Life of Thomas da Silva.

Life of Thomas da Silva.
Life of Thomas da Silva,
Winsala Gbotemi.

Season 1

 

Episode 6 (Trouble in Paradise)

I remember my first week at the Sexual Recovery Institute, those seven days were living hell. Apart from the fact that I am famous, deep down within me, I wasn’t hundred percent sure I was ready to get rehabilitated. I planned on running away the third day, but I survived the first week, and this gave me hope.

The first week was somewhat like an orientation program, we were seven in number that got orientated at the same time. The lessons I learnt during the first week further cemented my determination to see through my new phase of life. Part of the things I learnt during the orientation program included the concept of sex addiction, sex addiction symptoms and signs, the sex addiction risks, what causes sex addiction, sex addiction help. One of the classes that really got to me, was on sex addiction symptoms and signs.

I was able to know that there is a difference between the symptoms and signs of sex addiction. For instance, the symptoms of sex addiction include; masturbation, pornography, cyber-sex, and/or phone sex, seeking sex with prostitutes, sex clubs and/or adult bookstores, simultaneous affairs, unsafe sex, partner sexualisation, among others. All these symptoms were domiciled and embedded in my daily life.

However, the signs of sex addiction are not farfetched. In terms of signs, official diagnosis criteria do not currently exist. Leading clinicians however, have put together some guidelines for the disorder, based upon criteria for clinical dependency. The criteria include; having frequent casual sex, having sexual fantasies, behaviors and urges in response to stressful life events, feeling unable to control or reduce your behavior, despite knowing there may be consequences, persistent pursuit of high risk, or potentially destructive behavior, repetitively engaging in sexual behavior while disregarding the potential risk for physical or emotional harm to yourself or others, neglecting recreational, occupational and social activities to engage in sexual behavior, suffering from intense ‘highs’ and ‘lows’ in mood surrounding sexual activity, feeling that you need to engage in more and more sexual activity in order to produce the same results, feeling shame and/or guilt after engaging in sexual activity.

These revelations stupefied me so much so, that I saw the need to stay and get rehabilitated. At the end of my orientation program, I was told that, I was going to undergo 12-step recovery programmes. And at the end of the twelfth step I was going to be rejuvenated and be able to live my life, free of sexual obsession.

I started my 12-step recovery journey by taking the first bold and decisive step, which is one-to-one counselling. The one-to-one counselling otherwise known as psychotherapy is a therapeutic process often used as a support avenue for individuals overcoming sexual addiction. It provides an opportunity for clients to vocalize how they are feeling while allowing for clearer understanding of events and emotions that may have led to this point.

I really enjoyed that phase of my life, apart from the fact that my counsellor is very beautiful, she was there to offer strategic interventions, techniques and useful ways to bring about the positive change that I needed to move forward. I was so free with her, that it was so easy for me to share the darkest secrets of my life with her. I never missed our appointments, instead I was always looking forward to our next meeting. She was the one who advised me to write again, because I had stopped writing. She also introduced me to ‘Winsala Muses.’ I got so fond of her that when it was time for me to take the next step, I was begging her not recommend me for the next step.

The counselling session I would never forget, was the day she read me, Monoah Berre’s poem, ‘Trouble in Paradise.’ The poem goes thus; “There’s trouble in paradise. There always has been this dark, and misty gloom strewn all over the place. And we are just actors who are good enough at pretending, ‘all is well.’ She read me that poem not because she was also a fan of the literary arts, but there was a message she was trying to pass across to me.

Every poem has a hidden theme, purposefully concealed by the poet, in other to pass a message across to readers who have inner minds of understanding, and deeper senses of reasoning. The beauty in poetry is that a poem has different meanings, but a single theme. The meanings are functions of imaginative intuitions given to a poem by avid readers. While the theme of a poem is only known by the poet and ardent readers with deeper sense of cogitation and ratiocination.

Therefore, a poet might write a poem, that when read, looks like a love poem, whereas, the theme of the poem is on suicide. The theme of every poem is right inside the poem, you only have to look deeply. She broke Monoah Berre’s ‘Trouble in Paradise’ into bits and when she was done explaining the theme of the poem to me, she was able to relate it to sex addiction. she inferred the following; that sex addiction is a form of internal slavery, first we think we are in paradise, then we continue the so called enjoyment. But amidst this so called enjoyment there has always been a potential risk for physical or emotional harm. When it becomes glaring to us, we decided to overlook it and pretend as if there is no looming danger.

She put it straight to my face, that I’ve always been pretending all is well, whereas deep down within my heart, I knew I am a time bomb ready to explode anytime soon. Now I can understand the rationale behind by actions and the reason why I thought the way I did, during the period I was contemplating on what to do, when I was being blackmailed by my personal secretary. Because they were not outlandish.

