Preface

I spent twenty-two years learning to be visible, only to discover that becoming real is not the same as staying real.

As a very young child, I hid behind a telephone pole when my mother told me to go play with the other kids. Not because I was playing hide-and-seek, but because without a secure base at home, I didn't know how to reach out to the world. I climbed trees and disappeared into the woods—not to escape the neighborhood, but to escape my parents. From the sudden punch or kick that could come out of nowhere. From parents who built a pool and took us to Disney but never once asked if I was happy, never seemed to notice or care who I actually was. 

Even as a child, I could see the disconnect—the performance of family for the outside world, the indifference behind closed doors. By fourteen, I was asking questions I had no language for yet: Why are you doing these things for us when you don't actually care? The only time I remember being held was around age three or four, in swimming lessons, my arms wrapped around the young instructor's neck, and even then I felt certain I didn't deserve it.

By high school, I had perfected invisibility. I sat silent in classrooms, never called upon, a ghost among my peers. I went away to college and immediately started counseling—not because I believed I could change, but because I couldn't keep living this way. I set goals: speak in class, ask someone out. 

For most of my undergraduate years, I remained the third person with every couple—best friend to both the boyfriend and girlfriend, even best man at a wedding, but never part of a couple myself. I finally got two dates my senior year—one date each with two different people. I never spoke in class. I'd come so far, but something fundamental was still missing.

Then, in 1990, after graduating from Georgia Tech, I was seen through the eyes of love. For the first time in my life, I had proof that I was special, that I mattered, that I was real. It was the missing piece—the experiential knowledge that no amount of therapy alone could provide. She died at the end of that same year, and for a time I wondered: what good is it to find this love and have it taken away so suddenly? But something had awakened in me that couldn't be undone.

In April of 1992, I took a microphone and read poetry, choosing to be the center of attention for the first time in my life. Three months later, I met Lynn. What followed over the next eight years—from 1992 through 2000—were years of success and joy beyond my wildest dreams. Graduate school in 1993, becoming a therapist in 1996, full licensure in 1998. Leading therapy groups and counseling couples despite having gotten only two dates in all of college. Building a life with Lynn—enduring love and earned secure attachment, learning in adulthood what I should have known as an infant. 

I want you to understand what's possible. I could have become like so many others who can only connect with narcissists like their parents because it's familiar. I want to show you that it doesn't have to be that way. That even from a childhood like mine, you can find real connection, meaningful work, genuine love. The kind of success that looked, for all the world, like I'd been cured of my past.

By July of 2000, everything seemed perfect. By September, I'd lost it all.

And that's when I learned what I'm still learning now: psychological wounds don't heal like broken bones or diseases cured by vaccines. You can grow, transform, build a beautiful life—and then lose it and discover that all your old patterns are still there, waiting. Letting my parents back into my life recreated the trauma of childhood. By my mid-fifties, I finally did what I should have done decades earlier: I cut off all contact with my family. This is the story of learning to be real, forgetting I was real, and finding my way back—not to where I was, but to something I'm still discovering. This time, with tools I'm learning to use.

My Invitation

Have you ever felt invisible? Not just shy or like a wallflower, but truly unseen—not noticed, not known for who you really are? Noticed social anxiety in yourself? This book is for you.

You might also recognize yourself here if you grew up in a home where you had many things, but your feelings were never validated or didn't seem to matter. Where everything looked normal from the outside - maybe you even say things were good, you weren't abused—but somehow you became responsible for a parent's happiness or emotional needs. That's called covert narcissism, and it's more common than you might think. And narcissistic patterns don't only show up with parents, they can appear in partners and other relationships throughout our lives.

This isn't about blaming parents. It's about understanding what happened and finding your way forward. As the title states, this book covers Complex-PTSD and/or Developmental Trauma—regardless of where those wounds originated.

You may not relate to everything in these pages—everyone's experiences manifest in different ways. Because we have much to cover, take it slowly. I hope you'll relate and know you are not alone.

When I speak of waking up after a suicide attempt, I am referring to the sense of having been detached from truly living life. I would get married to Elnaz Rezaei Ghalechi in 2010 and it is not hard to understand that aspects of this marriage were problematic. 

I didn’t approach this as a true chance at happiness but more of a desperate desire for connection… to share a life with someone else. To find someone who cared about ME.

