Alien Life

"you're from another planet Deb, you don't count." . . . Right. Have you ever considered for a moment that maybe this is MY planet and YOU are the visitor? Perhaps these things you perceived as awkward social mannerisms are, in actuality, completely acceptable amongst the people who ACTUALLY belong here. Your crude nature, and crass behavior is an insult and a violation of the simplest nature of our existence. We are polite and allow you to stay hoping that we can teach you the delicacy of communication. We believe in the subtlety of words. We believe that you say what you mean and you mean what you say, that people who use expletives are simply too ignorant to have the where-with-all to express themselves. Though the crimes you've committed are reprehensible at the least, and I do mean at the least, it would be rude to deny you the chance to correct your ignorance with education. There is a time and a place for uncivilized behavior. This is not that time. Understanding that not everyone agrees upon this theory I entreat you to the notion that everyone is entitled to the right to think. It is a luxury that we are born with, thankfully. You are given the right at birth to think for yourself. You are not however; given the right to impose those thoughts on me. I act on my thoughts in the best way that I know how. If you find them odd it is your right to think so. I only ask that you be aware that reducing someone to an alien life form amongst the rest of humanity is damaging to their self image, and the way in which the think about the world around them. The sort of segregation that belongs to that line of thinking does not produce a creative environment of ideas and learning. It strangles the very essence out of humanity. It places people in tupperware containers that don't allow them to touch or feel another person. With out this interaction creativity is suffocated, and the annihilation of life is certain. Just because someone possesses the fortitude to stand apart, or proficiently express the deepest regions of their being doesn't mean they are from another planet. It means they are in a firm grasp of who they are as an individual and their place in the melting pot of life. It should be an honor to interact with such people. They force us to rise above our norms and exceed our potential. They are the people who encourage and grow us into gods. They deserve our respect and our reverence; not as aliens, or visitors, but as great friends and companions in this journey Home.

