Obviously, being a therapist, I know the extent of abuse. I deal with it on a nigh daily basis — both from my own past, and through helping others along their own journey. Rarely, I’m so forcefully confronted with the spectral fingers of my own — even though it does still claw at my brain upon occasion.

I’m hardly masochistic; in fact, I hate pain. Really. Not a fan. Emotionally, physically, a combination of both …. I’m not even that big into catharsis except with very special reason. And even then, it’s tightly controlled. I don’t run from pain, per se — I’m done with that phase of my life. I confront, I deal, I regroup, and I get back out there. If there’s something I’m supposed to feel in order to move through something into the next phase of my life, I do it.

That’s why I’m not quite sure how I’m feeling right now.

Allow me to explain.

This morning, going about my usual routine, responding to my Facebook messages, I saw that stupid little, ‘Hey! This guy’s friends with one of your friends! Maybe you should friend him, too!’ box in the corner. Normally, I don’t give a shit. But when it’s my abusive ex-I-hesitate-to-call-a-boyfriend — I do.

And … I did the wrong thing.

I clicked it.

(more…)

Oh, my relationship with all-things-Wonderland runs deep, and stems from as far back as I can remember; traipsing about my grandparents’ mansion as a young girl, pretending that I was wandering a world far from this one.

It’s no wonder that my masterpiece would be a derivative works — for those unfamiliar, known as Hunting Alice, soon to be an audio drama series and broadcast on the Internet.

This, strangely enough, is not about that … exactly. This is about something else. Deeper. The roots of Roulette, in some sense. While I am always aware of myself, I do have momentary lapses of … treason? No. Season? Hmm, not quite. And ‘reason’ doesn’t cut it, since they’re not always unreasonable; but they do change me.

There are many people milling about in my head — many of which whom are my own creations, and present themselves in my fiction works. But sometimes, I get a bit too method. Certain characters, unfortunately, are so deeply ingrained within me that when something triggers them (or someone) it’s all I can do to keep firm hold of myself. It’s just so otherwise natural to slip into the masque of someone else.

(more…)

Have you ever been forced to be in the same room with a rape victim? It’s a deeply uncomfortable experience. They’re quiet — too quiet; or they can’t seem to stop crying for longer than every 5 or 10 minutes. You don’t know what to say, or do, because nothing helps. And you just wish they were gone. That you didn’t have to deal with it.

I once was myself, before I grabbed and threw her into the nearby closet. But it was too dark, and I could still hear her. She wouldn’t stop screaming, and now she was crying almost constantly. I couldn’t concentrate; got nothing done while she was there. So, finally, I beat her just long enough until she was quiet, so that I could transport her to our basement. While I knew it would no doubt attract some attention, I was out of other options. I knew there, underneath the floor, where her muffled cries would only be heard in the dead of night while we were sleeping, was where I would bury her alive.

She was seven.

I’m not a monster. I do what I do to survive. (more…)