Author: Stefani Lord (page 2 of 2)

If I Could Meet My Dad

I never knew my father.  I only know of him from second hand stories and rumors.  My father chose heroin over me; he chose heroin over everyone, well, except for his clients. Not only was my father an addict, but his claim to fame was dealer to the stars.  Rumors are he shot actress Mackenzie Phillips up with her first hit and bragged about this to everyone.  Supposedly he shot up with Jim Morrison in Venice, and was heroin buddies with porn legend John Holmes.  I even heard an unsubstantiated rumor that my dad may have been with Holmes when we a simple collection for drug money in Laurel Canyon turned into murder.  Maybe these are some of the questions I would ask my dad, maybe not.  It’s emotionally complicated.

I think one of the questions I would ask my dad is why heroin? You came from a well off family,  you lived in a nice house, you had nice cars, and from what I learned from numerous people is that  your mother loved you. Your brother ended up being successful attorney, and you? You ended up dying a junkie. Why? What were you numbing out from?

I’d also ask him why he abandoned me?  Maybe a better question is why do I use the word abandoned.  Because in reality, maybe he was honest about not being emotionally and financially ready for have children.  Or maybe he had the typical fantasy that a loving couple with a suburban house and a white picket fence would adopt me.  Or did you think children interfere with your grandiose dream of being a rock star? Of being famous?  Did you ever think about me or did you push me deep into the recesses of your mind?

I’d like to know how you met my mother. Why did you marry her only to give me away a few months later and then divorce her. Too much responsibility?  I’d like to know why, as an adult in your mid 20’s did he think it was ok to knock up a 15 year old girl?  Was it love? Lust? Are you a weirdo pedophile just like my first boyfriend?

The bigger question is, do I really want to know the answers? Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things.  Junkies are notorious liars – would I ever get an honest answer for him? Even in death, I cant imagine my father having some sort of miraculous change and eternally being Crazy Eddy.  I would want the truth, but would I get it from him? Doubtful.  Hunter S Thompson said it best, “You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug…”

I think in reality if I was granted just a moment of time with you dad, I would just hug you and tell you that I love you.  And the only thing I would want to hear from you is, “I love you Stef and I’m proud of you. I’m sorry.”  Would anything else really matter?

Happy Fathers Day Eddy. I hope you are resting in peace.

Being Badass



Bruce Lee, Chuck Norris, Evel Knievel, and actors like Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, and Charles Bronson, are all considered modern, iconic male badasses.  We idolize men being strong, charismatic warriors, but what about the women?  Who are the badass role models?

If we break it down like the men listed above, the woman would be ethical, strong in opinion, able to handle herself in a fight, and not be afraid to back down from the truth, even if it means an ass beating. These kind of real life badass women would be Ronda Rousey, Laila Ali, and any other women, like military, police, or firefighters, who run into the face of danger or risk the chance of physical harm.   Character role models from movies would include Sarah Connor in Terminator,  Alice in Resident Evil, Ellen Ripley in Alien, Imperator Furiosa in Mad Max, Carol from Walking Dead, and Katniss Everdeen in Hunger Games.


“Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it.” ~Bruce Lee

I might ask ten different people for a definition of badass, and I may get ten different answers, but that’s the beauty of life, we can express ourselves in any way that makes us feel like a badass.  Imagine if you became paralyzed from a horse fall. For you being a badass may be spending years in rehab with a goal of getting back on the horse again.  For someone with PTSD, being a badass may be going to therapy and facing the traumas of the past.  And for another being badass may be taking a self-defense course or learning to box.

Being a badass in the military or in TV is often more about truly being a strong warrior, but to us civilians, badass is about facing doubt, fear, and makes you feel like you are doing what is right, what you are meant to do.  It’s about living life to the fullest and expressing your true self to the world, in spite of what others may think.  It means you don’t listen to the nagging little voice that says “you can’t do that!” And instead you tell that voice to “shut up because I have a plan.”

For me, becoming a badass meant I had to face all the demons from my past and admit I was in a victim mode.  For years I ran, I hid, and I avoided anything that might expose the real me.  I had been so abused from infancy into adulthood that I had nothing but doubts about who I was and what I wanted. (Read my story here  )  I had been trained that it was easier to take the abuse silently than to stand up and fight.

