[1moretime]

I would so much rather lie about my past, both to myself and to others. I fabricated delusions and live with them rather than the truth. The truth is so painful. My delusions have led to more delusions and they have become so confusing that I really don’t know who I am or what the truth is. As I write this memoir, I sit shaking my head, I am perplexed, angry and I am filled with hatred for so many people who hurt me.

As a child, I was neglected. There was a complete void of any kind of love. I cannot recall ever being told that I was loved. My father was the son of a farmer; I often think his parents had as many children as possible creating laborers for the family farm. I am not certain about my mother’s childhood. Both parents came from very large families. I think my father was one of 10 kids and my mother something close to the same.

My childhood was filled with drama. There were times when I was so scared that someone was going to hurt me. I have vague memories of my grandmother; I literally feared her and was relieved when she died. One event that sticks in my mind was being locked out of the house on a steel floored porch on a hot summer day with bare feet. I think I was being punished for something. I don’t recall but, I do remember my bare feet being burned.

For some reason, another event that sticks in my mind (the events I remember are few) was when a man kept telling me to put my hand on a table so he could use a hammer to smash my fingers. I am terrified by an event that I have no memory of. I fear I was sexually assaulted by a man from the Boy Scouts. He took me to his house. He had me lay on the bed and he was behind me. I remember feeling very uncomfortable. I have absolutely no memory after that other than waking up and frantically trying to call my parents.

Sometime early in my life, my father had an affair with another woman. He ran away with her and she ended up pregnant. I remember my mother saying that she could not take care of all four kids and she was going to take my older sister and younger brother, my younger sister and I would be put up for adoption or, sent to my father. I recall my father saying that he would not take us with him. No doubt this is where my fear of abandonment came from.

During my childhood I was an outcast. I was bullied and picked on. I recall my father sending me to fight another kid. It was in our front yard and my entire family, along with several neighbors, watched me get beaten to a pulp. Every time I tried to run away, my father screamed at me to get back in and fight. I remember my mother forcing me to go to school the next day with black eye’s, cuts and bloodied lips. I wanted to run so bad! It got to the point where it was easier to just let someone hit me rather than fight back.
I was never allowed to play sports and I had no real friend during my childhood.

I recall getting a paper route so I could pay for the entry into little league baseball. My father had promised to buy me a glove, when we went to get the glove, he chose something that was completely ridiculous. The other kids laughed at me for this plastic thing that was supposed to be my glove. I made it through several weeks of little league before I finally gave up and quit. Neither of my parents ever attended a single game.
During my childhood, my father was attempting to build his welding business. I was his slave. When other kids were out playing and having fun, I was doing some assigned task, some form of slave labor that was never done well enough to satisfy him. It did not matter how hard I tried, assuming I did, my work was never adequate.

When I started high school, my parents bought a new home. This home was directly across the street form a high school. Unfortunately, either my parents never bothered to check or, they didn't care that in the Los Angeles School Districts, busing had begun and the high school I had to go to was in the worst gang infested violent place one could go. I remember fearing for my life when I went to school. There were fights with knives and razor blades and God only knows what else. It was like being in a prison trying to escape while fearing for your life.

Needless to say, I didn't make it through high school. I was a big guy and people seemed to always want to fight me. There was one instant where I was attacked by four or five guys. They used me as a punching bag. I was beaten senseless and left lying on the street unable to move. I quit school with my father’s approval. He took me to his shop everyday where I worked. He always told me that he was holding my pay for me. He said he was going to make me the best welder ever and I would thank him for all of the wisdom and skill he shared with me.

When I was 15 years old, I took a Greyhound bus to San Diego. I wanted to be a deck hand on a sport fishing boat. I convinced my parents that I had secured a job and all I needed to do was get there. They never checked and let me go. I spent many days and nights walking around the docks searching for a job. One rainy night when I was cold and hungry, I found a boat that was still at the dock. It was unlocked and I walked on and found a bag of potato chips.

I immediately fell asleep and much to my terror, I woke up to find several people working on the boat. Nobody disturbed me, they just let me sleep. I didn't know what to do so I decided to run for it. I didn't even make it off the boat before I was caught. A man named Sid and his wife sat me down and asked why I was there. I fabricated some elaborate explanation that no doubt they didn't believe. I guess the man, who was also the skipper of the boat, felt it was worth giving me a chance at my dream of being a fisherman.
I worked on that boat all summer long. We left the dock every night at midnight and returned the next night at 10 pm. We reloaded passengers and supplies before we were out to sea again. I made so much money, during that summer; I managed to save something close to $3,000.

