Chapter 1: Living Dead Girl

I’ve decided to right a series of blogs, in chapters of my life. This helps me sort through things and have a clearer picture. They probably won’t be in order or make any sense to those who don’t know me.



Sometimes the truth is not only painful, but hideous. As I get older, many of my truths have been revealed to me in ways I never expected. Some of them have been beautiful, but some of them have been so ugly, it is painful to accept. Regardless, I have made it a habit to accept my truths, and if they are ugly, apologize when necessary and move on. I try my best to be a good person, but perfection eludes me. Being good natured helps, but unfortunately I do have a mean streak. What I am about to explain really has nothing to do with being unkind, as much as it has to do with being unfeeling.

I was riding in the car with John the other day and I had a moment when I realized that I really love just being in the car with him. Whether we are talking or just listening to the radio, I just like being in his presence and I love the way I feel when we are together. It made me flashback to past boyfriends and how it felt to be with them, how it felt to be touched by them, or just riding in the car with them. I can remember how all of that felt, except how it felt to be with my ex-husband. I can’t remember how he felt at all, to hold his hand, to be kissed, to fight, nothing. I realized that I can’t remember how that life felt because I wasn’t there. I don’t know when it happened but at some point, the real me took a vacation and left behind a drone.

I was married August 11th, 2007, and it really should have been the happiest day of my life. The wedding was on a beautiful old time paddle boat, chandeliers, beautiful moldings, on the water, at sunset, in Newport Beach. My dress was gorgeous, hair and makeup flawless, and I was surrounded by family and friends, ready to celebrate this new chapter in our lives. The presentation was literally perfect, but a presentation none the less. I know that I should have been nervous, excited, happy, but what I really felt was nothing, absolutely nothing. I felt nothing as I stared into the mirror with my perfect hair and unreal makeup, I felt nothing as the guests started to arrive, and I felt nothing as the music began.

I walked down the isle, looking at familiar faces, tear streaked and happy. All I could do was wonder how disappointed everyone would be when we got a divorce. Yes, I already knew. I knew that there was no way I could spend the rest of my life with this man, but I couldn’t stop. Our lives had taken on a momentum that was fueled with the idea of the American dream, and expectations of family. Now, I am in no way blaming anyone for my poor choices, I was weak and I should have done something to alter my course. The experience was as if I was watching someone else’s life and the movie would be over soon, and I would go back to being me. That’s pretty much how I felt for six years.

You see, when he met me I was already dead. When we met, I had already lived through so much pain and hell that my insides had died long before. At this point in my life I was a zombie, posing as a girl. I was going through the motions, and playing the hand dealt to me. I met a guy, he was simple and wanted me to love him, so I did. He wanted me to be his family so I was, he wanted arm candy so I played that part too. At certain points I was convinced that I really loved him and wanted all of the things that he did. Maybe, getting married and living a new life would heal me from all of the pain and torment of my past. I used him, though at the time I didn’t know that that was what I was doing. I thought that living my life with him would keep me safe, because he was so unimposing and plain. I can’t say that we never had good times, because that would be a lie. I just always knew that what he wanted from life was not going to be enough for me for long. I should have said something and ended it before it began, but like I said I was weak and just wanted to be safe.

We dated for 3 years and were married for 3, and I can’t really recall any of it. I also was not sober for most of it, drinking all the time and pushing down my conscience with pills. I just couldn’t let myself get clear enough to realize what I had done. This poor son of bitch had no idea who he married, hell I didn’t either. None of this erases the bad choices he made in our marriage, it doesn’t change his dishonesty , or remove his portion of guilt. All this is, is a confession.



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Fall Equinox Party

So I'm really looking forward to fall. I'm usually a summer girl, nut I've spent this summer recovering from surgery. I'm ready for the seasons to change, as well as my scenery.  I will have a full load fall semester and I'm really looking forward to it!  Something else I'm looking forward to, is having to drive myself to campus three days a week. If you know me well, you know I have major driving anxiety, a few gnarly accident and a lot of time off driving left me slightly paralyzed with fear. I am ready to get the hell over it. LA is such a sucky place to drive, ugh.