It wasn’t until I was in my mid 30s that I decided to face my fears and look inward.  I hated it so much.  It was painful, it was dark and dirty, and it was filled with shame and guilt.  But somehow I knew that I had to expose all this gunk or I could never move forward; I would be doomed to repeat my mistakes over and over.

It took years of therapy, self-help books, as well as being vulnerable and honest enough to looking inward. But in the end I went from victim to warrior.   Today the things that make me feel badass are when I hit the heavy bag and practice boxing, shoot my guns, work out, walk into a place alone with my head held high, accomplish a goal, and especially riding my motorcycle.  I think I feel the most badass while riding – there is nothing like it. For some people they may get exhilaration from skiing, running a marathon, or even finishing a quilt, but of me it’s the twist of the throttle that makes me feel most alive.

Badass is a feeling; it’s when the action or thought makes you feel very confident and strong.  Do you feel like a badass warrior when you make excuses to go on a date because you’re too afraid?  Or when you quit something because you lose faith in yourself?  Of worse yet, you don’t even try because you’ve convinced yourself you will fail or you not good enough, smart enough, skinny enough, anything enough? No – those are all self-defeating acts that make you feel insecure. Badass is finding out you have type 2 diabetes, being 50 lbs overweight, and deciding to join a gym, hiring a personal trainer, and doing something about it.  You face the self-destructive thoughts and behaviors and you commit to change.

Badass is NOT bullying! If you think that beating people up that don’t deserve it, or making fun of innocent people, or robbing people, or harming others, including animals is baddass – you have a mental defect and you should to take a very long walk off a very short pier.

Badass is “hell yes, I did it!  I didn’t think I could, but I did!”  It means learning how to ride a motorcycle no matter how scared you are.  You may be afraid but you do it anyway.  Badass is about standing up for what’s right and protecting yourself as well as the innocent.  Baddass is about knowing how to defend yourself, but not going out and starting fights.  Badass is doing what makes you stronger and more confident. Badass is about doing things that most people say you shouldn’t, or that you can’t.  So go out and be badass. Do what makes you happy, makes you feel good, and causes no serious harm to yourself or others.  To hell with what other people think!



Overcoming the Nightmare of PTSD with IRRT

ptsd_brainwordsLiving with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a nightmare, literally. I have had horrific and terrifying nightmares since I was a toddler. They are so graphic, so realistic, and so vivid that I cannot differentiate them from real life even upon awakening. These hellish nightmares are gruesome, frightening, and horribly detailed down to the vivid sounds, sights, smells, and tastes. It’s like I am really there, it is really happening, I am trapped inside an eternal hell.

I have always hated going to sleep and would do most anything to avoid it most nights. I tried over-the-counter sleeping pills, supplements like valerian root, and even prescription drugs. All they did was put me into such a deep sleep that I could not wake up from the nightmare. Without any medication or supplements, I often woke up in the middle of the dream completely terrified, but it’s better than being trapped in the nightmare.

For me, nightmares are the worst part about having PTSD, however, another big challenge are the sudden flashbacks that are triggered. It can be a sight, a sound, a smell, or even just a random thought, then BLAM! I am right there in a terrifying moment. I am aware that it’s not really happening, but I just can’t stop it. Sometimes it’s minutes, sometimes it’s just seconds, but it’s a jolt to the system that leaves me feeling very anxious.

At one point I worried so much about the flashbacks and the triggers that I avoided all public situations. It was so bad that for about a year I didn’t leave my house unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then I would hide my face with hats and sunglasses and cover my body as much as possible. I would do anything to avoid people, especially crowds. I remember doing all my shopping for food right before the store closed to see the least amount of people. I could not handle being in the public for a long period of time because of the fear of something triggering me. I spent most of that year dabbling with depression and anxiety medications while doing intense therapy.

Living with PTSD also means living with anxiety and a constant state of hypervigilance, especially in public. I am hyperaware of my surroundings at all times and don’t like to have my back toward the room. I usually sit or stand in a position where I can see the door.  I always have an escape plan in all situations. I can’t handle feeling trapped.


PTSD caused by past traumas (read my story here: means that I have had depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, agoraphobia, and nightmares most of my life, until now.

There is hope!

For years I went to all kinds of therapists; some good, some bad, and some who have given me tremendous in sight. But it wasn’t until recently that I sought out a therapist who deals with PTSD and offers a type of therapy that works wonders to alleviate the symptoms.

