Left Of Me

I am just not the same anymore.

Who I used to be, who I wanted to be, the things I wanted to do and be in my life are all gone from me.

I used to be pretty – not in a traditional movie star or cover of a magazine sense – but, I used to be pretty from the inside out.  I see that now in photographs from my past.

I used to be overweight.  When I looked in the mirror I never understood the person who looked back at me because it never matched the image I held in my mind.  I may have been overweight, but I always saw myself – thin.

I used to have a light in my eyes.  My eyes used to be blue – a brilliant, bright Norwegian blue – just like everyone member of my father’s side of my family.  I’ve lost the color in my eyes they’ve turned dull and gray.  Perhaps it’s just health, malnutrition and stress.  Who knows, but my glow and lightness is gone.

It’s been years now.  My face is hard.  I hold my head like an animal defending itself from a never-ending attack.  My eyes hang and droop from an unspoken sadness unable to be shared or shaken from the heavy hurt.

It’s all-consuming.  I look uncomfortable in my own skin.  It feels as though I am wearing someone else’s overcoat so many sizes too large, unable to bend, and move, or breathe easy.

It is an unrecoverable loss.

Worse still, it feels as though the only reason for my existence is so other’s can watch me suffer.

I knew at my very best I have only ever been average, yet I still held a belief that there were things I could do without thinking.  Like breathing.  That belief that I held and could feel is gone.  Like an emotional landslide swept away.

I used to want to go to film school so I could write, direct, produce, and act in my own films because who else would hire me?  I had plans to go to FSU.  I even looked into going to a film school in Bath, England.

I used to dream of racing cars.

Nursing schools, visual merchandiser, buyer, masseuse, physical therapy, speech therapist the list goes on and on of vocations and directions I believed I could do well and should be my life.

The problem is I can no longer see a future, nor can I feel me anymore.

This is not a pity part.  I am not trying to be pathetic.  I am not looking for sympathy.  I guess, I am explaining.  I cannot be or play someone else’s idea of me and who they think I should be.

No one will ever be able to understand what it is like living this life on this side of me.  There is a great moat that surrounds and follows me wherever I go.  The distance it creates has deadend me from the inside.

Do you know that I used to feel a connection to man I used to know in college.  I believed it would always be there.  To my great humiliation it has been turned into something ugly, to something more than it ever was.  It has been used against me.  As if believing in someone you once knew is a crime.  The truth is we could barely speak to each other.  When we did speak it usually turned hostile and violent.  Yet, there were times when we looked at each other and the rest of the world ceased to exist.  There were moments filled with so much that I held onto them.

What I understand now from these last few years, I was merely projecting a want or belief that simply was never true.

Perhaps it is this loss of belief that has caused such decay in my soul.  Unfortunately, there is so much to my life’s story one answer is not all of it.

Perhaps it has been this constant theme of three numbers, of people I do not know and have been forced to choose.  This ongoing contest of men’s ego’s that has torn me to pieces.

I cannot stand ego.  Ego is such a turn off.  Constantly stroking a man’s ego while I’m barely able to live and manage my everyday.

I wish I had never been on the monorail that day.  I wish I had never had a conversation with that stranger.  I wish I had never seen him or talked to him after that day.  I wish I never had to see or hear from him ever again.

No one else has to wear my shame.  No one else feels my hurt.

No one else understands what this feels like.

I don’t know how to plan, or prepare my future when everything I’ve known, understood about myself is gone.  Not the same anymore.

I went to my mother’s funeral more than a year ago.  The truth about her death I still do not know.  Her death was kept a secret from me for years.  This is such an emotionally charged event (I don’t know how else to say it) I’ve gone numb, or perhaps I am still in shock.  More likely, I’m unable to react because the truth is still hidden from me.

Then a month later, I gave my cats to my brother believing he was going to take care of them.  I still remember the hurricane we had last year.  Getting supplies and waiting through the weather in this house, I still had them in my mind’s eye as if they were living it with me because I believed they were going to be returned to me.  Only to learn that my brother mislead me, and he did not take care of them.  The destruction of this news sent me over a sharp cliff.

Loss, and loss, and loss, and loss, after loss, and loss and loss.  Loss of even the smallest things is still a loss.

I don’t know how to end this post.

So, The Story Goes…

I can’t believe I am retelling this story again.

But, here it goes…

The story is, I was never a reader growing up.  I would rather do than watch which is what reading felt like to me.  I felt reading was passive.  Its’s not that I couldn’t read or read well.

Unfortunately for me, my action orientated mind landed me in a reading-for-the-impaired class when a teacher asked me to read out loud then explain to the class what I had just read.  When I said I couldn’t explain what I had just read, she sent to remedial reading class.  Upon which the first day I was kicked out.

The teacher asked a student to read – I couldn’t believe how low these kids were reading let alone how slow.  This poor kid had a problem reading out-loud a simple word  like – T-H-E – I was so upset with having been placed in this class, I started yelling.  What is wrong with you, You can’t read that word!!!!!!!  The teacher asked me to read next, and I read as fast as I could, I was so upset.  I was told not to come back to that class.