When I finally went home, I told my father I wanted to buy a motorcycle.
I gave him the money and he took me to the Honda dealership where I picked out this beautiful bike, it was my dream. I was so proud of that bike; I polished it daily and cared for it better than a mother with a newborn infant child. One day, my mother told me that I had to take the bike to a place in Long Beach, Ca. She never told me why, she just said I had to go there.
When I got to the place, it turned out to be a finance company. The man said I had to leave my bike behind and I should talk to my father about why it was there. I gave my father the money and apparently he financed it and failed to pay for it. I called my mother frantic for an explanation. She told me to come home; I didn't have any money and was forced to walk something like 7 or 8 miles to get home. I will never forget how mad I was at my father. I wanted to hurt him so bad. I never got my motorcycle back and never did get an explanation from my father.

Somehow, I decided the best course for me was to become a professional bowler. I was pretty good at it and even though I was only about 17 years old, I managed to get myself into some adult leagues and befriended some people who no doubt felt very sorry for me. One guy, who I still remember, taught me how to bowl. They took me into their home and introduced me to some other people who sponsored me in tournaments.

For the next couple of years, I went from one tournament to another, never winning one but, I was making money. A friend of the couple who took me in was a much older lady who had gone through a divorce. I don’t know how old she was but I do know she had sons older than me. She drove me to the tournaments and was always there to cheer me on. Naturally, we became very close and started having sex. I lived with her and people believed she was my surrogate mother.

At some point, we decided to move to Reno Nevada together. When I was 21 years old, I decided that I wanted to drive a truck. She paid for me to go to the school and within a matter of a few months; I had saved enough money to buy my own semi. It was amazing, I was making so much money, me and Lois drove in that truck together all over the USA driving it and having sex together.

I was about 24 years old and had bought a house and a condo in Utah. I was the star of the company I leased myself to. Whenever there was a load that had to get there, no matter the circumstance, I was the guy they called. I never let them down, no matter the weather or anything else, I was like the mail man, I delivered. I am amazed that I never had an accident.

During the Carter years, deregulation took effect and I went broke. Lois had found a guy more suitable for her age and I went back to California to try again with my father. Soon after I got there, I met a woman who had just got divorced. She was my sister’s best friend. We went on the longest date in history. Our date started on Christmas Eve and ended up in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve. She was so damaged, her ex-husband had done unthinkable things to her and she was an alcoholic.

My father loved her but hated the idea that I was with her. I remember him telling me it was fine to use her for sex but, there was no way he would ever stand for us being together. Those were the words I needed to hear, I made that lady love me. I did everything imaginable to make sure nobody could ever compare to me. I became her two infant son’s father and I took care of everything.

We were soon married, my father refused to come to the wedding. That lead to the biggest confrontation we had ever had. I don’t recall the circumstances but I remember he was waiting for me, sitting on the porch with a loaded gun. It was the first time in my life when I was completely fearless. He held that gun in his hand and pointed it at me. I grabbed a garbage can that was sitting on the curb and dumped it all over his beloved welding truck. I walked straight to him and dared him to pull the trigger. I am certain that I had only one goal in my mind. I was going to hurt him like he hurt me. Oddly enough, this big burly man ran, scarred of me!

I was satisfied for the moment. Now, it was time to make my life. I managed to lie my way into a big stock brokerage firm. I became a stock broker and in no time at all, rocketed to the top. My wife and I moved to Denver, Colorado where I became a super star at this firm. Within a couple of years, I amassed a plan to start my own merger and acquisition firm. Remember, I didn't even finish high school much less college. I started this firm and within months had secured some very reputable clients. Now, at age 34 or so, I had gone from driving a semi and a pickup truck to driving a Porsche and flying my own airplane. It was incredible, I was making over a million dollars a year and nobody ever suspected me of anything.

One day, I found out my beloved wife had an affair. I was crushed and I believed it was because I was inadequate. I decided it was time to really perform. I got myself involved in one of the most complicate merger deals imaginable, I was way out of my league but, I was in charge. By this time the money was flowing in by the truck load. Unfortunately, I made a mistake and ended up in jail for 6 months charged with conspiracy to commit securities fraud. My fortune was gone!

I did my time and somehow managed to save my relationship with my wife. She went from driving a Mercedes to a 10 year old Buick and I had nothing. Once again, it was time to perform. She had moved to Michigan while I was in jail. When I got there I needed a job and someplace to hide.

I got a job selling cars and yes, I was number one almost immediately. I flew through the ranks and within a year or so managed to become the General Manager of a formidable dealership. Once again, I was in my element, in charge and free to grow. Nobody could believe what I did with that place in just a few years. Once again, I was happy. I managed to buy a new house and everything was great until one day when my beloved wife came home from work.