Imagery Rescripting and Reprocessing Therapy (IRRT) to the rescue!

All the years of therapy before now peeled back layers of trauma like an onion, which also included a lot of tears. The steady and persistent woking on my self over the years is what helped me to feel better and to overcome my past. But in 2015 I made the greatest breakthroughs ever! Even with all of the years of therapy beforehand, I still had issues with nightmares and some triggers. I asked around for a PTSD therapist and was referred to Bob Stahn ( in Idaho Falls. I had never heard of IRRT therapy, and during the first visit he explained to me what it was. I was excited to get started, so we did some work in the first session. It was horrible! It was awesome! It was emotional! It was life changing!

The therapy works like this:

1. Imaginal Reliving – visually recalling and re-experiencing the traumatic imagery along with the associated thoughts, affect, and bodily sensations accompanied by the creation of a detailed, descriptive, verbal narrative;

2. Mastery Imagery – visualizing oneself as a competent and capable ADULT (today) successfully confronting and disempowering the perpetrator (back then) while rescuing the CHILD from the trauma scene;

3. Self-Calming/Self-Nurturing Imagery – visualizing oneself as an ADULT (today) calming, soothing, and nurturing the traumatized CHILD (back then).

The first step is the hardest and I hated every minute of it. We had to relive the trauma – every inch of it – and I had to say it out loud. I had to recall every detail of the event, including all the emotions; It was one of the toughest moments of my life. But I had faith; I trusted my therapist and I trusted the process. I had nothing to lose. I WANTED to get well!

After my first session I did not have a nightmare that night – not one. I thought it was a fluke at first, but one night turned into one week. I felt lighter, relieved, joyous, and excited about life. I went back again to deal with another issue and we did the same process. As difficult as it was to relive my past traumas, I felt even better after each session. With every session I felt calmer and more empowered. It’s been over 6 months now and I have not had a single nightmare or trigger and I am so relieved. Because I have so much trauma to deal with, I go back twice a month for sessions and each time I feel stronger and happier about life. I cannot say enough about how life saving Bob Stahn and IRRT therapy has been for me.

The hardest thing about dealing with PTSD is that you get so overwhelmed you feel there is no way out, no hope, nothing that will help. But I am here to tell you that there is hope, you can get better. Try IRRT therapy for yourself and see if it works for you. If not, then try other forms of therapy – there is something out there for you. There is a form of therapy that will help you to cope with life, you just have to be brave and try. And one thing about us PTSD survivors, we are brave! We faced some horrific things and come out the other side, broken, but we come out. The hard part is facing the demon and walking into a big, cold, dark cave and believing there is a light. It’s a good therapist that helps you ind the switch. I have faith in you, I know you can do this. If you need more information on PTSD you can find it here:






Becoming My Own Therapist

One of the tools I use the most in my tool box is self-talk. When I realized that all my feelings came from my own thoughts, I now held the power to choose what l allowed to ruminate in my brain. I could let my thoughts run amok with no supervision, then later try to figure out what triggered a bad or depressed mood, or I could pay more attention to what I thought throughout the day and capture those thoughts and feelings as they came up.


It has taken a lot of work to get to this point of self-awareness. Even today, if I don’t stay on top of what I am thinking, I can slip back into old self-defeating behaviors, thatcan have horrific results. In the past, while in the depth of my depression, I would say horrible things to myself:

I’m so fat, and ugly, and stupid. I am such a loser. No one would care if you died. No one. No one would shed a tear because I don’t have any friends and I’m nothing but a fat, stupid, pathetic, worthless loser.

Thinking those thoughts over and over, day after day, can cause one to utterly lose hope. I don’t want to go there again, and if I do, I want to be able to pull myself out quickly.

I always thought that my therapy sessions would fix me. In actuality, what determines how fast you get well and stay mentally healthy is based upon the homework do in between sessions and the amount of effort you’re putting forth to get better. I think of the hour of therapy as a lecture in school – you learn the generalities of the subject, but to master it, you have to put forth the effort to actually own the material. And of all of this, one of the greatest things that I learned in therapy is that I have the power to change, by changing my thoughts.

