i used to be a night crawler. i'd climb out my bedroom window about 11 p.m. and not climb back in until close to 6 a.m.. once i even saw the paperboy on his morning route. my parents didn't know i had this bad habit going and i maintained good enough grades to keep everyone fooled. i had an art class first period, so didn't have to be too alert for that. a little creativity went a long way.
i was fearless, as the young are. i'd get into cars with people i didn't know. i'd have unprotected sex. i'd race the truckers on the interstate with a piece of shit gremlin until i blew the motor and ended up stranded in another town.
i had a crush on an older guy once who was nice to me. i wasn't used to that. i'd take off on a friday after work, drive for three hours to his house, spend the weekend screwing our brains out and get home just before dawn on monday morning. once i went with some friends who had been begging to meet him. he spent the night making passes at one of my friends and i left them there and headed home. i didn't care how they got home. i figured he could take them.
i hadn't figured on the blizzard. i got off on the side of the road and found there was no side of the road. stuck in a snowdrift, i spent the night in short bursts of waking to start the car and heat myself up, then turning it off to conserve fuel and not kill myself. just before dawn i crept out into the ditch to relieve myself and a trucker was kind enough to come along and offer to dig my car out. as he was digging me out, my friends went by and saw me. i ended up taking them home.
i burned all his pictures.
i stopped going out. at all.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
first
he was my first. first boyfriend, first love, first husband, first divorce. he was kind and funny. he was short and dark. i was tall and pale. i was 16. he was 18. he had graduated from high school. he was living at home. he worked where i worked. for him it was a full-time job, for me it was extra spending money. my parents let him take me out. once. he picked me up at the house. it was summertime. he was tan. he always turned very dark. it was the 70's. he had an afro. he had a large afro.
my parents sat me down for a talk the next day. we're sure he's a nice boy, but we think he's too old for you. uh-huh. too old or too dark? he's swedish, i say. he doesn't look swedish, they say. that's not the issue, they say. he's too old.
i began sneaking around to see him. i'd think of reasons to close at work so i could be with him a little longer. i'd skip my last class and he'd pick me up from school and we'd drive around and neck.
we went to my house and my parents were at work. we made love. we were both virgins. it was bad. it was uncomfortable. we kept at it. we got better.
i found an apartment. i moved on my 18th birthday while my parents were at work. i left a note at my dad's office. in it, i told him he'd better tell mom before she got home from work. i didn't tell them where i went. they found out from my boyfriend's parents. it was okay. they left me alone.
they tried to convince me they liked my boyfriend now - since i was bound and determined to marry him. they took me home. they tried to make nice. we planned a big wedding. a week before the wedding, i called it off. my parents told me they thought i'd done the right thing. they never liked him after all. we eloped.
he'll always be the first.
my parents sat me down for a talk the next day. we're sure he's a nice boy, but we think he's too old for you. uh-huh. too old or too dark? he's swedish, i say. he doesn't look swedish, they say. that's not the issue, they say. he's too old.
i began sneaking around to see him. i'd think of reasons to close at work so i could be with him a little longer. i'd skip my last class and he'd pick me up from school and we'd drive around and neck.
we went to my house and my parents were at work. we made love. we were both virgins. it was bad. it was uncomfortable. we kept at it. we got better.
i found an apartment. i moved on my 18th birthday while my parents were at work. i left a note at my dad's office. in it, i told him he'd better tell mom before she got home from work. i didn't tell them where i went. they found out from my boyfriend's parents. it was okay. they left me alone.
they tried to convince me they liked my boyfriend now - since i was bound and determined to marry him. they took me home. they tried to make nice. we planned a big wedding. a week before the wedding, i called it off. my parents told me they thought i'd done the right thing. they never liked him after all. we eloped.
he'll always be the first.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
denial
my mother died when i was a child. i was three. i only have one true memory of my mother. she had polio and was in an iron lung and i was taken to see her in the hospital. i remember riding on my father's shoulders and laughing at the nurses. my father is very tall, so i had to duck not to hit the lights. i remember standing on a stool next to my mother's face. she asked the nurses to adjust the mirror above her head so she could see me better. she was beautiful.