She told me she had been to the doctor; she said she was worried that because of her many years of alcoholism her liver was failing. It turned out it was more than her liver, 6 weeks later, she died from cancer. Once again, my life was in a tail spin. Me and our 15 year old daughter were alone and scared to death. My beautiful wife, my rock, was gone. She was so beautiful; she could wear an evening gown from Sak’s like no one else. She actually looked elegant while she was passed out in a corner at a black tie affair. I could always count on her to abuse me, I never had to worry about being told I was inadequate, she always made certain I knew.

Soon after her death, I met another woman. She was even more beautiful than Cheryl. She was so sweet and nurturing. She treated me like a king, at least when she was in the manic phases of her bi-polar I disorder. When she wasn't, she gave me what I really wanted. That woman could abuse a guy like nobody else. She could make me feel so small and so worthless; she actually drove me to the point wanting to kill myself. About two years after our relationship began; she assaulted me and ended up in jail. She spent several months there. During that time I was convinced that divorce was the only sensible act. I was so sad; I just could not believe this beautiful woman could hurt me like she did.

After we divorced, I started to work on healing. I never had any intention of actually admitting any of the above. I figured it was time to develop an even more complex set of delusions. This was my way of healing. It worked for some time. I got myself into shape, lost almost 100 pounds and had a great job. I started feeling confident in myself again and started to date.
It seemed that every woman who I met had problems. None of them could admit to their past. I went through a few women until I found one that at least had the potential to hurt me. It was ironic and I love irony, when I found one that I knew could hurt me, I immediately fell in love. There were three and all three of these women gave me pain.

The last one and the reason I am now writing this, told me something, she said you are such a sweet guy and I am afraid that I am going to hurt you. You see, she said, “when my first husband left me, I made a promise to destroy every man I ever come into contact with and you are number 7.” I spent every waking moment telling this gorgeous Brazilian woman how much I loved her. The truth is that I was feeling something I had never felt before. Could this actually be love?

Now that you know how much I love irony, how much more ironic could the following be. I had decided about 6 weeks earlier to become a “hunk.” I decided that I would take my 54 year old 6’ 2” frame and transform it into something every woman would want. I bought some black market testosterone and started shooting up massive doses. It was working unbelievably well. I was becoming a stud in nothing flat. My muscles were growing so fast that I couldn't keep a shirt on without busting out of the chest and arms. Unfortunately, I failed to realize one very important fact. Men who use testosterone produce estrogen and my estrogen level was at a point that my doctor told me he had never seen before and actually couldn't believe possible.

I literally gained 25 pounds in one month. My face and neck were so puffy that they became round from all the water I was retaining. I could not have sex with my Brazilian goddess and that created an enormous panic. I had become so emotional that I would cry watching TV. I was sharing things with this woman that I could not believe. I was in love.

She dumped me, I don’t know if it was because she was sick or because I am. I doubt it was the latter, my scheme was so complex and well thought out that I doubt anyone could ever have seen through it. This time I was really devastated. I was so devastated that I went to the beach and sat in the sand wondering if I could swim to Africa. I was making bets with myself about how far I would get and what would actually take me down. Would I make it past the swarm of hammer head sharks that populate the east coast of Florida?

I decided another course of action was better; I manifested an elaborate scheme to make this lady believe I was sick and would likely die from my illness. I begged her to be there with me at the end, holding my hand and telling me she loved me. Maybe she could be like I was when my wife died. I certainly had the words but, the meaning was in doubt. I could not keep this delusion together for very long. I didn't have enough time to really plan it and I left a lot of big holes in my plan which she no doubt saw right through.

Dr. Scott Peck wrote in his book The Road Less Traveled that “self-reflection is the essence of humility.” I don’t know what that means and I don’t know if this memoir qualifies as “self-reflection.” What I do know is as I have written this; I felt everything from anger to intense pain. I have laughed some but, for the most part, I feel tears. Earlier in the week I made an appointment to start EMDR.

For whatever reason, I actually felt good about it and really feel that the truth is ready to make its way to the surface. Maybe it’s because the estrogen made the feelings undeniable and the real truth finally surfaced.
I don’t know but, I hope sharing my story with the world will make it impossible for me to run from it any longer. This seems to be my coming out party. I want so badly to feel what has been so elusive in my life. I want to be able to love someone and I want them to love me. I don’t want it to be a delusion anymore; I don’t want my neurosis to be my reality anymore.

[Sannah]

Yes, it is time to stop running and to face reality. You have my support!

[Silent_Tears_17]

Wow. your life story is very sad. I hope this new period of reflection lessens your pain

[1moretime]

Funny thing, until recently, I actually thought it was okay. Funny how just a few day's can completely change one's perspective. Oh well, time to heal!