Anyway, in celebration of fall I want to have an fall equinox dinner party. Homemade apple cider, pie, maybe a turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, fried okra, and all the other fall goodies. Here are some ideas I have for it. If we're close friends I'll probably be asking you for help. ha ha

My Foot, My Foe, My Depression, My Deceptions

Turning thirty has been a game changer for me, this is the year that I step up to the plate, and change my life into what I want it to be. No more waiting for things to happen, or worrying about how my actions affect EVERYONE else. My life as a doormat, martyr, schmuck, sucker, and punching bag are over.  In twenty five days I am embarking on a journey twenty two years in the making.  Some people will take it with me, and some will be left by the side of the road.  I am going to be keeping a public journal of my journey, and figured I may as well start at the beginning.

My physical life has been less than easy, as my closest friends and family know. I have struggled with physical disabilities since the age of seven.  I’ve been asked about my scars more than once through life and many times I just lied to avoid telling my sob story. I would say I was in an accident and leave it at that.  That isn’t true, just easier to brush off.  I lied about it so much it became easier and easier to tell the lie.  The truth is, I have been fighting a war with my own body for as long as I can remember.

When I was seven, my Grandfather noticed that I began losing balance, falling, and not being able to keep up in my dance classes, seemingly out of nowhere.  I was enrolled in four weekly dance classes and a dance camp during the summer, so it was easy to see that I was losing control of my body.  He also noticed that this was only happening on my left side, and that my left foot was actually starting to change shape.  My toes, had begun to curl, and I lost my ability to stand on my tippy toes.  I was taken to the doctor, who suggested an MRI.
I remember that day, as if it is happening now. I remember the smell of the office, and the look on my Grandfather’s face as the neurologist explained to him what was going on inside my body.  At seven, I had no idea what he was saying I just knew it wasn’t good.  It turns out there was a tumor, the size of a golf ball inside of my spinal column attached to my spinal cord.  This tumor was killing the nerves leading to my left side, and my bladder.  It was determined that, at the speed it was growing I would be paralyzed within a year.  The only option was to try to remove it.  I guess you can compare it to trying to remove a wad of gum from your hair without damaging one single strand, next to impossible.

The day of my surgery, we all woke up before the sun had even come out. I was grumpy and tired, I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything and my Mom had to rub iodine all over my lower back before we left the house.  Once we got to the hospital I was put in a gown and set up on a gurney.  Both of my parents were there, my Grandmother and Grandfather as well.  I was scared, but not for the reasons that all of the grown ups were scared.  I knew I was going to get a shot, and was preoccupied with finding some way out of it. I tried reasoning, asking politely and I even shed a tear, just one.  I was given an injection as I clenched my teddy bear, to calm me down so that I could be prepped for surgery.  I said goodbye to my family with heavy eyelids and watched as my Father began to cry (he didn’t realize I saw him).  Once wheeled into the operating room, the anesthesiologist inserted the IV and began sedation. One of the nurses, held my hand and began counting backwards from one hundred with me.

The next thing I remember I was beginning to wake up, my Dad was sitting next to my bed. The moment I became coherent I needed to vomit. I remember staring into the yellow, plastic, kidney shaped bowl as I got sick and wondering what the hell was stuck all over my chest.  Once in my own room at the hospital I realized that there were several tubes and sticky suction cups attached to me, and then attached to machines that would not stop beeping.   I let the nurse know exactly what I thought about all of this with a few choice words that a third grader should not have in their vocabulary (I blame the morphine). The next few weeks were rough, I was in a tremendous amount of pain and was constantly being checked, having my dressings changed, and eating pretty awful food by my standards. I just wanted to go home and sleep in my own bed, and eat food that my Grandma cooked for just me.  I had to be taught how to walk again (it was as if my body had forgotten). A physical therapist came in everyday and rubbed my limbs and had me do a few exercises.  Pretty soon, I was walking from room to room on the children’s ward visiting other sick kids, reading the little ones stories and having a few wheelchair races.

