Working Through It

WARNING: Triggers for physical abuse/emotional abuse



I have rape dreams about once or twice a month.

I had one early last week. They're never fully realized (thankfully) since I wake up midway, but they do have an emotional effect that colors the next few days.

After that dream, I had a very good dream that shows some progress in the whole family-emotions-therapy situation.

I dreamed I went to my grandmother's for Christmas, like I'm planning to do. I got there and there was a whole bus of family I haven't seen in years. Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, it seemed like everyone was there. It was overwhelming. I stayed in the hallway while everyone made plans. We were all going to get on the bus and go somewhere, but then I realized that they were leaving my immediate family behind - my mother, sister and brothers. (I don't know where my dad was. He's not often in my dreams) So I was going to have to spend the holidays with them instead of my grandmother, like I planned.

Usually, in this situation, I would just accept it and suffer through it. I'd fade into the background, growing sadder and angrier day by day until it swallowed me whole again and I returned to my robot status.

But this time, a thought occurred to me. My family was staying here, but it didn't mean I had to. I realized I could make my own choice. I told them, "I'm not staying here for Christmas." I let them know that I would be leaving.

And then I did. I walked right through the door and left.

I felt such a sense of freedom. It wasn't a knock-down, drag-out fight sort of freedom when you know all is lost and broken and everything's a mess. It was a healthy, "this was my choice and I'm fine with the fallout, whatever it may be" sort of feeling.

-

And then I had a panic attack.

I went on vacation with a friend back to a place I'd lived in for twelve years. Where I took all my painting, horseback, ballet, and ice-skating lessons. The libraries I'd discovered new books in, my favorite thrift store, my favorite used bookstore, all the churches we'd been to and where my friends' parents still lived.

The place where my brothers were molested. The places where I experienced spiritual, emotional, physical, mental abuse.

I went back. I knew it would be dangerous. I was anxious about meeting people from my past. I went through various situations and played them out until I was satisfied with what I would say and how I would act and what I would do if I met this person or that person.

I also knew that I could have panic attacks, nightmares, anxiety, etc.

But I decided I probably needed to face some demons sooner or later and I was in the company of friends instead of family. Plus we were staying away from certain places where I had really bad memories.

I was expecting a rough but rewarding week.

I was not expecting to have a panic attack the first night.

We went to a Christmas play at a church. My friend's church, which I had been assured was a good, solid Presbyterian church. I'm having a hard time with religion and spirituality and church at the moment. I haven't been in two years. I still pray and use my rosary and prayer book but it feels like I'm talking to empty space. Wherever God is, He isn't in my space right now. My candle flame inside me was flickering out. I kept it out of harm's way (chapel, church services, certain individuals...) to save it.

So we went to the church play. I knew it was going to be a cheesy Christmas play. But it was so much worse. I started counting. Breathing heavier. When 10 triggers occurred one right after the other, I broke down crying and heaving in my seat. I took out my rosary and prayed the Julian of Norwich Prayer over and over and over. And then I started telling myself the truth.

"You can hurt them back now. You don't have to be helpless. You don't have to let the fear swallow you whole. You. Can. Hurt. Them. Back."

I used to think I was making a big deal out of punishment. I think I didn't realize until this week just how emotionally damaging they were.

I didn't get in a lot of trouble as a kid. I didn't think it was worth it, and I rarely felt like doing something dangerous. I wasn't a risk-taker. I toed the line because it was practical. I knew I'd get caught if I did something bad so it didn't even appeal to me.

But when I did get in trouble, it messed me up in ways I am just now beginning to understand. I got in trouble three times that I can remember where I was innocent. I got sick, to the point of vomiting, and didn't receive a punishment for two of those times. Another two times I was punished because my parents were obsessed with first-time obedience and didn't want to listen to me explain my reasoning.

I was humiliated in front of guests at our house. I was shamed, spoken harshly to, yelled at, embarrassed into silence. And then I had to force myself to be still and let myself be hit. And then I had to wipe my eyes and pretend that everything was alright in front of our guests. My last punishment was when I was fifteen.

Do you know what that does to a child? To be told that it is disobedient, bad, to protect yourself? To try to hide the gnawing fear, the black monster of horror as you are struck?

It numbs you. It turns you into a robot. It robs you of your emotions. It kills you, piece by piece.

We were hit with wooden spoons, spatulas, anything that made a smacking sound. My mother or father would grab a kitchen utensil and march us to the bathroom where we had to stand or lean over the toilet or bathtub and take it.

We weren't allowed to protect ourselves. We were forced to go against our instincts or face more punishment.

We were conditioned to be victims of physical abuse.

Is it any wonder two of my siblings were molested? They had been trained to let adults do what adults wanted with their bodies.

It enrages me that this is what my parents taught us.

To this day, I don't stop people from touching me. I don't have boundaries. I was trained not to. My mother and father not only forced physical punishment, they forced physical affection. My mom doesn't get my signals. She doesn't understand that I don't want her to touch me. I would be in the wrong, in her mind, if I told her I didn't want her to hug me. But my whole family suffocates me.

I let people do what they want with my body. I let myself get talked into my first kiss. I did have some hard lines (which possibly saved me from trouble later on), but they were extreme lines. I still let people hug me even if I don't like them. I still let people touch me in ways that make other people uncomfortable. I don't know how to gauge what is appropriate and what isn't. Part of that is my orientation, part of that is I wasn't taught boundaries. I wasn't allowed to have any.

And do you know what the final trigger was in that Christmas play? A woman was talking about how if the elves at the North Pole refused to make toys any more, she'd beat their bottoms until they turned red and Santa could guide his sleigh by them instead of Rudolph's nose.

That threw me into such a rage of pain and horror that I couldn't take it anymore. I started sobbing, thinking about all the humiliation and pain I'd endured from people who were supposed to teach me how to take care of myself. How to protect myself.

And that's when I realized, "I can hurt them back."

I'm not saying I should strike my parents. Or that I would. But I had to tell myself that I could protect myself.

I gave myself permission to protect myself and my body.

I'm in shock that I never believed until this week that I should and could protect myself.

Regression

Last week I had my first regression hypnotherapy session.

It was different from my previous hypnotherapy sessions in that we didn't use any tech. We didn't use the light-blinking-sunglasses or the headphones or the music or anything. I just laid back in the recliner and relaxed.

While I was "awake" the whole time, I could feel my body relax and then move without me, and I was completely inside my own head. The room and sounds disappeared and it was just me.

We started out in a long hall full of doors. My hypnotherapist asked which doors I'd like to go through.

I went right to my two-year-old self and Morgan's accident. My body freaked out -- it tightened up and I could barely breath. I started crying. It was weird to feel my body curl up without me.