One of the very first things I did on the road to self-discovery was to observe and listen to my inner chatter. It’s amazing how many erroneous thoughts run through the mind. What I noticed is that I had labeled myself as a horrible person. Everything about myself was bad: fat, ugly, stupid, dumb, loser, good for nothing, worthless. I decided to take all of those words and write the opposite on paper and read that every day. Every morning I would tell myself out loud that I am beautiful, smart, worthwhile, and good person. In the beginning I would roll my eyes and totally not believe any of this. Then one day I asked, “Why not?” That’s when I started to question my belief system. “Why can’t these good thoughts be true? What is truth anyway? Where did I get this negative believe system?” I started reading all kinds of self-help books, including “Think and Grow Rich” by Napoleon Hill. “What you think about is what you bring about” is the main premise of this book. Think you are successful and you will become successful. Think you are a failure and you will become one. I had never realized before this point that what I was thinking was affecting my moods, decisions, and behaviors. Once I learned this I had the hope that things can get better.

I kept checking in with my thoughts, and with every negative thought I would think the opposite. If I said I was stupid in my mind, I would tell myself how smart I am and try to think of an example. I would defeat my own thoughts with self talk and new thoughts – I was learning to become my own therapist.

We are the only ones in control of our life, our feelings, or mood, and our destiny. No one else holds that power over us unless we let them. Try observing your thoughts for a day and see what you find. Were you surprised at the results? Try writing down all of the bad and then make a list of the opposites. If you think you are stupid, not only write out that you are smart but give examples. I’m sure you have some. Even when I was at the depth of my depression I could think of one thing: I’m kind to animals. The list grew from there and continues to expand today.

My abuse and trauma is deeply engrained into who I am. Even with all the horrific things that happened (read my story here: ) I still hold the power to change, but only if I put the work into it every day with little or no slacking. I have a list of things I do every day to keep myself on the path of self improvement and self-discovery. This is my insurance that if I do indeed hit a rough patch, I can quickly turn things around by being my own therapist and apply everything that I know. Self-talk can be the key to me having a good day, or bad. Ultimately though, it’s my choice.

That “Aha” Moment – How I Turned My Life Around





Decide – Commit – Never Quit

A common question after hearing my story is, “How did you turn your life around?”
The simple answer is that I decided to change. The not so simple answer is that it took me a long time to get to where I am now. I had to put a lot of work into making the changes, and go to places I never wanted to revisit. But in the end, it was worth reliving the painful memories and finally dealing with them so I could have a better life.

~ I never loved you~

The first time I ever decided to change my life came after a painful breakup. It was February 1995 in Tahoe. It was one of those winters where the snow just kept on dumping and we had four foot high berms dividing the road in half making left-hand turns practically impossible. I had been living with my then finance for almost year when he sat down at the dining room table one evening, crossed his arms, and said the dreaded four words that no one wants to hear, “We need to talk.”

I nervously sat down across from him and he blurted out, “You need to move out.” I was stunned; it came out of left field with no warning. I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off with the most painful words ever. “I never loved you, I only let you move in because I felt sorry for you.”

I sat in silence as my brain tried to make sense of what he had just said. His face was stern and cold as tears started to run down my cheeks. “Do you mean its over? We’re done? Just like that?” He nodded and replied, “I should have done this along time ago.” I broke down sobbing, and through the tears I managed to get out some words. “How long do I have?” Unapologetically he replied, “I want you to move out as soon as possible.” He abruptly got up and went to his work room.

I sat there for what felt like hours, completely numb and starting off into space. Finally my brain started working on the problem at hand. “How would I move with no money?” Rent is very expensive in Tahoe, and even though I worked 40 hours a week at a Chiropractors office, I never had enough money to put into savings. How was I supposed to pack up all my belongings and move out in the middle of winter and with no money for a first and last deposit? When he finally walked back into the house I told him that I didn’t have the money to move. He informed me he had no intention of helping, but I could stay in the partially finished basement with no real heat source until I found a place to go.

It took me two months of working one full-time job and two part-time jobs before I could afford to move. In the mean time, there was a lot of silence and palpable tension every day and every night. I would cry myself to sleep. When the day came for me to move, there was no were help to be found. He didn’t even say goodbye.

~Almost every relationship I had been in was abusive~

It was after a few weeks of finally being settled into my new place when something happened. In the solitude of my little studio cabin I found myself wondering for the first time ever, “Just how many bad relationships had I been in?” I sat down with a pen and paper and listed every relationship I had ever been in. I was completely shocked when I saw it all on paper. Almost every  relationship I had been in since I was eleven up until this point had been controlling and physically or mentally abusive, and sometimes both.

