WARNING: EMOTIONAL NUDITY.
So. Just how ‘naked’ can I be here? I’ve streaked here before, a quick nekkid run-through, but what about ‘art-class model’, or ‘nude-beach’?
We shall see…
First off – why? Why be naked here, where the entire world could see?
Yesterday, something happened that upset me deeply - possibly as deeply as I am able to be hurt. I made it through the day ok, but when I got home, and I was alone, I was overcome. The pain was unbearable, I cried and paced and I wanted so badly to talk to someone, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t let anyone see or hear me that way. The first person who came to mind – who always comes to mind is my ‘twin’. But the Wonder-Twin Powers aren’t working right now. (“Zan”, if you read this, I hope you are doing ok. I miss you, I think of you every day. Don’t worry – I’m hangin’ in there.)
I went down the list, and it’s a big list. I am blessed with people who love me and would LET me call them and wail into the phone. But for one reason or another, I just couldn’t. I am a prideful, fearful creature, and that’s the heart of it.
There was one person, the person who ‘handed me’ the hurt*, that I somehow knew I could call - should call - and I tried, but her phone was busy. I tried twice, and then took it as a sign, and went, as always, to my notebook. (Count your lucky stars, w.s.! ;)
Here, though, you all have a choice to read, and a choice to respond, and I can handle that. I didn’t feel all alone last night. I knew there were at LEAST a dozen people I could call… if anything, I felt shame that I could not be brave enough to pick up the damned phone. When I was a kid, I could blame someone else if I cried and hurt alone, but as an adult, I can only blame myself. But I can also write, and draw, and share THAT way, and still be safe, and keep my friends and family safe. I do the best I can.
Well, I thought I could ‘walk out onto the beach’, but it looks like I’m not ready yet. I am sitting here thinking about trying to talk about what happened, and I can’t. Just the thought brings immediate tears and snot. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I will. Maybe just saying out loud, to the whole world that I am hurting as bad as I ever have is enough.
Maybe this one realization will help me finally get to the heart of my oldest hurt, and I can finally do something about it, or at least come to accept it. And maybe that will take the REST of my life.
Sorry, looks like a slow strip tease is the best I’ll be able to do today.
Thank you all for whatever reasons you come here, and for writing to me about what you think and feel. It means the world to me.
-s
*This person did not TRY to hurt me, and I know that without a doubt. I am grateful for her honesty and for reaching out, and for the new understanding that came from this truth. No pain, no gain, right?
Friday, February 21, 2003
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
There was this boy, see…
Don’t you love stories that start that way? Makes you get a John Hughes-ey kinda’ feelin, ‘dunnit? Which is actually fairly appropriate for this tale.
Once upon a time, a million years ago (in the early eighties), I had a friend. He was, without a doubt the most ‘noticeably’ odd guy in the school. There were other weirdos, but they were more covert, less brave – they made more of an effort to blend and be popular. This guy did NOT. Not at all. He wore his brainy brand of super-geekness with pride. (he didn’t give a proverbial rat’s heinie.)
I was new to the school, and a complete freak myself* (hard to believe, I know…). His mom was my favorite teacher, and he and I had lots in common, so we were friends from fairly early on. We ate lunch together, hung out in his mom’s classroom (amidst the burble of aquariums and acrid tang of formaldehyde) during breaks, and got up to general deep-nerd goofiness. He was a good friend to me. He introduced me to the rest of the nerds (Ralph, dear Ralph – and the Stevens…) and made me laugh a lot. He drew funny cartoons for me, and called me and played bizarre lyrics (we were BAD Billy Idol fans!) over the phone, wrote me notes sealed with red wax, and once he gave me a pair of sparkly lavender unicorn candles. His best trick was combing his hair to the side, putting on a plastic mac and some black frame glasses and chasing me around the playground humming the “Benny Hill” theme (or maybe he had a kazoo. It’s possible…). I ALWAYS ran and screamed “STOP!”, but I loved it. Who else would think of something SO bizarre and funny – and who else would GET it?
