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Fifty Shades of Truth and BS

Exposing abuse under the guise of BDSM & related reflections on self-recovery.

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End The Silence

Facing Darkness

Trigger Alert


When someone has faced adversity and darkness in their past, in theory that person would eventually develop skills to better help them cope with adversity in their future.  There are all sorts of coping skills one could build in a dark atmosphere. Some skills are brilliant and functional, others can be less than functional.  I know from personal experience.

I am not stating that my past is filled with complete darkness.  There were times light peaked through.  I am very fortunate to have experienced many wonderful adventures as a child that many other kids have never dreamed of.  However, my life was very bipolar.  My life was filled with constant excitement but because of that my body was always in a constant state of “excitement”.  At a very young age (as early as I can remember) I acquired PTSD from the countless traumas that I experienced in my family life.  The childhood memories that flood to my mind are now endless.  Some have always been there but I always thought that they were normal so I never told anyone.  This I now know is very typical in childhood abuse and neglect.  I am so very thankful that I now realize that these memories are not normal and that I was severely abused and neglected as a child.  I did not deserve it and my neglectful parents and caretakers were at fault.

I try to believe that I have a purpose here in this world.  I know with certainty that I can dance through darkness and adversity with a smile on my face while others would fall flat on their face in the same step.  Perhaps this is a skill that I should harbor deep inside to use only when absolutely necessary.

I leave this blog with some historical photos of USS Bunker Hill which was attacked by Japanese Kamikazes on May 11, 1945.  I found out through doing ancestral research a few years ago that one of my Grandfathers served as a Naval Dentist on this ship.  He survived the attack (one of the deadliest attacks in US History) and all the adversity of WWII… and here we are today.  I was never fortunate enough to meet my Grandfather but I would like to thank him.

Thank you Grandpa!

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Featured Image Credits:

Facing the Darkness by Eduardo Rodriguez Calzado – 2015

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Holding Him Accountable

Hello Everyone!

I am so sorry that it has been some time since I have written.  My life over the past few months has been quite hectic.  There are days that I feel that I have fallen to where I was in the beginning of my self recovery process and then there are other days such as today when I am proud of myself for how far I have pushed myself in this healing journey thus far.

I took one of the scariest yet most important steps towards my personal recovery on Monday.  I faced abuser M in court.  I had decided some time ago to take abuser M to civil court to hold him accountable for some of the damages that I have suffered by his hands.  Although I sued abuser M for a fraction of the monetary damages that he has caused me, holding him accountable in front of the court was and is the ultimate reward for me.  Monday was the first time that I was able to seek acknowledgment from the court as to what abuser M has done to me.  Even if I do not win any monetary damages, the recognition alone is satisfying enough for me in my recovery process.  I presented over 30 photographs that showed proof of the abuse I endured and I could tell that the judge was no longer impressed with abuser M once he saw the physical terror that he put me through.

As I suspected, abuser M came to court “prepared” with nothing more than intimidation and a slew of irrelevant old emails.  He also brought his girlfriend along as a “witness” which seemed more damaging than good for him.  Although the witness did not speak in court, I came prepared with documentation and photos to discredit his girlfriend.  Lets just say that her presence in the court room did not do him any justice.  He also unsuccessfully attempted to counter sue me which clearly showed that he is clueless when it comes to the legal system. 

The most traumatic part about facing abuser M in court had nothing to do with the verbal jabs and obvious lies that he threw at me and the court but it was simply seeing him in person again for the first time since I had obtained a restraining order against him early last year.  His physical presence alone scares me.  He is a large and scary looking man.  Yesterday there were times that I was shaking being in his presence but then I reminded myself that I am the one in control now.  Abuser M no longer has any power over me physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, sexually, or any other ways that I thought he once did.  He is no longer protected in his self created fantasy world where he is the ultimate master and charmer and everyone obeys his wish.  He is nothing but a lowly graveling worm and I can clearly see that now.   

Today I checked the court website and saw that a judgment has already been made in the case.  Although I will not know the judgment until it arrives in the mail, I feel relieved that this step in my recovery process is complete.  I am glad that the court was able to hear my case regardless of the outcome.  I am thankful that there are avenues that I can take to hold abuser M accountable for the abuse that he put me through for so long.