Naked and Famous

And I quote: " deb you are the most selfish person I know. You don't let anyone in or let anyone get to know you. You hide who you are and they deserve to know. . . " Ok, I'm selfish because I hide a large chunk of time that happened to be the most informative development stage of most of our lives. I have secrets, things about me that no one understands, but you know there's something just not right. It's not like I enjoy hiding these things. I would love nothing more than to share the story and tell it to someone who would listen. I'm smart enough to know that if you are watching you'll know when to ask and it will be because you're ready. I don't find it selfish, I find it a matter of self preservation. There are somethings that can't be taken back. Pieces of facts that once known create an awkwardness almost worse than the unknown. We all know I'm a little off my rocker, a little eccentric, and I am often known to do brash things I later wish I'd held back and only thought about. Let's add this one to the list shall we? You want to know what I'm hiding; here it is. I was 16, as most of us have been, and I didn't want to have sex. He did. Things ended badly and I went looking for a mans approval that this horrible situation wasn't all that bad and I was still worth loving. A man, we'll call him the Major, showed up. Recognizing an opportunity to capitalize on a vulnerable teenager a 32 yr old man convinced a 17 yr old girl she should date him. Disaster ensues and just a hop, skip, and a jump to 23 yr old from 17 we have a girl living in a basement in Colorado praying that today is a good day and that the frying pan isn't in her future. After several months in and out of the ER "falling" and "running into doors" it's evident we're losing steam. The beating and insults just aren't working anymore. The thrill is gone. How do we remedy this? Let me tell you by asking another question; Have you ever wondered what it's like to die? I've been almost there. I've had the room go fuzzy and suddenly realize I'm probably not going to be alive much longer. Just on the verge of "giving up the ghost" I get a reprieve. Ghastly way to do things really, but this is survival we're talking about. While the rest of you were learning how to interact and be "cool" I was trying to figure out how to make the perfect roast so I could avoid having my head slammed in an oven while the gas was running, and my back side whipped with a cricket bat. Gas makes you really sick you know. There are bad people out there. I know. I survived by running away one night. After months of trying to convince my best friend she wanted to come live in Denver I had an out. I would HAVE to be left in an apartment I'd been paying for but never really lived in. I would HAVE to be given some freedom to keep up the facade of "normal healthy relationship". As much as I hate myself for having used another human being like that I could see no other way. Every phone call to the cops had been explained away and ended in another trip to an ER with an assumed name. Did you know I have 37 alias's? nifty huh. I can remember every single one, and the character's back story too. You must have a good back story if you're going to keep a nurse from checking up on it. Thankfully, when you've been sold to a guy who lives in St. Louis you don't see the same nurses as the ones in Colorado. Thankfully. Either way I figured out how to get out. Mostly. I was still so terrified I couldn't seem to get further away than an apartment with a friend. Another pawn. Not that I'm proud of it, nor that He was any better than the Major, but it was something I needed to survive and finish getting out. When you're finally allowed to have a real job and your boss is asking about the hand prints around your arms you have to think fast. I was working as fast as I could. Almost not fast enough. Long story shortened by a few years and paragraphs, I made it out. I don't really remember the details of how I ended up in the Major's bedroom. Mostly because I'd really rather not remember any of it at all, but I was there. Every time I went for the door he stepped in front of me and got another hit in. ( nice thing about being a military intel guy is you know how to ask questions and get answers without leaving visible marks. Nice tricks they learn.)I was thrown into one of those nice big floor to ceiling mirrors that covered half a wall shattering it. Then I had hands around my throat and all I could think was " yup, I'm gonna die.". Boring I know. Why couldn't I have thought something profound, or interesting, or captivating. Sorry, I'm not creative like that. As the room is going fuzzy and I'm giving up I have this sudden urge to go for the door. Don't ask me, I wasn't exactly in the best place to be thinking logically with a guy's hands around my throat more than half starved of oxygen. I went for it. Amazingly I got through it. First time in three hours I'd made it through that door when I went for it. The Major had 2 very nasty knee injuries and his stair case was one of those with a landing halfway down. I jumped, He had to take each stair individually. I jumped again and made it to the ground level. I'm doing good so far right? I throw open the garage door and get in my car. Bottom line, I was halfway to Limon Colorado before my brother-in-law convinced me I couldn't drive to Nuavoo, Il. My mother wishes he'd let me drive, I'm glad he didn't. I had blood and glass in my hair and I really needed a hospital. I called the Pawn. He picked me up and drove me back to my apartment where a couple of cop cars, and an ambulance were waiting. I didn't get out of the car and asked to be driven someplace where I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. So, avoiding the authorities ( this is a habit now and I don't really know what to do, and I'm scared as all get out. . . so no judgement on that decision) we drive to the local airport and the Pawn cleans glass and blood out of my hair and we wait for a bit. I finally go home and the first thing to greet me when I walk through the door is a roommate who say's " who the F&$% called the police?!". Peachy. I've just survived someone trying to kill me and the most important thing is that your phone call got put on hold for 10 minutes while the cops tried to figure out if I was still alive. By the way; I'm alive. I have a bad head injury, bruising and edema of the hydoid muscles, but I'm alive. Just incase you were concerned. I hate hospitals. I hate them because they remind me of having to lie to a nurse when all I wanted to do was scream for help. That there are injuries no one will ever find unless I tell them where to look. I hate being alone. I hate being alone because it reminds me of spending night after night in a cold cement basement not knowing who was coming next, and what they were going to do to me. And that everyone I've ever truly cared for has left me. I hate trying to make friends. I hate trying to make friends because you people scare the hell out of me! I hate that all I want is approval from someone. I hate wanting approval from someone because I'm too strange to get it. I hate being awkward. I hate being awkward because I don't know how else to be. I don't understand the social rules, and norms, and all the stuff I'm expected to know. I was a little busy just trying to stay alive, and figure out how to avoid another beating. I hate being strong. I hate being strong because I'm not. I survived years of that abuse. What more do you want from me? I hate being vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable because that is what got me into this mess in the first place. I am not strong. I am not confident. I am not socially acceptable, and I am most certainly NOT okay. Honestly; do you think if you'd had your head knocked around that many times you'd be okay? I know I don't always get it. I know I'm a little strange. I'm trying. I'm doing the best I can to make-up for the years I lost. I'm sorry if I cling a little too tightly. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm obsessed. I'm just terrified. NO one was nice to me for years. I don't understand "nice". I'm sorry if I had to use you to get out of that situation. I only hope you'll understand why I did it. Hopefully this wont change things too much. Then again it probably will.

