Donelle Mae Flick Paullin

I will now return to 1971, and I will try to develop my relationship with Donelle more fully.  Randy Olson found his first long-term girlfriend, a young woman by the name of Terri-Lynn Barr, a person that he met at the Portland Rose Festival of 1971. Terri had a friend named Sharon Denman, who befriended Tony Mecklem, and they both had their first “almost adult” relationships starting at about the same time. I felt a bit left out during this period of time, though I did finally get a couple of friendships going with some girls in the same approximate North Portland area that Terri and Sharon lived in.  It was quite an awkward time for me, however, as I was still physically immature, but growing fast.

Terri-Lynn had a step sister named Donelle, and one day Randy drove Donelle down to Portland, where I had my first chance to meet her. This was not a date (it was far from a date) but when I first laid eyes on Donelle, I was hooked. She was the most beautiful young woman I had ever met, gorgeous beyond all description, and she was incredibly intelligent, and sensitive, too. I had a sense that I had witnessed my future, when I first saw her. I did not see her again for several months, but she had left an indelible mark upon my soul, and I just could not forget her.

Since I was still not driving at the time, there was no way to go up to meet with her on my own, so I just let all thoughts of re-connecting with her just slip away. She already had a boyfriend in Vancouver, Washington at Evergreen High School anyway, according to Randy, and I had such a low self-esteem that I knew I could not compete for her affections.

Randy brought Donelle down again our junior year (Rex Putnam High), and I made my move. Eventually, Donelle and I, and Randy and Terry, became couples that shared much time and love together. I did not always get along with Terry, which was a trend that was to continue through most of Randy’s relationships with women that were to follow. For some reason, Randy’s girlfriends always eventually saw me as some sort of impediment to their relationship with Randy. One time we were all camping at Short Sands Beach campground at the Oregon Coast, and Terry became so irritated with me that she pulled the tent stakes out of the tent that I was sleeping in. That is only one of many stories that show that I did not always have the best connections with Randy’s girlfriends, though there were a couple of times to follow, in later years, where my connections became a little bit too close with some of his ex-girlfriends, which brought me some additional learning experiences.

My life experience with Donelle ended up becoming some of the most compelling, heartbreaking, depressing experiences that I could never have envisioned for myself, or for her. She had a nervous breakdown late in her senior year, and was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. She was briefly hospitalized, and was placed on some powerful, experimental medications to try to keep her independent. She was able to graduate from high school, but her spirit was crushed by her disease, and so was mine. I went from being a potential lifelong friend and partner, to a guilt ridden care giver, and care taker, boyfriend, and, eventually, husband to her. I left all of my boyhood dreams behind in the process, walking away from a full scholarship with the Air Force ROTC, so that I could be close to Donelle, and give her the support that she would require for the rest of her life.  I secured a lifetime guaranteed job with the US Postal Service the summer between my sophomore and junior years in 1975, with the intention of being able to provide short term economic support for Donelle, and myself.

Donelle and my relationship to her, and aspects of her life that I would now like to highlight.  Her life does not neatly fit into a linear time frame, and my edits make her story painfully disjointed.

I have not heard from Donelle for over 20 years now, since the death of her father, Don Flick, in 1996. She may be dead, or she may be institutionalized yet again, or she may still be living in a halfway house for the mentally ill attempting to make a transition back into the community. If she is still alive, she remains irreparably damaged psychologically, and that condition will not be changing, regardless of the medication administered by ‘professionals’ or the rest of the outer circumstances of her life (outside of some sort of “miraculous intervention”). Where she is now is a direct result of her relationship to our damaged male dominated culture, as well as (theoretically) some unknown genetic predisposition.

