Category Archives: glenn t.

Faithfully

This was originally a post on my Facebook page.

**This is actually the second time I’m writing this post. The first one is lost in the ether somewhere because I tried to add art after writing it. AAARGH!**

Broken-Heart-Music-smallerI have learned to be very, very careful about what I share online. If someone knew what to look for, they’d find that I’ve been a traveller on the net for about 20 years, give or take one. Therefore, if I’m writing this on Facebook, of all places, then I really, really had to write. There is another place I can write, but I do so under a pseudonym that only a few know as me. This time, *I* need to write this post. Me.

I’ve been sitting at my dining room table working like hell to get WickedWomanMag.com up by *mumble*mumble* while listening to iTunes. It’s just me, my really f’ed up wrist, my laptop, the occasional head butt from a puppy to say, “Don’t forget about me!” and my work. I was concentrating like a laser when I had to stop.

There are some songs that we not only hear, but feel in our bones. It doesn’t matter whether it is a sad song or joyous. Whenever we hear it, there is a swell of emotion that we really can’t explain to anyone. For me, one of those songs is Journey’s Faithfully.

The sentiments expressed, the experiences, the longing are all well known to me. I loved two men at the same time when in college. One of them was a “music man”–a roadie for a couple of bands—so he wasn’t around as much as I would have liked. I remember a couple of times when I went to spy on his apartment building which was easy enough since it was across the street from our favorite bar. Now I think my little reconnaissance missions were hilarious, especially when I had my best friend at the time help me with them. Then, all I had was the longing.

As an aside: What I would give to have a photo taken reminiscent of the John and Yoko bed photo! Visually, we were gorgeous together. He had a thick mane of very wavy, deep, bright red hair and pale skin. My skin, obviously much darker, had the right highlights to make, particularly, a black & white photo stunning. I have thought of that shot many times, especially after I ran into a salesmen at a music store that could have easily been his son. He wasn’t.

The red head and I had several little “talks” about the formality of our relationship. Neither of us were monogamous. How could I be with another guy a little over an hour away? The thing about the red head was that I could really be who I was. All those intimate urges were on overdrive, yes, but it was much more. He was a gregarious Irishman and I was just happily me when he was around. Man, did it hurt when he had to go to work, though. I *hated* seeing him drive off. He was my “music man.” Faithfully.

Another aside: I think I felt most alive when I got to watch a basketball arena turn into a concert hall. It is complexly amazing. I remember watching my red head, (although I don’t think he was mine quite yet), running cable and climbing scaffolding to hang lights. When he was finally some version of “mine,” I got quite “excited” every time I saw him working with cables, especially light boards. Remembering the metamorphosis from arena to music hall now really makes me long for that experience once again. I’ll put it on my Bucket List. Before Mom died, I was going back to our alma mater for grad school. I’d planned to ask if I could take over as the advisor to the student organization that handled concerts, among other things. I am a Roach Patrol alum, after all, so I know a little about what needs to happen.

The other man I loved was, and may well end up being, the love of my life. I hope he doesn’t, because I can easily do better. Having a chronic, debilitating condition plays havoc with the love life. Good Lord, I could go with either sex and I’m still by myself! Actually, I don’t really mind it right now. I’m too busy and I have a lot that I have to do because I’m the only one who can. WickedWomanMag.com has got to go live in the very near future. Indeed, me sitting here typing this a second time has totally screwed the pooch with my night, but it had to be done.

It took me a whole year and a little more to finally get the love of my life to take me seriously. I wanted him. Period. Dot com; dot org; dot edu. I may have been a few years younger than most kids in college, but I felt the electricity the very first time we actually met. That S.O.B. played with me like a cat with a mouse, too. It is fairly humorous now, but it was anything but then. Looking back, he was so bad, but in a way that wasn’t evil. That would come later. I still ended up crying my eyes out over him both before and after we got together, but those instances were forgivable. As I said, he wasn’t truly evil or cruel then.

I transferred to a larger university my sophomore year. Going back to visit friends where I first entered college was tricky. I wanted to spend time with them but I also wanted to get time with my love. He was seeing the woman he eventually married along with a few others on campus—or so it was believed. He didn’t always know when I was going to be in town and I didn’t always know that he had time or would make time for me. Actually, while exploring the possibilities, he did make time to see me.