We went through a typical process -- if I were my older self next to my younger self, what would I do/say to comfort/advise my younger self?

I thought about what had happened. My parents were focused on Morgan, everything they had went into seeing him and making decisions about him and grieving over him.

I was shuttled off to a friend's house. I wasn't allowed at the funeral. I wasn't allowed to go to therapy. And then the next year, my sister was born. Then my brother was born two years later. Then my next brother was born.

I was a complete outsider still forced to live in a family circle that had abandoned me.

The truth slammed into me like a brick wall.

When Morgan had his accident, my parents forgot about me. They abandoned me. Their grief was too loud to hear my voice, and I've been silent ever since.

They still can't hear me. But they won't let me leave.

So my whole life I've been trapped inside, unable to scream for help.

I don't think I realized how damaging, horrifying, and lonely that was for me.

I was trapped in a tower like Rapunzel, forced to play Cinderella to the family, and they are still trying to keep me in that fairytale role.

Maybe that's why I've always insisted I'd rather be a superhero. Superheroes don't/can't have family. They take their own lives into their hands and rescue other people. They are alone, but a beacon of hope for other people. And sometimes they join with other superheroes and save the world.

I am The Superhero Princess.

And I will be free.

On My Own

I dreamed I was in a small, old house where my parents were staying.

It was a cottage type house, with small rooms, wood floors, rugs, and a narrow hallway.

I was in the back bedroom, putting clothes on white plastic hangers (my brown lace top and blue jacket are the ones I remember - neither of them quite fit me).

Adam Scott was staying with my parents, and I asked him if he could give me a ride but he was going to make a presentation that day and he was already running behind schedule. He put on a blue tie to go with his brown tweed suit and left.

I remembered I had a video to show my parents, who were both working at a table by the front door. They were hunched over the card table with a little computer and some papers. I pulled up the video, which was a clip someone had found of Justin Bieber as a little boy.

He was singing to himself, a song about how his mother would love him if he sang and made a lot of money. It was heartbreaking because he really wanted his mother to love him, but he was going to have to sing in public when it wasn't what he wanted to do with his life. But for her love, he had no other choice.

I wanted my parents to understand.

But they didn't even pay attention.

I looked up from the video, having been totally engrossed, and they were just back to working on their computer and papers.

I went back to the room, angry. I kept rearranging the clothes, and asked another boarder (a girl) if I could get a ride with her, but it was a no go as well.

Then my mom started talking about playing music, and she wondered aloud if I would play harp for a church event they were doing.

"No," I said. "I hate playing."

Silence.

But then I walked out of the bedroom and down the hall and faced them.

"I know you've spent thousands of dollars on harps and lessons, but I'm done. I haven't played in a few years." And then I think I went on to explain how it makes me feel - like that's all anyone ever sees when they see me, how competitive it made my siblings and I, how I always felt inferior because they could transpose and pick up instruments quickly and I was left in the dust to puzzle over chord structure for five years. My only claim to fame was reading music quickly. "I haven't gotten rid of the harps yet," I said, "partially because I don't know whose they are." [My parents, grandfather and I split the cost] My parents didn't really look at me while I said all this, just stared off in the distance like they were ignoring me again.

"Anyway," I said, "thanks for listening."

And I got my clothes and walked out on my own.

In Honor Of

I watched a k-drama recently where a boy fell in love with a girl. She was in love with someone else and no matter how hard this boy tried, he couldn't capture her affections.

When she thought the boy she loved was in love with someone else, she came to the boy who loved her for advice.

And do you know what the boy said?

The boy who had no hope of her returning his love? The boy who had loved for nothing?

"No love is meaningless."

No matter how big or small, no love is nothing. It means something.

I want our love to mean something.

I want my love to mean something even though he's gone.

I want to wear his glasses when I watch movies so I can see them through his eyes. I want to wear his graphic tees because he loved the stories they stood for.

And I'm getting a tattoo with his handwriting so that I can always carry his words around with me.

I have enough of his handwriting to put letters together for a quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

Dumbledore's words to Harry about why he was protected:

"To have been loved so deeply, even though the one who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever."

You're Still Written In The Scars On My Heart

Right from the start
You were a thief
You stole my heart
And I your willing victim
I let you see the parts of me
That weren't all that pretty
And with every touch you fixed them

Now you've been talking in your sleep, oh, oh
Things you never say to me, oh, oh
Tell me that you've had enough
Of our love, our love

Just give me a reason
Just a little bit's enough
Just a second we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
It's in the stars
It's been written in the scars on our hearts
We're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

I'm sorry I don't understand
Where all of this is coming from
I thought that we were fine
(Oh, we had everything)
Your head is running wild again
My dear we still have everythin'
And it's all in your mind
(Yeah, but this is happenin')

You've been havin' real bad dreams, oh, oh
You still lie so close to me, oh, oh
There's nothing more than empty sheets
Between our love, our love
Oh, our love, our love

Just give me a reason
Just a little bit's enough
Just a second we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
I never stopped
You're still written in the scars on my heart
You're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

Oh, tear ducts and rust
I'll fix it for us
We're collecting dust
But our love's enough
You're holding it in
You're pouring a drink
No nothing is as bad as it seems
We'll come clean

Just give me a reason
Just a little bit's enough
Just a second we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
It's in the stars
It's been written in the scars on our hearts
That we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

Just give me a reason
Just a little bit's enough
Just a second we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
It's in the stars
It's been written in the scars on our hearts
That we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

Oh, we can learn to love again
Oh, we can learn to love again
Oh, oh, that we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

-Just Give Me A Reason by P!nk (Featuring Nate Ruess)

Asleep - Emily Browning (Song by The Smiths)

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

I'm tired and

I Want to go to bed

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

And then leave me alone

Don't try to wake me in the morning

'Cause I will be gone

Don't feel bad for me

I want you to know

Deep in the cell of my heart

I will feel so glad to go

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

I don't want to wake up

On my own anymore

Sing to me

(Sing to me)

Sing to me

I don't want to wake up

On my own anymore

Don't feel bad for me

I want you to know

Deep in the cell of my heart

I really want to go

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

There is another world

There is a better world

Well, there must be there must be

There is another world

There is a better world

Golden

The three of us decided to spend time together tonight after play practice.

We'd been joking through rehearsal, stealing glances at each other while other things were going on in front of us. Making faces, laughing, spinning ridiculous backstories to connect our characters.

We make each other laugh.

We've all been deeply hurt.

One of us is emotionally stunted.

One of us lost his mother.

One of us lost a spouse.

But together we remember that life isn't always lived in the darkest valleys.

Together we remember that sometimes things are golden.

