Lately, I have been reflecting on the person I was 15 years ago. I constantly dream of that time and seem to romanticize it a bit. Have I lost my former self? And if so, can I get it back?
My life, me, in Arizona, was free. Or, at least I thought I was free. The only responsibilities I had were to go to college and go to work. And both those things were completely negotiable if there was a party, a Dead show, or hell if I had a hangnail. In Flagstaff, I felt home, at least for a while. My biggest worries were will I make enough in tips to go to the Monte Vista and drink? When I left Flagstaff, I was fed up. I knew that if I stayed there, I would become a barfly at best. Now when I look back on that time, I see it differently. I was spontaneous. I didn't think of the consequences, I just did it. But now I often think, was I a poser?
My life now seems in total conflict of who I was or at least who I thought I was. I work for a large bank. I have a 401K. I am going to be a Mom. And crap, I even pay my bills on time. I find myself sucking up, kissing ass, etc....and all I want to do is shower it off! Who am I? Where did the "cool" me go?
After much thought, I realized that the former me is not lost. I may work for "the man" but I do it for a good cause. I still enjoy a great live show, but I just stay out of the mosh pit now. I still live in the ghetto. Now I just do it by choice.
I also realized that that time, that place doesn't exist anywhere anymore except in my head and the head's of the other people who where there. I did not appreciate it while I was there and in it. But, it was special. It was magic. I am a firm believer that you are right where you are supposed to be at all times. So, I may not be willing to camp out for a Dead show for 3 days in the desert anymore, but it is not because the former me is lost. It is because the current me knows that Jerry isn't going to show.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Phoenix
Phoenix
People have asked to get some preview of the book I am working on. So, here it is. Obviously, names have been change to protect people's privacy. I hope you will read with an open mind and heart.
Thanks
By 1990, I was dying slowly, intentionally, literally. Phoenix was hot. Don't let people tell you "it's a dry heat". No matter how dry 126 degrees is, it's above all else unbearably hot and miserable. Phoenix was an Eagles album cover. It was wavy with heat on the horizon of palm trees, stucco buildings, and strip malls. There wasn't any grass except for golf courses. I was tired of driving, sitting, and listening to the sound of the road.
I was scheduled to attend Glendale Community College and major in Finance. But why, I have no idea. But, I think mainly, I was searching for someone to save me from myself. I wouldn't find that someone in Phoenix, but I did find Isaac. He was as messed up as me, and FUN. He loved to drink. The night I met Isaac, I was drunk and high from hunger. He thought I was beautiful and I hated myself. We were a perfect match.
Glendale Community College and Doc Oz, my abnormal psychology professor, ultimately saved my life. I had an odd schedule of classes: Finance, Accounting, 2D Design, Spanish, and Abnormal Psychology. I signed up for abnormal psych as an elective. The first day of class I was hazy, hung over, and drinking a big gulp…breakfast. Doc Oz came into the classroom of approximately 40 students, me being the oldest at 24, and told us to each share something about ourselves that was abnormal. I was terrified. I can't share. I can't speak in front of people. Hell, I can't speak out loud when I am by myself! People judge me. I judge me. I can't. I can't. I can't. But, I had to. And, it was okay. I talked about the time when I was only 16 and my boyfriend, friends, and I broke into a bowling alley that was being built and started a bonfire. I told my story and he moved on to the next person. She had a crystal meth habit in high school. It was uneventful. I didn't die.
The semester progressed, not effortlessly, but surprisingly okay. I participated. I was involved. I was fascinated. Crazy made me feel sane, and at home. It made my world make sense. I went to school from 7 a.m. to 12 noon. I took a nap ant then went to work from 3 p.m. to midnight. I would get home at 12:30 a.m. and Isaac would be waiting for me…drunk. I would have some wine to wind down and go to sleep with Isaac. It was simple. It was sad. But, it was mine. And, I felt as loved as I could. And then, I passed out for the first time.
Our abnormal psych class took a field trip to the state mental hospital. It was very exciting, at least to me it was. It was hot as usual, and the bus trip seemed long, but of course I had my big gulp. We were herded in like cattle through the areas that we were allowed to see. For the most part, everything was very sterile and somewhat "cleaned up" for us. But, then we went to the children's ward. There wasn't anything grotesque or shocking, but ther was a sense of hopelessness. The room seemed not as tall as normal. It was small. I tried to separate myself from the group and hug the back cinderblock wall. There was a display of brochures next to me that I tried to focus on…abuse, attention deficit disorder, bulimia;…I started to slide down the wall. I felt paper and metal. Then, I saw Doc Oz's face. "Are you okay? Do you want to go outside?" he said. I must have said yes. It's unclear to me now. But, Doc Oz and I went outside on the steps of the children's ward at the State Mental Hospital in Phoenix. "Are you pregnant?" he asked me. And all I could think was….am I that fat? "No, no, I'm not pregnant. I probably just drank too much last night." That excuse seemed to appease him. We resumed the tour. I succeeded in covering up my secret. So, I must be okay. Right? I am. I am okay. Isaac hasn't noticed. And Lola and Henry are oblivious. They are in love.