I looked at all these names and started crying, then suddenly I found myself filled with unbelievable rage. I tore the page out of the notebook and waded it into a ball throwing it against the wall. In that moment I vowed to NEVER get into another abusive relationship ever again. I swore to myself that I would find out why I kept dating assholes. I promised myself that I was going to take one full year to not date and to try and figure out why I was an apparent jerk magnet.

I figured therapy was a good place to start, but being as broke as I was, I found out I could not afford the hourly rate of most therapists. I had seen something around town about a sliding scale fee schedule for therapy, so I decided to call. Dialing the number was extremely difficult, but I finally got up the courage and reminded myself of the promises I had made to myself. It turned out I had called county mental health and they explained to me how the sliding scale worked then asked how much money I made and how much rent I paid.

Based on this scale, I was able to get free therapy sessions. I was so nervous on my first visit, I had no clue what to talk about, but thankfully the therapist asked me many probing questions. She asked why I came in today and I told her “all the men I date are jerks and I need dating advice.” I immaturely thought dating advice would fix all my issues. She kept asking deeper and more intimate questions, and I could feel myself panicking as I thought about the answers.

~You are a survivor of domestic and sexual abuse~

I backed off mentally and gave her vague and generic replies, but she kept digging. It took about six sessions before I finally trusted her enough to let my walls down. My entire story just fell out of my mouth. (Read my story here: ) I was probably more shocked than she was as I blurted almost everything out for the first time ever. At the end of the meeting she recommended a free group therapy session for survivors of domestic abuse. I looked at her and actually said, “Oh, I don’t need that, I wasn’t abused. I just dated some guys that where kinda jerks.” She looked at me right in the eyes and asked me a series of questions regarding signs of abuse. I nodded yes to every one that came out of her mouth. She leaned in and said, “Then you are a survivor of domestic abuse.” She also said, “You are also the survivor of sexual abuse and we have meetings for that too.”

I left the therapy session stunned. No one had ever told me I was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused before. No one. I didn’t want to go to the group therapy sessions. I didn’t want to admit that I was abused, but the therapist kept pestering me. She kept telling me how I would meet women like me, and that the groups helped lots of women over come abuse and, here was the key for me, I would learn to recognize red flags in men before you got involved. Aha, the dating advice I needed to fix me!

When I went to my first meeting I was shocked to hear other women tell stories; some similar to mine, some much worse. I felt a bond of solidarity that kept me coming back. Each time I shared, I felt relief. Each time I listened to other stories, I cried with them in understanding. For the first time I was with people not judging me and actually encouraging me to share my story and to grow as a person. With time I finally realized that I was indeed a survivor of abuse and that the group meetings were tremendously helpful for my recovery.

I spent that summer going to individual and group therapy as well as reading as many self-help books as possible. I did yoga, I meditated, I worked out, I got a new job, and I was feeling the best I had ever felt. So good that I erroneously thought I was cured and that “I got it.” I started backing off of therapy, and in the fall I decided to leave the mountain. I decided I was fixed and was ready for dating and a brand new life. I moved down to Reno and immediately regretted it. My better paying job with another chiropractor came with a price – he was an asshole! If he wasn’t making sexual innuendos, he was yelling at me and the rest of his staff, which include his first cousin who was also his wife. Yes, his wife.

During weekly office meetings he would tell us how much we sucked and threatened to fire us on a constant basis. He blamed us for everything, including how many patients came in. If anyone canceled he would scream because he was convinced it was our fault. He was nuts. I later found out he was a hard core cocaine addict and he lost his license. However, I did find a nice guy to date, but we eventually had to break it off because I would not convert to Mormonism. Frustrated with my life, I suddenly decided moving back to my home town of the San Fernando Valley would fix everything.

~Moving to LA will fix everything~

After a year in Reno I packed up once again and moved into a very expensive converted garage in Studio City California. I worked for a nice chiropractor this time, and I decided I was going to hobnob with the stars and immerse myself into the Hollywood lifestyle. I dated a producer, a director, an actor, and a model. All good looking, all successful, all very weird in one way or another. None of them were really interested in me, but more interested in how I looked and about what need or fantasy I could fulfill for them.