I am finally holding him accountable and taking my power back.

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Dear Reader; Thank You From the Bottom of My Heart! <3

Dear Reader;

Let’s be honest.  I was terrified to create Fifty Shades Of Truth and BS because I knew it would expose the unflattering truths of the BDSM lifestyle that I used to live. The social stigma and the daily life associated with such a lifestyle are not nearly as glamorous as the elaborate fantasies told in the Fifty Shades Trilogy (by author E. L. James).  Yet, here you are still reading.

Most people cannot begin to fathom the lifestyle that I onced lived as an active member of the BDSM community.  I was once labeled as a slave and I naively assumed the position given my previous life conditioning.  I did not have the ability to say “no” to abuser M nor was I able to recognize that such a relationship was unhealthy and doomed from the get-go.  Did I live the 24/7 BDSM lifestyle by choice?  No.  There was a time when I was in denial and refused to believe or acknowledge that my introduction and entry into the lifestyle was against my will.  However, after quite a bit of recovery work I now see that my apparent complete submission to a self proclaimed sociopath (amongst other things) was nothing more than a product of the combination of circumstance associated with the neglect and abuse that I endured as a child as well as the vulnerabilities associated with such traumas.  My vulnerabilities were completely exposed and apparent to such a man of wit and manipulation.  And he seized the opportunity to his advantage. 

I now also realize that I am not alone in this frequent phenomenon.  BDSM can seem fun and enchanting but it can also be very dangerous and even deadly at times.  And that is one of the many reasons as to why I am ending the silence on my personal experiences with domestic violence and related abuse.

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Let’s be even more honest.  I truly believed that I would be highly stigmatized due to the lifestyle that I engaged in (despite the good intention behind the message that I am trying to exude here).  If only I could easily convey the isolating stigma that I have personally encountered by being an open member of such a community but it is not so easy to comprehend if you have not personally encountered similar stigmatization yourself.  It is an assumed and calculated risk if you openly claim to engage in the BDSM lifestyle.  Yet such a risk healthily provokes the members of the BDSM community to lovingly and loyally support each other as if they are all members of an extended tight knit family.

However… to my great astonishment I have encountered 99% positive feedback on my blog.  I am taken aback!  Yes of course I have encountered a few negative duds along the way, but such is life.  I won’t let words bring me down after all I have endured in life.

Anyways, what I really want to say is…

THANK YOU FOR FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!

For your support.

It means the world to me. 

This letter is intended for everyone and anyone who is reading my blog, despite your opinions or viewpoints.  The purpose of my blog is to spread the word about the dangers associated with BDSM and related domestic abuse while also promoting my recovery from CPTSD.  Your presence here on my blog has accomplished just that.  So, thank you again from the bottom of my heart.

With Love,

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 P.S. I hope you stay tuned in to my future journey!

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The Day I Was Hit & Ran Over By A Truck – Trigger Alert

Trigger Alert


I believe that I was in second grade when I was hit and ran over by a Suburban SUV.  At the time I was riding my bike to/from school and home which was a few miles away.  I had to ride and maneuver my bike through fairly dangerous conditions and intersections to get to school.  To this day it is still unclear to me as to why I was not being offered rides to and from school by my step-father Chris.  My step-father worked from home and we lived fairly close to my school so he did have the chance to volunteer to get me to school safely.  However, no one really cared about my safety as long as I got to school on time.

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And so I rode my bike to and from school starting in the second grade.  I’m unsure how old I was at that time but I remember being cold in the mornings in particular.  I attended a private school where pre-determined plaid uniforms were mandatory and I found the outfits to be chilly as well as itchy.  I could never seem to get warm enough in those plaid uniforms.  I remember being scolded about how expensive the uniforms were and I felt really bad that my parents had to spend so much money on clothes that I hated.  I was not a fan of wearing the uniforms to say the least but uniforms were a requirement of the school.  Therefore I was wearing a uniform on the day that I was hit and ran over.