at some point after my mother went into the hospital, i was sent to live with my father's family. i remember his older brother - my uncle - driving me many miles to my grandmother's house. i liked living at my grandparents'.he was a manager of a supermarket who loved to fish and she was a lovely woman with a quick laugh who had raised four children and still had the youngest in high school.
i remember the wedding photo of my mother in my grandmother's bedroom setting on the cedar chest where i could go in and look at it. i remember one day it was gone and we never spoke of her again.
my father would come to my grandmother's and visit me. one time he brought a lady with him who would become my stepmother. i was five.
every year on memorial day we would make the two-hour drive to where my mother was buried. we'd take flowers and clean up the gravesite, but nothing was ever said about her. i'd learned early that to bring her up was to get scolded - i learned not to bring it up.
most families have photographs of their children around the house or at least in an album where they are produced for family events and memories are thoughtfully revisited. i never saw a picture of myself until my maternal grandmother gave me some photos when i was thirteen. i finally saw myself and my mother and a picture of a little girl standing on a stool next to a woman in an iron lung with a lovely smile.
in my thirties my husband had some deep conversations with my father. things i think he'd been waiting to say but couldn't bring himself to say directly to me. knowing my husband would be the conduit. one of the most shocking things i was to find out was that my mother didn't die of polio. she'd actually been getting better and had been in rehab and was going to be able to come home when she contracted pneumonia. it was the pneumonia that killed her. it explained a lot.
in my twenties i had pneumonia and was in the hospital for a week. my parents didn't come. my parents didn't call. they didn't send flowers. they ignored me. this was highly unusual. when i finally got ahold of my father to let him know i was better and was going home from the hospital, his comment was, "i guess i won't have to sent the flowers to the funeral home, then". at the time i was shocked. even for my cynical father the comment seemed exceptionally cruel. it would not be clear to me what was going on for another ten years.
my grandmother always said i looked exactly like my mother. my maternal aunt who hadn't seen me for many years finally saw me and told my grandmother that she couldn't get over all the mannerisms i had that were just like my mother. i guess my father couldn't handle it. i wish he had. the denial hurt.
at some point after my mother went into the hospital, i was sent to live with my father's family. i remember his older brother - my uncle - driving me many miles to my grandmother's house. i liked living at my grandparents'.he was a manager of a supermarket who loved to fish and she was a lovely woman with a quick laugh who had raised four children and still had the youngest in high school.
i remember the wedding photo of my mother in my grandmother's bedroom setting on the cedar chest where i could go in and look at it. i remember one day it was gone and we never spoke of her again.
my father would come to my grandmother's and visit me. one time he brought a lady with him who would become my stepmother. i was five.
every year on memorial day we would make the two-hour drive to where my mother was buried. we'd take flowers and clean up the gravesite, but nothing was ever said about her. i'd learned early that to bring her up was to get scolded - i learned not to bring it up.
most families have photographs of their children around the house or at least in an album where they are produced for family events and memories are thoughtfully revisited. i never saw a picture of myself until my maternal grandmother gave me some photos when i was thirteen. i finally saw myself and my mother and a picture of a little girl standing on a stool next to a woman in an iron lung with a lovely smile.
in my thirties my husband had some deep conversations with my father. things i think he'd been waiting to say but couldn't bring himself to say directly to me. knowing my husband would be the conduit. one of the most shocking things i was to find out was that my mother didn't die of polio. she'd actually been getting better and had been in rehab and was going to be able to come home when she contracted pneumonia. it was the pneumonia that killed her. it explained a lot.
in my twenties i had pneumonia and was in the hospital for a week. my parents didn't come. my parents didn't call. they didn't send flowers. they ignored me. this was highly unusual. when i finally got ahold of my father to let him know i was better and was going home from the hospital, his comment was, "i guess i won't have to sent the flowers to the funeral home, then". at the time i was shocked. even for my cynical father the comment seemed exceptionally cruel. it would not be clear to me what was going on for another ten years.
