October 2, 2021
Sat on a shelf, it was quite a strange unexpected place to be. I suppose that it started after the events of 1991–92. That year a number of events took place that were both filled with joy and incredible heartbreak. You might think that the birth of my probably not daughter would have been a joyous event, however, the whore that I was married to made it obvious that the child was not mine. As heartbreaking as this should have been, it really was not; considering the quantity of cocks that she had been bouncing around on the unknown father was a forgone conclusion. You might also think that the dissolution of the marriage would be heartbreaking, nope it really was not; far too much damage had been done during the previous decade.
The joy and heartbreak was all about the Nanny. When we had met in high school and the first time I had wrapped my arm around her, she had snugged in to me so hard and tight that you could not have slipped a playing card between us. The sense of familiarity with her in that moment and every moment after that was phenomenal. It was extraordinarily unfortunate that we were incapable of growing the relationship from that point, we were both locked in to our own worlds of hell. We should have recognized it in the other and bonded from there, however, when fundamental trusts have been broken it is almost impossible to trust anyone.
We ended up wounding each other terribly and it would be a long seven years before we would see each other again in any meaningful way. In a stunning turn of events, she ended up under my roof as my maybe daughter’s Nanny. I was astounded that she had agreed to do this considering what my “wife” had caused to happen to her seven years earlier. I was incredibly surprised at the changes in her, she had been a pretty girl in high school, now, she was a walking orgasm. It was wonderful that as time passed she and I were able to grow closer, both physically, and more importantly, emotionally. It was here though, that we failed each other again, though emotionally we were inseparable, neither of us was able to express this to the other. It was heartbreaking for both of us, we each needed and wanted the other yet the words would not come.
The following travesties were brought about for the both of us because of that inability to communicate. She disappeared from my life as suddenly and unexpectedly as she had reappeared. It took almost 30 years to learn what truly transpired, and those answers were hard. For those responsible they live only because I have not yet decided their fate. And yes, I have spent the last 3 years finding out where and who they are. Once that decision comes, they should run very far away and do it very fast. There, fair warning given.
In the immediate aftermath of that year 1992–1993, I went about life as normally as a divorce allows, and I maintained an unhealthy hope that the Nanny would reappear; but no she did not. Two years were to pass before I saw her next, and to my horror, I discovered she was a mere three days from marrying this creep who would spend the next 26 years fucking her over . I had known the ass in school and it terrified me for her as to what he was going to do to her, 26 years later it broke my heart to find that I had not been wrong to be scared shitless for her.
In previous articles I have talked about how the experiences of the abuse at home and in the school yard had served two purposes, I was now about to embark on the second of those objectives. I had been very much in love with the Nanny, I had been incredibly dependent on her for my emotional needs; and the manner and seeming choices that she had made at the time of her departure was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We have spoken in previous articles about how the people in our lives serve a purpose, some have multiple roles to play. The Nanny, as it turns out, was one of those who had numerous roles to play in my life. Her first role, was to be that one piece of straw too many, the other would be discovered 26 years later.
For the following five years after her marriage, I avoided women almost completely, I could not look at them, I could not talk to any, if I absolutely had to, I would stare over their left shoulder instead of trying to meet their eyes. There were even times when if I had no choice except to deal with a woman, I would leave exacting detailed notes as to what I wanted done simply to avoid having to deal with the person and be in the same room as her. This sad state of affairs being brought on as I desperately tried to fight off the overwhelming sense of worthlessness that a lifetime of betrayal by women had led to. You might think that I hated women and might have become capable of extremes of violence towards them, no my mother had beat that out of me decades earlier, and in fact, where I was then was worse, women just did not exist, they were no more than sometimes pleasant smelling shapes in my universe. It was an interesting time in my life, during the most extreme time of that period, if a female shape spoke to me uninvited, I was like, oh, the shape is making noises; if those noises were not immediately pertinent to my circumstance, I would simply walk away mid-sentence regardless of how rude it may have been. I was absolutely done with women, and I shelved 50% of the human genus. And so it went for almost five years, until a bowl of beef barley soup determined that it was time to re-establish a relationship with my sacred feminine.
I had been laid low by a stomach bug while at the Fifth Wheel Truckstop in Dorchester Ontario, this of course taking place before the chain imploded and went out of business. I had spent three days in the bunk of my truck afraid to move more than half an inch from my nearest barf bag. Eventually, weak and feeling like I might be able to keep something down, I cautiously approached the restaurant, and explained to the waitress shape that I had been extremely ill, and could it recommend something that was both feeding and light on my tummy. The shape recommended beef barley soup, and it was her kindness, compassion, and seeming genuine concern that began to change my perception of women.
The sacred feminine, it is not what you may think. It has almost nothing whatever to do with sexuality, and is only one part of the duality that is life.