The details of the accident are as follows; I was riding my bike home from school so the time must have been anywhere from 1:30 to 4:30 in the afternoon.  I was beginning to cross the crosswalk in a busy intersection close to a mall.  A woman in a dark navy blue Suburban SUV approached me on my left side to make a right turn as if she did not notice me.  Suddenly I felt the Suburban tap my left shoulder and that is the exact moment when I thought to myself that I must “get the license plate number”.  I do not know why that was my first gut reaction.  Second to my primary reaction to being hit my life slowly “flashed” before my eyes as I was knocked to the ground by the approaching Suburban.  I began to scream.

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I remember pain…  A lot of pain as the front right wheel of the Suburban ran over both of my lower legs.  Although I was laying on the ground by this point I was still positioned on the bike and the bike frame was crushed around my legs as the Suburban drove over both the bike and my legs.  The Suburban stopped before running me over with the back tires.  The lady driving the Suburban said that she was not even aware that she had hit me until she heard me screaming and by then I was already crushed under the SUV.

That was the first time I can think of that I remember my life flashing before my eyes.  That part really happened and it seemed slow, as if I had a long life to play in front of me.  After I was completely underneath the Suburban the car behind her started to honk their horn to alert her to the accident.  The driver of the car put their flashers on behind the Suburban and got out of the car.  I only saw that the driver had stopped traffic in the busy intersection and me from under the Suburban.  The bike frame was deformed around my legs and my school uniform was completely demolished.  I never got the opportunity to say thank you to the person who pulled me from under the Suburban that day, so if you are reading this, thank you!

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The next moment I realized that an EMT was frantically working on cutting my clothes off so that he could easily free me from the crushed bike frame.  I was mortified and completely humiliated!  My gut reaction was to yell at the EMT that my “step-father will be so mad at me!”.  I am unsure why I believed that Chris, my step-father would be angry at me for the damaged clothes, but at the time it seemed very rational to think so.  I was whisked to the hospital protesting in nothing more than my undergarments.  It was quite revealing and embarrassing to have my clothes cut from my body in the middle of a busy intersection, even at such a young age.  At the time I cared nothing for the pain that I was enduring but I was quite preoccupied with the worry that I would be punished for ruining my school uniform.  Apparently this behavior alerted the medical personnel to “speak in private” with both my mother and step-father.  What they said there, I will never know.

Old Red Wood Gate In Industrial Interior

I don’t remember my hospital stay at all but I do remember that my legs were miraculously not broken.  However, they both had clearly been ran over as there were large Suburban track marks running across both of my calves.  The doctors were surprised to inform me and my family that my legs and feet were simply deeply bruised but not broken.  They were so bruised that I was not able to walk on my own for a few months.  I remember this challenge being particularly difficult because my classroom was at the top of an old church tower and there was no elevator at the time to get up there.  If I remember right, I crawled up the stairs to get to my classes because there was no possible way for me to walk up the stairs on my own two feet.  The rest of the time I was given a wheel chair to sit in.  I believe it took about 3 months for my legs to feel healthy enough to walk on my own again.

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I hadn’t really viewed this event as extremely traumatic until recently.  I see that the accident did in fact have a profound effect on me both physically and psychologically.  For a moment that day I believed that I was going to die and it certainly was traumatic for a girl of my age.

I am curious if this accident has impacted my life in more ways that I am still unaware of and yet to find out?  Only time can tell.

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The First Munch Was Awkward – Trigger Alert

Trigger Alert


You may be wondering exactly what a munch is.  A munch is a casual social meeting where participants that attend are interested in or involved in BDSM.  Munches are useful to members of the BDSM community as they are a means and a physical venue to connect.  Mind you munches were popularized well before the era of social media but munches are still widely attended.  Munches act as a source of education and social interaction within local BDSM communities.  You can find a munch in nearly any large city!  Google it and see.  Perhaps you would like to check one out for yourself.

The first official munch that I attended was in 2012.  I am unsure how abuser M found out about said munch but he suggested that we check it out to possibly connect with like minded people.  I was more than happy to speak with other people in similar situations to me.  Abuser M and I did live the BDSM lifestyle 24/7 after all.  There were not many people at that time who were open about living the BDSM lifestyle.  I treasured the idea of making any friends who also lived the lifestyle and who were open to speaking about it with me.  I hungered for other humans to talk to.  I was completely isolated from the real world.  After quite some time of feeling alone in the abuse I endured, I gladly agreed to attend the munch with abuser M, not that I could really say no to him.