Color means a lot to me. Light means a lot to me.

My happiest memories are tinged with gold.

Tonight was one of those nights.

We went to the rooftop bar and looked out over the city. We talked for three hours about everything - stuff we dislike, stuff we love, people we remembered, stories we adored, things we want to do. Things we'd like to do together.

She got up and moved away for a moment and he and I shared our losses.

I told him about Stu. He never met Stu, but he would have liked him. Stu would have liked him.

"I love to see you talk about him," my new friend says. "You light up."

I hide that special moment away, down deep, where I can remember it perfectly forever.

We decide to visit the Capitol steps, after six glasses of tea for her and six glasses of water for him. We split and shared our food as we discussed Communion and the differences in the churches we've been in.

We climb the Capitol steps at 2 am and sit high up, my arms crossed, my elbows hanging in the empty space below. We lay down and talk for a while about the play and other plays we've done, songs we've loved.

Then we pulled out a phone and sang along to some of our favorite stories. And then we talked about how these times are the memories college kids need to be making, instead of the wiser choice of going to bed early and skimping on spontaneity.

I thought about that on the way home.

These new friends are alone, for the most part. While a few are dating, their significant others aren't a part of our group, for one reason or another (distance, mostly). We are all struggling - with our faith, with our orientations, with ourselves. We are alone, except when we're together.

We have a shared bond, the community that theater instills. We spend hours together and never tire of laughing. We eat food together, sharing what little we have. We make up things to do so we don't have to say goodnight.

These are the memories I wanted out of college that I rarely got - these wild moments of deep conversation, honest talk, open hearts, fluid thinking. The times that you come away from with a warm feeling because you felt like everyone was just themselves, and that was enough. Accepted, perhaps even loved.

She says, "I love you" when I tell them goodnight. I say it back to her, and I mean it.

Some of them knew Stu. They know how hard November 1 is going to be for me. And they have asked if they could spend a part of it with me. I said yes.

Because I've been honest with them. They know the real me. And they didn't bat an eyelash. They just accepted me. They understand.

I love all my friends. But these new ones have seen the deepest parts of me, right up close. All those years ago, I didn't trust anyone enough to let one sentence slip out. My older friends aren't privy to a lot of what has happened to me.

I feel like I'm getting a second chance.

A way to redeem the time spent here.

Golden moments I will treasure forever.

Times when I knew that the people around me wanted to spend time with me, that I mattered, and that I was accepted.

It is a very golden night.

Fear - Blue October

All my life
Been running from a pain in me
A feeling I don't understand
Holding me down

Rain on me
Underwater
All I am, getting harder
A heavy weight
I carry around.

Today
I don't have to fall apart
I don't have to be afraid
I don't have to let the damage
consume me,
My shadow see through me

Fear in itself
Will reel you in and spit you out
Over and over again
Believe in yourself
And you will walk
Fear in itself
Will use you up and break you down
like you were never enough
I used to fall, now I get back up.

I'm up here
I'm looking at the way down there
I'm staring through the I don't care
It's staring back at me

The beauty is
I'm learning how to face my beast
Starting now to find some peace
Set myself free

Today,
I don't have to fall apart
I don't have to be afraid
I don't have to let the damage
consume me,
My shadow see through me

Fear in itself
Will reel you in
And spit you out over and over again
Believe in yourself
and you will walk
Fear in itself
Will use you up and break you down
like you were never enough
I used to fall but now I get back up

I'm moving on
Oh god just move on
Today,
I don't have to fall apart
I don't have to be afraid....
Get back up
Get up

Fear in itself will use you up
And break you down just like you're
never enough
I used to fall

Breathe,
Ask for more
if you're bitter still
Ask him to help you carry on.

I'll Love You Long After You're Gone

..."And I would do it for you, for you.

Baby, I'm not moving on

I'll love you long after you're gone.

For you, for you.

You will never sleep alone.

I'll love you long after you're gone

And long after you're gone, gone, gone...

...You're my back bone.

You're my cornerstone.

You're my crutch when my legs stop moving.

You're my head start.

You're my rugged heart.

You're the poultice that I've always needed.

Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.

Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.

Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.

Like a drum my heart never stops beating...

For you, for you.

Baby, I'm not moving on.

I'll love you long after you're gone.

For you, for you.

You will never sleep alone.

I'll love you long after you're gone.

For you, for you.

Baby, I'm not moving on,

I'll love you long after you're gone.

For you, for you.

You will never sleep alone.

I'll love you long, long after you're gone."

- Gone, Gone, Gone by Phillip Phillips

I think I was afraid to grieve because I thought it meant I'd have to forget him. To move past him. And I couldn't bear that.

But I learned this weekend that I don't have to forget him. I still love him. And I always will.

I can take him with me. I'll wear his glasses and his graphic tees, I'll sleep with my Stu Bear under the quilt made from his clothes, and I'll keep pictures of him, all the videos of him being goofy, and I'll tell stories about him.

I don't have to stop loving him.

Forever Young

Stu never wanted to get old.

He had a young heart, a young soul.

He was like a big kid in a lot of ways.

He was also older, in a lot of ways.

He'd had a hard life.

He'd lost people.

He was sick.

He was tired.

I'm glad he didn't have to spend another sixty years sick, tired, and sad.

But I miss him.

Topsy Turvy

happy endings only make me sad now.

It Was You

I dreamed a few nights ago that I was back in the cabin in Knoxville. When I have nightmares, they usually take place in that house. I hated it there. Horrible things happened there. So of course my nightmares take me there often.

I was walking into the house, and there were people at the table in the kitchen, all laughing and talking. One of them was the person who molested my brothers. I sped toward him, bent on tearing him limb from limb.

I couldn't see well as I didn't have my glasses on, and when I got closer, I realized it wasn't our neighbor, it was my father.

And then I knew.

"It was YOU," I gasped.

No More Fairytales

I really just want him beside me. The hugs, the kisses, the laughter, the smiles, the conversations...all of it.

Driving to Cookout when we had a new writing idea to hash out.

Waking up to see him dancing in the kitchen because he was excited about the pizza he was making.

Laughing at his imitations of animals -- the "sad panda", the "fat hummingbird" -- and his characters.

Seeing him talk and hearing the warmth and passion he had for beautiful stories.

Watching him cry when a story moved him.

Clinging to each other because we'd both been rejected our entire lives and were astonished that we'd found each other.

Talking about our plans and dreams -- creating stories together, wanting to buy the Han and Leia wedding rings for our fifth anniversary, getting a couple tattoo, naming and creating personalities for our kids and pets, and dreaming up a house, or driving through neighborhoods cobbling our own place together.

Getting him to try new foods and meals and getting excited when he liked them.