I did enjoy going to screenings at the Screen Actors or Directors Guilds and meeting celebrities at parties but this lifestyle came with a price. Everything was so superficial. It was about what you had, who you knew, or how you could use someone or how they could use you for their own career or social gain. The men I dated over time became more and more controlling in how I acted, looked, dressed and even performed for them sexually.

At the end of the evenings I found myself feeling empty and ugly. I started feeling depressed again. It was then when I was alone one evening and I had an emotionally devastating realization that I was going no where with my life. I was stuck in a forty hour a week job, and again living paycheck to paycheck. What would my life like when I would be fifty and older and less desirable for this party crowd? I felt I had nothing to offer except for my looks and youth. I feel into deep depression over the realization that I could end up an old woman living alone, barely making ends meet, and never make anything out of my life. Or worse yet, I could end up in an unbalanced relationship with a domineering man who makes more money than I do.

I started weighing all my options: how could I go back to school to gain financial freedom? Or would I have to sell my soul and marry one of these men just to move up into a better lifestyle. That’s if they even wanted to marry me. Did I even want to marry them? Could I marry someone I didn’t love just so I didn’t have to worry about finances? The answer was no. I have always wanted to just find someone who loved me for me and to not have to worry about performing like a circus animal to get love and affection.

~Hitting rock bottom~

As I look back, two major things that had happened to me were what sent me spiraling into this horrible depression. One of the men I was dating turned me onto the world of sadomasochism. At the time it was very popular and trendy in LA. I explored around the periphery of this lifestyle, but It wasn’t something I was really into. He kept pushing the issue and manipulating me into role-playing with him; it made me feel dirty. I didn’t like it, but I liked him and I wanted the wonderful lifestyle he offered. I liked staying in his 20th floor apartment with views of the ocean, driving his Mercedes, and meeting important people. Somehow I thought that this lifestyle made me a better person and that it validated my beauty, but in reality I was just selling my soul.

~ You’d make a good hooker~

The second event that catapulted me into deep depression was an offer from a man I knew. He told me I was very pretty and I could easily make as much in one day as I do in a month. I was intrigued. He asked me a series of questions. “Your single and you’re dating right now, right” I nodded.  “And sometimes you go on a date and you totally wasted your time because you don’t like the guy, but you did get a free meal right?” I nodded again.

“And then other times you like the guy and you end up sleeping with him, but it doesn’t work out. So most of the time you just ended up screwing this guy for free and getting noting out of it right?” I had to think about the deeper meaning of that question as he continued.

“Well, what if I told you that you didn’t have to waste your time on dates any more? You are a tall, beautiful, smart, witty girl that could easily make a lot of money by just being you. How does that sound?” He had a wide, cheesy grin on his face. I looked at him and said, “I don’t understand.”

“You met Jennifer the other day, right? Beautiful girl, long blond hair, nice fixed tits. Anyway, she’s driving a brand new Mercedes SLK and lives in beautiful penthouse with a view. She has all that because she works for me.”

Now he really had my interest. “How? What do I have to do?”

“It’s really simple. I have clients who are very well off, but they don’t have time to date. They will gladly pay to be in your company.” I looked at him questionably and said, “They do? They will pay just for a date?”

Again he had that cheesy grin as he said, “Well of course they do! Just like any guy does on a date. But, get this, now you are in control! Instead of just getting a free dinner, you get money! How do you like that?”

“So that’s it, I just go on a date?”

His tone changed and he seemed angry that I would even ask such a stupid question. “No silly, just like any date, you have sex at the end. But like I said, instead of a meal you get money, lots of it. It’s just like regular dating, but this is way better for you because you get money for your time.”

I was in total shock. He actually thought I would make a good hooker? I asked him straight out, “So I would be a whore?”

He laughed at me and said, “No, not a whore….An escort!” I thought in my head “like there’s a difference?” I told him “no thanks” and walked away. He shouted at me, “At least think about it. I mean, you’re already screwing guys for free….Get something out of it!”

I went to my car and sat there. All of the life drained out of me. Any hope I had about my future and all hope in humanity was gone. I ruminated over and over again about my pathetic life; men just wanting me for their needs and trying to force me into the sex industry for their gain. Everything about my life disgusted and revolted me. I saw no hope for my future and all the horrific memories of my past came flooding in and I sank to the bottom. I could not handle living with this much pain.