Donelle and I became sweethearts when I was still 16 years old, and she was 17.  I did not have a drivers’ license, or a car, but I knew if I wanted to keep this relationship going I had to do something.  My father had a Honda 50CC motorcycle that he was going to use for fishing (he never did), so I commandeered the bike, grabbed a helmet, and drove that silly little thing up I205 into Vancouver where she lived (or to Camas, if she was staying there with her father).   The transportation eventually improved a bit, but I always drove older cars, cars that were easy to repair or discard as required.  Whatever the cost, I was going to keep pursuing Donelle, that was for sure!

We both were virgins, and our first sexual encounter was anything but satisfying.  I began to wonder if this was all there was to sex, what was the point?  Donelle was very cold, and unresponsive, and I was later to learn that she was non-orgasmic because of the trauma of childhood sexual abuse.  Yes, childhood trauma is the gift that keeps on giving, the trauma created by predators that sexually abuse our babies.  Don’t ask me what should be done with those people.  Life has a way of punishing them, but it is always too late to save the victim.  Many of these victims are so traumatized that they never recover, so prevention is really our only hope here, at least for now.   Donelle was never to recover from this, and she could not even “touch herself” without having an incredible guilt and discomfort.  Sex was anything but fulfilling for either of us, and it was a harsh disappointment for me.

Donelle was not a pot smoker, but she did enjoy drinking a beer or two when it was offered.  She developed a taste for hashish, but I only had access to hash only four times over the course of the 1970’s.  Our relationship was never based around sharing drugs, but in 1982, when a cocaine dealer used our home to store his drugs, she found the occasional use of cocaine to be fun and exciting.  She was pretty accepting of me when it came to my own drug use, as she did not try to discourage me from using, but instead found a way to fit in while our friends and family used drugs together.  At this point, the damage that drugs were doing to me was overshadowed by the thrill and rush of their effects, and the socially connective activity around their procurement and use.

I was hesitant to marry Donelle, fearing that she would yet again destabilize, and collapse into psychosis yet again.  She had several “mini breakdowns” during the period from 1973-1979 that were controlled through new medications, or additions to her old regimens of drugs (she took up to 4 different pills at a time, several just for side-effect mitigation of other medications!).  After dropping out of college the first time, in 1976, I began to spend some real time with her again, just working the swing swift at the Post Office during that time period.  It was a relatively stress free period of time, though I was quite the party animal with Donelle’s younger brother Terry, whom I had become great friends with. Terry and I dealt some drugs together, and I used my connections to secure high quality pot.  One day, Terry got popped in school for drug sales, and his arrest made the local news.  I was scared, and took all of our stash back to Portland, and hid it in my parents’ new condominium.  As he was a minor, nothing permanent stuck to his record, but it changed how we used drugs together.

Eventually, Donelle improved enough that she applied for the Sus Chef training at PCC Sylvania campus, and was accepted into the training.  She did great for two years, nearing graduation, and we were married in September of 1979, after having lived together for 4 years.

Donelle was making great progress, and she only needed to finish her last term to graduate in great academic and practical standing.  Well, it was too good to be true, because she had her worst breakdown of her life to that point, resulting in my need to have her committed to the Oregon State Hospital in Salem (Dammasch) in July of 1980, less than ten months after our marriage.

This is a most challenging of stories for me to continue to tell. To continue to witness the way far too many men abuse their physical privilege, and take advantage of their positions of power and influence to hurt and control women sexually who have little or no access to legal or social support systems is a demoralizing proposition. And, members of my own male sex have also suffered under its toxic influence, as well. My heart goes out to all women and men, past and present, who have been abused by this darkened energy. I am going to attempt to present a story about some of that male energy which victimized and traumatized my first wife, and some of the lasting effects that it had upon her and upon me through my relationship to her and her resultant mental illness.