Laying in bed together on a Saturday, him playing on his phone and me with a book.

Being comforted during one of my werewolf episodes because he held me and prayed over me.

Guessing where we'd be in 10 years. I thought he'd be winning an award for a script he'd written and that I'd acted in.

-

I guess I thought our love was strong enough to protect us.

That no matter what, we'd always have each other.

That we could never be separated.

-

Why would two people who loved each other so much be ripped apart in such a cruel and twisted way?

-

I don't believe in fairytales anymore.

My love wasn't strong enough to save him.

Belle couldn't save the Beast.

The Prince couldn't wake Snow White.

Rapunzel couldn't save Flynn.

And I couldn't

couldn't

save

him.

Transformation

I grew up believing I was hideous, a deformed creature that no one could love.

I managed to convince myself in college that I was merely plain.

I would say today that while I have an interesting face, I'm not a standard beauty.

-

I never quite believed he thought I was beautiful, but it didn't matter.

I learned I didn't have to be the most beautiful girl in the world to be loved.

Crooked

Nothing ever lasts forever
In the end, you changed
There is no reason, no sincerity
Take away such a thing as love
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

Leave me alone
I was alone anyway
I have no one, everything is meaningless
Take away the sugar-coated comfort
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

I scream and get dizzy
I vent out of boredom to other couples
I start fights for no reason like a town gangster
Sometimes, I purposely shake my leg, crookedly
The main characters of the movie called this world is you and me
A lonely island, lost and wandering
The empty streets are filled with those who are alone
Unlike my heart, the weather is so damn nice

I used to believe in you alone and I was happy
But like a joke, I am left alone
You used to promise me with your pinky finger
But in the end

Nothing ever lasts forever
In the end, you changed
There is no reason, no sincerity
Take away such a thing as love
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

Leave me alone
I was alone anyway
I have no one, everything is meaningless
Take away the sugar-coated comfort
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

I’ll put on thick eyeliner, use a whole can of hairspray
Leather pants, leather jacket with a frown
I want to hide my pain and become even more crooked
So you can feel sorry, I’ll spit toward the sky
You’re scared of my crude words and my rough eyes
But actually, I’m afraid, I want to go back but I have nowhere to go
I want to love but no one to love, what am I supposed to do?
I can’t turn it back

I used to believe in you alone and I was happy
But like a joke, I am left alone
You used to promise me with your pinky finger
But in the end

Nothing ever lasts forever
In the end, you changed
There is no reason, no sincerity
Take away such a thing as love
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

Leave me alone
I was alone anyway
I have no one, everything is meaningless
Take away the sugar-coated comfort
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

Will you not say anything for me tonight?
I didn’t know being alone would be this hard (I miss you)
Will you be my friend tonight?
On this good day, this beautiful day, this day where I miss you
Tonight, I’ll be crooked

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-

This is how I've been feeling about God for the last two years. He left my space. And I am alone.

The door's slammed shut and I have no idea if it will ever open again.

Some of these lines are for Stu - particularly "I didn't know being alone would be this hard (I miss you)".

-

I know there are people who love me.

But I have to live my life alone, now. No one can share it with me. And the two most important persons in my life are together while I'm here. Alone.

Crooked.

Apprehensive

I went to a new therapist today.

She is older.

She is much more blunt.

She is no nonsense.

She is an artist.

...I don't know what to think of her yet.

-

But I am scared.

We talked for an hour.

It is expensive.

It is time-consuming.

I will have to tell someone my story again.

-

I hate having to ask people for rides.

Even if I got my permit, someone would still have to go with me.

I can't afford this all on my own.

And on top of that...


...On top of that, this new therapist says I have been dealing with low-grade depression for a very long time. I need to be on mild medication. And I need to go to the doctor by next week, before our next appointment.

That means more phone calls (which I detest).

That means more money (that I can't really afford to spend).

That means new, scary substances in my body, the results of which I can't predict.

That means another ride (more rides). More begging.

-

I am scared.

Anxious.

Apprehensive.

-

This might be what I need. I might need to follow through and take care of business. I might need a no nonsense person in my life to yank me in the right direction.

This could be a good thing?

-

This could also go very, very badly.

Family Figures

I don't remember my father ever touching me.

I'm sure he did. There are pictures of him holding me, or standing awkwardly next to me in a side hug. Once I got older, however, old enough to remember, he was completely hands off. He tries to hug me now and it's like he never learned how to enclose someone in his arms. Like he never let himself care enough to squeeze someone.

We were never father - daughter. He just wanted to be friends. With my lack of emotional capacity, we remained acquaintances. I only know what his favorite movie and favorite bird are because I asked and remembered. I know almost nothing about his childhood, his friends and family, his preferences, all I've learned I've had to learn by observation or pointed questioning.

From him I learned to never talk about myself. To never reach out to people. To never ask for help. To keep everything stuffed so deep I didn't even know it was there.

He is a very fragile being.

-

I had to take care of my parents growing up. Sometimes I feel like I've lived life backwards. Often, actually. I've never had the real parent-child relationship or the family dynamic that I still crave. I've read books like "The Blessing" to help me understand that I will never receive it from them. They are too broken. I've talked with my therapist, who tells me I have to take care of myself now. I can't fix them.

-

My therapist tells me to look for family outside of my biological one. That there are people who can be Mom, Daddy, Sister, Brother, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin to me. That I don't have to feel guilty for not attaching emotionally to my biological family. That I can have a family of my own, even if none of us are linked by blood. It will still be broken, there will still be ups and downs, there will still be hard times. But this family will be the one I identify with.

I have found some family here.

-

I have realized these last few weeks that I do have parents. The couple that I pretend are my real parents. I eat lunch with her once a week. She can listen or offer advice or encourage or caution or make me laugh. He knows when I need a hug and tells me he's proud of me when he attends our plays. He does not know how much that means to me.

My other parents are slowly becoming so. The couple that invites me over for Sunday dinner because they always include those who don't have family nearby. Because they are genuinely concerned. Because they care. They, too, are able to listen and converse. We go on long walks and talk about everything and nothing. We laugh a lot. And the food is always delicious.

The other couple I'd like to spend more time with but feel too shy to ask. I think she can see it in my eyes. He knows how much I miss Stu. He kisses me on the forehead because Stu used to and I need a reminder that I am still loved.

-

These couples have children. But they have allowed me a glimpse into what a family is supposed to look like. There is a lot of love. There's a lot of tears, and a lot of laughter. Lots of prayer. But an abundance of overflowing love.