As I was awaiting trial, I could barely process the horrifying thought of what could happen if the trial did not go my way. In a brief encounter with my lawyer that I mentioned previously, after I got out of jail, the only thing he discussed was his sense that no jury would be able to imagine that I was capable of harming anyone. 

I was overwhelmed and traumatized by everything that had happened. I had been homeless or on the verge of homelessness before the assault by Ana that landed me in jail for 7 months. I had been homeless in Durham after my lawyer got me out of jail to “prepare for trial.”

At no point during the one meeting with my lawyer had I discussed the potential prison sentence that I could receive if found guilty of these charges - 2nd degree kidnapping and 2nd degree sexual offense. 

I was existing in a state of trauma. I could have diagnosed myself, if I was thinking clearly, with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I could have recognized that I was using a form of dissociation, that is called derealization, as a coping mechanism. This is the brain's creative way to cope with overwhelming stress or trauma. 

My mind was experiencing life as if I was living in a dream-state. This was a living nightmare! 

Ever since the assault and during the months of captivity or while living homeless in Durham and then Chapel Hill, the topic of spending years in prison never entered my consciousness! It was too overwhelming to imagine.

After spending that month in jail while awaiting trial, I would find and secure a bed at the homeless shelter in Chapel Hill. For a brief moment in time, I experienced a miraculous event where I had a chance to connect with a lady.

It was a rare reprieve, a brief glimpse of something tender before I was thrust back into the cold, both literally and figuratively.

Homeless in Chapel Hill, Holding Onto Hope

At the Interfaith Council (IFC) shelter, I started at the bottom—sleeping on the floor, waiting for a bed to open upstairs. Eventually, I got one, which meant a reserved place to sleep. It also meant I had a small storage space downstairs for my belongings, but the space was barely enough for what little I owned.

During the day, we were forced to leave after breakfast. There was no place to simply be.

I tried to find work. Vocational Rehabilitation had funded Web Design training for me, but what chance did I have of landing a job while living in a shelter, marked by a pending trial that would decide the rest of my life?

And yet, I tried.

I still held onto a shred of self-worth, fragile as it was. I still believed, somehow, that I was more than what the system had labeled me.

A Miracle in the Midst of Chaos

Then something unbelievable happened.

I met someone.

It was November, and I had been on a dating website, though my self-confidence had been shattered. What woman would want a man who was homeless? A man who had been cast as the villain when he was, in fact, the victim?

But she did.

She listened. She believed me.

She invited me to Thanksgiving dinner.

I was stunned. A woman I had only recently started talking to wanted to meet me. She even bought my train tickets to visit her in Sanford, NC.

"I am a respectable lady," she told me. "You should not expect anything sexual to happen."

It didn’t matter. Just being wanted, just being seen, was enough.

I packed a few changes of clothes, enough to look semi-presentable, and boarded the train. Thanks to the shelter, I was able to shower, shave, and brush my teeth before leaving. That, in itself, was a luxury.

A Moment of Connection

We had a wonderful evening and weekend.

Dinner was warm and filling. We watched the Superman movie together. That night, we shared a bed, though nothing sexual happened.

But I still felt close to her.

I remember laying in her lap, my arms wrapped around her.

I remember the softness of her lips. I remember her whispering, "Give me your tongue," as we kissed.

She was beautiful—a stunning black woman—and for that brief moment, I felt lucky.

For a single night, I wasn’t a homeless person. I wasn’t an accused criminal. I was just me, holding someone close, feeling warmth against my skin instead of the cold, cruel world pressing in on me.

But then I ruined it.

A Stupid, Simple Mistake

Some of my clothes had gotten wet on the train, so she kindly washed and dried them for me.

But in my absentmindedness, I had left my return ticket in my pocket.

When I realized my mistake, my stomach dropped.

"Oh my god."

My chest tightened with frustration, anger, self-loathing.

"How could I be so stupid?"

I knew I had just created a situation where she would have to buy me another ticket home. The thought filled me with shame.

I clenched my fists and, without thinking, slammed my hand down on the bed—not out of anger at her, not in any way directed toward her, but in sheer frustration at myself.

But it didn’t matter.

The second my hand hit the bed, I felt it—fear.

It was my fear that she might be afraid of me.

The Shadow of False Accusations

I hadn’t even been near her.

What if she thinks I could be dangerous? What if she wonders about Ana’s accusations?

It didn’t matter that I knew I was the same person who had those soft gentle hands - the only hands and arms that could have been there with Lynn or Celta before her. Celta who had anorexia and was all skin and bones.

