abuse, trauma, and other terms. Those were keywords I used in my searches. This was before I had discovered some of the more bizarre conspiracy theories described in the previous chapter.

I had found forums, chat rooms, directories, and web sites that I had bookmarked to explore later. Some of these online materials and forums 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 shirt 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 to 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."

"It goes” ... and I spoke the words,

"'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’s in fine arts (MFA) – could I help with that?

What about a kiln so that she could bake her pottery at home? Maybe I could earn more money.

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. 

It’s worth noting that when we went to visit them in Pennsylvania, 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 saltwater 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. 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 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. Elsewhere I make clear that 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! I felt a need to make that clear.

Again, 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. Baby just doesn't apply at this point. The point is that 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 or a couple.

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.

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 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.

Wrong Impressions Regarding My Family

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. Anyone in any “normal family.”

I was the only one of my siblings who had gone this far in my education. 

While I am not saying I was better than my sister or my brother, but for Carrie, her career landed in her lap somewhat. She had moved back to Connecticut and found a job at Aetna. She learned that by furthering her education she could advance within the company. She shaped herself according to the company’s demands and expectations instead of finding the right career for herself.

Yes, I did it differently than Carrie. I wasn't letting any single company, organization, or agency have a say in where I went in life. I first found the best match for me in terms of a career path and then pursued that goal, overcoming any challenges along the way.  

I used the words "organization" and "agency" as opposed to just using the word "company" because, for my career, people work for agencies and companies.  

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.  

My brother had not excelled in school either nor had he mapped out a specific career direction with ideas about what would be his best career direction. He went into the Marines for a while. He got married and found a job.

I thought that I was the family star and that everyone was proud of me. I have alluded to the fact that sometime later I would learn that this was not the case. To this day, I am baffled by the distance between what I assumed and what was going through their minds… I was shocked to discover just how messed up their thinking had been.

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 we had to avoid. Lynn had a genetic illness and that disqualified her from insurance coverage. While it is reasonable for private companies to be unable to cover situations like this, I got no sense that Carrie cared at all about this, so the topic was taboo. 

I had been trying to keep the peace and stay cordial with my family of origin.  

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.  

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.

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.

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. 

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 my parents. I had never felt completely comfortable with them. 

Despite knowing that what we shared was so right, so blessed, so holy, somehow, I sometimes couldn’t shake the religious brainwashing I had experienced.

I don’t know what I said but it gave Lynn the impression that I had doubts about what we should be doing.

Then Lynn would ask, "do you regret what we did?"

I would answer, "no, of course not."  

I don't think she understood what I was saying because I didn't quite understand what I was saying.         

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.”   

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 in the future.

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. 

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. 

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 later in couples therapy or with my individual clients. 

I felt lucky also that we weren’t talking about sexual competency. 

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.

As an atheist, I still see things in the same way, but I use different words to describe things. I know some atheists, such as Sam Harris, describe spiritual experiences, but I still associate that with the supernatural and I do not believe in such things. 

I’m a romantic and I believe in the concept of the two become one and are united forever, which is as long as we exist. 

As I mentioned, Lynn and I couldn’t have a wedding because our combined income might make her ineligible for the insurance 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. 

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.

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.

“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 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.

“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.

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 this part. 

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. He 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 chapter, we will go back in time. I will pick up the story of my career journey. 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.

It was the best of times, a period of great success and accomplishments. 

Dear reader: This book is a true story of the life I have known. I am writing to you to share this story in the hopes that we can make sense of things. I will share with you this story on the web, and you will have a way to respond to the questions that will arise.  

I do have a favor to ask you though as we discuss these events. Please, be very specific. I will do the same for you. What I mean is that I won’t use platitudes about how “there is hope” or “things will work out.”  I am going to tell you about some very specific experiences that I have had, and I am going to speak with brutal honesty. I am going to be detailed and explicit - meaning, I must apologize if you are someone who thinks in terms of certain abstract ideas.     

Something amazing happened to make it possible for me to bring this story to you. It was Monday, December 16, 2019, and someone saved my life tonight. So, if I sounded bitter in the previous paragraph, I apologize. Let me tell you how someone saved my life. Then we will see how that relates to love, kindness, nurturance, compassion, and empathy.

I was in the hospital at the University of North Carolina Medical Center in the psychiatric unit. I had meant to end my life a few days ago. My ex-wife found out because I told her. I had expected that it would be too late when she got the message.

On this Monday morning just after midnight, I was absolutely convinced that nothing can be done to change my circumstances and that there is no hope. I knew that I would be released soon and then I won’t fail in my next suicide attempt. Visions of a slip noose swings in my mind along with other ideas – pills.

I can’t sleep. I’m restless… sitting in a large, darkened room just past midnight – a common room. The hospital is quiet. 

