“Nobody Bothered To Even Listen”

Dear Dr. Nancy,

It’s me, Amy, I hate you, I hate you. You lied to me and you said you never would. You told me that I was going to stay at an Inn, I thought it was like a Bed and Breakfast and it turned out to be a damn mental hospital. It’s been a long time already and I’m still here at the hospital and I want to get out. I am mad at you, you broke your promise. You said it was only for a few weeks and it’s been a ton of weeks now, like months. How could you do that to me? I trusted you.  You betrayed my trust and you were the only person I trusted.

You sided with my parents and I will never forgive you or them. I was not a danger to myself no matter what anybody says. I sure don’t think I was, besides I know myself better than anybody. You should believe me, not them. I’m in a room all by myself in this stupid, antiseptic smelling hospital, it is very small with thick green padded walls. I couldn’t hurt myself in here if I tried. I think about trying all the time but only sometimes.

I told you and everybody else that I did not want to kill myself, I know what it LOOKS like but I am telling you the truth. Ok, sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. Happy?

I know that there were open, bloody slits on my arms, I know I cut myself but does that mean I automatically wanted to die? Nobody even asked me. Nobody cared enough to ask.

I was so alone and had nobody to talk to and then four men shoved me into a van wrapped with an old flowery blanket around me and locked my arms in back of me. I tried to scream for my parents but they ran in the house like the spineless snakes they have always been. Precious older sister Julie of course was spared the scene.

If people would have just listened to me instead of ignoring me, putting me aside because I was “different.” Yeah, I was different, I had to be different. Everyone gave Julie all the attention with her blonde hair and blue eyes and perfect scores in school. Yes, she did get the academic award every year, so what? Wouldn’t you know she even played the piano like a saint? It was always Julie, always, My parents never had time for me, they never MADE time for me, so I had to get attention some how.

When I got my first tattoo my parents didn’t talk to me for a good month, well, at least they noticed, I sure got attention even though it was negative attention. It felt good. So, I continued

and did all the bad stuff that I knew they would hate. I did drugs, I drank, drugs, took all kinds of drugs, yeah, I even shot up heroin, I did whatever I could. shooting up whatever I could do, I did.

That angelic older sister of mine, Julie, would never even try anything bad, the goody two shoes,

My mom and dad never saw me as a person, they looked away from me, I was just Julie’s little sister. Julie was the only one they cared about. But, I thought you were different, Dr. Nancy and now I know you were not. You were part of my family’s plan to destroy me, to wipe me out and extinguish my flame in this world. Hey, why am I talking about a flame?

Snuff-Movie (film)

Maybe you are right because I plan to extinguish myself one way or another, the last remaining spark that is alive. So help me God.

By the time you get this letter I will be dead. I swear, I hope this makes you and my parents very happy. PS Tell my sister that I really did hate her.

From,

Amy D.

“The Taste” 2 (Aren’t You A Sweetie Pie?)

English: Marcus Samuelsson doing a lecture at ...

English: Marcus Samuelsson doing a lecture at Google in NYC. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I never do follow-up blogs on here, but somehow the show “The Taste” just begs to be written about, don’t you think? It’s a great food show but somehow it’s also like a comical farce. Do you believe the characters? Love them but surely they must also be picked for their entertainment value as well as their culinary skills. Right?

The judges, are the most entertaining: Ludow running around, literally running around yelling and screaming at everybody. How can that not be comical? Anthony Bourdain brooding, muttering “I hate dessert” like a five-year old. Nigella Lawson just standing there doing absolutely nothing, the “yellow” star of the day goes to Marcus Samuelsson. Not for the winning dish either but for his calmness and class and just the right amount of instruction. KUDOS, Chef Mark and Team.

I do agree with the other contestants that just because *(sorry, I don’t remember her name) dessert was unusual and unique she should not have won. I never heard anyone say they “loved it.” I heard nothing about the exquisite flavors or different textures, all I saw: scrambled eggs with sugar sauce. Come on guys, really? That was the BEST taste for you or just one that was different?

Anthony Bourdain’s utter dislike for desserts and sweets is legendary, why have that challenge when he is so biased? Would you have a tea drinker judge a coffee contest?  It doesn’t make sense. Why even put it on the show?  If you KNOW one of the judges will hate anything creamy, sugary or sweet why have that challenge at all? It’s a no brainer.

I think that this was a waste of an episode it really should not have been aired, and the special guest star chef, perky* Miss Sunshine? Wow!  Is she always like that? She must be eating a ton of sugar and I get that because I am a HUGE dessert person. I GET desserts, it’s genetically programmed from my German mother and Viennese Dad.

While I was sorry to see *Ms. Food Truck go home because I did think she had have a spark and a passion about cooking I think they kept the right person. Damn that zest and if we have learned anything from that show and for life it is this: Trust your gut instincts. If it doesn’t feel right it probably isn’t. You can use that every single day of your life, many times over. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Pretend I’m Oprah and listen.

* I apologize for not knowing their names, they were not, as of yet, on Google.

Carry on Tuesday: There is a place, Where I can go

Photo of a dog behind a chain-link fence at th...

Photo of a dog behind a chain-link fence at the Paws and More No Kill Animal Shelter in Washington, Iowa. I took this picture. This looks just like my dog Yuma. He was from a shelter in Evanston Il. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There were too many people inside my parents house. They talked too loudly so I slipped out the door in my black down coat and covered my cold, red ears with an old gray hat and crouched behind the bushes. They were probably all drunk.  The clinking of glasses sounded like mirrors being shattered. I didn’t care if it was my mother’s birthday party. Who did they think they were to have a place this garish when they didn’t need it? It was all for show.