Lola wants me to love Isaac. And by love Isaac, I mean be "in love" with Isaac. Henry is an alcoholic and so is Isaac. We could commiserate together. I can't love him. Not really. I can only spend every night with him, and hold him, but I don't have love to give to anyone. I just can't. I have another lover. But, my apparent lack of love is causing tension with everyone. It's unbearable. I have acquired a tic. It's odd. I chop carrots. I buy carrots in bulk from Mega Foods on 67th avenue and chop carrot sticks whenever I am home. I clogged the disposal with the peelings. Lola thinks I am crazy. I am sure of it. But, for some reason, the repetition of the chopping motion seems to calm me. I wrote my final paper on obsessive compulsive disorder.
Our final project for Doc Oz's class was to pick a disorder that we identify with and write a paper on it. I picked OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't pick the disorder that is eating me from within because I still think I have hidden it so cleverly. I can hide my pain from the real world with OCD and carrot sticks. If I can chop enough carrot sticks to clog the disposal, I can mask the real pain. I got an A.
Isaac….he calls to tell me to dress up and he will pick me up for our final date. He doesn't say "final date", but it is. I am moving. Moving on. I am moving to Flagstaff, Arizona. Phoenix is too hot and I think Lola and Henry know my secret. Of course they know. But, I am going to move to Flagstaff with my friend Duncan. But, tonight, I will be with Isaac. We went to the Hyatt revolving restaurant in downtown Phoenix. I don't remember what we ate, but I do know what I felt. I felt special. More special than I have ever felt in my life. He was a drunk, but he had passion. It pierced my soul. I got lost when I went to the bathroom because the restaurant rotates around while the center stands still. Isaac found me.
Isaac got a room in the Hyatt for us to stay the night. The view was beautiful and we had champagne. He gave me roses and told me he loved me before he passed out. I wonder to this day, if he remembers.
People have asked to get some preview of the book I am working on. So, here it is. Obviously, names have been change to protect people's privacy. I hope you will read with an open mind and heart.
Thanks
By 1990, I was dying slowly, intentionally, literally. Phoenix was hot. Don't let people tell you "it's a dry heat". No matter how dry 126 degrees is, it's above all else unbearably hot and miserable. Phoenix was an Eagles album cover. It was wavy with heat on the horizon of palm trees, stucco buildings, and strip malls. There wasn't any grass except for golf courses. I was tired of driving, sitting, and listening to the sound of the road.
I was scheduled to attend Glendale Community College and major in Finance. But why, I have no idea. But, I think mainly, I was searching for someone to save me from myself. I wouldn't find that someone in Phoenix, but I did find Isaac. He was as messed up as me, and FUN. He loved to drink. The night I met Isaac, I was drunk and high from hunger. He thought I was beautiful and I hated myself. We were a perfect match.
Glendale Community College and Doc Oz, my abnormal psychology professor, ultimately saved my life. I had an odd schedule of classes: Finance, Accounting, 2D Design, Spanish, and Abnormal Psychology. I signed up for abnormal psych as an elective. The first day of class I was hazy, hung over, and drinking a big gulp…breakfast. Doc Oz came into the classroom of approximately 40 students, me being the oldest at 24, and told us to each share something about ourselves that was abnormal. I was terrified. I can't share. I can't speak in front of people. Hell, I can't speak out loud when I am by myself! People judge me. I judge me. I can't. I can't. I can't. But, I had to. And, it was okay. I talked about the time when I was only 16 and my boyfriend, friends, and I broke into a bowling alley that was being built and started a bonfire. I told my story and he moved on to the next person. She had a crystal meth habit in high school. It was uneventful. I didn't die.
The semester progressed, not effortlessly, but surprisingly okay. I participated. I was involved. I was fascinated. Crazy made me feel sane, and at home. It made my world make sense. I went to school from 7 a.m. to 12 noon. I took a nap ant then went to work from 3 p.m. to midnight. I would get home at 12:30 a.m. and Isaac would be waiting for me…drunk. I would have some wine to wind down and go to sleep with Isaac. It was simple. It was sad. But, it was mine. And, I felt as loved as I could. And then, I passed out for the first time.