When I finally got to go home, I was taken to my Grandparents house where I could recover with the aid of my Grandma full time. She lovingly changed my dressings twice a day, gave me sponge baths, and pushed me to get out of bed and do my physical therapy each day.  All I wanted was to go back to school and play with my friends. I started to suffer from some depression at this time, I had never felt so sad.  After many months I was allowed to go back to school and try to have a normal life. Unfortunately I was not like every other kid, the nerve damage I sustained caused me to be unable to determine when I needed to use the bathroom, I had to self-catheterize while at school twice a day.  Having to do this, made me prone to bladder infections, which I had on a regular basis. Sometimes they were so bad that I would vomit and have very intense fevers.  Being sick like that all of the time, made it difficult to keep my attendance.  I also could not participate in PE or any other physical activity.  Despite the removal of most of the tumor, I was still partially paralyzed and mostly numb on my left side from the waist down.

Flash forward six years, I am thirteen and in Jr. High (as it was called way back when).  I had spent the last six years trying to regain some of my abilities and have been mostly unsuccessful. I meet with an orthopedic surgeon who thinks he may be able to help with some of the pain associated with the deformation caused by the tumor.  After a few xrays and lengthy talks with the doctor, we go forward with another surgery.  This time there is hope for regained mobility after recovery. I had a complete foot reconstruction.  I don’t recall as many of the details going in for this procedure. I remember waking up again, vomiting and falling back to sleep only to wake up in the most agonizing pain I have ever experienced to this day.  I was in the hospital for about four days.  I was sent home in a below the knee cast and a set of crutches.  I remained in that cast for three months.  After the initial three months I was put in a walking cast, which was incredibly painful.  Walking again felt foreign and was very uncomfortable for the first few days.  Three months later I was out of that cast and put into intense physical therapy. I remember being in tears at every session, the combination of pain and frustration proved to be too much at times.

The following year, I was pretty mobile, dancing, walking all over the valley with my friends and so on. Freshman year, I tried out for the drill team, and got in!  I was so elated to be back to doing something I loved!  Practices were everyday, sometimes before and after school.  A few weeks in I realized that I may have bitten off more than I could chew but I wasn’t going to stop, it felt too good.  I got really crafty at hiding my foot, and my pain.  Sometimes I would get home from practice, and wouldn’t be able to get my sneaker off due to all of the swelling in my ankle.  I remember coming home and sitting on the bathroom floor crying, and hitting my foot in frustration and agony. I hated it, my foot that is. I remember contemplating chopping it off and being done with it.  About halfway through the school year I stopped showing up to practice because of the pain and slipped into a pretty serious depression. I just couldn’t do it anymore and It made me shutdown.

I found a new group of friends and something I loved just as much as dancing, alcohol and drugs.  When I was drinking and using, it was so much easier for me to forget about all of the things I was missing out on.  It also helped ease the physical pain.  Not having the support system I needed at home, left me searching for something else. After my Grandfather passed away, I really felt like I had no one. He was my best friend and the man who saved my life in so many ways.  Eventually my behavior got me thrown out of my Mother’s house at sixteen.  I lived at a friend’s place for a few months before my Dad finally found me and begged me to come home.   I went to stay with my Grandmother, which is the best thing that ever happened to me.  I was safe there, I was loved.  A few months after living with her, I cleaned up my act and began caring about my life again.  I spent the next thirteen years, living with pain and depression associated with the partial paralysis in my leg and foot.  I’ve become a master at hiding my foot due to shame. Who wants to see a scarred up, and malformed foot? Not me.  Hiding pain is pretty much second nature to me at this point.  I’ve been married, divorced, depressed, elated, in love, the only constant has been physical pain and physical limitations.  The most difficult aspect of all of this, is having the energy and motivation to do all of these physical things, and not having the ability or cooperation from your body.  I have tried to will myself into strength and ability, only to be disappointed.

I decided that this year, it all ends. No more shame, no more suffering in silence, no more hiding.  In 25 days I am going to have two procedures that will improve my mobility greatly and improve the esthetics of my foot. I am equally terrified and excited.

