Prescriptions For Disaster (part 1)

        Emotional coping mechanisms, if left unexamined, eventually become psychological addictions. Say, for example, I’m hurt, and as a way to deal with the pain, I just emotionally shut down. If I continue to do that, and never look at the behavior, then sooner or later that’s what I'll automatically do whenever I get hurt. My response to pain therefore becomes a knee-jerk reaction, an unconscious decision, that I make without even knowing it.
         I did this for years, particularly after my dad died. I know there are lots of us out there, especially men, who handle pain by getting angry, or shutting down our feelings, or both. Those coping mechanisms work. That’s why we keep doing them. They shut out the pain. But like all pathological defense systems, they come at a huge price.
         Ultimately, they cost us ourselves. 
         Imagine that I could pop a pill every time I felt pain. Well that’s exactly what shutting down is like. Instead of feeling and dealing, I just stop feeling. Kind of like popping a “don’t feel pill”. I did this so often that I became “addicted” to that “pill”; I automatically shut down and put up a wall whenever I got hurt. Or sometimes, I’d get mad, then put up the wall.
         Shutting down is just one coping mechanism, and it happened to be my “drug of choice”. There are plenty of others: denying that we’re hurt, blaming the other person, passive aggressive behavior. Most of us employ one or more when we get hurt.
         The big problem is that these coping mechanisms are like prescription drugs: if we use them too often, we get hooked. Then we can’t stop using them when we’re in pain, because we react automatically, and it’s all we know. The result can be devastating to our relationships: with ourselves, with those we’re intimate with, and with anybody we love.
         That’s why I call these coping mechanisms Prescriptions For Disaster.
         And, just like in our physical bodies, our emotional health will become severely compromised if we’re hooked on one or more of these prescriptions.
         Clearing our emotional lives of these prescriptions parallels the process we would use to rid ourselves of them physically. And since your partner is probably on something too, it’s best to do it together.
         First, you both have to admit that you’re hooked. You have to admit that, when you get hurt, you automatically reach for something else, instead of reaching inside and for each other. That’s a feat in itself, because it means coming out of denial. It means owning your part in a destructive process.
         It’s always good to know what the meds are for. Unfortunately, with emotional prescriptions, there’s no writing on the bottle to tell you. So you have to do some soul searching and figure out why you’re taking what you’re taking. This step can actually wait until later. The “why” right now is far less important than owning the fact that you’re on something. And ultimately, we’re all taking them for the same reason: to stop the pain.
         After you’ve owned that you’re hooked, no small feat mind you, you have to become willing to give up, or at least wean off of, the prescriptions. That means you both commit to start doing it differently. You both agree that, when one or both of you get hurt, you don’t reach for the meds. Instead, you risk feeling the pain. Then you risk expressing it. So that you can both work it out.
         This is where the rubber meets the road. It means you have be introspective, self-aware, vulnerable, courageous, honest, and maybe even get some form of therapy. That’s a lot of work. But it’s absolutely essential if you’re going to get off of those meds and stop poisoning your own body and the body of your relationship.
         Since I’ve stopped shutting down, I’ve had to feel again. Sometimes, I don’t know if I can keep doing it. I’m amazed at how much pain is still inside of me, even after all the work I’ve done. But I’m committed to this path. Even if at times I wish I could go back to shutting down again. And sometimes I do. But it never lasts too long. Eventually, I snap out of it and start feeling again. And my life opens up once more.
         Tomorrow, I’ll present to you my own very personal Prescriptions For Disaster in my last relationship.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a medicine cabinet full of Wrongs) Reserved.