Phase 1:

She was never able to speak out against the abuse that she experienced throughout her life. Being born into a socially diseased family, where the mother’s narcissism and selfishness, and neglect of her young children, and the mother’s poor relationship choices that resulted from her own brokenness, led to the conditions of sexual abuse and assault against Donelle when she was but 6 years old. Her mother Marlene was a young bride, who married Donald Flick, in 1954. Don owned 2 sections of land in North Dakota, which he managed and leased out, as well as being a full time worker at the Camas Washington Crown Zellerbach paper mill. Don would work so much at the mill, that time at home was quite limited. Marlene would have parties at their home while he was away, and she would invite single men. There was always alcohol being served, and Marlene tended to promiscuity during that period of time. While she would be taking leave to the back bedroom with her latest “friend”, she would leave her young children vulnerable to whoever was left without a partner. Donelle, being about 6 years old during this difficult period of time, was selected and abused by Bud Barr, who was a child predator, heavy drinker, and all around bad attitude man. Bud would repeatedly abuse Donelle, and it was also later learned that he abused his other daughter from his previous marriage.

Hell is For Children, Pat Benatar

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxYsi5Y-xOQ

Marlene and Don’s marriage collapsed, and they were divorced. But Marlene married the abuser Bud, and they moved in together near Five Corners in Vancouver, Washington. Donelle lived with her mother the majority of the time, due to the conditions of the divorce decree. Donelle had to face the threat of sexual attack from this criminal for the next ten years of her life, though her brothers told me that Bud was not allowed to be alone with Donelle, after Marlene and Bud moved in with each other. Yet, the damage was already done, and the little girl knew trauma intimately.

(Note 1: there was a time when I was 24 years old that I wanted to hurt both Bud and Marlene very badly, for mistreating and abusing Donelle. Under the right set of conditions, I had the will, and the potential, to bring the greatest harm to Bud, but I never acted upon my disgust and hatred.  I broke my collarbone fighting with her oldest brother Keith once, when I made confrontational statements against Marlene, and Keith felt obliged to defend her. Keith later apologized, and told me I had every right to be upset, but not until I wrestled with both him AND his wife, who jumped me too).

Phase 2:

Donelle and I got married in September of 1979, and she was doing quite well at the time. Her mental illness was being well-managed by the latest anti-psychotic ‘miracle drugs’ by all appearances, and she was studying to be a Sous Chef at PCC Sylvania campus.. She was getting good reviews and grades there, and because she had stabilized so well, I finally felt comfortable enough to marry her, having delayed marriage since 1973 because of our tumultuous experiences around her variable mental health.

By April of 1980, she collapsed once again into another ‘nervous breakdown’ which included “hearing voices”, talking to herself, and generally experiencing the ravages of her paranoid schizophrenia. I moved out of our shared apartment on Harrison St. in Milwaukie, and moved across the street into another apartment, so that I could stay in close contact with her. I needed to stay in other quarters because she was so disruptive because of her horrible disease. She would not sleep at night many times, and she would hear screams from the basement of the Milwaukie Police department, where she claimed they were torturing civilians, and she would cry out in anguish because of what she was “hearing”..

Dan Dietz was my best friend up to that point in time, and he was also the co-best man at our wedding. Dan had known Donelle almost as long as I did, and he knew all too well her limitations while she was in her “breakdown mode”. Dan was quite the drinker and party animal still, and Donelle, even in her diseased state, still liked to go out and listen to live music, and drink liberally. I demanded that Dan stay away from Donelle while she was in her breakdown phase, but he instead took her out one night, and they both drank to extreme drunkenness together. When I came over to Donelle’s place the next morning, I noted that her panties were on the floor, and that she was partially dressed, and still woozy on the couch. She told me that she awoke to Dan raping her after she had passed out. When I confronted Dan about it, He said that he did not remember anything, but I went ahead and broke my hand on a door that he stood in. I told him to leave, and i never saw Dan alive again.

