I went for a walk with a friend and he suggested therapy for Tommy. The quickness with which I gravitated to this suggestion, suggests to me, that I am in the throes of a complete and utter sex and love addiction run and will take any chance I get to see it through to the very bitter and ugly end. Because honestly, these things never end any other way. And I know that. I KNOW. I know this guy is a psychopath and complete moron and I CAN’T SEEM TO STOP MYSELF FROM RESPONDING TO HIM. Maybe some of it has to do with feeling so utterly and completely rejected by my ex-husband that the tenacity of this guy is a high in and of itself. I definitely feel wanted. Even if it is by a sociopath.

Tommy said he would go back to therapy.


It is the 16th, the Harvest Moon lunar eclipse and I am no longer Tommy’s girlfriend. Although we just hung up and we are still texting no-stop, something died in me yesterday concerning him. And it was all based on a text. And it wasn’t even the worst text he ever sent. It was just the last one I ever want to read to me like that. So he went to his “therapy” with his friend Jodi, who isn’t a therapist at all but a friend and “energy healer” Before he went he was telling me how fucked up I was and needed to “wake-up”  because I sent him an article about how Nature Affects The Brain from National Geographic. Then after his “therapy”, he sends me this:

I couldn’t see it before. Now I do.

Please forgive me

I’m sorry

I love you

Thank you

Il felt nothing. We spoke on the phone, I was curious to hear about his experience. He saw some deep truths about himself, he said. I was glad to know. Still, numb as fuck. He texted me throughout the day. Then I spoke to him tonight. Now he is texting me. I asked for Space and Time. I need to be more clear. I need it. I want it. I can not keep in contact with him at this time. I need at least 7 days. Then we can see where we are with the chemicals- what is true and not true.

I say 30 days. Why not.

If he can’t abide by that, then what use is there.

I can feel my chemicals waning. He is feeling very needy right now and it is not sexy at all. I am not even getting turned on by thinking about having sex with him. That valve feels on off.

No flow there.

It feels nice. Calm. No more crying. Wondering. Waiting. Just letting go. Quietly, Simply. Softly.

I let him go under the Harvest Moon.

I am ready for a new experience. At least, I think so.

Today I ask myself- what is kindness? What does it look like? Feel like? Gentleness. Love.

How have I been unkind and harsh with myself and others?

There was not a lot of warmth or affection or gentleness in my family. It was harsh, brutal, and unsafe for me.

I have not experienced a lot of kindness in my relationships. I have also been very unkind in them as well.

But mostly, I am unkind to myself. Not gentle. Warm. Or Loving.

I have allowed myself to be beaten and bloody and bruised. By my own words and the words of others. Passing it off as, normal, and par for the course.

I am thinking about attending a meeting of SLAA. (Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous)

Two of my girlfriends go and say it has helped them A LOT. They think I should go. They look at me like they know me and they know and I know. We all know. I am fucked right now.

I am not myself.



I’ve had this pain in my body. An earache. Stomach ache. Confusion in my head. What to do. Not to do.

Wondering what is the “real” Tommy- it is like he is mentally ill and gets possessed by a demon spirit that makes him say the most awful things. Or is this just the way entitled white privileged spoiled abused boys who are middle-aged act? Because the fucked up thing is- that sometimes, sometimes, he isn’t that. And he seems intelligent and kind and aware. I mean, he does Reiki healing?? How fucked up is that??

I saw my therapist and she reminded me that they both are real. That he is as beautiful and he is cruel. And the trick is to figure out how much “asshole” I am willing to live with. Because that part is as real as the other, and not going away anytime soon.



I ended it with Tommy today. We were arguing, again, about why I am not comfortable with my daughter being a part of our relationship right now and he just won’t let it go- so I reminded him about his inappropriate “joking” and he said that he had friends in Santa Barbara that were allowed to make fun of each other. So I told him he should go hang out with them and that it was over. There was some yelling, I believe.

I have not spoken to him but we did text and I emailed him that I could not let go of what happened and his mean sense of humor.

That I had to walk away.

He told me that this was true love. That he loves me more intensely than anyone before in his life.
It is hard for me to believe that if he loved me he could speak to me that way.

I am now watching 9 ½ Weeks.

Seems appropriate.

Maybe I’ll smoke a joint as well.


We spoke on the phone last night. Facetime. He was humble and ashamed of what he had done. He said he was sorry. He was learning. He knows he ruined it. He said a lot more. Everything I wish he had said weeks ago. There was a lot of crying. Both sides. We talked about what we appreciated from the relationship. And we said goodbye. It was a much longer conversation than that. But suffice to say- it ended on a good note.