Hello My Lovelies

So, it's been a while. A long while. As I sit here thinking about everything that's happened I wonder what it is that makes some people tick. I wonder why some people make the choices they do. For example, A good manager can either make or break the team. They motivate the staff to be better than they used to be. They may not be the best with the paperwork, but they keep everyone excited to be at work. Not bouncing off the wall but satisfied. They want to come to work each day because they genuinely believe that their manager cares about them as an individual. Not just the numbers on the quarterly statement, but the individual. That having been said, some people choose the paperwork over the employee. I have learned that this is not a good choice if you intend to hang onto your employees and you are in a high turn over market ( i.e. massage therapy). I am also wondering why my dog still loves me. I am probably one of the laziest human beings out there. How I have managed to stay under 300lbs can only be explained by the fact that my metabolism has not been affected by child birth. My dog clearly would like me to move more than I do. That's not really happening. Yet here she sits, next to me on the couch. Patiently waiting for me to get the motivation to move. I pet her, scratch her, love on her, but I know she wants to run. Again, what posseses her to love me inspite of my clear lack of consideration for her breed's need to run. I tell myself shes just too old to run away. I know my brother would laugh and correct me. Which is probably why we've never discussed this.
I have accepted that it's time to start a private practice. I love not having to deal with paperwork, but I'm at this cross road where if I don't jump now I know that I will be pushed off this ledge by the Powers That Be. I've had several things upset and uproot my routine as of late. I was given a calling in my church, and I've been given the opportunity to share what I have learned with my fellow single adults. I had a relationship fall apart after doing everything concievable to make it work. I have lost family dear and close. I have lost friends, and I have some how managed to gain 10lbs. . . Yes I'm going to blame my brother-in-law who happens to be a chef. Cruse him and his holiday cooking which is so scrumptious! Point being here we go. Into the wild blue yonder. . .
You would think that I would learn after all these years that the best way to make a decision is not to look at why other people make that choice, but why would I make that choice. Good luck with that. (Makaio is looking at me like she's annoyed and might try to eat me.)Try as I might I am still looking for reasons to do things. I feel like my compass has never really had a North. When everyone else has awesome motivations for getting in shape, or to get that degree, or to date that human being, or to join that cause, or to do anything. I am not motivated to do ANYthing. I don't care what it is. Just tell me what to do so I can finish it up. ( She finally stopped staring at me. . . I think she's pissed.) I think I've actually given up on a lot of the things I wanted as a younger person. The family, the house, the husband, the lack of stress, done. There's a lot of stuff I thought I could still get, but at some point you just have to accept that regardless of how much you want that it's not meant to be yours.
We talk about Abrahamic sacrifices as a moment in time. Perhaps mine is not just a moment, but an entire life. Talk about a hard pill to swallow eh? better get those gag reflexes under control for this one.
( ok, I better at least give Makaio a massage. She's earned it.)

Bottom Line Up Front? I'm starting a Private Practice.
Be awesome my Lovelies. ( and Jack if you're reading this you owe me an email dude.you're lazier than I am in that area.)

Goldfinger Station on Pandora

There's no otherway to say this;
ruby ruby ruby soho, destination unknown ruby ruby ruby soho!
I'll never let you. I let you go, I'll never let you. Turn around go back on each other its a good idea break a promise to your mother.
I'm bouncing off the walls again. I'm looking like a fool again.
sparks fly, I hit the ground running... west bound leave the motor running!

Yes, Pandora you have given me the goldfinger station. Which in turn has given me all the music from a time and place in my life when everything was right and the world made sense and nothing was more important than figuring out how to ditch class and go to the beach. That's right. I own it. I almost didn't pass my Junior year of high school because I was hormonal and ditching class to go to the beach. :D and listen to Ska,Ska-Punk, and other forms of stoner music. . . or what was stoner music at my age.

POINT IS! much like playing the banjo, it's really hard to be depressed while listening to this stuff. It makes me want to bounce off the walls, dance around the room and in all aspects of life be joyful. yes, I have found my little slice of heaven. A memory that makes me smile, laugh, and want to see some of the people who got me into trouble, I got into trouble, and in general created chaos with. ( it really was fun you have to admit)
I'm finding it rather hard to sit still longenough to write this. I mean I kinda want you all to be sitting here listening to this. I want to be standing around at a show dancing around the floor like a goof, and being completely unawares of the guys standing there with that mildly horrified look on their face. I miss my dr martins, pyramid studded belt, short skirt, tank-top, and funky colored hair. Understanding that at some point we all must grow up and become adults. . . there is something terribly liberating about singing along to music at the top of your lungs thats completely designed to allow you to vent your frustration. it was perfect, it still IS perfect. I am in an awesomely stellar mood. . . because I found the best part of my teenage years well intact and perfectly enjoyable still. :D

-Leave the motor running cause I'm on the run! Hey driver, to the top of the world!

Untouchables

Ther is a place. A moment in space-time. Yes, that one right there. Where you finally came to your senses and realized where Home was. Some people have big profound experiences, others of us just know. Here's the silly thing. All this drama, and here I sit. The only one who seems to have recieved the memo that it was time to go Home. How is it that after telling me to not dive off the deep end I'm the only one thinking that cutting and coloring my hair is extreme? how is it possible that The craziest thing I've done is sunbathe on my patio? I feel as though things are a little backwards. and that's ok. I have my dog, I have my sunshine, I have a roof over my head and four walls supporting it, I have food in my cupboards,and a running truck. Does it get any better than this? I can only think of one thing better than this. Walking through those doors, recommend in hand, and knowing I am Home.