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It'll never be right, but it will be ok

Today is her 50th Birthday. She's out there, celebrating with people she calls friends...for today. Someone will refuse a favor or tell her some kind of truth that she doesn't want to hear. Next year, she'll celebrate with someone else.  I thought I would feel more. I turned 30, she turned 50 and I just don't feel like I think I should. I don't feel sad, I don't feel left out, hurt, offended, angry, betrayed or any of the other things she's made me feel in the past. Is this good? Is it bad? I just don't know. I stopped missing her a long time ago, but I used to be plagued with guilt over not wanting her in my life. I've done a lot of growing up I guess, and I realize I didn't need her before, so why would I need her now? The truth is I don't. So, without want or need I guess I am finally and truly free. 

The Lies About Truth

The truth... something so simple right? Wrong wrong wrong. The truth is an elusive bastard that hides itself in between thinly veiled lies. Everybody lies, its true. Lying is so much easier than being honest, sometimes we lie to ourselves about our lies so that we can rest easy that even though we are liars, we are justified so we are still good people. Lies are not simple, they are acts of deception. Lies cause pain, they complicate existence, lies are powerful.  The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves because we can't allow ourselves the pain and discomfort of our truth. We lie about who we are, we lie about who we aren't. The real question is, if we don't like who we are, why not try to change? Because we are lazy and afraid, that's why. We are a society of unruly toddlers, egomaniacs, pussies, and LIARS.  It's a pretty sad state of affairs.  

My goal in this time and place is to tell the truth. I don't care how ugly it is, how bad it sounds, what people will think. The truth really does set you free. Tell the truth, tell the truth if you love someone, tell the truth if you love yourself. If you don't love yourself, tell the truth about why. The journey is so much safer, so much easier if you are working with reality.  Don't listen to me though, these are just the ramblings of an insanely happy, fulfilled, excited, loved, honest girl. Maybe I'm doing something right...

Demons

Facing the truth of time, it always passes, moments and memories constantly being created
Just as quickly forgotten
Some memories we never forget
16, drugs coursing through my veins, invincibility pounding in my chest
Standing on the edge of dying, never feeling more alive
Fearless, shameless, clueless
I'll use my flesh to find my place

We created family where there was none
Lost and lonely children
Filling the voids with all we understood
Safety in numbers, but no one to save us from ourselves
Some will survive, some never had a chance
Nobody gets out unscathed

Sitting in my new skin, older, wiser, weathered
Afraid for the little girl who once was
Safe in my bed, in my skin, in my head
Memories of the past haunting my sleep
I saved me, from myself

Inferiority Complex

So, I've realized what my next self evolution project is going to be.  I always feel like everyone does everything better than I do, or that what I do isn't up to par.  I compare my skills with others and I know that it is unhealthy. I always think "well maybe I'll get better at this someday" or "I'll never be as good as that person because I am just inadequate." This kind of self doubt has crippled me in some ways.  I know to some people it would be surprising that I am so unsure of myself,  I know that I come off much more secure.  The entire battle happens beneath the surface, I never let anyone see.  I think that is what needs to change, if I let people in, and let them now how scared I am or how unsure I am, maybe they can help.

I think this kind of thought process is what lead me to drugs when I was younger, they made me feel powerful, confident and motivated. All of this is bullshit and it is lies that you tell yourself so that you don't have to stop using, and you don't have to go back to being you.  Being sober, means being vulnerable and present, when all you want is to be someone else, somewhere else.  Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like that now, there are just still those sick little thoughts that float around in my mind, that stop me from feeling completely ok.

It's just like school, I know that SO many of my friends have or are working on degrees but for some reason I have this nagging thought that I won't be able to do it. I feel like there is something in me that is going to fuck it all up, like I don't deserve it. So, my goal before fall semester is to stop doubting myself and gather strength and courage from those that love me. I surrender, I can't do everything all by myself and I have to understand that, that is ok, and doesn't make me deficient. Wish me luck!