Of course, things changed. I started spending time with girlfriends, and then I got a (lame, pathetic excuse-for-a) boyfriend. Then I changed schools – again. We lost touch, but then we found each other again. Both of our parents were taking summer classes at the local university. We hung out a bit, but we had changed a lot. By the time we both moved to the town, we had turned into very different people. Before all was said and done, we ended up having some animosity between us. As he put it, he was a bit too “angry punk rock” and I a bit too “coffee-house poet”** for us to see eye-to-eye (plus, his friends HATED me. That probably didn’t help.
As you all know, I’ve recently reunited with my baby sis. She still has contact with his mom, and she turned them on to my web page. The result was that this boy wrote me, and we have been writing back and forth for a couple of weeks.
He is a family man, now. He has a wife and two daughters, and a good job on the west coast. Our conversation is tentative, we are both busy people, but it amazes (but not surprises) me that we seemed to pick up right where we left off in high school. Of all the differences between us, we both find common ground in feeling this strange sense of nostalgia. We talk a little about the ‘old days’. He says my rants remind him of those times. We both wonder what the reasons for our nostalgic longing are.
My theory is that it is partly our age (30-something). He is watching his children grow, and maybe identifying with that – his oldest is a young teen. For me it has a lot to do with wanting to be sure that I haven’t wasted too much of this short life. I’ve moved a lot, I’ve made and lost a lot of friends. None of it is a waste, if I’ve learned and grown from it, I suppose - but what about wasting the devotion one has given? What about the love and passion for ones’ past friends and lovers - the love and passion that was given to you? We all need to know and remember that those strong feelings (and you KNOW how strong they are when you are young and hopeful, when you have yet to become jaded, and you believe that love and good friendship are forever…) because otherwise, what else are we doing this for? Why else are we here?
I think our readiness to be friends again, and the fondness I felt at seeing his face (unchanged!) in a picture goes a long way toward proving this theory. I’ve found room for regret when I’ve thought of him over the years (I still had those sparkly unicorns until very recently, and I still have at least one of his notes…), just as I have with many other lost friends. And of course, one never wants to have regret.
I wear a ring on my right ring finger - I never take it off. It was given to me by my ex-husband, and despite the ex-, I never think badly of him, or of the sentiment when I look at that ring. My feelings just reinforce the truth of the statement. It says, simply “Real Love Is Forever”, and I need to believe that. We all do. We need to know that our childhood beliefs were real, that our teen angst had substance, and that our adult struggles mean something. We need to believe in something bigger than ourselves, God, true love, democracy (hahahahaha! Sorry.), punk rock – something.
So, this boy told me he likes to read my rants, and he said I could talk about him. If the least I could do after all these years and all his kindnesses to me is to use our friendship as an example to prove to the rest of you that John Hughes’ movies aren’t total crap, then yay, us!
We were BOTH “Duckie”, weren’t we Bryan?
DUCKIES OF THE WORLD, UNITE! And dream on, hopeful geeks, dream on.
*- though I had yet to come out of the geek-closet. I was very conservative in behavior and appearance at that time…
**Moi?!?! ;)
Don’t you love stories that start that way? Makes you get a John Hughes-ey kinda’ feelin, ‘dunnit? Which is actually fairly appropriate for this tale.
Once upon a time, a million years ago (in the early eighties), I had a friend. He was, without a doubt the most ‘noticeably’ odd guy in the school. There were other weirdos, but they were more covert, less brave – they made more of an effort to blend and be popular. This guy did NOT. Not at all. He wore his brainy brand of super-geekness with pride. (he didn’t give a proverbial rat’s heinie.)