And then today, he keeps telling me he loves me. And wants to speak on Sunday.

And I find myself watching the video of him playing his guitar and singing to me over and over again. And think to myself- just. One. More.time.

I told my married sane friends about what happened, that he said he wanted to hate fuck me and date rape me. They were horrified. RUN. They said. Watch Star 80, she said. So that is where I am at now.

Star 80.

Hopefully this movie can knock some sense into me.


The movie was useless. It made me like Tommy more, in fact.

I must be as sick as he is.

Which is a frightening thought.

Today was intense.

He texted me all throughout the day. No respite from the constant barrage of his leaky thoughts. Codependent dysfunction junction.

I cried throughout the day while trying to stay compassionate and caring. I don’t want him to suffer. I don’t want me to suffer.

I just wish he was not such a jerk. Most of the time. If we are to be realistic.

He’s a boy. Not a man. And a pot addict with crazy addict behavior that makes me insane and is totally crazy making.

Great sex.

Amazing sex.

A psychic emotional spiritual connection? I thought that once. I wonder about it now.

He ran the gamut of emotions until it seemed he finally realized I was not moving towards reconciliation- but holding my ground. Barely, I might add. By a fucking thread. For sure.

Then he acquiesced and seemed to come to this really beautiful place that had me breaking down on my bathroom floor, silently screaming and sobbing, so as not to scare my daughter outside in the living room.

Then he switched gears again- and said he was going into an abyss of suffering.

That was the last I heard of him.

We had a plan to speak at 9pm. It is now 9:45pm.

I have not heard anything and he did not read my last text. I looked at his facebook profile and it looks like he took down our photo from his timeline- which I did the same thing. I think he realized I did that and was really hurt by it. I honestly did not think he would notice. His status said single. That hurt. But accurate, I suppose. I don’t put my status on things like facebook. I don’t even really like putting my relationship on there. Feels messy.

I feel bad about that.

But then I remember all the times he made me feel so shitty, and maybe it’s not so bad after all.

I always feel much stronger after hanging out with my girlfriends. They give me strength and clarity.

Not one of them, not one, thinks being with him is at all, a good idea.


In fact, everyone is concerned about me. Very concerned. They don’t get it. How I could allow this moron to have such a hold on me. What am I getting out of this that I can’t seem to let go of? I KNOW I am better than this! It feels strangely reminiscent of my relationship to alcohol. I feel powerless.

Maybe I AM a sex and love addict.



Tommy kept calling. And calling. And calling. And leaving messages. Apologizing.

I finally answered. I told him I would mail him his stuff and could he please give me his address. He said he was driving down that night and to leave it on my doorstep if I was not there. I called my ex and told him what happened. He told me to stay at his place. That this guy was obviously unsafe. I told him I would.

And then I did something I am still trying to understand.

I knew Tommy would be arriving around 2:30pm. So I waited for him. Against my better judgment. Against everything I knew to be true and life-sustaining. I felt compelled by something stronger than me. By a need that went beyond this moment and way back. To a childhood of feeling unwanted.

I knew he wanted me. And that was like heroin.

He walked through my front gate, I took him by the hand and silently led him to my bedroom.

I was in a trance.

Afterward, he told me he had a bag of mushrooms on him.

I paused.

Neurons firing. Synapses working. A decision was made with no logic whatsoever.

Let’s do it.

I could feel the rush of adrenaline course through my veins, pulsing throughout my body. Tingling. Cold. Hot. Excitement. ANYTHING could happen now. Fuck it.

I methodically ate a shitload of shrooms. He ate them too. Then we waited.

We decided to go on a “nature walk” through my neighborhood. It lasted three hours. I was flying, so, incredibly high. I saw the interconnectedness of everything. The great geometric jewel toned patterns crisscrossing through the sky. And Tommy was on a different plane. Of existence. All together. He was annoying. And mansplaining. And I wanted to punch him in the dick. I cried for most of it. The total disconnection was so obvious that I could not hide from it. I was seeing everything I needed to see. Especially how and why I wanted him to be someone else. That the story of our past, our childhood, was keeping me tethered to his insanity. He reminded me of my step-father and brother, verbally abusive and vicious, and a part of me felt comfortable with that. But I wanted out.

And I felt completely powerless to do anything about it.

When we returned to my house, he said he was a hero who went from a zero and he deserved applause. My stomach was in knots. I had the worse gas I have ever had. I was doubled over in pain. If that isn’t the body telling me something then I don’t know what is. We tried talking about his awful text to me and his own childhood abuse surfaced. I felt compassion. But then again, I was flying on hallucinogenics.  I could have felt compassion for a wooden chair.