My ex-wife had been angry that I considered suicide, but she understood why I had been that desperately depressed. Yes, I have been through hell but that was in the past. This is not about past pain. That doesn’t matter. No one can help remedy the situation because no one understands. 

This is what was going through my mind when this girl came out. 

“You can’t sleep either?” she asks and takes a seat next to me to talk. A simple question that started a process that made this book possible!

This is interesting… because for some reason, I am thinking that I should tell her my story. I have no idea where that idea arose. I am listening to her. I remember her name is Kirra. No, I’m not going to tell you her last name or why she was there. Confidentiality is important. 

She seemed at the time to be drawing a story out of me. I felt compassion and empathy for her situation as well. There is something about the problems she has been facing that reminds me of someone who was very special in my life in the past. I can’t say what that is because it would reveal something about her that should not be made public with this book.     

I felt an overwhelming need to tell her how I had been harmed in the past. I told her how I had been victimized by a woman who brutally attacked me and then lied and said that I attacked her!  And if that lie was not bad enough, she said I tried to undress her which meant that I was charged with a sexual offense! 

I explained how I would NEVER do anything to hurt someone. I was a therapist who understood how traumatic events affect people. And in fact, dear reader, you will see this when I show it to you throughout this book. 

She said, “I believe you, one hundred percent.” She had demonstrated understanding of what I had been feeling – empathy.

My first reaction was a thought that floated through my mind, “of course you do… what person who has spent any time at all with me would think I would harm a person.”  That is what I was thinking.   

I had held the weight of this pain for more than a decade and a half. I held it almost all alone. I asked questions about how it is that we come to know these things about a person. Indeed, there are subtle cues or clues that we pick up that tell us about danger. She used the word “vibes.” 

She seemed like she wanted to help me and to be my friend. She was much younger than me, so I wasn’t thinking in romantic terms about this friendship. She just said she wanted me to join her and sit with her at breakfast in the morning and at other meals. Love takes many forms.

She also understood why events from the past did have a tremendous impact on my life in the present. I had described my passion for helping others and working as a therapist… and working in the mental health/psychiatric field. 

I wondered why this wasn’t so clear to everyone. 

My plans to end my life suddenly evaporated. I had hungered for this as truly as we can be starving for food or air! 

I came alive. So much more was offered to the patients on the unit during the week. I arrived on Friday night and there were not many therapy groups over the weekend. I started connecting with others during therapy groups, at meals, and as we, the patients, socialized.

 It was a transformative experience. The world had seemed like a very dark and cold place devoid of human compassion, but I was observing how caring people here were. I’m talking about the other patients that I was meeting. 

A couple of days later, we were asked to pick a feeling word to describe how we feel or what we were experiencing. For some reason, I chose to use words like “outsider,” “alone,” “unnoticed,” and “invisible.”

The response from the group caused my jaw to drop. I was told that I was actually like a “social butterfly.”  That I had been at the center of all the action. Another person said I persuaded and encouraged him to come to the group. 

Indeed, this was a transformative experience. I had been noticing others and listening to them. I had encouraged someone to come to the “group” because I was concerned and also, I felt that it works better if we can be there together for each other.

There was one other important and memorable event. Some of us were watching Law & Order: SVU. There was an episode that portrayed a teacher who loved teaching children who were falsely accused of sexually molesting one or more children. The visceral pain of this was exquisite. As someone who worked as a clinical social worker, I could recognize that pain from the way it was portrayed to the way we think about having that happen to us or another person.

I wanted to tell some others the experience I had and how I had been harmed by a lie of this nature. I approached two people who stepped out during a commercial break and I said I wanted to share something with them.

I explained how I had been falsely accused and falsely convicted. By that time, they knew that I had worked as a therapist. They knew how much I loved that kind of work or those kinds of activities and experiences. 

Beginning with Kirra and then with others I was telling my story and finding the support that I had needed for so long. I had tried to carry this burden all alone and now I was finding opportunities to unburden myself of this exquisite pain. They and others in the hospital, patients, and staff showed love, compassion, and empathy which is precisely what motivated me to go into psychiatric social work.

So, many people would tell me that the terrible events were in the past and that I shouldn’t let it bother me now. I shouldn’t dwell on the past.

Excuse my language dear reader, but that is such bullshit! The lies of that woman who attacked me in 2004 – the false accusations, the false conviction – affect every aspect of my life in the here and now. Those lies are etched into stone metaphorically speaking. Before we talk more about love and empathy let me add a few points. Bear with me just a moment.

The pernicious lie suggests that people should worry about did or might do in the future. It’s on a North Carolina Public Safety website. This is the modern equivalent of something being etched in stone.

The criminal record presents me as the perpetrator of the crime, but it has no basis in reality. I had been the victim! It’s still out there and I had been told by a law firm that there was no hope for me that I would ever get justice… When I heard that cold statement from a lawyer that no one could do anything, I didn’t hear the full story. I just heard no one can do anything – there was no hope!