Thank You I'm Sorry

        Recently, I came across a poem I had written to an ex-girlfriend after we broke up. I remember the poem taking me all of five minutes to write. But that wasn’t because I didn’t have much to say, or because I didn’t care. Exactly the opposite. It was very painful for me, and the words came gushing out of me along with the tears.
        When I’m able to write that quickly, I feel less like a writer and more like a conduit. Expression and emotion flow through me and out into the world effortlessly. I know the words are mine, but at the same time, they feel as though they’re not coming from me; they’re just passing through.
        Maybe that’s what being truly connected feels like. When I’m truly connected to my heart, I’m also truly connected to divine source. So I’m at once a unique individual and part of everything in creation. The words are mine, but they also belong to everyone, and to the source itself. Is that zen?
        One reason I’m sharing this is because I am completely creatively blocked right now, and I’m trying to harken back to a definitive moment when I had clarity. Like I did when I wrote this poem.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights Reserved.

Toe Cuffs

        Before Christmas, I bought a new keychain. This keychain has attached to it a pair of toe cuffs. Also known as thumb cuffs. But I prefer calling them the former, because I have a foot fetish. I’m not prejudice though. I’ll use them on either.
        When I bought the keychain, I thought to myself “There are probably more than a few people who would like to buy this, but won’t, because they don't want anybody to know that they’re into this kind of thing.”. Obviously, I’m not one of those people. But I understand the sentiment.
        I’m not saying that you need to let the world know what you’re into. But you needn’t be ashamed of it either. That’s one half of my point. Whatever turns you on doesn’t have to be anybody’s business but yours, and whoever you’re with. And that’s the second half of my point. There are so many people who don’t let their partner know what really drives them wild.
        I realized a long time ago that an important part who I am, an important aspect of being fully myself, has to do with my sexuality. Because so much of human energy is sexual, to deny that which arouses us is to deny a large part of ourselves. And nowhere in human psychology do people have more hang-ups than between the sheets. Our inhibitions are alive and well everywhere in our lives. In the bedroom, they’re usually kicking and screaming. I honestly believe that sexual repression is one of those “silent killers” in many relationships.
        It’s an understatement to say that we’re not encouraged to be ourselves, to fully be who we are, by our society or our culture. Conformity is far more important than individuality or unique self expression. Nowhere is this truer than when it comes to sex. Only recently has there been a broader acceptance of behavior that was considered “sexually deviant” only a few decades ago. Before the sexual revolution, unless you were completely vanilla, you were labeled, at best bohemian, and at worst, perverted.
        We’ve come a long way, baby. But a choking sexual conservatism is still very much a part of american culture. Especially if you get away from the coast and the big cities. And if you start throwing religion into the mix, what’s deemed acceptable sexual behavior can become even more restricted.
        I say, to both sexes, let it all hang out. To do that, however, you have to know what you’re hanging (no male prejudice intended). You have to know what you’re into. And you can only do that if you accept, without shame, that which sets you ablaze. If you start judging what rocks your boat, your boat won’t get rocked.
        There are some great books that offer in-depth analysis of the psychology of sex, of why we’re into what we’re into. Better yet are books that discuss particular fetishes and sub-cultures. The reason these books are helpful is because they discuss “that which turns us on” not as deviant behavior, but as healthy sexual self expression. They effectively help people give themselves permission to like what they like. They help us be more ourselves, because they can teach us to accept ourselves. And I know that human sexuality is an exquisitely beautiful and complex phenomenon that has more than enough room for everybody.
        When I was much younger, there was a certain apprehension to exposing some of my more than vanilla turn-ons to partners. It didn’t last long, but it was there. Luckily, my drive to get my rocks off in the most stratospheric way possible always outweighed my reluctance to say what I was into. So, once trust was established, instead of repressing it, I would let a woman know that I wanted to say, blindfold her. If she wasn’t into that sort of thing, then I always believed it’s better to know sooner rather than later. It wouldn’t necessarily sink the relationship. But if we weren’t into the same things, and more importantly, weren’t willing to try new things together, then our days were numbered.
        That hasn’t changed. Not because sex is the most important thing. But because I know that sexual compatibility is as important to me as temperamental or emotional compatibility. And the ability to work out the kinks sexually with a partner is as important as the ability to work out the myriad of emotional issues that are bound to surface. Ahem.
        My sex life has actually gotten better as I’ve gotten older. Part of this is because I’ve been fortunate to have been with some really special women. Part of it is because I’ve gotten even more comfortable in sharing what really turns me on. And part of it is because I continue to explore the scope and depth of my own sexuality. No different than getting to know myself better emotionally, or expanding my mental capabilities, delving onto what rocks my world is a beautiful journey of self discovery. Taking that journey with the woman I’m with is truly one of life’s most wonderful experiences. And, not to put too sharp a point on it, it makes for some unbelievable sex.
        Being completely sexually open and honest with your partner and being willing to take that journey together takes some guts. It takes trust. Lots of it. It takes a leap of faith, in yourself and the person you’re with. It takes an acceptance of self. Actually, it takes more than just an acceptance, although that’s the critical first step. It takes a celebration. When your sex life becomes a celebration of self, yours and your partner’s, that’s when the real fireworks start. That’s when you both really achieve lift off. When your sex life becomes a true celebration of what rocks both your world’s. When it becomes an uninhibited-no-holds-barred joyous intimate celebration of what drives you both abso...fuckin...lutely....crazy.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a dungeon full of Wrongs) reserved.