Phase 3:

I visited Donelle several times at Ft. Steilacoom mental hospital near Tacoma, Washington over the years that she was committed to that horrible place (1988-1992). Donelle would tell me stories about the male attendants raping the patients, and the necessity of locking her door at night to prevent both the patients, and attendants, from raping or assaulting her during the night. I have written before about my visits here, and I will not comment further in this piece. (end)

Note 2: In 1987, I visited Donelle at her apartment near Camas Washington. We had been divorced since 1984, but I still kept in touch with her on occasion, because of my concern for her. I had just gotten sober, and I wanted to make amends to her, as part of the program of working the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous (total sobriety was to last for me for over 20 years, until I developed a pain killer addiction in 2007). This time, she was in the middle of a complete MPD (multiple personality disorder) type of nervous breakdown. She had candles lit throughout her apartment, and the setting was quite eerie. I sat down with her to talk, and I noted that she looked so young and innocent, and I was struck by the change in her appearance and countenance. As she spoke to me, I felt like I was witnessing a 6 or 7 year old girl, with the new persona that was now speaking through her. For some reason, I was inspired to give her feedback about her “six year old self” that I was witnessing. I told her that she was not responsible for the sexual abuse that she experienced from Bud (and perhaps one or two unnamed others during Marlene’s drunken soirees). I tried to be as forgiving and compassionate as my heart would allow to the naive, innocent child making its presentation before me. We both cried together, and my heart was broken, and I hurt like I had never before hurt as a human being. I can only imagine her own terror and fear around her own abuse at the hands of her elders. Later in this visit, another “personality” appeared. A calm, composed mature person then “incarnated” into Donelle. I asked who I was talking with. She told me that she was “God”, and proceeded to give me the wisest, most loving feedback that I had ever received as a human being up to that point in my life.

“You have reached the point of being able to accept my sacred beauty in your life.  You have made peace with your past, but peace does not last forever.  You have much work to do, but your work will have love guiding it, and protecting you.”

As I was open to “God” at that point in my life, it was a miracle that “God” could use the vehicle of a damaged human being to talk with me.  That is how “God” works sometimes.

Looking at my history, I remained open to the revelations from the Mystery

Who can say with certainty what reality truly is? Those who cling too tightly to what they think that they know, can unintentionally exclude a “whisper from God” that might be experienced and revealed in the newness of each moment, no matter what or who the source may be.

Donelle’s reality was a most challenging one. I am distressed by the abuse that men over the course of her life heaped upon her. She was the most loving, kind person that I had every known, and she got bulldozed by our culture and community, and her diseased response to it. Nature, or nurture? Had Donelle been lovingly nurtured since birth through her adulthood, I would only hope that the disease would not have erupted. Traumatization of our most innocent cannot lead to happy outcomes.

Over the many years that i knew her, i tried to be the best support person that I could be, but I was damaged goods, as well, so I failed in my mission, too. She deserved better that what I could give her, because I suffered under my own limitations of selfishness, addiction, and sense of personal powerlessness. With mental illness, we all tend to fail together as a family, as a culture, and as a human race. Those who can bring forgiveness, insight, compassion, and a sense of the Spirit are the true blessings for the sick within our society. I am not so sure about the ones who distribute the medications, however. They may help in the short term, but they tend to deliver a mixed bag of goods, that is for sure. The great gift we can give is a non-judgmental listening ear, and to keep our hearts open to the stories that are told.

Chapter 19

Many days, I am not a proud member of the human race. Sometimes, I am appalled and disgusted by my male peers, and most times I want nothing to do with oversexed and over aggressive men. Men are the serial killers, they are the rapists, they are the ones wielding assault rifles, they are the ones terrorizing innocent people.  There was a time when I would have lifted my fists against the aggressors, but a broken hand and broken collarbone proved to me that my structure could not support the war on Patriarchy and its ugly spawn, the damaged male ego and its addiction to its “penis power”. I continue to write about the vile, damaged parts of consciousness of the American male, much to the distress and consternation of some of my readers, past and present. I also know that there is a tender, loving, compassionate component to the male consciousness, and that is the part the I celebrate with all people seeking healing from our sometimes evil world, the world created by dark men and their twisted fantasies of domination and control.

