Pretty wheelchair girl

I started writing when I was like six or seven years old… basically as soon as I learned to write, I began expressing myself through a journal. I can remember writing song lyrics and reading them to my mom when I was like in second grade. GOD I wish I had that writing still. However, what I do have is a good chunk of what I wrote between like 1997-2003. I called my journaling and writing “staring up at the stars” because of a quote I heard once when I was young that really stuck with me…”I might be lying in the gutter, but I’m staring up at the stars.” I was really sad kid, and I didn’t really understand why. But I was hopeful that it could get better.

I put that sad girl away in the back of my mind for many many years, until now, since I’m going through yet another sad, challenging time in life with a difficult break up. I thought maybe we could help heal each other: sad girl from 20+ years ago and sad girl now.

I began this journey after a long healing weekend with my family on Halloween, so I found the same date in my journal to mirror her feelings then, with my feelings now:

On November 2, 1999 I was a sophomore in high school living in Anchorage and my mom was still married to my stepdad… they would separate only a few weeks later and we would move back to the small town where I was born. I was horribly depressed during this time. I felt ugly and stupid and forgotten and all alone… Just horribly alone. I was probably sitting in my room listening to Creed or Nirvana or Smashing Pumpkins, all the bands I was really into at that time. Music was a huge emotional outlet for me. My room had previously been my stepdad’s gun room, and it was on the same level of the house as the kids living room… yes we had our own living room which had previously been the garage. I didn’t live in this room very long, but mom let me paint the walls pink and I was able to really create a space of solitude for myself. Actually… I’ve always done that in every room… especially as a teenager, which was really important to me. But this room felt a little more special. It was kind of like my own little apartment or something. Plus everyone else lived two floors above me, or one floor below me, so I had lots of private space. I was 15 years old, just getting ready to turn 16, and right before the turn of the century… literally and figuratively, since we would move back to Kenai in a matter of weeks. I worked at a little muffin and coffee shop in the Dimond Center Mall, and I had exactly 2 friends, Mandy and Sheri. I remember spending a lot of time alone, feeling very sad and down, and not knowing what to do about it… I fucking hated myself. Clearly I was still a christian, and clinging to the little bits of spiritual reprieve that it would very seldom provide for me.

Mandy was my best friend during this time. She was my escape from my house which felt like a prison of loneliness. My mom was just so unhappy, and I just knew things were spiraling with her and my stepdad. My brothers were all clueless, and pretty fucking mean to me anyway, so I avoided them like the plague. Mandy made me feel loved and included. She filled me up instead of tearing me down, would laugh at my silly jokes, and help me feel prettier and cuter with clothes and perfume and make up. Sheri had just started dating her first boyfriend… (who she actually married and they’re still together 22 years later… fucking impressive)… He was my step brother’s best friend… And another source of pain and agony or me. They made it their special interest to torture me regularly because I was insecure. They fucking preyed on me. And God damn I hated them. And then this fucking asshole started dating my best friend… And I really felt like he took her from me, and she ditched me. I’m sure she was just as insecure, and was delighted to have a cute boy be so interested in her. I was so jealous. I think I always wanted him to be interested in me… even though he was mean to me. That’s some Freudian shit right there.

Talking about Mom, Bruce (my stepdad) and Dad as my mentors during this time is a bit surprising to me. I remember having crazy authority issues, and being very mistrusting of adults because of these three in particular. But, here is 15-year-old me thanking them and showing gratitude. You know, they weren’t perfect, but they were the best examples I had… and they also weren’t monsters by any stretch. And honestly, after the pages and pages of self loathing and loneliness that comes before this entry (which I’ll share later)… this is refreshing and shows at least a little bit of balance in my emotions during this time.

But the Jesus and God shit… yikes. And anyone that knows me now will laugh at this pretty hard.

So, now 20 years later: My Mentors

Thank you Morgen, Sarah, Gemma and Huey. You guys have helped me through more difficulty than I feel worthy of. You’ve also been there to hold my heart through the happiness… like, the whole fucking spectrum. “You see all my light, and you know all my dark.” You tell me the hard things when I really need to hear them, and you make me listen. You keep loving me even when I feel like I’m unloveable. I don’t necessarily want to be like any of you… but you all have qualities that don’t exist in me, that I envy.

Dyl and Dae are my mentors in a strange way during this time as well… actually, they really always have been. They have taught me more about myself than any other human possibly could. They opened up my most favorite aspect of myself… the part that makes me a mom. Nothing has ever given me more gratitude, or satisfaction or joy on such a fucking deep level. In many ways, we have raised each other, since I was a baby when I had those babies. They taught me patience and how to be loving and rational even when I’m really upset. They continuously make me want to be the best version of myself possible. I want to give them every little thing and continue to empower them to be the best that they can possibly be… to love life and love them selves and love others. But on the flipside of the coin, to stick up for themselves, and be your true self… especially when it comes to their dad and stepmom. So many times I wished that I could protect them from all of that bullshit. I wish I could take it all and shield them from it. For some reason, it was a necessary part of our journey together… And continues to be. Adversity makes you more resilient and they are powerful resilient creatures. I am so fucking proud of them. I hope they look back and are proud of me as well.

And then there’s the ex… hardly my mentor, but has taught me so much about myself. He helped me trust again and helped me love again. He taught me the value in physical touch, something that I had long pushed away and forgotten. The first night we ever spent together he held me all night and I knew I was in trouble. He taught me that men aren’t all bad and that masculinity can be beautiful. He really is beautiful in so many ways. Because of him I know what I want and I know what I’m not willing to put up with. He taught me the joy and pleasure of sex when I wasn’t sure that could happen in a very paralyzed body. He made me feel like a woman again… like a very sexy woman, and for that I am so grateful. He taught me the value and necessity of clear communication… and that sometimes it just doesn’t fucking work, no matter how hard you try. I’m so sad that it’s over… yet so fucking grateful. The parts of me that are grateful will always love him, I hope. Because I really don’t want to lose or forget the power that it took for me to try so hard for so long. And the power that it took to end it.

So I landed on seven again… seven mentors. And all of them real people this time and not imaginary men in the clouds. If I could sit with Maggie from 22 years ago I would tell her that it’s going to be OK. I would tell her that she’s already beautiful and smart. I would tell her that there’s things you can do to change the way you feel… that you are not your thoughts, you are what you do. I would ask her what it would take to feel beautiful and worthy and to start doing those things. I would ask her why she felt ugly and stupid and tell her that it’s not her fault. I would tell her that adult us feels powerful and successful and incredibly beautiful. I would hug her and hold her and let her cry in my arms, because present day Maggie would never be brave enough to be this vulnerable. I suppose she needs to work on that.