For some books related to sexuality, go to my Recommended... links page.

Concentration: Camp (part 2)

        Separation anxiety was not a term that I was familiar with when I was a kid. And even if I was, it wouldn’t have meant anything to me, because it’s too abstract a concept for most ten year olds. But it’s a very real, potentially traumatizing phenomenon. It’s understood much better today than it was thirty-five years ago. Which is great. Because that’s undoubtedly saved countless twins from experiencing the same psychological carnage that I went through.
        See, it all goes back to the womb.
        Twins come into the world having began life together. From the very first moment of inception. That immediately sets them apart form the vast majority of people who begin the process of life alone. The first existence I was aware of outside of my own was that of my twin brother’s. Maybe even before I was aware of my mother’s. This creates a unique connection, a unique circumstance, the impact of which should not be underestimated.
        Before Mike and I went to camp, we had spent most of our time together. We slept in the same bedroom. We went to the same school. Different classrooms, but he was never usually more than a few hundred feet away. And after school, we were always together. Well not always. Mike liked to be by himself a lot more than I did. But we ate together. Played together. Made shit up together. Watched TV together. For ten years, that was the way it was.
        Then one day, just like that, it all changed. I suddenly spent virtually no time with him at all. I only occasionally knew where he was. We no longer shared the same bedroom. Or ate at the same table. Or played together. Or did anything together. It was a huge change. A huge, sudden, traumatic change. For me. Mike seemed to be okay with it. Which I’m glad about. I wouldn’t wish went I went through on anybody. Least of all him.
        I didn’t realize it at the time (how many ten year olds can psychoanalyze themselves?), but that change freaked me out beyond belief. It fucked me up big time. And that was just one in a long list of childhood issues that came charging to the surface the day I started camp.
        My intense separation anxiety makes perfect sense. When we were born, after spending nine glorious months together inside the Womb Hotel, Mike went home. I went to a metal incubator for three weeks. I got separated from my mother. I got separated from loving human contact. I got separated from him. That was the original separation anxiety that I was reliving at camp.
        I needed to be with him, because I lost him in my first moment of birth. He lost me as well, but I can’t speak for him. And he, thank god, went to be with his mother and father and family. He went home. I got shipped out. I got abandoned. Completely. Right from the first moment that I could be. And that has made me very different from him. Especially in how I deal with relationships. In how I deal with myself. And in how we deal with each other.
        At camp, of course I was terribly homesick. I missed all my friend’s in the idyllic summer community of Nyes Neck, North Falmouth. Any kid would. I missed my parents. I missed my older brother, who I idolized, and two older sisters. I missed my sister in law, and my beautiful little niece who I absolutely adored.
        But most of all, I missed my twin brother. Being away from him was what I had the hardest time with. I know this for an absolute, verifiable, experimentally proven fact because one year, in their infinite authoritative wisdom, the chuckleheads put us in the same cabin together. The result? I had a great time at camp. I actually liked it. A lot. Then the next two years, we were separated again. The result? Pain.
        You think the powers that be would have learned something from that year we were in the same cabin. Here’s a kid who, for three years is a candidate for “the most miserable camper on earth” award, and the next is having the time of his life. And all you did differently was put him in the same cabin as his twin brother. You’d think they would have figured that out. But they weren’t really paying attention. They were sticking to dogma. Well wake up, jerk-offs. This is what you do for a living.
        Yeah, I still have some anger around it. It’s not up much, but writing about it raises the pain, which raises the anger. Which is good. Because it reminds me that I still have some work to do on it. And the people weren’t really jerk-offs. They just weren’t enlightened. They were not accepting new information. They were too closed minded.
        I like to think the world has come a lot further since then. I know I have.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a womb full of Wrongs) Reserved.