I will no longer remain silent. I confront darkness wherever it lies, even if it is within my own soul. For men, the big problem is not that we get erections, it is that we unskillfully manage ourselves in self-destructive and other destructive manners. Too many men live in a dark world dominated by their own genitals, the fantasies entertained in the privacy of their dark minds, and their own unskilled relationship to their own sexuality.

I will not idly stand by while my peers abuse their family members, their female friends or acquaintances, or their world, because my heart will not allow it. Abuse in any form is unacceptable behavior, and the issues behind it must continue to be addressed by our awakening culture.  I have left several male friendships because of spousal abuse or significant other abuse, and abandoning these friendships were some of the most excruciating, difficult actions that I have undertaken in my life.  I have literally felt my heart tear from its moorings as I severed loving relationships with two men from my men’s group experience who either were active abusers or enablers.

I want to thank my present wife (of 25 years) Sharon White, who has provided constant compassionate support for both me, and for Donelle, while she was still present and active in my life up to 1996. Her understanding and love for me, and open heart response to my first wife, helped me immensely in my own healing.

Before I met Donelle, and before I was introduced to drugs and alcohol, I was to become an astronaut, but instead I was permanently grounded, and resigned myself to a life of mediocrity. I absorbed more than my share of alcohol and other chemicals to help me cope with my own dysfunction, while I watched my lover disintegrate, and then, occasionally, resurrect herself, from the effects of her disease through the latest medications introduced by the drug companies. Yes, we both had lifelong diseases to fight, and we both fought losing battles. She eventually became a homeless street person, and she would frequently show up in the 4th floor cafeteria at the Main Post Office on nights that I worked, and would sit at a table for hours, crying, and waiting for me to take a lunch break.  I would pass whatever money I had on to her.  She would recount her stories of horror of being out on the streets of Portland as a homeless person.  Eventually,  the State of Washington accepted responsibility for her care. I proceeded to begin my own search for the truth of my being, though I was working with very few clues about which direction to head in.

 

In 1992, I was still in communication with my ex-wife, Donelle.  At this point, she was in the mental hospital at Fort Steilacoom, Washington.  She was committed yet again in 1990, and was languishing in there when I visited her.  This was the 3rd time I had visited her there.  She always had a shopping list for me to fill, invariably with some types of makeup.  She still liked to make herself look as pretty as possible, but the effects of the medication over the years on her had taken a horrible toll.  She was twice her normal weight, and she could not keep her food down consistently.

The most beautiful woman I had ever met was no longer that, and I was quite saddened, once again, to have to connect with her while she was so diseased.  The medication was quite the “double edged sword”, and had been for all of her adult life.    I don’t know what drug cocktails they were giving her this time, but they had the same conflicted end results.  (I now have little respect for the drug industry, or for a system that prescribes these drugs to people, rather than treating people in a more holistic manner).

This particular weekend, my wife Sharon was running in the annual Hood to Coast relay race.  At this point in my life, I was not a runner, having hung up my running shoes in high school, and also having retired from recreational basketball in 1985 due to back problems. My only responsibility was to drive to Seaside to pick Sharon up at the end of her adventure, after my visit with Donelle.  I was quite down after my visit, and the drive to Seaside from Ft. Steilacoom was very dark, and subdued.

Over the many years from 1971, through the present moment,  I have found that I am sensitive to crowd energy (a palpable form of collective consciousness), and I can “feel” the collective energy of several types of groups of people, and actually draw from it, and add to it if I am receptive to what is going on.  And, unfocused groups put off such diffuse energy that there is nothing special to tune in to, and I find little to attract me to such energy.

Since there were over 12,000 runners and many more support people at the event, it is no wonder that a field was created in and around Seaside, the destination of the great world famous event.  I became so impressed with the energy of the experience that I committed to running with Sharon, and I began to run with her several months later, so that the next year I could join her Hood To Coast team, the Sole Mates.