You may disagree strongly with my choice to try to end my life in 2019 but ironically that was the only way that I was able to have this transformative experience. The world had seemed to be dark, cold, and devoid of caring people… devoid of compassion and empathy. The empathy, love, compassion, I developed over a lifetime would not be available to anyone were it not for what started with “a story.”

So, that’s what I am giving to you as a gift – a story.

Over the next year I continued to write “my story” and this is what you are reading now. I hope you understand, dear reader, why abstract ideas and platitudes are not every helpful to me. When I hear “things are going to be okay” said to me without first acknowledging the pain and without pragmatic statements about how things are going to be okay, I just think you are not offering empathy and compassion. 

In my life experience, I have learned how to specifically figure out what a person needs or desires. I have learned to understand how that changes from moment to moment. I have learned how to recognize needs, things that we hunger for and desires almost instantly. 

This is how I act from a place of love!

As a psychotherapist, I have developed certain instincts that are almost like common sense for me now. I would NEVER imagine telling a client or a patient what I think is good or a good life. I learned about active listening.

I know for a while there it seemed like I was angry but that’s not the full story! We haven’t gotten to love if we stop at anger and that’s all you see or hear.

Human beings are imperfect and the systems we create are imperfect. So, it’s not good enough to just go home and say we didn’t break any rules. The bigger issues begin with a question like did we act with love? Did you consider that you could be wrong? Did you consider how that might affect another person?

I would argue that love can be a quality that is the foundation of all societies and all people everywhere in one form or another. A psychotherapist or psychologist might use the word unconditional positive regard.

Certain social workers will speak of social justice because we recognize what happens to people and how they feel, how they experience life when it is lacking. That’s empathy.

True empathy, true love, and true compassion reject ideas like “nothing can be done” or “that’s just the way it is.” That’s injustice. 

Love comes in many forms though. A mother and father's love are demonstrated in the way they nurture a child. I know I didn’t have that growing up. So, I hungered for it. You will hear about some special people in my life. A special friend, a girlfriend, a fiancée, a wife. Sadly, there was some tragedy in my life so you will hear about a second wife.

When I was immature, I thought I wanted a strong protector. The seed of change in that regard was planted in my mind first by a grandmother that was very week and an elderly grandfather. Their strong love and concern for me showed me there was more than strength that matters – at least more than physical strength.

You’ll hear about my first special love with a young woman named Celta who cuddled with me, nurtured me, comforted me – loved me. We were drawn together by the love language of physical contact and spending time together. By physical contact, I am not necessarily speaking of sensual contact.

In my twenties and thirties, the love of my life, Lynn Denise Krupey, like me, recognized that we felt love through physical contact and spending time together.

There are many ways forms of love but those needs, desires or what I hunger for, may have influenced my choices when it came to romantic or certain forms of emotional love that we feel with someone of the opposite sex.

Obviously, I played other roles in life. I was a Clinical Social Worker, a psychotherapist. I didn’t cuddle with my clients. However, I did recognize the strivings and desires of people – the motivating forces. I recognized desires and needs that change from moment to moment. As a social worker, if someone is hungry for food, you try to get them food. You get the idea.

You will notice a theme in this book related to my exquisite awareness of the needs, desires, feelings, and emotions of others. These are things that can change very rapidly. Believe me, I have seen people’s emotions change in fractions of a second. I had those capacities firmly in place when the bad things to which I alluded to above occurred. Someone like me would not be the cause of harm to another because I would know what another person is experiencing.

I will show you how I instinctually react to the needs and desires of others instantly.

As a way to help you get a sense of the many experiences of love, we can start with an example. There are many forms of love. However, if I tell you I’m going to tell you a love story, you get an idea as to what I mean. Maybe you are already feeling a sense of anticipation. Yes, love stories feel good. So, let’s start there.

A Love Story

I was once so paralyzed by shyness that I honestly never believed I would EVER find anyone to love. Luckily, I was wrong - I fell madly and passionately in love.  

July 4, 1992. Nearly three months since I moved to Wilmington, North Carolina.  

I was with Lynn.  

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

It was our first date. Sort of. If you can call it that way. I never had any dating experience, mind you. And I reckon Lynn never had a great deal of experience either. Since I was driving, I asked if she wanted to go to this scenic spot. She agreed.

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

We were talking about how during low tide the jetty acts as a bridge over to a tiny island that is like a mini-animal conservation area. The water gently washes against and over the rocks but if the tide is low, like today, we could walk out to the island.

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 is just a bunch of rocks that have been stacked against one another to make a bridge of sorts. The pavement that layered the stack of rocks made the bridge more accessible.

A photo of one such jetty/bridge is shown below.