He spent the night.

The next morning I canceled my morning walk with Fred, my spiritual guide. And Fred knew, without me saying anything, what was going on. He said someone is in your space. You need this walk now more than ever.

I heard that.

I told Tommy to leave and I met Fred up the hill. What he had to say was not good. Fred, who has never met Tommy told ME that Tommy was arrogant and mean. He said he is all over me, psychically, and in my head and first and third chakras. Fred cleared him out and instructed me to stay in the space in the middle of my head, so I could be rational and not so emotional about this. So I could see the truth. He said I could waste years on this guy who would eventually reject me because I am not the woman he wants me to be. I know that story. Oh too well. It’s the same story with every man I have ever dated from my past. Interesting. Fred also said that Tommy was capable of physical violence towards me and did I know that. I had to admit, I had a feeling. Admitting that out loud was a scary thing to do. For sure.

I went home and sat in my house and cried.

Because I knew this was not the end, but I so desperately wanted it to be.


Lancelot and Gwyneviere


Oh, beautiful princess,

How painful it was to not have you in chemistry every day. To look at and joke with. You were the only one that understood me. I remember staying up late and getting so high that we could hardly talk, but I still felt so comfortable and close to you. Your presence will be missed and just like it was every day that you didn’t come to school, which was quite often as the attendance office will readily admit. You’re stoked to be off and away next year to college and out of this. I’m jealous, but I’ll manage. I don’t think that we will let ourselves drift apart any more than we have in our quest for the Holy Grail has not yet even begun and the promiscuous Guinevere still has to be rescued from her wicked stepmother and taken off into the forest to trip and smoke and wait for her true Lancelot, whoever that may be? I’ll be sure to keep in touch this Summer unless the waves and the women in Costa Rica inhibit me from corresponding. When I return we will set out on our quest with a backpack of the necessities and only Jah knows what we will find.

I love you

See ya


 I found this in my senior high school yearbook that fell out of my bookcase, onto the floor, and opened to this page. This fucking page. He was one of three people that signed it. I was not doing so good at the end of my senior year. I was shooting dope with my older brother and barely making it to school. They didn’t let me graduate with my class because of my unprecedented amount of absences. They sent letters home to my parents. They never opened them. Tommy was one of the good things from that year. He was good. He was my Lancelot.

What happened?

25 years later and he is a sociopath that is fucking with my head, and I feel like I am working out some karmic shit that I can not control.

I know I am not alone in this experience.

That is why I feel compelled to tell this story. As horrific and demeaning as it is. I cringe as I write these posts. But something tells me, perhaps, perhaps, someone can benefit from knowing they are not alone, and it DOES get better.

But sometimes it gets worse first.

This week, after the Ojai debacle, where Tommy verbally harassed and abused me in front of my daughter, I vowed he would not see her again. That should have been a sign.

But I continued. To engage. I did. I did that.

I texted him coming home from yoga one night. He responded that he did not want to have sex with me anymore. I asked him why.

He texted:

“Because I only want to hate fuck you and date rape you”


me: Can you talk?

him: I learned how to talk when I was two.

I called him.

He answered, and said, “WHAT DO YOU WANT!!??” and laughed maniacally.

I hung up and vowed never to speak to him again.










What the fuck happened?

My daughter and I went up to Ojai to spend some time with Tommy and his son. I had done reconnaissance earlier in the week, so I deemed it would be a safe trip. Peanut and I were only going to stay one night. I was excited for her to meet him and his son, who is eleven years old, and seems like a good kid. It was a cute little house in Ojai. What could go wrong?

We arrived Saturday afternoon, made dinner all together, Peanut took a bath, and everyone read stories. It was fun and sweet. That night I slept in the master bedroom with Peanut while Tommy slept on the couch and his son had the other room. Totally fine. No big deal.

Then the next morning, the shit hit the fan.

I made everyone scrambled eggs and croissants. I burned the first batch of croissants, and the eggs were dry. Tommy started saying I was a “shitty cook.” Out loud. A bunch of times. Which hurt. Then he asked Peanut at one point if her Mom should be in an insane asylum. Strike two. I started to get very annoyed but still kept it in. Then we were talking to Peanut about her school, and suddenly he started asking her if I ever forgot to pick her up or was late to pick her up. In a really sarcastic mean biting way. That was the last straw. He knows my Mom was always late or forgot to pick me up and it felt like a personal dig.

I said nothing to him as I began to pack up all of our shit and told Peanut it was time to go. We had plans to go see a show with the kids later but fuck that, nothing was worth this bullshit.

He followed me around like a sad puppy dog, trying to make it better and I wanted to punch him in his stupid fucking face.

