Bleary, shoulder muscle knots, fading energy. Five solid hours of editing my blog to book as the new year closes in are taking their toll on my mind and my body. I am drifting in and out of focus, trying hard to give the editor what she wants. I am alone, only with my computer open to the screen of blog texts. My blog writings at the time took on the rawness of the abuse I felt from the impetuously unhealthy relationship with Paul Allen. Now connecting the dots, the storyline from bits of canvases and secrets—the deep-rooted scar in my brain seeps open and bleeds through my veins. The reflections are chaotically painful just like the time spent with Paul, raising feelings of helplessness, despair, humiliation, loneliness, fear; sensations erotically blended with sensuality. That mental ache is the indelible scar left by emotional abuse, the legacy of Paul Allen’s ‘Love.’ I live in the long shadow of the trauma once again centered in my life through writing the book. I placed my soul at Paul’s feet, and he kicked me so hard with his emotional games I landed in an open grave.
I am floating into 2018 with the abuse scar ripped open in the obscurity of the script. As I edit and pull the blogs together for the book, the venting of emotions appears a little too messy, embarrassing or potent to give voice to everyday life. But then my writing about my time with Paul is not conventional, and the exposer was always risky especially my endeavor to write in a frenzy of consciousness, with little or no idea of where it was going. I lay open to rejection, ridicule and, or angry retort. I was more in fear of the mentally painful and destructive fall out I suffered at the hands of Paul than how people would respond to my writing. When I confronted his deepest secret, (something I now believe I unconsciously did to free myself), Paul cut off all contact, insidiously representing me as unhinged, a casual date, a stalker and a liar. I was slowly being engulfed in flames by the igniting fire and brimstone, and my instinct for survival made me realize that unless he were crushed the blaze would never go out.
My greatest wish for 2018 is that the completion of the book and it’s publication will plug the wound once and for all, will bring me to a different place in my life. But then as is the case with emotional abuse, otherwise known as psychological abuse or coercive abuse:
You sink your teeth inside of me.
It was erratically painful,
I conformed to the pain.
Slowly naturalized itself with my blood,
Now they flow together in my veins.
You let go and slithered away,