When the teacher asked me to explain what I had just read and told her I couldn’t it was because I was thinking about so many other things other than what I was reading at the same time as I was reading that I wasn’t paying attention to the exact story.  My brain had other ideas in mind other than the science book I was asked to read.

So, I grew up not being a reader until…I became so upset from watching a movie.

Twilight came around and was everywhere.

Ugh, Twilight and vampire, and UGH!

I didn’t want to watch Twilight.  I am too cerebral, interested in culture, the world, and life to care about teenaged vampires!

However, I decided it might not be a bad idea to see why the whole world is in love with Twilight.  I was a care-giver to my mother at the time, so stealing away to go to the movie theater was a big deal at the time.  Sometimes, it was more than six months at a time before I left to go do something just for myself.

I went.  I saw Twilight…I thought, it’s not so bad.  I’ll go see the next movie when it comes out which was New Moon.  I waited and planned for New Moon.

That stupid movie!!!!!

That is how you end a movie with a wedding?!  What?!  Why?!  Ugh?!

I despised the ending!

I was so upset…for days!!!!  I had wasted my money, and  more importantly my precious time.

I tried to figure it out.  I decided there must have been something lost in translation from book to movie and that is why it was so bad.

So, I bought the books.

First book, not bad – easy reading.  Next book, and the next book.  I wanted to read them all because I was enjoying it.

Then, I remembered when he told me we were like Katherine and Heathcliff.  I remember it, but I don’t feel it anymore just like I don’t feel anything anymore.

So, I read Wuthering Heights.

Which brought me to another time when he and I argued over whether it was Anna Karenina or Anna Karen.

So, I read Anna Karenina.

Not, my favorite story, but there was a story beyond Anna Karenina which started in Volume eight.

In volume eight, Tolstoy shares more of a personal essay into what was happening in his life at the time.  For me, it was a profound moment reading volume eight.  My mother had been tiresome during the night.  I was up all night making sure she was ok, and didn’t have any more strokes.  But, this night she was particularly hard on me.  I couldn’t even stay in the room with her.

I had to finish reading this book.

When…with the reading of seven little words, my world changed.

I nearly dropped the book out of my hands.


What, just happened?!  Why was he at the center of the sentence?!

Memories, the past, all flooded my mind trying to comprehend.

I had loved him more than I had ever loved any other man in my life.  Yet, I had never been able to tell him, or share with him how thankful I was just to have known him.

I felt a connection to him – at the time – I thought, would never end.

Unfortunately, for me…I don’t feel anymore.  I have a complete disconnection from my heart and have been disconnected for years.

However, had I not read Twilight, I would not have read Wuthering Heights, had I not read Wuthering Heights, I would not have read Anna Karenina, had I not read Anna Karenina, I would not have leaned an appreciation for reading and classical literature.

Lost In The Moment

At Panera, which was normally our routine after rehearsals, sitting at a high-top table we over-worked, tired, broke, stressed-out college grown-ups trying to release the dull-drum schedule of work, school, and very little sleep – not necessarily in that order – talking and bull-shitting, would one-off each other.

Somehow the topic became a question of whether or not there could possibly be a limit to the size of a man’s junk.  Is there such a thing as too big?  Certainly there is such a thing as too small, right.  But, too big?!  Is there such a thing?

While the table started to discuss the very worthy question of how big is too big, I recalled I time a man got me drunk on red wine.

My wingman, a girl from work who had been hooking-up (do people still say hooking-up?) with a guy from Turkey (can anyone say Green Card – not to sound bitter, I just found it an unequal match) said, we’ll all go out and have a good time.  Meeting them at his apartment I waited on his sofa while he took a phone call when I arrived.  Most of the conversation took place with him staring at me while speaking Italian on the phone.

Let’s have a drink first, he said when he hung up his phone call.

Sure, what do you have?

He poured me a glass of red wine so sweet from the fruit that was soaking in it, I finished the glass rather quickly.

And then I finished another and another.

Oh, it was so good.

We never made it out that night.

Lying on his bed, tipsy, and wanting more…when I got to unzip his pants – Whoo, Lord have mercy!

It was a beautiful sight to behold.  That man was hung like a baby elephant.  Holy shit!  That was a beautiful creation God made between his legs!

I still recall that moment with stammering wonderment.  It’s a story to tell your grandchildren.  Embarrassing them with the life you lived before them.

So, well equipped with that memory, I blurted out matter-of-factly, yes there can be such a thing as too big because my jaw does not come unhinged!

There was great laughter all around the table, but one person fell back with such laughter he fell to the floor.  It took me a second to realize he was not only laughing so hard he wasn’t making any noise, but he was completely flat on the floor.

Almost immediately I started crying tears of laughter from the beautiful sight of him laughing.  And in that moment an overpowering need took root.  I just wanted to be next to him.  Close to him.  Just to be near him.

In the past I have used laughter as a weapon as a means to unarm people, so I can see people as they really are perhaps even as God meant them to be.

When a person is so gone in the moment from laughing they could pee themselves and not even care, or notice just to have one more breath, so they could laugh again – it is the most beautiful sight to me.  There is a boundless wonder of the human soul and spirit to behold a much greater story to be told in that single moment.