Once we got “together” and he came to visit, I was a floating ball of happy goo from the moment I saw his car pull into the drive until he left. He was my heart. He HAD my heart. But, again, we weren’t exclusive. It wasn’t impossible, but it sure would have been impractical, especially with the girl he was seeing there on campus with him. I hated that, but I also knew I would not thrive in such a small school.

All in all, we were together, if somewhat ambiguously, for 17 years. One of the darkest times was when he asked me to come visit him at home several years after we’d both graduated. When someone brings you across several states to meet his parents, the natural thought is that things are about to get serious—finally! I think that trip was a test that I failed. I think I know why, but it is really immaterial. He told me of his engagement to his college girlfriend, then about to become a doctor, just as I was leaving his home (bastard) to visit a cousin nearby. For better or worse, he told me, “I almost chose you.” I don’t remember what happened next other than more tears than I’d shed in my life until that point. It’s all a blur.

It is hard to say which I remember most, the longing for him when he wasn’t physically or emotionally available or the joy, for the most part, when he was. I’ve written so much about him over the years that a publisher inquired about a book some years ago. I couldn’t write it then. Now I can and will, although I’ll have to change the names to protect the whining, bitching and moaning incredibly guilty. Once I get WWM up and running smoothly, including hiring a managing editor at some point, I can breathe a bit.

I mentioned that he hadn’t turned evil prior to his marriage. He was quiet, had mad skills as a DJ, super smart and probably in or near the genius IQ range, sweet, gentle when needed, but he did have a very evil side that I’d known was there for a long time. I knew nearly from the beginning that he was the kind of young man who could either choose to be a good and decent person or be a cruel, evil and non-consensually sadistic person. At some point during his marriage he chose the latter. I would give a lot to go back and stop him from choosing the wrong side, but I can’t. These days, if there COULD be a sinister motive for someone’s actions, that is his default assumption. I’m sorry, but I believe that’s quite twisted.

What happened to my caring, generally upbeat, beautiful young man? I dearly want to know what made him turn into someone who could be so utterly hateful, cruel and sadistic, particularly to me—someone who’d been totally loyal to him and, with one exception, shown him nothing but love. Hell, even when I was hurt and angry with him I still tried to be decent about things. I wish I could say the same about him. I can’t. He has become a textbook narcissist and it just makes me sad. What he did to me as the narcissist he’s become is very private. I’m struggling with how to write about it in the book because I’ve never experienced cruelty on that level.

This decades old rock ballad called Faithfully has a kind of magic for me. Most of the time, if I truly listen to it, I start crying. I’ve barely held back the tears tonight, but I wanted to get this post done. I know this song. I’ve felt this song. I’ve been this song. Indeed, I’ve been this song twice in my life in two different ways. The fact that I’m sharing this on FACEBOOK is fairly well amazing to me. However, as I stated when I began, I needed to write this and not my alter ego. I did this for me because this is what is in my heart. For reasons that probably won’t become clear to me for a while, I needed to remember. Faithfully.

Whew! I didn’t know all that was in there. Now I need a cigarette. It’s too bad I quit smoking. 😦

Revenge

I have encountered three narcissists in my life: a cousin who lives to torture me while playing victim; some guy I was seeing who loved to tell me why I wasn’t good enough and watch me hurt until someone clued me in to narcissists and what they do for the sheer joy of it, and; Glenn T. , who will sing some version of “Poor Pitiful Me” if I let him. Oddly enough, the cousin and Glenn both decided to wave their “I’m the only and sole president of the Narcissist Club of America” flags around the same time. The thing is, I didn’t know there was a pathology until the second listed abuser came along and someone recognized the behavior pattern, after which I did my own digging.

Glenn T. has always been his own worst enemy. He listens through the filter of his projections because he fails to grasp that most people aren’t like him. Most people do not operate with an ulterior motive in mind and they certainly don’t operate with the most twisted and perverse ulterior motives in mind. That is the way he thinks. That’s the way he gets his kicks. I guess marrying another narcissist, mean girl, bully and the attendant conjugal “benefits” aren’t doing it for him anymore. Oh well. Not my problem.