my grandmother always said i looked exactly like my mother. my maternal aunt who hadn't seen me for many years finally saw me and told my grandmother that she couldn't get over all the mannerisms i had that were just like my mother. i guess my father couldn't handle it. i wish he had. the denial hurt.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
define
i often think i am mad or insane or just plain crazy. i've thought this often since i was a child but try not to make it something outwardly noticable. mostly it just invades my quiet thoughts. i never was what i would consider a normal child. i didn't play well with others. i never had the social skills to play the silly games well. still don't. i found myself with odd thoughts at inconvenient times. sometimes i still do.
therapy a few years ago turned out to be a bust. i had a nervous breakdown, for lack of a better term. in going to therapy i found the therapist had more problems than i had that she hadn't dealt with and i spent all my time feeling i was the therapist.
due to many issues in my past, i had feelings of severe depression and thought i needed to get away from my family - to be on my own, something i'd never done. a certain well-meaning therapist told me not to tell my spouse where i was, only that i was safe. this, in turn, drove him nearly over the edge. i also had well-meaning friends (i use the expression loosely) who told him to make me an ultimatum. either tell him where i was or cut me free. i can't say that we are friends any longer.
love managed to win out. i let him come to me and save me from myself. we are closer than ever. he is a remarkable man.
i found out many years after this incident in our lives that my brother-in-law who i'd met my husband through and who i'd always championed and whose side i'd always been on held a frank discussion one night with my husband. it came out that he never liked me after that happened and he'd just been trying to be nice to me for my husbands' sake. bite me. i don't need that kind of support.
i've always said to my husband when we hear about friends getting divorced or similar situations... you never really know what is going on in the relationship unless you are the one in the relationship. everyone lies. everyone wants to sound like the good guy so you will get whatever version of what has happened through their spin machine. so many people thought at that time that i was having and affair and was leaving my husband. that was the furthest thing from my mind. i needed my husband desperately. it was only the bad advice we were getting from, i repeat, well-meaning friends and therapists that kept us from finding the help we needed - which was each other.
sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. and love. never forget the love.
i'm not fully 'cured'. i still have dark thoughts. that is why i decided to put this blog out here. although i am a happy, well-adjusted, loved, smart, attractive woman... i can still have the dark madness. this is my way of coping.
therapy a few years ago turned out to be a bust. i had a nervous breakdown, for lack of a better term. in going to therapy i found the therapist had more problems than i had that she hadn't dealt with and i spent all my time feeling i was the therapist.
due to many issues in my past, i had feelings of severe depression and thought i needed to get away from my family - to be on my own, something i'd never done. a certain well-meaning therapist told me not to tell my spouse where i was, only that i was safe. this, in turn, drove him nearly over the edge. i also had well-meaning friends (i use the expression loosely) who told him to make me an ultimatum. either tell him where i was or cut me free. i can't say that we are friends any longer.
love managed to win out. i let him come to me and save me from myself. we are closer than ever. he is a remarkable man.
i found out many years after this incident in our lives that my brother-in-law who i'd met my husband through and who i'd always championed and whose side i'd always been on held a frank discussion one night with my husband. it came out that he never liked me after that happened and he'd just been trying to be nice to me for my husbands' sake. bite me. i don't need that kind of support.
i've always said to my husband when we hear about friends getting divorced or similar situations... you never really know what is going on in the relationship unless you are the one in the relationship. everyone lies. everyone wants to sound like the good guy so you will get whatever version of what has happened through their spin machine. so many people thought at that time that i was having and affair and was leaving my husband. that was the furthest thing from my mind. i needed my husband desperately. it was only the bad advice we were getting from, i repeat, well-meaning friends and therapists that kept us from finding the help we needed - which was each other.
sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. and love. never forget the love.
i'm not fully 'cured'. i still have dark thoughts. that is why i decided to put this blog out here. although i am a happy, well-adjusted, loved, smart, attractive woman... i can still have the dark madness. this is my way of coping.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
do you believe
what do you believe in? god. satan. esp.aliens. love. innocence. truth. fairies. luck. fame. poverty. nature. survival. death. heaven. hell. all of the above.