I had just moved to Wilmington in April and I wanted to get to know the people there. So, I started attending poetry reading sessions. They were held at the lounge on the fourth floor of the convention center which overlooks Cape Fear River.

There was something serene about the setting that made it comfortable 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 into the room. Dusty, the emcee for the poetry reading sessions who works at the center, made it easier too. She has that magical quality of attending to the guests of the Convention Center whether they were there for the poetry or not. Her caring ways equivalent to that of a loving mother always make us feel welcomed and comfortable.

Sharing my poetry in front of a group was an impossible accomplishment. As a psychotherapist, I would have to lead therapy groups so being able to read my poetry to a group was perfect evidence of my ability to accomplish something that had seemed impossible. My ability to get up in front of a room of people every week was an amazing feat. This was something I never had the guts to do when I was younger. I never wanted to place myself at the center of attention.

I would see Lynn every Sunday at the poetry readings at the Coastline Convention Center. For me, she stood out among all the attendees that were present there. She was thin but shapely.

Cystic Fibrosis – a genetic disease. I overheard her talking about that. That was why she was coughing all the time.

I had come sharing poems about Celta, someone I had loved, and lost. I wasn’t expecting to make a romantic connection. Something about Lynn caught my attention.

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 never thought of it as some kind of love-at-first-sight but there was something about her that intrigued me. Of all the people I held in high regard, Lynn was that one person that seemed to challenge that perspective.

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 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 guess that was one of the reasons why I was so lucky.

It took me some three months to find the courage and the right words to ask her out. I waited to see if she already had someone else. I wanted to avoid being rejected. I can still feel the fear now as I write this some twenty-eight years later. I guess that was a sign of how much I wanted this to work out. It was scary.

Asking Lynn if she would spend time with me was an accomplishment.

So, here we are, at this gentle beach on July 4th.

I did not expect the pavement to be this slippery. It was a cause of concern for me but not because I was afraid of falling. It was imperative that I must not let her slip and risk bruising or scratching her perfect skin. Putting my nervousness aside, I offered my hand.

She took my hand.

She took my hand!

Wow!

You must be thinking that I am exaggerating but this was amazing! Her gentle hand around mine!

“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.

We walked a little further but then decided that this was getting too slippery. And dangerous.

What's next, I thought. Jean works at Fort Fischer, a Civil War museum site, and they have a tour around the historic site. We could go there.

It was an amazing day. The first of an amazing weekend that we would spend together.

We saw the fireworks in downtown Wilmington that night, over the Cape Fear River and near the Battleship. My friends regarded me as a pacifist. I suppose Lynn was too.

After the fireworks, we were walking back to the car, passing by the place where she worked along the way. Some co-worker asked her if I was her boyfriend. “No, we are just friends,” she said.

Darn. I thought this was a date. Nevertheless, we were still just friends.

I can wait.

It was the 4th of July 1992, and everything would change from this day forward.

Time has a way of changing fates. We became more than just friends. Over time, we fell madly and passionately in love. Two years after this day in July of 1992, we were picking out an engagement ring for her.

Oh, and I was in graduate school in Social Work. Everything was falling into place. It was perfect.

More than that, I felt things I never knew I would or could feel. It is impossible to comprehend what I felt that day when she first held my hand.

The world was full of hope for me. Anything seemed possible. I had clear ideas about what I wanted and where I was going. So, while it might seem that this was just about my social life and making friends, it was also a vision of life for me in some sense of the bigger picture of what really matters to me.

We would get a home together north of Wilmington on Brucemont Drive. Her mother bought the home and we rented it from her.

I became successful in social work. I became a Licensed Clinical Social Worker - a psychotherapist. I opened my own private practice. I gained respect from my colleagues who told me that Wilmington was a saturated market, meaning there was no need for an additional therapist in the area. The person who warned me that Wilmington was a saturated market and that an additional therapist is not needed had the best of intentions, but it was so great to know that despite all the challenges I found success.

I saw a life with Lynn Denise Krupey. I proved to myself that I could accomplish my dreams. It was all built around me and my family. I dedicated my life to helping others to get back on their feet. I had everything I wanted. I certainly had no intention of changing anything at all. I could not imagine anything different or anything better than this other than more of the same.

Halfway through 2000, a meteor would come crashing down on this life I had tirelessly built upon. The shocking events that began to transpire that year would incinerate everything in my world leaving ashes to blot out the sky. I saw only darkness, the fog of ashes blowing fragments of the familiar home, the furnishings, the words, and dreams.

I was in desperate need of compassion, empathy, kindness, and love but I wasn’t thinking too clearly about where to look for these things and where to find them.

I still believed my so-called family had a capacity for providing what I was needing. I wasn’t thinking clearly. To understand why I should NOT have turned to my parents or siblings, we need to consider what life was like growing up.