Unfortunately, I’m their 18-year old misfit daughter, Lindsey. I embarrass them all the time by the way I talk, the way I dress. They are pretentious and all they care about are their fancy clothes and their BMW cars, glossed so they gleam in the light.  If you asked either my mother or father if they knew anything personal about any guest invited they would come up blank. Their uplifted, tightened faces would freeze and they would change the subject: “Would you like another drink, darling?” These are all plastic people, acquaintances to be used to just get ahead. They really don’t know about each others children, lives, troubles, they just need each other like the stepping-stones to get to their private yachts. I despised them all.

I’ve never been used to the amount of money that my parents would throw at me as if to entertain me. “Here, darling, here’s five hundred dollars, go buy yourself something” my mother would say, waving her hand away.  “Umm”I said, just standing there, silently pleading for her to look at me. She never glanced over. Our conversation was over, she tried to buy my love with money. As if. I wasn’t stupid, I stashed that money away and I had a huge pile saved up in my sock drawer.

Later that night, I shoved all my money in my a bag, took the keys to my dad’s car and left. I was going to my boyfriend Adam’s house, the only person I loved and trusted. I had done this many times before. My parents never even knew I was gone.

In the morning I went with Adam to the *animal shelter where we worked. I loved it there. This was a place where I could go and feel love, unconditional love and I never wanted to leave. My parents would never let me adopt a dog but I had always wanted one since I was a little kid. I begged and pleaded but my mother refused; she didn’t want a dog to “mess up her carpet.” That pretty much summed up our family.

Adam and I had worked at the shelter for about a year now. We cleaned and held the puppies and fed them, stroked their soft fur, wiped out their smelly cages, fed them and gave them water. Then we walked and cleaned the older dogs, same thing every day but it never got boring. Me and one dog who was about a year old were best friends. I named him Rex and he was special to me. I was going to adopt him that very same day.

I hated my life here and Adam hated his. Adam, Rex, and I were going out on the road.  I would never have to see my parents again and I knew if they looked for me at all, they would stop in a week. I was an embarrassment to them. I didn’t fit in with them but Adam and I fit together. Rex was MY dog, and we knew, when we set out that day, we would never ever, look back.

*Both my dogs are from animal shelters, please save a life if you can.

On Silence

Happy
LISTEN
Holding Hands

Since I am comfortable with myself, silence does not make me uncomfortable at all. Years ago, when I was young, I am sure that I felt awkward at times with silence. Silence and strangers.

Now, it is a strength to be comfortable, alone or with another person in silence. It’s an act of faith, one that takes years to build; I am extremely comfortable with my husband or best friend beside me, together, alone.

Trust yourself and the other person both in silence and in speech. Know that the person beside you, the one that you have loved for many years is your soul-mate, your very best friend. It shouldn’t and doesn’t come quickly, it takes some time to understand each other, and even then, there is always the tiny unknown.

Start with a glimmer and a smile, many years later, you know each others thoughts, words, smiles and nuances. I can hear my own thoughts in silence, I can use words as photographs in my mind. More importantly, I listen to how I feel.

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“Because I Am”

Black balloons

Image by stvno via Flickr

Tonight I am having a pity party for one; I am the guest of honor. You are welcome to join me but motivational speeches and happy clichés are not allowed. I’ve learned that the sun will probably not come out tomorrow, it will be cold, dark and windy just like the last few weeks. Some of my friends with chronic illnesses seem to be feeling the same way: Is it the weather?  Seasonal Affective Disorder? Pain and unhappiness? Other friends that don’t have chronic illnesses are also fed up and feeling down. I’m wallowing in self-pity and I am allowing myself to do so. Wallowing and venting are the main attractions in my self-imposed symposium.

1) Both my husband and I have been very discouraged because of the job market; he has been unemployed for a long time. He is always the best candidate, the one they love, the one they want. We get excited, euphoric even, and then the final news hits us like a tsunami: “We would love to have him but there is no funding approved for this job now” or “There’s a hiring freeze that just  started.” We plummet, like rapidly deflating black balloons.

2) I need to protect myself from future painful disappointments. While, in the past, I have tried to feel positive and hopeful,  I am now keeping my defenses up because it is too damn painful to feel excited and then let down over and over again.I am tired of feeling bad and blue and not having anything to look forward to. Yes, I have tried to be positive, I count my blessings and I list the things that I am grateful for: nothing works. A good friend of mine told me she was depressed last week and I asked her “why?”  “Because I am” she said. I now understand that completely.

4) Physically, I have no energy. I’ve been over-eating and sleeping way too much these past two weeks. I’m trying to sleep straight through to May but the chances of that are pretty slim. I stopped taking the autoimmune drug that was helping my energy level because it made my legs ache continuously and I wanted to rid myself of extra pain. This is what happens when I try to rid myself of drugs and toxins in my body. I end up asleep. I made the wrong decision.

5) The holiday season is not joyful for me. After my father died, the holiday spirit died with him. We go through the motions for the children. I’ve accepted this but each year after his birthday in November things start to go downhill fast, straight through to New Year’s Eve, the night he passed away. Why can’t I prepare myself? Why is it only familiar when it is happening again? Think of it as a long, a really long extended period of situational depression.

6) I’m having a default Thanksgiving in my house this year. My mom broke her wrist and I just couldn’t let her have it in her house. She is also depressed because of her broken bone and pain and having to be dependent on others, this affects me too. I feel bad for her. I can’t begin to talk about my self-involved sister, there is too much to say and at the same time, nothing to say. Thanksgiving is in one week, I have nothing prepared and I am both overwhelmed and underwhelmed.  I will rally for the holidays because I have to; it’s a necessity not a choice.

Let me tell you directly what I want:  Accept how I feel and allow me to have the emotions I do have. Don’t analyze, debate or criticize me. Try active listening. Help out during Thanksgiving and be kind to one another. I would truly be grateful if you could do just that.