-

I also have labels for those people I consider other members of my family. I have a friend who is the Brother I always thought Morgan would be. I have a friend who I consider my Sister. She and I are cut from the same cloth, the sister I always wanted. And there are so many Cousins. I have a special place in my heart for Cousins. My favorite biological cousins were so joyous and exuberant and fun. And then one summer we said goodbye and that was the last I ever saw of them. I am thankful to have other Cousins now.

I have a friend who is the cool Aunt I always wanted. Her husband is a great Uncle.

-

I may not have ties to my biological family, or the relationships I wanted with them, but I do have a family.

They love me.

And on days like today, I need that reminder.

Never Ending

Lately I've held this thought in my hands:

Nothing is ever truly completed, and nothing ever really ends.


Even in the afterlife. Things go on...forever.

Nothing is ever cut cleanly and finished.

There are always bits and pieces, flotsam and jetsam left over, caught in the ebb and flow of time.


Art is like life in that way.

You have to know when to let go.

When to step away.

Even though nothing's ever finished.


I think that's part of what has bothered me for so much of my life.

I want a definite end to things.

I want ties severed, completely, so completely they might never have existed.

I want round numbers (even ones).

I want the jagged edges buffed smooth.


Life has not given me what I want.

But maybe if we had a world of definite endings, there wouldn't be hope.

The hope that things circle, come back around.

That the ending really isn't The End after all.

For Keeps

I suppose
the reason we
can't have it all

is that then
we would have heaven
on earth

but

why

is that

a bad thing?

---

I have spent several weeks wondering if it's my fault. Did I want this too much? Would he not have been able to keep up with me? Would we have fallen apart? All because I wanted this so much?

I would have given all of it up to keep him.

No More Kisses

His kisses were the kind that swept you up and held you close.

He kissed me on the forehead - a favorite spot.

It spoke volumes about his tenderness, his gentle love.

He kissed me on the cheek - another favorite spot.

It spoke to the childlike innocence of our relationship, the delight and wonder and happiness that was love.

He kissed me on the lips - and there was something magical in those kisses. They resulted in a loss of balance. Every time.

I treasure them all.

But I think it's cruel that there will never be another kiss between us.

To think about all the kisses we could have shared, would have shared...

It breaks my heart.

Because I loved every single one of his kisses.

Europe

Last night I dreamed I was in Europe (Looked like Paris but I think it was London), walking through the streets. I helped John and Sherlock solve a case and then went to find something to much on. I ran into Dr. Blewett, who was living alone in a tiny room. He looked like he was going crazy. I think his wife had died and he'd been slowly driven mad with grief. I got him to come with me to eat at the...something about a Hen tavern (I can't recollect what it was, something like The Laying Hen or some such) but he wouldn't stay with me in my flat, but he didn't want to be alone, so he was living in the city. It was so sad.

Then I took to the streets again, and this time, I looked over, and there was Stu. In one of his favorite blue shirts. And he was much younger, probably in his early 20's, or even late teens. He just smiled a big smile at me, and we walked so close that I could feel his arm brush up against mine.

And we were perfectly happy.

I Had To Save Them

Last night's dream was so real that I felt things. I have these dreams occasionally -- where I feel the fabric of what I'm wearing, or the weight of something in my hand, or the physical activity like running or swimming. They always creep me out because they're so real.

I dreamed last night that I was at the ocean. It was nighttime, and the moon had risen over the water. There was a house at the beach, and a long wall to the side. I was running to avoid a large group of...

vampire zombies.

And they had been good people -- Prince Edmund, Queen Lucy, and friends I had known. I didn't want to hurt them, so I ran. I ran until I got to the ocean, which they were loathe to wade into.

One of my friends (a guy friend, but I'm not sure which one) told me that we had a chance to save them. It would be difficult, but it could be done. I had to ignore the ghosts of those already gone, and I had to do what I was told no matter how crazy it sounded.

We ran to the house and put more clothes on -- protection against the cold wind and water, and hopefully, bites. I grabbed a light blue terrycloth robe. The sleeves were tight on my arms. I felt the softness and thickness of the robe.

Then I was handed a sword (a plastic one) and a lance (a real one -- long, black, and sharp). We had to fight them.

I stood out in the shallow water, feeling the slap of it against my legs as the sound roared in my ears. One of my friends approached me. She was almost gone, completely transformed into a monster. She had a massive axe, a real one. I knew I didn't stand much of a chance, but I had to save her.

I evaded for a few moments but then got angry at how horrible this all was. I got a jab in with the lance and winced as the blood started dripping. She swung her axe and I leapt under it, grabbing her legs and taking her down.

Somehow, she returned to herself and begged me to save Edmund. Of course, we couldn't let the zombie vampires know our plan so we had to pretend like she was dead, and that meant that he was in a rage because I'd killed his sister.

I got a bigger, real sword this time. Edward wasn't going to go down without a real fight. I went back to the house where my friend gave me a huge bouquet of pink roses. Edward barged in and I just barely managed to hide her - I handed her the bouquet and she held it up in front of her face.

Edward and squared off outside again, this time in deeper water, up close to my knees. The vampire zombies were weakened somewhat in water.

Edward and I clashed. I was careful to keep away from his teeth, and he was careful of the lance I held in my left hand. I got fed up again and went berserk, toppling him.

With those two saved, I entered a large building to somehow save the rest of them. There was an enormous, wide brown marble staircase, like the inside of a bank, and there were ghosts rushing here and there.

I was told to ignore whatever they said - they'd just be trying to dissuade me from what I was doing.

And then Stu turned the corner.

He was wearing one of his favorite blue shirts. He smiled a big smile and came down the steps to me, talking like we'd been apart for a few days and had a lot to catch up on. My heart shattered, again. Was he a ghost? I couldn't listen to him. I couldn't stay. I couldn't let him dissuade me from saving the others.

I cried out, I was in so much pain. He was so real.

I don't remember what happened, but I couldn't let him go. I think I grabbed his hand and raced on to where I was supposed to be, and somehow, I think I managed to save everyone that I could.

Then I woke up.

Ripped Away

Two nights ago I dreamed that I had Stu in my arms and I was kissing him, kissing him so that he knew how much I had missed him.

Then a strong wind started blowing and we were ripped apart. I screamed.

Then I woke up.

Something More

I believe, even though I ridicule* myself for the belief, that I was meant for more than this. I'm not talking about award ceremonies, or Beverly Hills, or all that, but I am talking about doing something valuable with my life. Something I'm passionate about. Something that takes me outside of myself and lets me share incredible stories with other people.

I think I've always felt that way. No self-criticism (or well-meaning laughter or advice) can quash it, although there have been times I've thought that belief had finally been laid to rest.