As I was pulling away, he stood there looking so sad in the driveway that something fascinating happened. I felt this strange compulsion that I still don’t understand to this day, or maybe I do, to get out of the car and make sure he was not sad. I needed to comfort HIM before I left. I told him I needed time to calm down and I would call him later.


I spoke to Peanut about it on the way home, and she said she it made her uncomfortable when he was making fun of me because he was saying things in a way that might make someone laugh but they weren’t funny, and they were mean about me. So she was confused. I told her she was right, it was confusing. And not nice. And that he was a bully.

Then I spoke to him later that night. I did. I spoke to him. It was a strange and confusing phone call. He was gaslighting me. I did not know it at the time, but I know it now.

This was a narcissist in action, and I was being pulled straight into his game.

The next morning I called him and tried to do a “council” which was a disaster. I didn’t really set it up well, to be honest. But he was like Blair whatever in The Exorcist – as if I was holding up a cross to him or dousing him with holy water. He was so immature in his reaction and way of holding the circle. I could not believe it. He was also so fucking condescending and full of shit. Saying how he has risen above his anger. He chooses to be happy. It’s a choice. Simple as that.

What I see with this guy- is a broiling raging sea of anger and rage. He was bullied by his father and abandoned emotionally by him as well. His mother was a domineering fanatical Christian who could not connect with him emotionally either. He is pissed off about it all. And THINKS he has risen above it. Whatever. He takes it out on me. He has called me names. Then made fun of me in front of my daughter. His son even made fun of me. What is wrong with these people. I feel angry again.

I told him I would give him another chance. But I am not sure how to do that when I am not feeling the love. It’s hard. Not sure what to do. Not sure if it will come back or not.

I hurt you when I told you I loved you. Because I did not know what love was. And I thought the rush of hormones coursing throughout my body when we spoke or touched was love. I thought it was for you too. But how can you love someone and speak to them the way you spoke to me? I love myself too much to let that happen again. I choose me. I don’t have to settle or survive. You shape-shift in front of me. Kind and loving then puerile than mean. Your face even changes. You look sweet and handsome and then gnarled and ugly. Like an old pirate.

I don’t find you charming right now. Not one bit. In fact. I am slightly repulsed. Repelled. I want my space. I want my life. You keep sending me photos of houses we could live in Ojai. Big beautiful houses in nature. You have money. It’s great for you.  Thinking of your face talking for hours about your family, while I listened deeply and profoundly. From the heart. I did. You like to listen to yourself talk. I notice this. Sometimes I feel like you don’t hear or see me. Invisible. Yet again. Yet I speak my mind to you. I have done that. I feel good about that. And the line is drawn. And you will most likely cross it. So it’s hard to give myself over completely again when I don’t feel I trust you. Maybe we can go back to just dating and having sex. Because the sex is good. No, it’s great. You are a passionate man, in that way. Beyond. I get it. I get you. In that space. We are met and matched well. It has colored everything else. Made it hard for me to discern what is right and wrong for me. To trust me. And my instincts.

Dear Great Spirit,

Please show me what your will for me is. What you want me to know. Give me a sign if you can. Show me the way. How do I listen to you? To my intuition. Maybe it’s not as hard as I have made it out to be.





Therapy: my therapist started crying when I told her that I was comfortable expressing my anger to Tommy. It was like I had won an Olympic Medal! I take for granted how big that is. She helped me appreciate that. And that I can hold both parts of him- the wise sage man and the puerile young boy; Fledge. He acts out my shadow, for me? At times. Maybe. The tiger is out in the jungle, making sporadic appearances. Such a trigger and such a sounding board. He does not wince from my assaults, which are not violent or scary, but passionate and real. I am not mincing words but without a doubt standing up for myself and what is important to me; my boundaries. Maybe I do love myself? Maybe…

Intuitive Life Coaching: Juna said my little girl was showing up- for the first time ever! She feels safer now than she ever has. She is wary of Tommy. Needs more information. But knows he has some really great qualities. She does not want me to drink or smoke pot around him, makes it harder for us to read him clearly. I get that. I want to honor that for her. Tommy is a little lost and gets depressed when not being creative but is not driven to create- lacks self-confidence- so he smokes a ton of pot to stay in that light hearted world. I understand it. Can I love him anyway? Regardless? Unconditionally?