Monday, May 16, 2005
night
she was young. naive. pretty. torn between being a 'good girl' and climbing out the window in the deepest of night to see her unapproved boyfriend. the boyfriend won. for several weeks in the chill of springtime running into the heat of summer she would meet up with him a block from her house. usually his best friend came with - it was his car. the three of them would cram into the front seat of the '69 ford mustang convertable and race into the darkness, seeking out the downtown lights and excitement of the other cars 'scooping the loop'.
one night as she returned to her bedroom window it was locked. panic hit as a 10 lb. sledgehammer would - taking her breath away and sending her pulse racing out of control. unreasonable thoughts started. sneaking in the front door and saying she'd just been out walking. trying to sneak into her room and say she'd just been in the bathroom... the garage... on the porch. a bold faced lie as she was not to ever leave the house. with shaking hands she reached out for the front door knob as she sensed movement right on the other side. someone was just inside the door waiting for her to enter.
she turned and ran down the street as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. her first thought was to go to her boyfriend, but she knew his parents didn't like her anyway and this would just give them more ammunition. she had no other close friends - her parents made sure of that. she worked part-time after school at a restaurant that would be closed, but there might be a night crew cleaning up and she could at least use the phone to call her boyfriend.
reaching the restaurant she knocked on the back door. the cleaning crew turned out to be an iranian man and his very blonde-haired-blue-eyed girlfriend. they were young and sympathetic and the girlfriend said she could go home with them after their shift. collapsing on a bench, she fell into a deep sleep.
awakened by someone shaking her, she found the couple were ready to leave. it was decided that she could go to the girlfriends' apartment while the girlfriend would go stay at his place. reaching her apartment, it was soon found to be small and though small touches here and there were designed to make it homey, it was too strange to be comforting. she was cold and couldn't seem to get warm. every sound in the building jarred her into an alert listening position, wondering what her parents were going to do now... expecting the police to come through the door at any minute. she had no idea where she was, only that she was in the same town.
falling into a restless sleep, she awoke to a gray day. nothing to do but pace the floor, she finally decided to wash her hair. some cheap fruity shampoo will forever make her remember this day.
no television, no phone, no books. she paces the small cell afraid to go outside, afraid to even look out the windows. the sense of panic won't go away.
mid-afternoon the man comes to the door. in broken english he explains that his girlfriend had to go to class but that they agreed to share his tv with her. she would have to come to his apartment, however. he would fix her something to eat and she could watch tv. bored and scared, she agreed.
he fixed her something spicy to eat that she had never eaten before. spicy food had never gone over good with her, but she was so hungry it made it edible. he had some game show going on the tv and the efficiency apartment was dominated by the king-sized bed. after they ate, he began rubbing her back. she asked him to stop. he began rubbing her leg... her thigh... she got off the bed, uncomfortable and feeling trapped. had he not saved her from a night on the street? hadn't he fed her? tears began to drip down her face. he told her not to cry... asked her if she would do things to him. asked her if she was a virgin. when she replied 'yes', he suggested there were other things she could do that would let her remain a virgin.
he took her back to the girlfriends' apartment before he went to work. in the middle of the night the phone rang - jerking her out of the stupor she'd been in since he'd left her. she didn't know if she should answer, but then decided maybe she should. it was the girlfriend. she began asking strange questions of her. had she seen him today? what did they do? did he try anything with her? what could she say? she was torn. if she tells the truth, the girlfriend will be jealous and hate her and will want to turn her in. if she lies, he gets away with it but the girlfriend won't be hurt and maybe she would be able to stay a little longer. she lies. the girlfriend asks again... are you sure? are you sure he didn't try anything? thinking back, she figures the girlfriend must know what a liar she is. she knows her boyfriend. she hangs up.
an hour later there is a knock on the door. she looks out the peephole. it is her father.
one night as she returned to her bedroom window it was locked. panic hit as a 10 lb. sledgehammer would - taking her breath away and sending her pulse racing out of control. unreasonable thoughts started. sneaking in the front door and saying she'd just been out walking. trying to sneak into her room and say she'd just been in the bathroom... the garage... on the porch. a bold faced lie as she was not to ever leave the house. with shaking hands she reached out for the front door knob as she sensed movement right on the other side. someone was just inside the door waiting for her to enter.