After a few days of ruminating about my crappy life, I decided to end it. I took a lethal dose of sleeping pills, but instead of going up or down, I went sideways into a dark abyss. I was absolutely scared and I suddenly realized I would not find peace in death, so I begged to have my life back and it was granted.

I was so depressed I could not physically move. I ended up losing my job and going on disability. I sank deeper into depression each day and contemplated suicide again, but that was not an option since I realized that I could just end up in eternal pain. Finally I had another “aha” moment. I realized I never had it together after that one round of therapy and I probably never would. In a moment of clarity, I realized I had a few choices: lay here in bed the rest of my life and feel sorry for myself, or get up off my ass and do something about this.

~Back into therapy~

As much as I felt like wallowing in this pity party, I called mental health in LA County and started going back to therapy. The doctor suggested anti-depressants, and as much as I am against that for personal reasons, I decided to commit to medication for at least six months to see if it helped. The medication helped. They helped by numbing me. They made me not feel. At the time, this was a good thing.

For the first time ever I stared thinking about what I really wanted. I knew I wanted to go back into college and get myself set up financially. I wanted to do something that made me feel fulfilled and that gave me purpose with my life. The problem was, there was no way I could afford rent in Los Angeles while attending school. So I had to make a daunting decision. Even though there were many unresolved issues stemming from as far back as I could remember with my abusive adoptive parents, I decided to move into their home in Blackfoot Idaho and take some time off of life.

As soon as I got to Idaho I stayed on the medication and plugged into individual and group therapy sessions. I made a decision to be in recovery for the long haul and to commit to doing everything I could to get healthy and not quit this time. I realized that enduring years of abuse, getting healthy was going to be a lifelong effort.

I got back into yoga and meditation again, and read more self-help and spirituality books. I started running, got back into the gym, and focused on my needs and wants. I made lists of things I always wanted and started making goals with deadlines to make them happen. After being on medication for six months, I decided I wanted to feel again and gradually weened off of them with my doctor’s guidance. While medication has its place and offers hope for so many, I felt for my own personal reasons I wanted to live a life without them. Luckily it worked.

~Years later I’m in a much better place~

It’s been 19 years since I hit rock bottom. Over the years I have stuck with group and individual therapy, and I have continued to read self-help books and do everything I can to stay well and continue to improve each day.

In my next blog I will address the twenty or more things that I have done to make my life as fulfilled as possible. And while not perfect, I have tools now to deal with bad days. I see now that pain is temporary and it can and will pass with time and effort. But the main thing that got me well was deciding I wanted a better life; committing to do everything I could to achieve that life, and to never, ever quit.


Writing my story to help others

IMG_7691My life was filled with hurt and tragedy before I was even born. My biological mother got pregnant at 16 to a handsome and charming older man, and they were introduced to Dr. Schober by a friend of my birth father. Doc, as she preferred to be called, was doing abortions and alternative birthing in peoples homes and in her office in Pacoima, California on the east side of the San Fernando Valley. I was told by the person that introduced them to Doc that they originally wanted to abort me, but at some point decided to place me up for adoption. Doc was a closet lesbian who had been looking for a child for her and her partner to raise, so she told my birth parents she knew a couple looking for a child. After my birth, Doc simply put her name on my certificate, had a doctor friend sign it, and she sent it off to be certified by the state. I went on believing that Doc was my mother, and some guy I never met named William Schober who supposedly died while she was pregnant, was my dad until I found contrary paperwork when I was 34 years old.

When I was three, my adoptive parents decided to leave me with a neighbor couple so they could go out for the night. I felt immediate dread and my gut instinct new before it happened, but no amount of crying would change their mind. They left me with this sadistic pedophile couple; she laughed as he raped me. I was haunted with nightmares and flashbacks that ruined most of my life.

There have been a few studies about women who get molested, raped, or sexually abused. It seems to happen more than one time; I am that statistic. My adoptive parents moved me to Simi Valley to be safe, and at age 11 we moved to Moorpark so I could have horses. My 42 year old neighbor took his sweet time grooming me like any good pedophile does. Within 6 months he went from daddy figure, to sick, perverse version of a boyfriend. He told me I was the only man in the world that would ever love or understand me. He was wrong.