Tommy: I drove up there Wednesday night after yoga and met his son. His son was a great kid and it was really nice seeing him be a father. He looked handsome and it was all very sexy to me. Even though he smelled and tasted like cigarettes. We had sex all night long but I was not that into it- or not as much as usual. At least my head wasn’t – but my body was. And my body always is with him. It’s crazy. I was so wet. We had some highlights and some lowlights. Highlights were spinning around on top of him and making him come that way. He telling me over and over again how beautiful I am, how much he loves my vagina, my body, and me. He said twice we should get married. That I was his woman. My mind rejected all of it. He said he thought we had a real shot at this and immediately, in my head, I laughed and thought, yeah, hell no. It was really strange. I wanted him to leave me alone so I could sleep but he would start touching me and it’s hard to say no when my body is saying yes irrefutably. I wonder what that disconnect is. I wonder about all of it.

Now today:  Obsessing. Can’t get him out of my mind and head. Spun. Whipped. Wanting to live with him in Ojai. Find a house. Decorate it. Live in it. A family. With family dinners and schedules and picking up kids and dropping them off and yoga and work and the farm.

And it feels like an impossible dream.

He can’t leave up North and I don’t see how I can leave down South. At least not at this time.

Feels futile to even dream like that.

But maybe dreaming is the only way to create?

A hat trick for sure.

AND it’s only been two months, technically only 7 weeks. Let’s give it three months and see what happened by end of September. Then the 6 month mark is where the shit gets real. And if we make it through those two milestones, we can seriously start thinking about living together starting next Summer.

I think that is a fairly reasonable plan.

There is no one. I am the one.

He is a man. That I am in a relationship with. He may be the last, he may not.

We’ll see.

Only time will tell and so much more will be revealed. The pretenses are starting to fall away. And as soon as I feel comfortable enough to fart in front of him, my body will know the score.


I have not taken a shit or farted in three days. That is NOT OKAY with me.

Tommy was here. He stayed three nights. Three nights is three nights too long.

The first night I made dinner, to make up for when I broke the rice cooker. I felt like I needed to redeem myself. Granted, I was completely stoned when I tried to make rice for him that one night and ended up throwing the raw rice right in the cooker without the inner pot and turned it in. Burning all the rice and destroying the cooker. He thinks I can’t cook. Well, I sure showed him. I baked a whole chicken with blackened crispy skin and served it with a lovely kale, navy bean, and butternut squash stew. It was delicious,

Then we had sex. A lot of it. All night of it.

He left early in the morning for Santa Barbara, giving me some much-needed rest and time to reflect. This was the first time in a long time that I did not have my daughter for three nights in a row. Tommy was planning on driving back down that night. I am still not sure about this. What it is that keeps me doing this. I feel driven to destroy.

The next day, it was a Saturday, we took the train downtown to the Arts District. I wanted to show him around some. He has bad feelings about LA. We ended up at a brewhouse and had three pints between us total. Without eating much. Then smoked a joint before hopping back on the train home.

Needless to say, I was WASTED. I could not keep my head up on the train and he had to hold me against him. He whispered in my ear for the entire ride but I only remember something about being “my man” and “always taking care of me.” I have a slide show of looking up and seeing the wary eyes of other travelers and feeling deep, deep shame. It had been a VERY LONG time since I was in a state like that and I DID NOT LIKE IT. I felt completely out of control and scared. I held on to him for dear life. I had to. I had no other choice. I had already made my series of “bad choices” leading me up to this point. Nothing to do but ride it out. We found my car by the station and he drove us home. I passed out right away. I have no idea what he did. But when I came to, I sure as hell missed sobriety.

Tsunamis of shame and fear cascaded over me. The drinking. The smoking. The HIM.

I knew, deep in my soul, that this was not the life for me. But I could not figure out how to get out of it. So I suffered in my anxious agony and tried to distract by joining him on the sofa for a Jim Jarmusch film and more and more and more pot. I wanted to forget.

The sex was not that good that night. He seemed nervous and clumsy. I was disassociated and annoyed. And yet, I did not ask him to leave. I endured. It is what I do best.

The next morning, as I was taking a shower, he went outside to smoke pot. I could smell it mixed in with the cigarrette smell and felt a deep repulsion well up in me. We had plans to visit Huntington Gardens and walk around that morning before he left for up North. I hated that he was stoned again. I knew, right then and there, that this whole “pot thing” with him, was not a casual thing. He was addicted to pot.

We went to the gardens anyway and I wanted to be anywhere but there. I cried the entire time. He asked why. I told him I did not see a future with us. I did not think he was responsible or capable enough. He said he heard me and understood and wanted to be the man I needed and that this was time for him to become HIM. He would quit the pot, and the cigs, he said. ASAP.

I said OKAY. And that I would talk to him later.

I panicked when my daughter finally came home. Relieved to be near her and also ashamed of my actions while she was away.

All I could think about was getting high. Up above it all.

Stay in the moment.