Bondage

My determination had paid off big time.  If the time I spent pursuing Cyndi was large before, it was enormous now.  Everything turned into Cyndi.  Every song I heard had some hidden meaning in it about Cyndi.  Everything I saw, I associated with her.  Everything I did, I did for her.  Everything I wanted was her.  I celebrated her birthday as though it were the holiest of days. 

At some point I wrote up a contract committing my soul to her.  I carried it with me for a while, and showed it to my closest friends.  Then, I hid it away for safe keeping.  I pulled up the carpet under my floor, pulled back a board, and hid it, essentially in the crawlspace below my room.  I found this place by instructions Cyndi gave me.  This was another one of those things that helped prove to me that this was for real.  It appeared as though the boards had been pulled up before, but I had no way of knowing where I should have looked for it other than by instruction.  Anyway, I wanted my mother to know something was going on, but not what it was.  I liked doing this a lot.  I wanted people to ask questions.  I don’t know why.  But she gave up.  She told me that if I wanted to keep something from her, then she wasn’t going to go looking.  I felt like I had won and lost at the same time.  I did not tell her for a long time after that. 

I designed an acronym to express my commitment.  It was M.U.S.I.C.A.L.   It stood for “My Utmost Soul Is Cynthia Ann Lauper’s”.  It took me some time to decide on this, and it included scouring the dictionary for an appropriate U word.  This was, obviously, before I knew about Stephanie being one of her names. 

I felt sexual thoughts about her were strictly forbidden.  She was holy to me, and it would be a sacrilege to defile her image.  If anything, she was a motherly image to me.  As much as her girlish persona was attractive to me, I never saw her as a little girl. 

In the things she said to me, and the conversations we had, much of it was about what she needed, what she wanted, and what she was going to give back to me.  She needed me to give her energy to continue contacting me.  She had a hectic schedule as it was, and she was able to commit much more time to me using my energy.  She explained that the energy I felt between me and the pictures as I held them to my stomach was the way she transferred energy to herself.  She told me that my soul is located just below my heart, and she was drawing on my soul’s energy.  This explained why I always felt drained afterward.  Further, she explained to me things about metaphysics and magic I would not have known otherwise, but found to be true when I researched them.  

I got into numerology as a result of these conversations.  She told me my number was 11.  I later found the name I went by at the time has a large number of 11’s associated with it.  Also, I was marked with 11 fingers from birth, (I have a double thumb on my right hand) and that showed my uniqueness.  I was indeed unlike any other person.  I was proud to be an 11, but confused at the same time.  In looking for references on numerology, 11 was rarely mentioned.  When it was mentioned, it was said to stand for evil and division.  Much later, I found references to an 11 being a spiritual crusader type.  Not necessarily a God-Almighty-type crusader, but spiritual in some way.  I certainly believed I was that at the time, but I did not find that out until after I stopped believing it. 

I tried contacting her through a Ouija board a few times, and I believed I was successful.  She told me about things that would happen in my near future.  She was always right, but never too specific.  All of her predictions were vague, but real enough to understand what she said was referring to what happened.  She nearly always gave me things that I asked for, but not always in the way that I asked for them. 

I believed I was her Boy Blue.  I got a bunch of blue clothes, I died my hair blue: everything was blue for me as a first preference.  This was, of course, before I knew what the song was about. 

There were many other things that were seemingly insignificant, that became a major factor in my life.  As before, when I saw something unusual in nature, or in everyday life objects, I would figure it was a sign or omen.  I did not believe in coincidences whatsoever, so everything had a meaning.  If something appeared to be out of place, it was there for a reason, and it was my responsibility to determine that reason.  I could find a way to link everything back to Cyndi. 

I had a large black dresser for my personal items.  As with the pictures, and other items with Cyndi on them, I believed this dresser had a significance in my relationship with Cyndi.  The dresser was a large part of my life because I stored my most sacred things in there, as well as my everyday use items (clothes and such).  I saw this as an opportunity for me to get closer to Cyndi, and vice versa.  If her spirit was in the dresser, it would affect those things in it.  I even had an organization method that considered the significance of each drawer.  The second drawer was the most accessible, therefore it was where I kept my most sacred and commonly used items.  That always included my worship items.  I do not particularly remember the purpose of the other drawers, but I used them by putting things into different drawers to trigger certain emotions and to represent certain events in my life.  If I were wearing clothing from one drawer, I would feel very differently than if it came from another. 

The whole dresser appeared to me as a monolith at times.  It felt like it was quite invasive and like it affected the entire room by it’s presence.  Later, when I was cleaning up my spiritual life, I made it a point to strip the black paint off the dresser, and I attempted to fix the drawer that was broken.  This was an important step in overcoming my bondage, but I failed to complete it.  The drawer fronts, and crevices are still black, and the one drawer is still broken.  For a long time, this symbolized my inability to overcome the spiritual problems I was having.  Again, many seemingly insignificant items took on a significant meaning during this time period, and in the next phase or two of my life. 

I remember the mood swings were enormous.  Cyndi told me many things, about my emotions.  She showed me how they tend to swing from one side to another.  I could stay at a medium level and be average, or slightly happy over a long period of time, or I could purposely cause my moods to swing one way for the purpose of getting the swing back to go higher.  I would do just that.  I wanted to live on the edge.  I would throw myself into a depression, so that in a few days, I could be euphoric.  I would get angry to greater appreciate the happiness.  I felt I was in control of my feelings, but there were a few times where I was obviously out of control. 

I got so mad at Cyndi on a couple of occasions, that I threw her picture across the room, smashing the glass against the wall.  This didn’t make me feel any better, but my anger was gone.  I was so ashamed by my anger and destructiveness that I’d spent the next 15-20 minutes crying about it, and days or weeks paying some sort of penance. 

I was pretty much convinced that what was happening to me was very real.  But, I did develop doubts about it.  The conversations Cyndi and I had were intelligent.  It was more believable when it was shocking, or about things I did not know of, or especially when she did not agree with me.  I was never stupid about it.  I questioned the reality of what was happening to me.  I thought it might be as the therapists had said.  Yes, I questioned it sometimes.  But I didn’t want to doubt something that felt so good.  I didn’t want to offend her with my doubt.  When I doubted what was happening to me, she would have a good explanation for the specific thing I was doubting, or something would happen that would renew my faith.  Still, things did not add up.  Many times I just accepted that if things were contradictory, it just meant I did not see the whole picture, yet, and she was good at keeping me in suspense, waiting for the next piece of the puzzle.  It ultimately came back to my feeling I had a good thing and I did not want to ruin it with a petty doubt.  Besides, even if it did not seem realistic, it was so real to me at the time; I was in for the ride.  I wanted to find out just what it was if it wasn’t Cyndi.  She could be very domineering if I showed serious doubt or contempt.  Again, she was my goddess, and I didn’t dare offend her. 

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Last modified: July 27, 2003