My problem is two-fold. The first is that justice should be meted out to Glenn T. and his spouse because, in this case, the fairness demands such. In this instance, since neither perpetrators are going to admit their abusive acts or voluntarily do penance, justice could arguably take the form of revenge.

That brings me to the second fork of this problem.

Although I have no idea exactly who is attributed with the saying, there is the aphorism that living well is the best revenge. It is also said that revenge is a dish best served cold. What does this mean when put together?

Justice, (i.e. revenge), will come when it is least expected and when I have the will, the power and the money to exact a four-star Zagat rating. Until then, I will take care of myself and do those things I want to do with my life. I will have a life well-lived.

Mourning

I’ve just spent the last 30 minutes or so telling my cousin about Glenn. It wasn’t a subject I’d planned to address, but there seemed no way to explain a part of my life without explaining him. This makes sense, really. Before I awoke from my nap this evening, I’d dreamed about Glenn, a mutual friend we had named Tanya and, of course, about me. I was in horrible emotional pain because Glenn somehow walked away from me and wouldn’t speak to me again. He was with hagbeast and the setting was the college we attended. I remember the agony and I remember his face. What I didn’t know in the dream, and don’t really know now, is why he hated me because of my sexuality. The irony is that, at this point in my life, I honestly, truly do want a male mate. I’m not kicking any lovely, lovely women out of my bed–or life, if that’s the case–but my sexuality has made a 180 degree turn in the last month that’s confused the daylights out of me.

Be that as it may, when I awoke, what I felt was the profound loss. It mirrors the loss I haven’t allowed myself to feel in real life. I don’t think I can run far enough fast enough. I’m going to have to truly feel the pain.

This is in no way meant to diminish what I feel, but the thing that struck me after actually saying a few words to him and being greeted with hostility is that I was dead on about his character and characteristics when I thought he was ignoring me. I am thankful that, as if someone had pushed a button, my emotional armor went up the moment I realized I had managed to fuck up and reach the person–TWICE. I don’t understand that kind of hatred. I never have. He was the last straight person in the world I’d peg as homophobic. Yet, that was part of the rant he used to cripple me and bang my figurative head into the ground over and over again. A decade later, he doesn’t remember and suddenly decided he doesn’t want to. I wish I could have forgotten as easily.

Somehow, the world seems much lonelier than it did. Tanya left me little to no choice except to say one final goodbye. Glenn turned into the narcissist/sociopath/narcissistic sociopath I was truly afraid he’d become with hagbeast. He could go either way and I knew it. That’s one of the primary reasons I stayed with him. Not to get completely hyperbolic (although I’m going there), hagbeast massaged his darker nature. I massaged his lighter nature. He had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. (Please know that I did try to find a substitute metaphor and failed.) It was much easier to be dark, rapacious, mean and evil. Dark always has an advantage. There are things I understand now that I didn’t then. Unfortunately, it’s too late. Even if he wanted to get out (and there’s no evidence he does) he couldn’t. That leaves me to mourn and to write.

A part of me says that I don’t know how we’re going to get through the hell. Another part says that we simply will. It is what we do. Strength above all.

While laying in a hospital . . .

I’ve had a headache since Saturday afternoon. Judging from the symptoms I knew that I either had a wicked nasty bastard of a migraine or I was about to stroke out. When pain breaks through the kind of narcotics I’m on, that pain gets taken seriously. Still, end of the month, the unexpected expense of buying a second set of auto tags with the third and, I hope, final set to be purchased in May and the money just was not there to fill the Rx I already had that wasn’t working to begin with. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had my cousin drive me to one of the local ERs.

Long story short, I was admitted and started on stronger pain meds. The unfortunate aspect is that I had no real choice but to lie and say I was better because I have managed to surround myself with people who are allergic to dogs. So that meant I needed out of the hospital. The second part of this discomforting scenario is that I could only get the pain meds as an in-patient. I definitely cared, but I cared more about my girls. There is almost no one in my breed in the area at all and there aren’t any in the breed in these parts who are friends. I got home and everything was OK even though I’d been gone something like 30 hours.