Whenever I see a movie where someone experiences this feeling, I resonate with it. I understand that longing to do something more with life than settle into a routine like thousands of others (I am by no means saying that a quiet life isn't valuable. I think it is. But when you have something out of the ordinary to offer, or you know that your gifts aren't the usual set, to let yourself slide into a life you were not meant to live is wrong and it will end up hurting or even killing you).

Here, then, are five scenes/songs that have spurred me on, despite the doubt.

Belle (Reprise): From my favorite movie. I saw this at five years old and have never forgotten the feeling of soaring as Belle runs into her backyard and you see the beauty of her world. "I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, I want it more than I can tell..."

Part Of Your World: I am aware that Disney is responsible for encouraging my big dreams. I regret nothing. The image of her reaching through the rock toward a new world seared itself inside me at a very early age. "...wish I could be part of that world."

Something Better: Never mind my absolute love of everything ships and pirates (and inns), Jim Hawkins voices my own worries about my future and my hope for something better. "And I know this life I'm living can't be my destiny...there's gotta be something better, something better, there's gotta be something better than this for me!"

[From Rango] This is more of a...reminder to me. That this gift isn't just for me. It is meant to be shared. "Don't you see? It's not about you. It's about them."

Go The Distance: Yup. Another Disney. Although I didn't see Hercules until last week, I have played this song, singing it to myself, for over a dozen years. It's a promise to myself. I can go the distance.


What about you? How do you retain the determination to keep going?

Movie Moment

Movies and television speak to me in a way that no other medium can. The visual elements twined with music lift me to a place I couldn't go otherwise. A place that, oddly, is quite spiritual, emotional, and more real.

Yesterday I went to see Man of Steel again. I didn't like it the first time (too many jumps backward and forward) but realized I wasn't in the proper mood for it when it was first released, so I decided to give it another go.

I'm so glad I did.

Much better the second time, and only two little quirks I wish had been changed.

But that's not the point.

The point is that I experienced that rare moment of spiritual connection, that enigmatic outside presence dipping into my reality for just a moment.

Superman is standing by Lois, ready to give himself up to the Kryptonians to protect Earth.

"Thank you for believing in me," he says.

"It didn't matter in the end," says Lois, sure that she's losing him.

"It mattered to me," says Superman.

I cried.

It felt so much like the something Stu and I shared. I recognized his intelligence, his dazzling genius at telling stories. I believed in him. And I regret so much that he was never able to share that gift with the world.

But I felt like he was speaking to me through that exchange. And I am comforted.

I hope we get to talk about the movie some day. He was really looking forward to it. It was his dream cast, and he watched that trailer over and over and over again.

I always told him he was built like Superman (I even wrote a nerdy love song about it).

Stu was my Superman. And his symbol is hope.

Honk the Horn

Two nights ago I dreamed that I was waiting in my dad's truck while he ran into Wal-Mart on a rainy night. I was settled in for a little wait, when I noticed a large man come up to the window. He smiled and took out a tool that I realized he was going to use to get into the truck. I panicked, turning to grab my phone to call 911. I accidentally hit the horn as I tried to find the phone and he started. I realized I had a much faster weapon on my hand and laid on the horn for dear life.

About a dozen black guys came running and the guy decided it wasn't worth his time.

They made sure I was alright and then a couple white dudes came up and thought I'd made up the whole thing.

Watch Repair = Bankable Skill

Last night I dreamed that I received a card from my uncle. He'd sent me a check for $335.00 and an envelope with information about the college he taught at and a plane ticket to a Star Trek event.

I looked at the college info, wondering if I should learn a practical skill (he teaches Rolex watch repair) before going on to acting, and decided maybe instead of flying to Washington next summer, I needed to take a road trip and work my way through the States.

Dreams Drive You Mad

I always do this to myself.

I allow myself to get caught up again and again in a dream and I plot it all out, make lists, draw timelines, imagine it all...

...and then "reality" hits and I think, "how could that possibly happen?" and suddenly all I can see are the things in my way. Finances. Things I'm unable to do. Big what ifs. Impossibilities.

Then I try to convince myself that I could still make it work.

And I keep fighting.

Until I can't fight anymore.

And I put the tattered dream to rest.

It keeps resurrecting. It never dies.

And I always feel like I'm one step closer.

But today...

Today I think about how I'm going to have to do this alone. Somehow scrounge up money. Learn to drive. Somehow get a ticket and go into auditions. All the stuff I need to do to prepare. And there's that niggling little voice in the back of my head that laughs at me for my dream and points out all the reasons it won't work.

I'm not limber enough. I don't think quick on my feet. I don't have a great voice or body or face. It's hard for me to even process my own feelings.

What if I'm just setting myself up for failure?

Deep down I know I'm afraid.

I know what happens when you get what you want.

Something else has to be taken away.

There aren't such things as happy endings.

If I get this shot at happiness and magically am able to do what I want...I have to do it alone. There won't be anyone to hold my hand.

But even deeper down, I know there's nothing else in the world that can make me happy.

I will go mad if I can't at least try.

Home

I have never felt
about places
the way I felt
about you.

You
were the warmth,
the love,
and the safety
I had been seeking.

You were home
and now
I'm homeless.



---

A friend asked me the other day if I considered a certain place my home. I thought leaving the apartment where I'd lived the last 2 years would be difficult. It wasn't. I thought about all the places I'd lived: various cities in South Carolina and Tennessee; Wyoming, Florida, North Carolina, Spain...Spain, or the Spain I experienced in 9th grade, was the closest I could come to feeling like I belonged somewhere. But it ceased to be that when I had to move. Coming back is different and nothing is ever the same. It stops being a place you belong when you can't grow there.

I realized (and have been realizing) that places aren't "home" for me. Buildings, furniture, cities, countries...none of those are home for me. I've had to uproot, uproot, uproot all my life. You get tired of putting down roots.

When I married Stu, I made a decision. I hardly ever make decisions. I let things happen to me. I go with the flow. I adjust, no matter how terrible it is. And I'm not a risk taker. But I knew I was taking a gigantic risk in marrying him.

But I didn't care because I knew we loved each other. And I also knew that this kind of love does not come often and I had to grab it, even if I only had a little time to hold it.

Stu was home for me. He was a safe place, a haven, a place I could rest, someone I could talk to about anything, everything, or nothing. He was warm, kind and gentle. He loved me.

When I think about home, I think about his hugs.

I think about cuddling with him on the couch.

I think about holding his hand in the car.

I think about him kissing my forehead.

(I hope he thought of me as home. I tried to be one for him, too.)


...I don't understand why I only got to experience a home for 4 1/2 years.

I don't understand why I am now homeless.

I don't understand.

Why?

All I can manage
to scream
is "WHY?"

Why did such a
beautiful person
get so short
a time
here?

Why did we
have to say
goodbye?