After giving the advice of mystery lady a little thought, I finally decided to tell Adelaide about all my fiascos with my personal secretary. As expected, she was very upset, annoyed, livid, irked, miffed, peeved, rabid, and very angry with me. Astonishingly and surprisingly, she was not nettled at me because I cheated on her, but because I did not tell her about my secretary’s offenses, immediately she started to blackmail and hush money out of me. She was angry because I allowed it to get too far before letting her know.

After begging for her forgiveness for few days, she decided to forgive and help me out in her own little way. She invited her for a round table discussion, my secretary was stupefied by the fact that I could muster the courage to report the whole case to Adelaide. There at the meeting, Adelaide promised her the promotion she wanted on two conditions. That she would hand over the video footages to her and she would also sign a contractual agreement not to blackmail me again. She agreed to the terms and conditions, and in addition, Adelaide also paid her off.

I was happy I was able to overcome that phase of my life, thanks to Adelaide. After the torments I passed through in the hands of my former secretary, you would all expect that I stopped being unfaithful. But the truth is that I tried my best, to remain loyal, but I just couldn’t. Though, I did my best to stay clear from another office romance, which was successful, I found out I had commitment problems.

I just published another novel, which was yet another bestseller, with Green and Harris Publishing, and I was just getting to know my new manager, John Maxwell better. Because I had to do some tours and make some public appearances, my job at Green and Harris suffered a lot. I could not strike a balance between my personal endeavors and my primary assignment as a commissioning editor at Green and Harris.

To make matters worse, Adelaide’s obsession with me, made her somewhat unapproachable. At that moment, I needed someone whom I could lean on and talk to. All she cared about, was trying to find out if I was seeing someone else. She was always wanting me to profess my undying love for her and she was always wanting sex, and whenever I refused, she would accuse me of seeing someone else.

I noticed she followed a strict routine of scrutinizing my life, checking out whether there was another woman. She also from time to time demanded reassurances from me. It was always about her, and never about me for once. I started getting scared when I noticed she had started having problems with concentration, heightened sensitivity to sights, sounds, smells or touch, avoidance of over stimulating situations.
She grew from bad to worse when she started to loss desire to participate in any activity, she had this sense of unreality, and her fear and suspiciousness grew every passing day. To crown it all up, she had this dramatic or rapid shifts in feelings, otherwise known as mood swings or changes.

I couldn’t put up with her attitudes any longer, we were always fighting almost every single day. Our sexual life was now complicated and less adventurous. And I was in need of a confidant. One day, I ran into mystery lady at a restaurant, she was very happy to see me again. She told me she expected my call, and since it wasn’t forthcoming, she had started to forget me, but fate has a way of playing us.

I got close to her, and she was that shoulder I could lean on. We would always meet up every day for dinner, before we both retired to our respective places of domiciliary habitations. Couple of times we would have sex, and it was always magical and sexual. Everything was perfect until mystery lady had to travel out of the United Kingdom to Canada, on official assignment at her place work for six months.

Then I discovered and knew she had grown to be an important part of my life, we chatted, talked and called each other via the internet, while she was away. Then we lost contact. I lost concentration at work, and Adelaide on the other hand, was not helping matters at home.

I found myself always trying to avoid Adelaide, and she knew it. This further broke her heart. She stopped talking to me, though we lived together and even slept on the same bed. Since we now have stopped having sexual intercourse with each other, I was only able to satisfy my undying libido by visiting houses of ill repute, houses of prostitution, massage parlors, sporting houses, whorehouses, and bordellos.

I was shaken up when I observed that Adelaide had started talking to herself. She was always in our room almost every blessed day. The Spanish help we had was the first to report her ill state to me, I didn’t really pay attention to her, until one day when I came back from work earlier than usual, because I was bored at the office.

When I entered the room, she was sitting down on the bed, her back facing me. The lights were off, curtains and drapes were down and the casements were shut. She was still putting on her night gown. I looked at wall clock opposite me to check the time, it was four pm in the evening. Her long golden hair was rumpled, unkempt, rough, and unpacked.

She knew I was in the room, but still she didn’t turn around to say hello. I softly asked her varieties of questions like, why she was in the dark, why she refused to say hello, why the casements were shut, why the lights were off. I called her sweetheart, for the first time in months, expecting her to respond or turn around, but she didn’t. I further called her sweet names with the expectation of her at least saying something. But she was mute and immobile.

I went ahead to open the casements, switch on the lights, and draw up the curtains. As soon as the room was bright again, she covered her eyes with her hand, in other to protect her eyes from the ray of the sun. Then I went to her front, held her hands softly and gently, so I could cuddle her. But she resisted.

Jones Monique.
Jones Monique.

Launching this month.

I noticed she had a swollen eye from crying, I tenderly reached for her cheek, though she resisted, I was able to overpower her. When I placed my hand gently on her face, another round of fresh tears rolled down her beautiful face. I noticed apart from the fact that she was looking haggard, dirty, unkempt, mad, unruly, pale, and very lean, she had a fresh sore on her wrist. The plaster she used didn’t cover it well.