Once the pain stopped knocking me to the floor; once the room was dark, and; very little noise was coming into my ER cubicle, I had an epiphany. I’ve outgrown Glenn. Hearing and experiencing him as he is, I have learned that only one of us matured happily. He’s angry, afraid and dependent. I actually do understand a lot of that. Had my mother continued on and had I capitulated to her more and more bizarre demands, I would have been him in a couple of years. The difference is that I didn’t choose my circumstances. He did. He’s old enough to rescue himself should he choose to. He’s healthy. He is everything that I was not and still, had I not had the feeling life was going to go sideways, I would have rescued myself because I couldn’t go much further down this road.

When I realized that I’d outgrown this person to whom I’d looked up for so many years, it was a big surprise. I’d captured a part of both our lives in amber as if that was a snapshot from an old 4 megapixel point ‘n’ shoot as opposed to a snapshot from before digital cameras were invented. (Granted, more than a little hyperbolic, but the reasoning is sound.) A lot of that is because he absolutely refused to tell me of the changes in his life after I came out to him. Indeed, I think it’s fair to say that he hated me for loving women at all, regardless of where I fell on the scale of human sexuality. I would have to be all het all the time for him or he’d always wonder how I felt at any given moment on any given day, in any cycle, month or year. And in doing so, know that he couldn’t give me all that I wanted or needed, even if he could give me 99.999%. It would always be the .001% he’d look at me and hate me for because he’d think he’d failed. One thing is right: He is failing by leaps and bounds. He is failing himself, very true, but he has, is and will continue to fail me. As I said on the day he married hagbeast, Glenn is Robin’s problem now in far more ways than anyone reading this will know.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. There is still a book in this. However, something else takes precedence for the next couple of years. I can mind-doodle whenever the urge strikes. Hence, all is not lost.

Odds & ends

I’m sick. I don’t know whether it’s from morphine withdrawal or I have a bad sinus infection. I got the morphine script filled tonight, so we shall see.

It’s 3:09a and I am so totally exhausted I don’t know what to do. I’ve taken my sleep meds, but I only got sleepier and did not fall asleep. What is up with that? They’ve always worked!

I went to the gym while awaiting my prescription. I wanted to check my theory about my “late” being too “late” for someone who has to get up and go to work in the morning. No data yet. The person for whom I was looking didn’t show up. Oh well, perhaps another time.

However, speaking of the gym, I think I’m beginning to see some definition in my muscles. If I had to guess, I think my thigh is going to be quite prominent because of the quadriceps. I also think that I’m going to be able to nip that whole “wings on my upper arms” thing in the bud. I didn’t want to change shoes, so I concentrated on my shoulders and chest tonight. I’m still good at only 40 lbs., but I’ll move up in a week or so.

I got home and didn’t feel like cooking at all. What I should have done was make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. However, if I made one, I’d want another. Granted, I hadn’t even begun to approach any calorie intake, so I could eat what I wanted. I just didn’t want to get in the habit. Instead, I broiled a steak that’s been marinating in the fridge for two days. This time, the girls didn’t steal it from me and I actually got to eat it! Coupled with King’s Hawaiian rolls, it was divine. I tried to wait for the broccoli to finish cooking, but I was too exhausted and just wanted to eat. I’ll finish up the broccoli another day.

Finally, I just wanted to let you all know that the other, private, blog has been set up. That means you guys won’t have to suffer through my anger, angst and bewilderment regarding GLENN as much here. I hope that scum bucket’s eyes fall out since he’s checking to see what I’ve written. The posts on the new blog are password protected and the blog itself is hidden. Therefore, I can get as real as I want to be with my feelings and work out the nitty gritty of the book, thereby leaving this blog for other matters.

That’s it. I’m going to try to sleep now. Did I mention I was exhausted?