My insides
are dark,
there is
no light

Only stone
for a heart
pinning me
to earth.

I cannot break
gravity's grip,
I strain against
the earth's pull

Like a bird
whose wings
are pinned
by cruel hands.

Why?
Why, why, why?
Each question
like a wave

Beating the shore
But
there is no answer
no answer, no answer.

I can't live like this
I can't live
What's the point?
He's not here.

We've got it
backwards.
We are born dying
And when we
go,

That is when
life really begins.
I want that life
This one's a poisonous lie.

Life is short.
Tragic.
Pain filled.
Wretched.

I hate the thought
of growing old
And going on
alone.

Nothing matters
anymore.
Why should it?
He's gone.

All meaning
has crumbled,
decayed,
into emptiness.

Old statues,
stone barely held
together
by molecules.

I hate existence.
There is no point
in this
pain.

It takes
everything
to breathe
once.

Must I do it
again and again
until it's my time
to break free?

I just want his arms
around me
again and forever.
Why was that too much to ask?

Happily Ever After...Someday

In fairytales, we learn that true love will always overcome.

Once Upon A Time's Snow White and Prince Charming.

Buttercup and Wesley from The Princess Bride.

Chuck and the Pie Maker from Pushing Daisies.

Belle and the Beast from Beauty & the Beast.

But I don't live in a fairytale. My kiss couldn't bring him back. My touch couldn't return him to life. I couldn't rescue him.

My love couldn't save him.

I feel like Severus Snape. No matter how strong my love is, I cannot turn back time. My love for him must serve to guide me, but I must go on alone.







...most days, it's too much. I don't think I can do it. I always wanted someone to love, and someone to love me. Why did I only get 4 1/2 years? I wanted him for the rest of my life.

"Life isn't fair, where is that written?" (Princess Bride)

However, the days where I can see a glimmer of future that perhaps isn't so dark (while still lonely and aching for his arms and beautiful eyes and laugh), I think about the fact that we haven't really said goodbye.

This isn't the end.

Because when it's the end, we will get our happily ever after.

"Death cannot stop true love...all it can do is delay it for a while." -- The Princess Bride

Grief

In the last several weeks, I've had people say everything from "You're young, you can still get married and have a family!" to "You're free to do what you want now."

I've had to see couples make plans and realize...I'm not part of a couple anymore. I'm relegated to a space between single (because I'm not ready to be single) and married.

I've had someone ask me, "everyone's praying for you, can't you just feel those prayers?" No, I can't.

It hurts.

I don't want to marry someone else. I wanted to be married to Stu for the rest of my life.

I've never been a risk taker.

And when I married Stu, that was the biggest risk I've ever taken, because I knew I could lose him.

But I chose to marry him anyway. Because I loved him.

You don't just get over love like that.

No one will ever understand me the way he did. I've never felt completely safe with anyone other than him. He and I weren't perfect. But we were perfectly matched.

The few times we worked together, we were a great team. We could have done great things, and we had plans to do so.

And even if we hadn't, I would have stayed here for him. I love him.

Stu helped me uncover the real me. He was always proud of me. Encouraging. Hopeful for my future. He never shot down my dreams. He never criticized the bigness of my dreams. He believed in me.

I've been missing him so much. Every time I get a phone call at work, I expect it to be Stu, and then I remember I have his phone. He called me a few times a day, just to say "Hi" and "I love you". Every time I look at the chair where he sat, I remember the time he took to come sit with me because he knew I didn't like to be alone in the office. He would talk to whoever came in, give them his megawatt smile, and be the sort of person I wished I could be: kind. (I think we also could never bear to be apart for very long)

I've been watching movies and TV, wishing I could discuss them with him. He always managed to go deeper into the story than I could.

I've ached to hold him and be held by him. Our love language, physical touch, made us annoying at times, I'm sure. We were never happy unless we were in the same room, or next to each other, cuddling, hugging, kissing.

Life was fun with him.

Life is dull without him.

If you can call this "life" and if this is what "living" is.

I'm sad for me. I'm a person who needs completeness, whole numbers, and preparation for big change.

I didn't get a lot of that.

One thing I did get was Stu's sickness for six months.

I began losing him in January. He couldn't even sleep in the bed with me most of the time, and one of the few times he slept in there, he slept on my legs because he always said I was comfortable.

I was so angry from January to May. So angry, and underneath that, terror. I knew something bad was coming. I just didn't think it was this bad. I spent May hugging and kissing him whenever I passed the couch, pleading with him to go to the hospital, and going out to spend time with friends because I couldn't bear to see him so sick.

We had a fight Monday night about going to the hospital. I spend Monday night crying myself to sleep to Katy Perry's "The One That Got Away". I don't know if that's irony or if I knew I would lose him. We made up Tuesday. He came to see me before he went to the hospital. I can't remember if we kissed or not, but I think we did. We talked through text later, and he was worried I'd leave him. He was always afraid I'd leave -- his family, his father, had always left. I assured him that wasn't even in my mind -- I wanted to work through this with him, not say goodbye. I assured him of my love. We talked later that night on the phone. He wanted me to bring his wedding ring because he didn't want to go through everything without it.

I still can't find it.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I promised.

The last words we said to each other were, "I love you."

I've never loved anyone so much.

And I've been thinking...

Maybe for him, in heaven, it will be tomorrow when I see him. Maybe the lonely, aching, agonizing years I'll spend here (however many there are) will be a blink of an eye for him. I hope that's so.

Grief is like a stone pressing on my chest. It makes the world grey. I can't make sense of colors right now. Although most people have commented that I'm "handling it well" (whatever the hell that means), what they don't know is that I'm keeping the majority of my grief private. I can't find comfort in anyone's arms when all I want are Stu's. He was the one who always comforted me. He was always the one who found me and held me.

So I hold in my tears. I wait until everyone's asleep, and then I curl up with his big leather jacket, one of my favorite things of his, and I cry, I wrap its arm around me and let the tears flow.

Sometimes I listen to Katy Perry, Avril Lavigne or Lady Gaga as the tears slip down my face.

And I'm waiting when I have a day to myself when I can just sit in a corner and sob.

The magnitude of my grief can't be expressed in plain sight. I need for this to be in a sacred, silent space.

So for now, I'll choose laughing over crying.

I do feel lonely in my grief -- most people didn't get six months to go through the angry phase. I'm in a different place than the rest, and it's separate. Apart.

But I made a choice, there in the hospital. I wanted, for the first time, to feel everything I was capable of. I took note when my body signaled a change of feeling. I felt every damn thing I could, to hold onto that part of me Stu uncovered -- the human, living, breathing being inside of me that I'd covered up with wiring and metal parts.