Concentration: Camp (part 1)

        There have been a few moments in my life when I felt something instantly shift inside of me, and I suddenly knew that I would never be the same. Moments when something within gets moved so drastically that my inner landscape is altered forever. It feels like an explosion.
        This explosion destroys what was there before, and creates a New Awareness. And The Awareness has a voice that says “You are different now”.
        One of those moments occurred on June 12, 2008, after I saw principessa for the first time after she broke up with me. Another one of those moments happened when I was ten years old. My first day of camp.
        The first nine years of my life, I spent every day of the summer in North Falmouth on Cape Cod. I loved it there. My twin brother and I had lots of friends, with two of them living right next door. We sailed in the morning, swam in the afternoon, and played baseball at night until it got so dark you couldn’t see the ball. The games would always end when either somebody’s parent would show up or one of us got clobbered by a ball we could barely see. In between all that, we would play street hockey, super heroes, and the occasional rainy day game of monopoly, which usually ended in a fight.
         By all accounts, it was a perfect way for a boy to spend the summer.
         And then, at ten years old, we got sent to camp for the month of July.
         For weeks before we went, everybody was telling me to “watch out for your twin brother”. Mike wasn’t fat like me, and he was shorter. He was also quieter, wore glasses, and was more introverted. People misinterpreted all that as signs of frailty. They thought that I would love camp, and that Mike would have a hard time.
         Boy did planet earth misread that one.
         When we arrived at camp, I was relatively excited. They separated Mike and I so that we were in two different cabins. That didn’t seem like a big deal. All seemed to be going okay.
         Then. That moment.
         My parents pulled away in their Buick Electra 225 as I waved goodbye at the edge of camp. Mike had already said goodbye and was nowhere to be found, a clear portent of things to come. I turned away from the car and looked down the wide, tree lined path that lead to Iroquois Village, my home for the next month.
         All of a sudden, as I stared down that empty path, I froze. I felt a sickening rush that I had never before experienced. Suddenly, out of nowhere, my head felt like it was on fire. My body was immobile, and as heavy as lead. Inside, the whole of my chest sank, plummeted actually, right out of my body. I felt completely empty. Where but a second ago there resided in me an energy and a vitality and a vibrant, beating heart, now, there was nothing. Nothing but pain and sorrow.
         At that moment, I felt my life ripped out of me. In an instant, my life went from just fine to complete misery.
         And all I did was turn around.
         The other shoe had dropped. No. The other boot had dropped. No. The other impossibly massive, steel toed boot had just kicked my insides right out of me.
         And all I did was turn around.
         I felt totally alone. And I was scared to death. To Death.
         I knew, at that moment, that the next month of my life was going to be a kind of hell that I had never even dreamed about. I didn’t know why. But I knew.
         And all I did was turn around.
         I carry that fear with me to this day. That fear that life can inexplicably and suddenly become a nightmare by simply turning around. It’s not usually up, but it’s always with me. Deep inside, there is still that sensation of utter emptiness, excruciating agony, and complete loneliness.
         It’s a scar that has not completely healed. Not yet.
         But it will. I can feel it.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a camp full of Wrongs) Reserved.