I Needed You.

Friends will pick up the phone and call not because you asked them to, but because they know you need it. Friends keep you busy and make sure you're mind doesn't have too much time to think about it when They know your thoughts are your worse enemy. I have felt the sting of loss this week. Two in one week. Literally. My good friend is now gone. Died in a car accident because someone couldn't call a cab after having one too many. My sister is gone because of whatever reason. . . THat's still being looked into since it only happened a couple hours ago. We'll know once the medical examiner is done. Call it caloused, or call it survival. Really I'm waiting for you to get the hint that I need someplace to break down. I need you to hold me while I cry about this so I can pick it up and move forward. I need a moment where you stand beside me. Even if you don't want it to be as my companion do it as my friend! Because the only other person who would do this is a couple states away right now. I reached out because I needed someone I could trust to help me. The anger I feel from the loss tells me that it's pathetic that men who used and abused me were better at reaching out than you. The part of me that recognizes that anger has NOTHING to do with you knows you did what you feel comfortable doing right now. And knowing that I have the warped sense of death I have you are thinking about your own issues and problems knowing I'm just that sick. I may view death in a similar manner as Johnny the Homicidal Maniac but I'm telling you now. . . I need you to be my friend. I need you to be a better friend than you have been this last couple of weeks. I need a best friend. I know You've been that. I guess this is my sick way of saying thank you.

0630

Staring in horror at my phone as I recognize a number I had hoped would disapear with the rest of my mistake to become a faint memory, and severe warning I am frantic. I can't bring myself to touch my phone let alone silence it.Even with out the name attached I knew who it was, and I was gripped by both horror and terror. I continue to stare at it with trepidation as the notice about a voice mail pops up and sounds. This isn't happening. All my progress! Everything I've done to weed this out of my life! It's only been a month granted, but still! This is NOT happening! I sit questioning whether to listen or just delete the voicemail. I listen. "Ma"'s toxicology report say's over dose on a narcotic painkiller, and an alcohol level through the roof. It wasn't "him", but it was that family. That woman was the only thing tying me to that family. I loved her dearly. I have no reason to still love, or desire that family, that coast, that person. Only Ma. . . and she's gone now.
I rememeber the first time I set foot in that apartment. three empty Bailey's bottles on the table, and a half finished bottle of Absynth. Three bottles of prescription pain killers on the table. I looked at 'him' and whispered " she'll kill herself is she keeps that up". She was an alcoholic and everyone knew it. They even made fun of her a bit about it. I said it not because I knew this phone call would come but because I knew what those things did to you as a human body.

I sat staring at the end of my bed for almost 30 minutes before I got out of bed, walked my dog, and got in the shower.

Someone asked me once what brought me back. Why did I come back to church after everything I did, and everything that happened. I couldn't answer. I tried to come up with something profound. There isn't anything profound about what happened. I just knew. I knew and so I couldn't stay away. The true conversion happens that way. Much like those in history who have looked back and said " I always knew". . . I knew. I KNOW. I've never been able to honestly say I didn'tknow. I wanted to not know. I wanted to have some great conversion story with heavenly lights, and angelic music, or profound life altering revelation! yeah, not so much. I've always prayed. I've always known. Perhaps that's the key. I've always prayed. Even when I was so drunk I couldn't think straight I could muster a " Father. . . I'm drunk. please. . " and then I'd lose conciousness. Even when I was higher than a kite I could still hit my knees star at the cieling and say " well you know. . amen". I have ALWAYS prayed. I will never have a profound decliration that envelopes my entire being. I will never have some cool story to tell the youth at a fireside. I will never be asked to speak on my conversion in sacrament meeting. But I will be able to look someone in the eye's, and say in all honesty, "How could I deny what I know?". Am I going back to that family? Never! Will I become the person I was, and hide and lie about what I know to be the truth? Never! And I believe I finally understand that the people who will truely love me are the ones who will never ask me to deny what I know in action, words, or deeds. They will support me in this lifestyle, and love me all the more for it. To a little brother who scared the crap out of me this morning. . . not cool dude, but it was good to meet you and I wish you well. To the person who brought Ma into my life. . I wish you the peace you desire, but seem to always fall short of finding. To the coastline that almost reeled me in. . . Maybe someday I'll have a reason to go back, but today is not that day and tomorrow doesn't look good either.
I know who I am. I know who I have always been. . . I was just hiding.