The first thing I felt was that I was paper, and someone had thrown a rock through me, ripping me into tiny pieces. Then the ice came. Ice enclosed my heart and lungs. I could draw the shape for you. And then the coal came. A wretched burning, one that consumed my heart. Then, in place of a heart, a large stone was put inside, weighing me down.

My heart is gone, replaced with rock. Life is heavy, dull, meaningless.

I don't know what my future looks like.

Without Stu...I can't imagine a future. He was always there in my daydreams.

It takes me a long time to process. It takes me a while to form my thoughts into semi-coherent words.

But way back when we were first married, I wrote in my Secrets Journal,

"I never expected a happy ending. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to fall."

The other shoe has fallen.

I don't know that I knew all along. But something in me recognized that Stu wasn't going to be around forever.

I also wrote this:

"Whatever it is I do, I'm going to have to do it alone."

---

Despite all the grief, the overwhelming sense of loss that makes me want to scream when I think of all the years we won't get together (because I'm grieving those too), all the hugs and kisses we won't be able to share, all the little in jokes that no one else will understand, I'm still...grateful that Stu isn't sick anymore.

He was so sick.

He was sick for most of his life.

He would look at me sometimes, and say, "I don't want to be sick all my life. I'm tired."

He was too tired to keep going.

As much as I wish he were here, I would not wish him back to his previous condition. It would be cruel, and selfish of me. I love him, and love him so deeply that I can't help but be glad that he's ok. For the first time, he's living to the fullest capacity. He's alright. And I'll see him again.

That sustains me. He's safe. He's well. He's happy. He's free.

But if I hear one more comment about how I'm young and can get re-married, I'm going to slap someone. Whatever happens in the future, I will always want more time with Stu. To spend the rest of my life with him. I will continue to grieve all the time we didn't have. We were meant to be together.

He was one of a kind.

He was my Stuart Harlan, and I love him.

Always.

What I Don't Want To Hear

I don't want to hear, "It was God's will."

It wasn't His will that my 29 year old husband, the love of my life, died before he got to tell his stories. We live in a broken world, and God grieves with us when we lose our loved ones.

It was never God's plan for His children to die.

In Which I Am A Time Traveler and Acquaintance of Tim Gunn

I dreamed that I was in an apartment complex in Colorado. I was with a team of people hunting those who had been turned into...some sort of creature (they had black eyes, no pupil or whites and they became very violent once that happened). We caught two children in the apartment complex, and our team narrowly avoided being killed by some adults (they were either vampires or demons, I think).

We reached one room and realized we'd found a magician's rooms -- the walls were blue, there was a light that projected the solar system onto the walls, and everything was quiet and mysterious. Until the magician arrived. He threw orbs at us and for a moment, we froze and then were blasted out of time and space.

I found myself in a plowed field, and I started running, afraid that whoever came after me would kill me. I stumbled through the rows, passing farmhands and farm equipment, until I reached the road. There was a guy named Matt and they had found a body earlier. I knew it was connected to what I was doing but didn't say anything since I didn't know where or when I was.

Matt said I could stay with his family for a while so they came to pick us up (dad, grandpa, mother, cousins?) and we rode in a jeep through the fields and up a mountain to a resort area (the houses were HUGE) to where they had an old, rambling wooden house (sort of a lodge) up against the mountain. It was beautiful.

I grinned at Matt when I saw it. He got out of the jeep but I stood up and looked at the house, thinking it reminded me a tad of The Burrow (although it was much bigger and nicer).

We went inside and lo and behold, there was Tim Gunn! We'd seen each other before so I waited for him to place me. He started talking in French, mentioning a few names, but I said "No" in an accent and while he tried to place it, I told him we'd met briefly at a Runway event from my hometown (and the weird thing is, we *have* met in a dream before, exactly where I described. I remembered it in this dream).

We went to sit and talk and I couldn't help it and leaned over to look at his hand. He waved it at me, knowing what I was looking for and I said, "I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm always hopeful you found someone." Then he told me how important it was to him that people care.

Then I woke up.

Dream World, Real World

Last night I dreamed I was in a CIU play, but my mother was in charge.  It was opening night and during the play she was standing at the back with a podium and mic, and was chastising my younger brother for something, interrupting our performance.  It made me angry.  It was so unprofessional and rude.  Then she wouldn't let us bow at the end and I thought, "You know what?  We're gonna bow anyway."  And I grouped us all together and bowed and started clapping, letting the audience know they were allowed to clap too.

I stomped off stage afterward and was taking makeup and costume off when a co-worker came by to give me a hug and said, "I didn't know you were adopted!"  I froze.  "Your mom just told me that your her kid, but that isn't your real dad!"  I nodded.  "So when did they tell you?" she asked.  "They never have," I said.  She put her hand over her mouth, upset that she'd just blurted out the truth to me, but honestly, I didn't give it much thought beyond curiosity about how it had happened and who my real dad was.  I had things to do.

I said goodbye and stood by the other actors, worried about the outrage my mom would show since I'd figuratively flipped her the bird by getting us all to bow and be recognized for our efforts.  I voiced my concern and to my surprise, three of my cast members prayed for me.

I decided I was going to spend the night at the theatre instead of going home to what was going to end up a screaming match, and the rest of the dream was spent trying to avoid my mother and father while I wondered who my real father was.

---

Back in the real world, I helped with a wedding this weekend.  It was beautiful.  Simple, stunning.  Just right for the happy couple.  It made me wish that I had a family who would have helped me create the wedding I wanted. 

But I had to do it alone, at first.  Then friends pitched in and while that was lovely, I then had to go have the wedding my parents wanted.  With a backdrop from a play, and poinsettias.  I dislike poinsettias.  My father demanded he walk me down the aisle (which I also didn't want), and afterwards we had a party with their friends.  None of it was me or Stu except for the music and my dress, and that was just because we'd already picked both out.

But this wedding was just...wonderful.  We weren't scurrying around screaming at each other.  We calmly made the bouquets, set up the reception area (breathtaking), and had plenty of food.  We stuck around, enjoying each others' company.

When I got ready to leave, my pretend mom looked me in the eye and said, "I love you, Kate."  I stammered a reply back and she looked at me again and said, "I really mean that."  I nodded.  I can't even tell you how much it meant to me.  She knew how I was feeling and reached out, even though she probably had a million other things in mind.

They love me.  When I told them about my nightmares, they gathered around and prayed for me.  They invited me to spend time with them.  They let me help with their daughter's wedding. 

I try to keep my distance, to respect that they have family and they need their own time, but there have been several times when they've pulled me in, loved on me, and made sure I knew I was welcome.

It's an incredible reminder that I am loved, even if I don't feel like it.