she turned and ran down the street as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. her first thought was to go to her boyfriend, but she knew his parents didn't like her anyway and this would just give them more ammunition. she had no other close friends - her parents made sure of that. she worked part-time after school at a restaurant that would be closed, but there might be a night crew cleaning up and she could at least use the phone to call her boyfriend.
reaching the restaurant she knocked on the back door. the cleaning crew turned out to be an iranian man and his very blonde-haired-blue-eyed girlfriend. they were young and sympathetic and the girlfriend said she could go home with them after their shift. collapsing on a bench, she fell into a deep sleep.
awakened by someone shaking her, she found the couple were ready to leave. it was decided that she could go to the girlfriends' apartment while the girlfriend would go stay at his place. reaching her apartment, it was soon found to be small and though small touches here and there were designed to make it homey, it was too strange to be comforting. she was cold and couldn't seem to get warm. every sound in the building jarred her into an alert listening position, wondering what her parents were going to do now... expecting the police to come through the door at any minute. she had no idea where she was, only that she was in the same town.
falling into a restless sleep, she awoke to a gray day. nothing to do but pace the floor, she finally decided to wash her hair. some cheap fruity shampoo will forever make her remember this day.
no television, no phone, no books. she paces the small cell afraid to go outside, afraid to even look out the windows. the sense of panic won't go away.
mid-afternoon the man comes to the door. in broken english he explains that his girlfriend had to go to class but that they agreed to share his tv with her. she would have to come to his apartment, however. he would fix her something to eat and she could watch tv. bored and scared, she agreed.
he fixed her something spicy to eat that she had never eaten before. spicy food had never gone over good with her, but she was so hungry it made it edible. he had some game show going on the tv and the efficiency apartment was dominated by the king-sized bed. after they ate, he began rubbing her back. she asked him to stop. he began rubbing her leg... her thigh... she got off the bed, uncomfortable and feeling trapped. had he not saved her from a night on the street? hadn't he fed her? tears began to drip down her face. he told her not to cry... asked her if she would do things to him. asked her if she was a virgin. when she replied 'yes', he suggested there were other things she could do that would let her remain a virgin.
he took her back to the girlfriends' apartment before he went to work. in the middle of the night the phone rang - jerking her out of the stupor she'd been in since he'd left her. she didn't know if she should answer, but then decided maybe she should. it was the girlfriend. she began asking strange questions of her. had she seen him today? what did they do? did he try anything with her? what could she say? she was torn. if she tells the truth, the girlfriend will be jealous and hate her and will want to turn her in. if she lies, he gets away with it but the girlfriend won't be hurt and maybe she would be able to stay a little longer. she lies. the girlfriend asks again... are you sure? are you sure he didn't try anything? thinking back, she figures the girlfriend must know what a liar she is. she knows her boyfriend. she hangs up.
an hour later there is a knock on the door. she looks out the peephole. it is her father.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
there was a time
there was a time when i was young and naive and believed the world was fair. i thought if you gave it all you had and treated everyone with kindness you would be in turn treated the same.
years later i would realize how fucked up i truly was.
when you find yourself living in an apartment in the upstairs of a house where the heat is oppressive to the point you leave the window open next to your bed and find yourself covered with snow, shivering uncontrollably in the middle of a december blizzard three days after your eighteenth birthday. within 48 hours you are found huddled in the same apartment in the back of a walk-in closet high on niquil by the fire department who have been called because you won't answer the door and your family and serious boyfriend who will one day become your ex-husband are afraid you are dead.
i wished i was.
i'm glad i'm not.
years later i would realize how fucked up i truly was.
when you find yourself living in an apartment in the upstairs of a house where the heat is oppressive to the point you leave the window open next to your bed and find yourself covered with snow, shivering uncontrollably in the middle of a december blizzard three days after your eighteenth birthday. within 48 hours you are found huddled in the same apartment in the back of a walk-in closet high on niquil by the fire department who have been called because you won't answer the door and your family and serious boyfriend who will one day become your ex-husband are afraid you are dead.
i wished i was.
i'm glad i'm not.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
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