The fear of what she might think consumed me.

This wasn’t like with Lynn, where I could wake up from a nightmare and simply ask her, "Did I hit you in my sleep, or was that just in my dream?"

With Lynn, there was trust.

But this was different.

I left the next day, hugging her goodbye. But I felt ashamed. Because of the shame that I began to carry, I didn’t think to ask for another moment with her.

That moment was the beginning of a new fear—the fear that someone might imagine that I could be violent. It would take many years, maybe a decade and a half for that fear to evaporate.

I was so frustrated that I had but one short glimpse of hope, connection, and closeness.

Back Out in the Cold

On my way back to Chapel Hill, it started snowing.

The ice and wind cut through my coat, through my skin, through the fragile layer of my dashed hopes that I had carried with me on that train that first brought me to see a lady.

I arrived in downtown Durham, exhausted, stressed, and desperate to get back to the shelter in Chapel Hill. But the buses that would go to Chapel Hill weren’t running.

I had no choice but to take the Durham bus as far as it would get me to Chapel Hill and then walk.

Carrying my two bags, I took bus 10 to the farthest point it would go on Highway 15-501, then walked for miles, uphill, through the wet, heavy snow.

At some point, another guy was walking in the same direction. He seemed safe, and we walked together, sharing the quiet misery of the storm.

But when we reached the border of Chapel Hill, I saw the Red Roof Inn and made a decision.

I would call my parents.

I would beg for a warm bed.

I entered the motel and asked for phone to call my family.

"Dad, please. I’m soaked, I’m exhausted. I just need a place to sleep tonight."

His response was cold, emotionless, detached.

"No."

I was numb.

Not from the cold outside, but from the realization that nothing I said would ever make him care.

I had no choice but to keep walking.

Blisters formed on my wet feet. My hands were numb.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

When I finally arrived at the shelter, I knocked on the door, praying they would let me in.

They did.

For a few precious hours, I had a warm bed.

But as dawn came and breakfast ended, I was back out in the cold.

Alone. Again.

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’ll get to that scene below.

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 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?

I didn't feel the need to explain what had happened to me regarding the false accusations and conviction. I knew that she would not have wondered about that. She knew the kind of person I was.

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.

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.

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. 

I suppose that my last words to Lynn were "Fugue State." My life had been a trance since I had to go on living without her being a part of me and me being a part of her.

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!

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 at https://brucewhealton.com/autobiography

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. 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! 

In Lynn’s obituary, I read nothing that comes close to conveying just how profoundly amazing she was and how she made the world a better place!

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, dedicated to her, about my love for her, whenever it was her turn to share at some poetry reading, and 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 as you once did! 

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 called 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 August. I have tried with the guidance and counseling of others to find those answers. 

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 been a no more joyful moment in my life – 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’m 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.” 

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 feared losing her. It doesn’t mean I loved her less than you did. 

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. Drawing inward and away from the higher brain functions that are typical of social animals.

Something inside of me died during that time period.

So, I suppose you shouldn’t have been calling my mother when I shut down and you didn’t know what to do.

My mother’s abuse and emotional neglect left me vulnerable in a way that I had not expected. I had been in therapy for so long with so many therapists, trying to be sure I worked on all my issues. If any of them got a hint that there was something more to work on, they would have told me. 

Lynn would have noticed too. Trust her judgment. You did from the day Lynn and I started seeing each other. 

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 your son-in-law. 

Lynn wanted someone who came and apologized right away when I said something hurtful. 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 she would leave me. 

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. 

Regarding the situation of what happened with Lynn and me.

There was no formal discussion between Lynn and me about going our separate ways. I had been visiting her at her mother's. 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. 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 hurt her and overwhelmed her.

Instead, I became aimless and without a sense of what to do to get Lynn back. 

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.  

[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.

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. 

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 attractive clients over the years, 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. 

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 my parents and siblings were.

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 was also shocked that they had not been there to visit Lynn because it just didn't make sense even for them. They were never 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.  

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.

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.

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 the month in which I tried to work over an hour from home. 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? How 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 August.

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's in Fine Arts from the University of North Carolina. It was a competitive school.    

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. I was in denial.

"Of course, I will carry you into the bathroom and help you shower," I would answer. 

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 siblings.  

I was about to find out that to my surprise they didn't have the capacity 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 a previous chapter, I said 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.   

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.