A Tapestry of the Elements of Self

The chapters of Recovery Writing 101 have expanded (or more so, exploded) into a more comprehensive diddle than I thought I would be writing.

You see, recovery touches all aspects of a person’s psyche.. emotional, spiritual, physical as well as sexual.  They all interconnect and interact with each other, woven into the most glorious tapestry of a single human spirit.  It would be falling short to just focus on the sexual aspect.   Domestic violence and rape damages all the elements of self.

And I must admit, at first I used recovery writing for just healing the sexual trauma of being raped. I wanted to not lose the joy of making love, and that was my focus.

In fact, I’m bare bones confessing my rose-tinted blinders were the deepest shade of fuchsia.   I could not see the peripherals of how much more damaged I was than I thought.

I wanted a relationship, so badly. My core overflows with joy, love and passion, with so much to give.  I wrote, wrote, wrote…

Dang, I was so hopeful to be ready.  40+ women can feel the most absurd external pressures to settle down before the Old Maid reference sticks to us like glue.

And months later, here I go..  I tried a relationship recently, and fell into old patterns quickly. Tried too fast, too soon, and I let go of the reins for just a moment.  Boundaries were crossed, which I allowed unknowingly.

Recognizing it, I pulled back into myself a little as soon as I was triggered.  It gave me a moment of “duhhh…” clarity.  The relationship shifted into neutral gear – if it’s meant to be, it will be there.

I stopped writing anything for two weeks, thinking… I stopped posting…  I played Facebook games until I was glassy-eyed and mentally resetting.  I took a good look inside of myself and saw my tapestry was still so far from whole.  It was still a mess, still haphazardly basted and nothing looked quite right.

I guess I needed a bigger needle and thread…slower, tighter stitches… a better plan..

And most definitely a great pair of spectacles.


“Swallowed by Darkness” from Finding Tina 2

finding tina 2 sample coverYesterday was an excellent day.  Good times, good talks, and my WordPress anniversary day!  A day to review personal boundaries and revisit goals.  It’s time for me to begin writing again.  The worst of the memories have passed and I feel much stronger.  I’m looking forward to rekindling my passion again for erotica.

For some, today may be a passe’ read; others may feel extreme emotions of anger, violation, sorrow, despair, disgust, remembrance.   The Finding Tina series is about abuse, addiction, sex and domestic violence.  Be advised triggers are rampant.

For those that have never read the first book of “Finding Tina”,  this rough sample is Tina’s awareness she has been abducted.   For me, it was revisiting the past and the “out fishing” sign in my head during the most unspeakable times.


Let your mind drift inward and imagine, for a moment.. you will do anything to survive to save your life.


Imagine being held against your will.  Imagine having no control over anything that happens to you.  Imagine being hurt if you resist.  Imagine the ball of fear in the pit of your soul that implodes into a dull numbness of shock.

This is Tina’s world- a victim’s world- and the primitive coping skills for a victim to survive.


“Swallowed by Darkness”- rough draft by C.L. Bolin

Days have passed, I think.  Or hours.  I don’t know.  Time feels lost somehow.

I’m hungry but strangely feeling removed from myself.   I’ve been lying on these sheets long enough for them to smell sour & stick to my skin from my own sweat.

I’m so thirsty.

I’ve been dreaming this crazy, wacked-out gibber rerun, where I’m a whore piñata and some clown shoves his long red shoe deeply inside me, and all the midgets spill out.  They all have spike shoes on.  They all want candy.  They eat me alive.  This dream, hurts.

Always ends the same.   Shoe, midgets, eat, die.  This endless loop I can’t control.   But at least I’m not remembering anymore.

God, I’m so hungry.

I hear this voice, hollowly small & cracked saying it, not realizing it’s me at first.   My body feels so lightweight, as if it could float away.

Maybe that’s why I’m tied down.   Maybe I’m going to float away to God.   Perhaps they filled me up with helium.

I hear the gentle click of a door opening off to the right, and someone’s shuffling in, bringing the familiarly uneasy clatter of metal clicking against ceramic.

I smell food.  Nauseating, badly prepared sustenance.  My stomach lurches, scuttling to press against my spine.

I’m having trouble seeing clearly.   My eyes feel swollen and sore as if I’ve cried buckets.

I peer at the vague shape as best I can, trying to focus and think clearly- but I know with a sinking feeling my brain is telling me quite clearly that it can’t tell the difference between a sadistic carney clown and a nightmare dressed in black leather.
Open your mouth.

I smell the food, so close to my nose, and I open my mouth for a spoonful, sputtering when I get a mouthful of vileness.  I bite down, weak, but angry.

A roar.

                            my head bursts with embers of hot sparklers

Oh, damn that hurt.. now I get why my eyes feel huge.

Don’t make me hurt you.

My lips clamp shut tight.  The razor coolness of a blade rests against my throat.


Strangely, it tastes like chicken noodle soup, and metallic sourness. Even as groggy as I am, I know there’s drugs stirred in.

The voice carries a trace of sharpness rivaling the blade itself as it pressures into my skin.  I feel a trickle of warmth down my breast from the blade, and a vile wetness hotly licking it away.   Repulsion and fear skyrockets in me as the Phoenix inside me screams with rage.

Instantly, I vomit all over the voice.
Curses;  ear-piercing crashing of  dishes  shattering.

sun explodes supernova in my head

The blades quickly back against my skin, pushing more deeply now as the air collides with the dermis layers and nerve endings, causing a high pitched pain to numbness.

My head feels strange, as heavy as cement weights plunging me to the bottom.

I lick my sticky lips, wincing at the cracks in the corners.  I’m barely consciously aware that the danger left the room.   Phoenix and I, hand in hand, play psychodelic hopscotch in my thinker as we sink together into Darkness.

But not quite yet.  I open one eye, squinting at the sudden brightness.


                                                     My love.  I’m here.

A white aura hovers around his head and shoulders.   Beautiful soft red hair flows down his older face, gaunt cheeks.   So sad, so weary as if the weight of the world’s resting upon his shoulders.

He reaches out and his touch slips into my flesh painlessly as his fingers try to grasp the pendant still hanging around my neck.  Pale lips move quietly.

   I can rescue you for a dream.


I feel his aural kiss barely brush my damp forehead as the Darkness swallows us whole.