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I still have some specific memories about the first munch that I attended although I don’t remember a lot of details because abuser M and I attended quite a few other munches after the first trial run.  I felt completely awkward attending the first munch.  At a munch you are outing yourself to the attendees, the public around you and therefore the world.  You can’t really hide the fact that you are involved in the BDSM community if you are yapping about it with a group of people over fries and beer.  The first munch that we went to was held in downtown Berkeley, CA in a small but popular cafe.  Abuser M put on my old special “bling” collar lock just to show off his property.  This collar lock was only worn at openly BDSM events as abuser M was of the impression that the rhinestones were flashy and not “public appropriate”  since it attracted more attention than my 24/7 collar.

My old
My old “bling” collar lock – only worn for special BDSM related occasions.

The first munch that we attended was geared towards the younger adults that were involved in the local BDSM community, specifically those who were 30 years of age and under.  At the time of our first munch, abuser M and I both qualified for this only requirement to attend the meeting (I still do).  At the munch we sat around restaurant tables and openly spoke about BDSM topics amongst ourselves.  Attendees came and went as they pleased.  Some people had obviously met before and there was even a munch leader who was in charge of organizing the event each month.  We met a few nice people and exchanged contact information with a various other people that we had met.  Overall the munch felt very awkward and almost forced until I consumed a bit of alcohol and only then was it easier to open up to the other attendees and begin to make connections.

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That wasn’t the last munch that abuser M and I attended but was certainly the first munch that I do remember attending and it marked my memory.  It wasn’t very eventful yet it cemented abuser M’s force over me because he felt even more comfortable displaying me as his property openly in public.  He felt comfortable talking about the subject of BDSM amongst other like-minded people and even confessed to me that he felt like he could fit in a community for once.  Sadly, over time he could not maintain sufficient contact to make many like minded friends in the BDSM community and probably still has not (yet he still claims to actively live the lifestyle).  He is anti-social even in one of the most antisocial communities that I have ever encountered.

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Abuser M once confessed to me that he had always felt alone… after beginning to understand the level of abuser M’s sociopathy, I could not agree with him any more.  People who openly thrive off of the extreme suffering of others such as Abuser M are downright scary.  I rarely encountered people amongst even the BDSM community that I considered as twisted and sadistic as abuser M.  Even amongst extreme sexual sadists, he is a loner and an outcast.

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My Father Used Me as a Pawn; The Golden Toilet – Trigger Alert

Trigger Alert


I don’t remember much of this trauma but I have held on to this memory ever since the trauma happened when I was 5 years old.  I still do not know to this day if my memory of the traumatic event is complete or not.  Thinking about this day still brings tears to my eyes.  I don’t know where my father went wrong this particular day.  Perhaps he was high on drugs, perhaps he was on a power trip…  I’ll probably never know but I still question to how any father could put his 5 year old daughter through such torment?

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I was 5 years old when this trauma happened and living in Tehachapi, CA with my biological father, my step-mother and my months old half-sister. It was a hot summer day.  There wasn’t much grass where we lived so we would take a dip in the kiddy pool or hang out in the shade to keep cool.  I was obsessed with my little half-sister, like she was my baby doll.  I loved her so much and still do to this day.  On this particular day my father and step-mother were fighting… screaming at each other is more accurate. I don’t remember what the argument was about but I do remember wanting to get away from the screaming.  Objects were being thrown and broken in the house around me and so I decided to sit on the end of my small bed.  Silently and wishing I was invisible.

My father burst into my room screaming at my step-mother who was still in the other room.  Sometimes my father would use me as a pawn to terrorize my step-mother and this day was no exception.  I was sitting on the end of the bed, wishing he couldn’t see me as he proceeded to pull down his pants and urinate all over me.  He completely soaked me in his urine from my head to my waist.  My bed was also soaked in his urine.  I remember feeling as though I had to protect my little half-sister in this situation but I am still unclear as to where she was during this incident.  I don’t remember much more of the trauma other than my step-mother yelling back at my father about how immature his actions were.  As helpful as she thought she was at the time, I now realize she was a huge contributor to many of my childhood traumas, just like my father.