I was shocked, by my new discovery. I tried making her talk, but she still refused to say anything. I shook her violently, demanding that she explained to me, why she had a cut on her wrist, but still she didn’t talk. She was looking at me miserably; I didn’t even know when I started to shed tears involuntarily and unconsciously. Deep down within my mind, different awful thoughts were racing through my mind. The more they flooded my mind the more the tears rolled down my cheeks, I was afraid for her at that particular moment, to be sincere. Though I was looking at her face, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore, I was deeply engrossed in bad thoughts.

Suddenly, I felt her soft palm on my cheeks, that brought me back to consciousness, I was happy she finally tried to reach out to me. Though she did not say anything, she looked into my eyes in a desperate manner. With her eyes, she was trying to pry into my mind, in other to find out what was going through my mind. I noticed this, so I started laughing amidst tears.

When I was done laughing, but still crying involuntarily, I kept gazing into her eyes. She was seated on the bed, while I knelt down on the floor. We maintained that posture for hours. I gave up, and rested my head on her laps. I was almost about dozing off, when I heard her soft whisper.

She asked me to explain to her what her offence was. I was dumbfounded and not sure of a reply to give to her. But I was happy she finally said something. Since I wasn’t ready to answer her question. She stood up and made it very clear to me that she was aware of the fact that I was visiting pleasure houses. But still, I didn’t offer a word.

This further infuriated her, as she was screaming and begging me to at least say something. I still didn’t say anything. She noticed I wasn’t ready to talk, so she picked up a bottle of brandy beside the bed. She shook the bottle vehemently and asked me softly, if I ever loved her.

The atmosphere inside the room was so tense, and I couldn’t dodge the question any further. A confident no, was my answer. My response broke her, she slowly went down on her knees, sobbing like a baby. She asked me what she did wrong, to deserve that type of hatred from me. I was quick to let her know, she did absolutely nothing, I told her, on the contrary, she had been great and I don’t hate her.
She tried to move closer to me, but I drew back, because she had this desperation in her eyes. She got the message, and then she asked me why I was with her. I opened up to her and told her, that I used her to get what I wanted. And just as I was about starting to love her, she began to frustrate me, by following me all around, I told her, that her only crime was that she loved me more than usual and necessary. I told her I had no regrets, but on the contrary, I was grateful for all she had done for me.

My words pierced her heart, as she was screaming ‘please stop and don’t say anything,’ whilst I was opening up to her. She knelt down and started begging for my forgiveness, trying to reach for my left leg, but I kept drawing back. She kept sobbing and begging that we start all over again. And I kept nodding my head in a fashion that indicated, it was not going to be possible.

When she asked why I couldn’t love her, I told her I was in love with another. Her face changed has soon as she heard that. She stood up immediately, and broke the bottle of brandy in her hand on the wall and stabbed my head with the broken piece of the bottle. Because she is not an expert at breaking bottles, she cut herself open and was bleeding. She removed her night gown, and she was stark naked.

There were different scars from recent various cuts on her body, I was surprised and at the same time less concerned because I was in a lot of pain as I let out a loud cry for help. My head was busted open; I was scared to see blood gushing out of my busted head. Whilst Adelaide was laughing mischievously.

She mocked me and urinated on me, laughing and crying at the same time. She kept saying ‘die you piece of shit.’ My loud cry for help drew the attention of our help, who for reasons I cannot comprehend had not gone home. She rushed into our room and found me wallowing in a pool of my own blood. While Adelaide was sitting on my back.

As soon as I sighted her, I begged her to please call 999. She about leaving the room to get the telephone, when Adelaide stood up from my back and reached for her throat. With the intent of cutting off her oxygen supply. Adelaide completely overpowered her and she was about giving up when I held Adelaide’s legs and pulled her to me with all the strength I got. She fell down and hit her head hard on the bed frame, then she passed out. I tossed my phone over to the help and begged her to please call 999 for help. She did as I instructed, and in no time the police and ambulance arrived our house and saved the day.

I spent close to four months in the hospital, before I was finally discharged. Adelaide was referred to a mental institution, after it was suspected that she might be suffering from a neurobiological disorder. Mr. Roberts was not happy with me, he blamed me for his daughter’s mental state, and in a bid to exact his revenge, he fired me. Using the allegations of negligence of duty, lack of concentration at work, and failure to meet up with the company’s target as an excuse for his peccable act, though he actually paid me off, and instructed we never met again. Once again, I became homeless, and jobless, with the possibility of getting deported if I couldn’t find another job, so as to renew my work visa. In other words, I somewhat found myself back to square one.

To be continued…

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a 
retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical 
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of 
Winsala Muses origin the author; Winsala Gbotemi.

follow this link: https://t.me/joinchat/HRT9_Upy1ebtpNb3Hf9U7Q to join the offline conversation on Telegram. Oma Shapranpran!

Follow us on Instagram @ winsala_muses

Powered by Winsala Muses.

Please follow and like us:

Cyclone Lovers.

May 5, 2018

Photo of the Day: Bukunmi Oluwashina.

May 5, 2018

Leave a Reply