If one must learn from mistakes, I've learned a lot.

I made a huge mistake the other day that involves a tanning booth. I’m sure you know where this blog is headed.

Riding around in the convertible with the top down is a beautiful thing. Everything is so open. But putting the top down creates weird tan lines. I teach aerobics, so I am in front of full length mirrors at least 10 hours every week. I began to notice the pale, pale legs, and the tanned upper body. I decided to do something about it. I went to the tanning booth.

If you click on my username you will see a picture of a girl at the top of a mountain.  It is small and a little hard to see.  The original was painted in 1929 by a man named Maxfield Parrish, and the picture is named Ecstasy.  I have a copy hanging above the stairs, in the entryway, to my home.  If you Google Maxfield Parrish you will be able to find the picture and see it more clearly.

This is my first time telling anyone other than my family what happened to me from 4 years of age to 17. My mom and dad divorced and she remarried from the first memories i have of my life my mom's husband molested me almost daily. He would start by saying we were taking pictures for a modeling job but I had to be nude. Then rubbing and fingering me. He would pretend he was helping me practice ball when actually all he was doing was getting me alone. When I was 9 maybe 10 I told a counselor at school. They arrested him and took me for videos of what I experienced.

I went to my first ballgame in 20 years recently. The experience was amazing! St. Louis has a new stadium that is simply gorgeous. I watched the game from behind home plate, nine rows back. It was wonderful.  Plus, the Cardinals won!!!

I bought a new car. The experience was hell. I knew the Beater was not going to make it much longer, so I began my search about a month ago.

I went to dealer after dealer trying to find a car I could afford that I would also want to drive. Didn’t happen. All the cars on the lots were overpriced, and I did not (nor do I still) understand the fine art of haggling.

I found Black Beauty on CraigsList. I checked the postings late at night and was the second person to request to see her. The owner emailed me the next day. A few back and forth conversations later, I went to see her.

I just wanted to open a discussion on how sexuality, intimacy, relationships, friendships, being gay, bi-sexual or straight has helped a survivor to heal and move forward in her life?

Is sex love? Is sex abuse? Is sex just sex? What secrets are you keeping?

Know someone in the closet? Pride Parade is coming up. Come out, come cout wherever you are and support the gay and proud in St. Louis, Missouri.

Always believe in angels!

DJ DEB

It breaks my heart to tell everyone this, but The Beater has passed on. (See photos of her here.) She went her last mile for me on Saturday and then gave up. On Sunday, she started with a whine and then expelled a black cloud. It was over, I needed to let her rest in peace.

Admitting that my car was deceased was extremely hard. I loved this car. She gave me a freedom I had forgotten how to believe in. We became close traveling down the highway, just her and I. She might not have been much to look at, but she was mine. All 324,000 miles of her.

Part of healing involves knowing what to do next.  In order to determine that I have to know where I am now.  I  remember different times in my healing... I wanted something better... panick attacks... remembering... finding my parts... healing each one... pulling them all together... debilitating depression... asking if I am done.... yet!!! Will I ever be?  I think I am in the place... in order to get better, I must help others.  That is where I am.  Where are you?  Take a few minutes to think and write.  Write here or write in your personal journel.... but ask yourself... Where am I now?

I cannot even begin to describe how wonderful it feels to sit on the front porch and drink a cup of Folgers first thing in the morning. I do not take for granted the gorgeous setting, the aroma of the coffee, the feel of the ceramic mug in my hand and the sound of the birds chirping.

In prison, there was not a front porch. We couldn't drink coffee in ceramic or glass mugs. We had no coffee makers--it was instant only. I would have to wait in line for the microwave to make mine, and that often led to aggravation. I could be in line behind 15 people--or behind someone making a gourmet microwave meal for 30 minutes--when all I needed to do was heat up a cup of water and add some granules to it.

I have spent the last 18 years being emotionally closed off from the majority of other human beings, definitely from members of the opposite sex. Before that, I was a teen, confused, hurt, and unable to open up to others because of all the horror I was living through. I never really learned how to open myself up and how to share myself with another human being.