Our abnormal psych class took a field trip to the state mental hospital. It was very exciting, at least to me it was. It was hot as usual, and the bus trip seemed long, but of course I had my big gulp. We were herded in like cattle through the areas that we were allowed to see. For the most part, everything was very sterile and somewhat "cleaned up" for us. But, then we went to the children's ward. There wasn't anything grotesque or shocking, but ther was a sense of hopelessness. The room seemed not as tall as normal. It was small. I tried to separate myself from the group and hug the back cinderblock wall. There was a display of brochures next to me that I tried to focus on…abuse, attention deficit disorder, bulimia;…I started to slide down the wall. I felt paper and metal. Then, I saw Doc Oz's face. "Are you okay? Do you want to go outside?" he said. I must have said yes. It's unclear to me now. But, Doc Oz and I went outside on the steps of the children's ward at the State Mental Hospital in Phoenix. "Are you pregnant?" he asked me. And all I could think was….am I that fat? "No, no, I'm not pregnant. I probably just drank too much last night." That excuse seemed to appease him. We resumed the tour. I succeeded in covering up my secret. So, I must be okay. Right? I am. I am okay. Isaac hasn't noticed. And Lola and Henry are oblivious. They are in love.
Lola wants me to love Isaac. And by love Isaac, I mean be "in love" with Isaac. Henry is an alcoholic and so is Isaac. We could commiserate together. I can't love him. Not really. I can only spend every night with him, and hold him, but I don't have love to give to anyone. I just can't. I have another lover. But, my apparent lack of love is causing tension with everyone. It's unbearable. I have acquired a tic. It's odd. I chop carrots. I buy carrots in bulk from Mega Foods on 67th avenue and chop carrot sticks whenever I am home. I clogged the disposal with the peelings. Lola thinks I am crazy. I am sure of it. But, for some reason, the repetition of the chopping motion seems to calm me. I wrote my final paper on obsessive compulsive disorder.
Our final project for Doc Oz's class was to pick a disorder that we identify with and write a paper on it. I picked OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't pick the disorder that is eating me from within because I still think I have hidden it so cleverly. I can hide my pain from the real world with OCD and carrot sticks. If I can chop enough carrot sticks to clog the disposal, I can mask the real pain. I got an A.
Isaac….he calls to tell me to dress up and he will pick me up for our final date. He doesn't say "final date", but it is. I am moving. Moving on. I am moving to Flagstaff, Arizona. Phoenix is too hot and I think Lola and Henry know my secret. Of course they know. But, I am going to move to Flagstaff with my friend Duncan. But, tonight, I will be with Isaac. We went to the Hyatt revolving restaurant in downtown Phoenix. I don't remember what we ate, but I do know what I felt. I felt special. More special than I have ever felt in my life. He was a drunk, but he had passion. It pierced my soul. I got lost when I went to the bathroom because the restaurant rotates around while the center stands still. Isaac found me.
Isaac got a room in the Hyatt for us to stay the night. The view was beautiful and we had champagne. He gave me roses and told me he loved me before he passed out. I wonder to this day, if he remembers.
Write Love
On January 16, 2010, I felt hopeless. It was the MLK holiday. I had the day off because when you work for a bank, you have every holiday. One of those perks you get when you work for "the man". I was miserable inside, but was getting by....barely. That night I sat on the couch and drank. I drank wine. I drank cheap, red , rot gut, box wine. And I kept drinking because too much was never enough. And like many other nights, the wine was not enough to numb the ache and dread I felt inside. I made a decision that at the time seemed to be a way to escape and finally feel relief.
When I woke up, thank God I woke up, I was somewhere I did not recognize. I was confused and beyond groggy. Paul was with me. I had to answer a series of the same questions. I had to turn in my jewelry and clothes. In return I was given scrubs and socks. I was escorted to a dark room where a stranger was already asleep. I took the other bed which had a blue plastic mat, much like a kindergarten nap mat, and a plastic coated pillow. I fell asleep. I am not sure how much time passed.
When I woke up again, I was scared. I did not understand where I was...but I knew I did not want to be there. My roommate did not want me there either. She yelled at me when I woke up, "You snore! Do you know you snore?" I did not answer her. I knew I snored but was in no mood to deal with someone.....anyone. I wanted out of this place. I wanted out immediately. I was scared and thought I did not belong in this place with people that seemed quite frankly on the edge. This was NOT Celebrity Rehab. But, I was there on a mandatory 72 hour stay. I could not leave. I could not check myself out. I was forced to deal with myself sober.
To Be Continued
When I woke up, thank God I woke up, I was somewhere I did not recognize. I was confused and beyond groggy. Paul was with me. I had to answer a series of the same questions. I had to turn in my jewelry and clothes. In return I was given scrubs and socks. I was escorted to a dark room where a stranger was already asleep. I took the other bed which had a blue plastic mat, much like a kindergarten nap mat, and a plastic coated pillow. I fell asleep. I am not sure how much time passed.
When I woke up again, I was scared. I did not understand where I was...but I knew I did not want to be there. My roommate did not want me there either. She yelled at me when I woke up, "You snore! Do you know you snore?" I did not answer her. I knew I snored but was in no mood to deal with someone.....anyone. I wanted out of this place. I wanted out immediately. I was scared and thought I did not belong in this place with people that seemed quite frankly on the edge. This was NOT Celebrity Rehab. But, I was there on a mandatory 72 hour stay. I could not leave. I could not check myself out. I was forced to deal with myself sober.
To Be Continued
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