At 14 I rushed into a relationship with a man 9 years older than me. He was charming, supplied me with a plethora of drugs, and was controlling and verbally abusive. At 18 it turned physical, and when I broke up with him, he beat me. I ran outside, but he grabbed me on the sidewalk, beat me up again, then dragged me into his parents house. He beat me some more, ripped my clothes off, then he raped me. I never talked to him again.

At 18 I went with some friends to Vegas. While they played blackjack, I decided I wanted a real drink, not a watered down free one. Two men approached me, the talkative one kept my attention while the quiet creepy weird slipped something into my drink. Thats the last thing I remember before waking up in cheap motel – bloody, robbed, and raped again.

I don’t know why I was giving this tragic life; I didn’t deserve it. No one deserves to be raped, not ever, not for any reason. But not only was I raped, beaten, drugged, and physically abused, I was also verbally abused at home. Sandy hated that Doc had adopted me, she said it ruined their sex live, and she blamed me for everything. She called me a whore, a fat slob, a lazy good for nothing bitch, and when I was younger, she threatened to throw me back into the trash where they found me. Sandy was filled with anger and rage, and Doc did nothing to stop her. She was in her own world filled with parties, lies, drug and alcohol binges. She also floated in an out of jail; her longest stint was 18 months when I was just 5. I didn’t understand time, and I thought she had abandoned me for life. Not only did my home life suck, but I was also bullied every day of my life at school and by neighbor kids. I was either beaten up, had rocks thrown at me, or I was shunned from everything. No one protected me – not my parents, not the teachers, not a the neighbors. No one.

I was filled with hate, anger, shame, guilt, rage, disgust, hurt, and self loathing. I contemplated suicide more days than I can even remember. I became a drug addict and dealer, alcoholic, criminal and all around asshole. I acted out in every way possible and my mantra was “fuck the world before it fucks me.” I spent years trying to control my life with food; either overeating, starving, or barfing it all up after a binge. All the highs were temporary – nothing gave me relief from the pain. I even tried an overdose on pills, and in the midst of passing over, I didn’t go up or down, instead I started floating off to the right into a cold dark abyss. I realized before it was too late that even death would not give me any relief. I realized, in that moment, I have to fix my life before I destroy myself. Thus started the very long and painful journey of looking inward and dredging up all the trauma. I had to talk about things that I never wanted out of the “pain-boxes” I had shoved them into. Slowly, over time, I began to see that the more light I shinned on the monsters, the smaller they got. Some took a long time to evaporate in the light, and some I let crawl back into the caves and hide until I was ready to deal with them.

It took a lot of work, and during periods of time would take 2 steps forward and 3 steps back, but I kept moving forward. I kept digging. All the painful work eventually paid off and most of my days are now filled with happiness and inner peace.

This blog will be my sharing of how I not only overcame, but I learned to thrive inspite of all the horrific things that happened to me. Its taken me a long time to make this decision – its not easy to relive events and expose myself like this, but in the end I hope that my confessions give someone else strength to face their own dreams and find their own joy. I plan on addressing the top 20 things I did to turn my life around. Too many people make recovery look overly simplistic and its not. I see too many books, blogs, and advice stating that “I just did this one thing and Im fine now.” Thats not me. I did many things to get well, but the most important, for me, was finding a good therapist. Everything else worked as an adjunct to the therapy, but all of these things have a very important role in my evolution to happiness.

20 Steps to Find  Happiness and Increase  Confidence

  1. First and foremost I had to find a therapist.  Over the years I have seen about 20 and maybe 3 or 4 of those were good.  Later I will discuss how to find a good therapist and what to expect.
  2. Finding your own spirituality or connection to life.
  3. Exercise – Running.
  4. Hiking –  Nature.
  5. Motorcycle riding.
  6. Eating healthy and suppliments.
  7. How to properly use and carry a gun.
  8. Boxing – Self Defense.
  9. Situational Awareness.
  10. Yoga – Meditation.
  11. Writing – Journaling.
  12. 12 Step Programs.
  13. Self help books, workshops, seminars.
  14. Volunteering and giving back.
  15. Affirmations- Gratitude – Visualization
  16. Goals.
  17. Photography – Hobbies
  18. Love Me Book.
  19. Healthy friends and support system.
  20. Making a commitment to work at getting healthy and being happy.


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