Moving on

I don’t know how many posts I’ve written about Glenn, but I do know there are a lot of them. Anytime I begin to feel guilty about not moving on from a thing, I get very insecure in my interactions. What runs through my mind goes something like this: “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I know that people are sick and tired of hearing about it. I should probably have moved on by now, but I can’t. Maybe I’ll just avoid people or put on my ‘face’ so no one will know how I feel.” That is not good. What’s worse is that I’m starting to feel that way. That’s very unhealthy for me because no amount of antidepressants will reach that level of depression. Once I get in The Pit, getting out of it is hellishly hard. Therefore, it’s best not to go there in the first place.

In order to feel comfortable in my relationships with the little community we have here, I need to write about Glenn where I won’t feel as though I’m being judged. I should say that, as far as I know, I haven’t been judged at all. You guys have been great! It’s just that I’m beginning to get paranoid and feel guilty. That’s all on me. I also need a space he can’t get to and I know he’s been here and on my other, very public, blog. I found out about the latter Monday because I religiously pay attention to site metrics. Of course, I’m also very sure that he jumped to some damn stupid conclusion he made up in his head. He really has seen Fatal Attraction too many times. Because he won’t pay attention to anything I say due to that fact that he firmly believes everyone is as devious, cynical, toxic and mean as he is, I’m sure that he thinks I’m going to stalk him or something. I don’t have to. He’s made himself quite public and it will come back to bite him in the ass.

Now, if he were to say that I’m obsessed, I’d agree with that assessment, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m obsessed with finding answers. I am always obsessed about finding answers no matter the subject or people involved. That’s just the way I am and I won’t apologize for it. He owes me a hell of a lot of answers, but he won’t give them up. He does what he wants and damn anyone and everyone else except his inner circle. Actually, even the inner circle can go fuck off as far as he’s concerned. What matters is him and, perhaps, one or two other people who are in the innermost circle. In short, although I have said this before and then changed my mind, he is a narcissist. Narcissists are always bad news. Where I am concerned, not only is he narcissistic, but also non-consensually sadistic and quite homophobic. He hit me with a string of homophobic rants among other things the day he destroyed the person I was a decade ago. I’m not going to allow that again at all. He tried to bully me into not writing my book, but he can’t touch me legally until it comes out. Even then, under New Jersey law, he has only about a 25%-40% chance of winning since I’m writing about my own life. As I said the other day, he really thinks I’m an idiot. I’d have to be not to look at the applicable laws involved.

*sigh* I’ve probably already said too much. I didn’t want him to know that I know what he is up to. He’s trying to set me up. Uh uh. I am not falling for it. If it weren’t against the law, I’d say that he needs his ass kicked but good. It’s not against the law for me to say it, just for someone to do it. Ah well. I can fantasize.

Due to my insecurities about writing so much on the topic of Glenn when he really doesn’t deserve my attention except for the fact that it bugs the daylights out of me to have questions hanging over my head, I need a new space to write what I need to write. I’ve set up a private blog where I can say what I want without making my hands hurt by handwriting journal entries. Geez, that’s now three blogs I’m maintaining. There’s a fourth that I don’t really do much to unless I know someone needs to look at prior work. Even so, that’s a lot. Granted, I’m only writing for myself on the new blog, so I really don’t need to write in it all the time. It’s conceivable that I start writing this year and leave it alone until the book is ready and Glenn begins his twisted little rampage that will give the book more sales than if he’d sat there and shut the fuck up.

I have one final major thing to say about him here. He’ll probably check in here a couple of times more and then satisfy himself that he’s won or some such nonsense. So be it. What I’ve come to realize is that he seemed so sophisticated when I was younger because he was from the NYC area and I was raised here. Now, I realize that I am far more sophisticated than he’ll ever be because he doesn’t see that most people don’t think the way he does. He’s been all over the world and he still can’t get that most people are fairly decent even when it seems there are a lot who aren’t worth two cents. I think I may actually have encountered more types of people than he has even though his passport is full. He’s not nearly as accepting of people, which is something that I’ve just realized although the signs were blazing neon all along. Well, at least since I came out. Ever since then, he’s been very angry with me and it seems to have continued. That was over 20 years ago. I mean, I do understand hanging on to feelings for that long, but had we actually had a conversation, those feelings would have dissipated. I’ve been willing to talk ever since that night when he called in search of someone to get him off and I refused. Maybe he’s never been refused. I don’t know anymore and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he didn’t grow into the man I’d hoped. I find that sad and the person he is to be pitied even as I watch out for him to come out of nowhere to stab me wherever he can get me. He’s assuming that I’ll crumble. Not this time. Not this time at all.