I was new to the school, and a complete freak myself* (hard to believe, I know…). His mom was my favorite teacher, and he and I had lots in common, so we were friends from fairly early on. We ate lunch together, hung out in his mom’s classroom (amidst the burble of aquariums and acrid tang of formaldehyde) during breaks, and got up to general deep-nerd goofiness. He was a good friend to me. He introduced me to the rest of the nerds (Ralph, dear Ralph – and the Stevens…) and made me laugh a lot. He drew funny cartoons for me, and called me and played bizarre lyrics (we were BAD Billy Idol fans!) over the phone, wrote me notes sealed with red wax, and once he gave me a pair of sparkly lavender unicorn candles. His best trick was combing his hair to the side, putting on a plastic mac and some black frame glasses and chasing me around the playground humming the “Benny Hill” theme (or maybe he had a kazoo. It’s possible…). I ALWAYS ran and screamed “STOP!”, but I loved it. Who else would think of something SO bizarre and funny – and who else would GET it?
Of course, things changed. I started spending time with girlfriends, and then I got a (lame, pathetic excuse-for-a) boyfriend. Then I changed schools – again. We lost touch, but then we found each other again. Both of our parents were taking summer classes at the local university. We hung out a bit, but we had changed a lot. By the time we both moved to the town, we had turned into very different people. Before all was said and done, we ended up having some animosity between us. As he put it, he was a bit too “angry punk rock” and I a bit too “coffee-house poet”** for us to see eye-to-eye (plus, his friends HATED me. That probably didn’t help.
As you all know, I’ve recently reunited with my baby sis. She still has contact with his mom, and she turned them on to my web page. The result was that this boy wrote me, and we have been writing back and forth for a couple of weeks.
He is a family man, now. He has a wife and two daughters, and a good job on the west coast. Our conversation is tentative, we are both busy people, but it amazes (but not surprises) me that we seemed to pick up right where we left off in high school. Of all the differences between us, we both find common ground in feeling this strange sense of nostalgia. We talk a little about the ‘old days’. He says my rants remind him of those times. We both wonder what the reasons for our nostalgic longing are.
My theory is that it is partly our age (30-something). He is watching his children grow, and maybe identifying with that – his oldest is a young teen. For me it has a lot to do with wanting to be sure that I haven’t wasted too much of this short life. I’ve moved a lot, I’ve made and lost a lot of friends. None of it is a waste, if I’ve learned and grown from it, I suppose - but what about wasting the devotion one has given? What about the love and passion for ones’ past friends and lovers - the love and passion that was given to you? We all need to know and remember that those strong feelings (and you KNOW how strong they are when you are young and hopeful, when you have yet to become jaded, and you believe that love and good friendship are forever…) because otherwise, what else are we doing this for? Why else are we here?
I think our readiness to be friends again, and the fondness I felt at seeing his face (unchanged!) in a picture goes a long way toward proving this theory. I’ve found room for regret when I’ve thought of him over the years (I still had those sparkly unicorns until very recently, and I still have at least one of his notes…), just as I have with many other lost friends. And of course, one never wants to have regret.
I wear a ring on my right ring finger - I never take it off. It was given to me by my ex-husband, and despite the ex-, I never think badly of him, or of the sentiment when I look at that ring. My feelings just reinforce the truth of the statement. It says, simply “Real Love Is Forever”, and I need to believe that. We all do. We need to know that our childhood beliefs were real, that our teen angst had substance, and that our adult struggles mean something. We need to believe in something bigger than ourselves, God, true love, democracy (hahahahaha! Sorry.), punk rock – something.
So, this boy told me he likes to read my rants, and he said I could talk about him. If the least I could do after all these years and all his kindnesses to me is to use our friendship as an example to prove to the rest of you that John Hughes’ movies aren’t total crap, then yay, us!
We were BOTH “Duckie”, weren’t we Bryan?
DUCKIES OF THE WORLD, UNITE! And dream on, hopeful geeks, dream on.
*- though I had yet to come out of the geek-closet. I was very conservative in behavior and appearance at that time…
**Moi?!?! ;)