How do I process this memory?  I wish I knew the right answer.  I have held onto the memory, remembering every single sense that my body allows me to recall from that day.  I was terrified and degraded.  I felt worthless and like a pawn.  I was nothing but an object to my father, simply used to manipulate other people.  I meant nothing more to him than a toilet.  At least he would have the courtesy of flushing a toilet.  Or maybe not?  I will probably never know.

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That is all.

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The Cotton Ball Bandit: The Only Dad I Ever Knew. – Trigger Alert

Trigger Alert


Chris & Samson
My Stepfather Chris & Samson our dog in 1994.

Let me introduce you to Chris, my now ex-stepfather.  Chris is also known nowadays as “The Cotton Ball Bandit”.  Let’s see if I can pull up a few articles for your reference…

KRON4 – Cotton Ball Bandit Convicted For 10 Bank Robberies

&

KRON4 – Cotton Ball Bandit Sentenced To 60 Years In Prison

KRON4 Images of The Cotton Ball Bandit in action.

This is the only man that I really ever knew as a father.  His full name is Christopher Jay Wootton but he is better known as The Cotton Ball Bandit in the Bay Area. Why?  Because he robbed 10 Marin County banks while only attempting to conceal his appearance with a cotton puff beanie.  Or whatever it is called… He has been dubbed The Cotton Ball Bandit whether it really captures his true character or not.


Chris, me and his adopted father. Approximately 1993.
Chris, me and his adopted father. Approximately 1993.

I am now attempting to focus on the positives in our relationship.  Chris is now in prison and will probably stay there for the remainder of his life given that he has been sentenced to 60 years in prison and he is already 63.  I feel that his confinement to a prison only catalyzes my relationship with him simply because I know that he is in a position to ponder and possibly answer many unanswered questions that I have about my childhood.  So far he seems to be honest and genuine in his letters to me.

There is so much that I can and will eventually discuss about Chris aka The Cotton Ball Bandit.  He obviously shaped who I am as a person today and he is an important tool in my (C)PTSD recovery.  For now, I will leave you with a photo that Chris captured of me many years ago.  It is now shockingly ironic given he currently resides in San Quentin State Prison…

Me posing in front of San Quentin State Prison. I was a proud daughter!
Me posing in front of San Quentin State Prison. Photo taken by Chris many years ago.  I was a proud daughter!

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#FiftyShadesOfTruthAndBS #TheCottonBallBandit #CottonBallBandit

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Why are you so ugly? – Trigger Alert

Trigger Alert


#fiftyshadesoftruthandbs
I wish that I could say that I thought differently of myself… but I now understand that I have difficulties with loving myself because I was not shown love as a child. The harder I grasp onto that fact, the swifter I begin to create love and self compassion for myself.

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a2eternity

I wish I was one of those people who could love themselves. I’m not. I’m too ugly. Too fat. Too worthless. Too disgusting. Too me.

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My Feet Still Hurt; The Death of My Glasses – Trigger Alert

Trigger Alert


About two weeks ago I fell into one of the most severe flashbacks that I can remember ever dealing with in my (C)PTSD recovery.  There were a series of events that triggered the intense flashback but I won’t get into that right now.

During the flashback I had realized that my glasses (pictured broken below) were directly linked to one of my abusers who I will call abuser “M”.  The horrific realization immediately disgusted me… and so I decided to destroy my glass.

The result of a PTSD flashback.
The result of a PTSD flashback.

How did I destroy my glasses?  I stomped on them with my bare feet.  Once I realized the connection between my glasses and abuser “M” I knew that I could never look through those lenses again.  And so I decided to therapeutically break them…at least that is how I prefer to describe the tantrum that I was going through while I was stomping on my glasses with my bare feet.

And it was worth it!  My feet still hurt from the after effects of stomping on the glasses with bare feet… but it was worth knowing that I will never look through those lenses again.  Some people may see my tantrum as destructive anger but I beg to differ.  Breaking my glasses was constructive because it has moved me one step further towards my recovery and evolution.

And besides… I have another pair of glasses anyways!  And now I have a great excuse to get contacts lenses.

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