It’s War!

Photo of Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess

Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess, the ultimate warrior woman. Photo courtesy of LucyLawless.com and CirceSkye

I’ve been scanning my handwritten journals from 2003 for the last week in an attempt to send Glenn the information on which my book will be based. I was trying to do a good deed because he swore up and down that he had no idea what I was talking about when I called him and told him about my last suicide attempt when I could no longer fight the horror of the mindfuck he’d laid on me. I dived back into the Ninth Circle of Hell to retrieve the entries and it became really clear how and why I couldn’t fight. There were a lot of things that I’d forgotten over the years–phrases and words that he’d used. I also now have three suspects who could have been on IM the day he pounded and pounded my psyche into the dust.

As I said, I’d dived back into that Ninth Circle of Hell to get information for him. My next problem was how to get it to him. I set up one method of delivery, but it became clear that if I used it, I’d be running a great risk that someone else’s hands would get the package. If I waited until next week, I’d be stuck waiting with this crap on my mind all weekend and it was bad enough that I’d devoted time I really didn’t want to or have on it. I sent a text to the cell number I’d discovered in my journals telling him that he had a choice of pulling the info out of a cloud storage service or getting the disk(s). What I got back was a declaration of war based on two legal theories. BAD IDEA! He should not have done that. I waited for a bit and then sent a return text saying one or two other things, but essentially acknowledging receipt of his . . . or her message.

That damn fool obviously thought I wouldn’t recognize what was contained in the words and the exact phrasing that was used. I am continually surprised at how stupid he thinks I am. No, let me rephrase. I am continually surprised at how stupid he/she/they think(s) I am. I know Glenn has no choice but to support hagbeast because they are married and have a house and lot that were worth $892+K, not to mention his studio, office, business and god knows what else. That’s not even considering the fact that they have two kids who, at this point, should be in their late teens or early 20s. If he didn’t support her, I’d actually think he had a grasp of right and wrong regardless of who did what! The best I could have reasonably hoped for was that he’d stay the hell out of my way. Let’s just say that I know him well enough to know that probably wouldn’t happen.

I am going to do a couple of things regarding this blog. The first is that the “glenn thornton” tag and category will be changed to “glenn t.,” and; the “dr. robin watt” and “mrs. robin watt thornton” tags and categories will be changed to “dr. w.” and “mrs. r.w.t.” The “glenn” and “hagbeast” categories and tags will remain.

The second is that I will continue to write about ME and MY life as it relates to one or both of the above-referenced individuals when appropriate. As I told him/her/them, “Be careful what you wish for.” Believe me, I know that he has seen this blog, as have a couple of other folks in his circle, probably including someone with a law degree. He’s scared and he’s hoping like hell that I’m going to fall down into a crying heap as I’ve done so many times before. Ain’t happening! Re-visiting the horror I went through was an incredibly painful experience, but it just made me stronger. I’m not the person he mistreated before. And yes, those journals revealed that HE mistreated me, regardless of who was on the last portion of the last IM session. I am strong. I am coldly angry. And every cell in my brain is determined. I am gearing up for war.

I remembered somewhere in these last 36 hours that I am one formidable woman. I did not ask for war. Indeed, Glenn had an opportunity to influence what went into the manuscript so that he wouldn’t look like the puss-blowing jerk my journals show him to be. All bets are now off. I’m thinking the way he has thought since I’ve known him: knowledge is power. Hence, I’m not going to reveal what I got out of his text. Let him continue to think I’m stupid. He’s his own worst enemy and always has been. I think that was his attraction for me. I thought I could “fix” him. No more. I wish I’d understood my motivation sooner. This puts a good ending on the book and the story.

Oh! One more thing. Glenn, or anyone monitoring this blog for him and/or hagbeast, I have two words for you:

Photo of my eyes

These eyes have seen too much. These eyes have cried enough. These eyes are determined that no more tears will be shed over you. Forever.

fuck off text