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My good friend and big brother, Mukti, made the comment the other night that he doesn't know my history or at least not most of it. So it occurred to me that now is a good time to write a kind of autobiography. This is not something I'm thinking of publishing, it's not going to be written in the normal autobiographical format - it's just my background for anyone to read and know more about me if they are so inclined. This does not hold anywhere near my entire history, that would take me about a year to write and would be too long too read. (This might already be too long! ;)
I was conceived in April 1972 in Anchorage, Alaska. My father was stationed on the air force base up there and my mother went to the very ancient, slightly senile obstetrician on base. The date of my birth was timed to be around January 17, 1973 - however, if you know me, you probably know my actual birthday is 3 months later on April 11, 1973.
How and why my mother carried me in her womb for a full 12 months - nobody knows for certain, she does know that she did not miscarry and immediately become pregnant again - that she carried me the entire time. The old doctor told my mother over and over again, when the baby is ready she'll drop, meaning I would turn in the womb and drop down into position where my head was putting pressure on her cervix in preparation for birth. I never dropped and eventually the women at my parent's church became exceedingly worried and upset about the fact that the Oby was doing nothing, gravely endangering both of our lives. They convinced my parents to go to a civilian doctor and get another opinion. Mom was immediately admitted to Our Lady of Providence hospital, her new, much younger and more up to date doctor was shocked and despaired over the fact that I had been in the womb so long. He was surprised that we had not both died due to toxic shock, she was induced for labor immediately.
However, we were both too weak to go through the process of natural birth and at 36 hours of hard labor, we were both dying quickly. They decided to do an emergency C-section and before going in to the surgery, the doctor went out to the waiting room to my father. He told Dad what was happening and asked him seriously "Mr. Fulmer, I have to tell you that they are both dying, if we are only able to save one or the other, I must now ask you which one should I save - your wife or your child?" My father chose his wife, because she could have more children, but what would he do with a child if she was gone?
Thankfully, we both survived and though I cannot say how close I truly came to dying - I feel as though they had to bring me back from that razor edge. I was 10lbs 1 1/2 oz and 22 1/4" long when I was born. My baby blue eyes had already changed to the brown they are now, my baby fuzz had already fallen off of my head and by the time we were released from the hospital a week later, I was already trying to lift my head up off of her shoulder to look at the world around me. Such was the beginning of my life.
My parents had become close to another couple on base and their children - the Gosnells. I have called them Uncle Mike and Aunt Diana my entire life, of their two oldest children, the middle one Melissa, is 6 months older than me - we were raised like twins, clothed in matching outfits, both redheads, many times over the years of our childhood we were mistaken for true identical twins. Now, there is no way to make that mistake, I am almost a foot taller than she and we look very different in the face, but back then we were enough alike to fool any surface glance at us.
Actually here is the latest picture of Missy and I on our reunion after being apart for 10 years, taken July 3, 2005 -
I admit, it's not the greatest picture of the two of us, but it's enough to show the differences. We were going to do everything together until our dying day - too bad life throws in some curve balls. But that's for later on in this, back to 1973.
The Gosnell's had an older son, Michael or Mikey Jr., he's a year and a half older than Missy and a few years later the youngest, Meredith, was born. About a year after that, my brother, Benjamin was born and the nexus of my childhood was completed. The two families were extremely tight and almost inseparable, even when we lived long distances from each other. When one family moved, the other traveled to help in the move and help unpack and settle in. Then we got a week of reveling in each other's company. Missy was my everything, I could not even imagine my life without her. She was my rock in the very stormy ocean that was my everyday life, with Missy anything was possible and the two of us together were devious little hellions.
Away from Missy I was shy, a bookworm and a hermit, I detested other children and loathed playing outside. My parents were hard put to get me to go out and engage with the kids in my neighborhoods. I preferred the kids at church and the Gosnells, exclusively. It's amazing to look back and see that behavior, to see that I preferred the violence of my home to that of escaping outside away from it all. My father did not ever hit any of us, that is not what I meant by violence - my father was a dry alcoholic and heaped verbal and emotional abuse on me from a very young age, as I got older he got into the habit of literally throwing me around. He'd pick me up, shake me until my teeth rattled and I could hear the sound of bone hitting bone when my teeth jarred together, then throw me across the room onto a sofa or a bed. Screaming at me the entire time, calling me names, telling me I'd never get it right, I'd always be a failure.
My parents both came from abusive or negligent backgrounds. They just didn't know how to stop the cycle of abuse and so continued it for many, many years. My mother alternated between yelling at me and ignoring me, favoring me with praise and love usually in the public eye and very rarely at home. My father would dominate me, push me around, blame the problems of his life and marriage on me and the phrase "you disappoint me, you're a failure" would be my father's motto for me for a very long time. After a time, I began for my own survival, to keep from curling in on myself and dying - to fight back as hard as I could. By 7 years old, I was standing toe to toe with him in screaming matches, it's probably why he started throwing me, to get me out of his space and scare me back into submission, but I would just get back up and start fighting again. There was no way I would be completely oppressed by this man again, I loathed my father with every fiber of my being and that hatred kept me alive while I was living in his house.
My mother, I pitied and found annoying. She never did anything to make the situation better, other than cry and scream for us to just "shut up! Shut Up! SHUT UP!" then she would turn to fling herself onto the bed and sob hysterically in her bedroom. Of course then, that was always my fault - I made my mother cry by being such a horrible little girl, according to my father I was the reason for her mental breakdowns, I was the reason for her misery, I was the reason our life was a living hell. To me as a child, my mother was pathetic and useless, she was a coward and I was on my own, what did I care if she cried or screamed or ignored me, she wasn't helping me in any way, other than providing my basic necessities - food, shelter and education. So she was providing the means to keep me alive a little longer in hell, I never knew whether to thank her or spit on her.
To say that my life away from home was rebellious is an understatement. I started smoking at the age of 11, I lost my virginity at the age of 13, I started drinking at the age of 14 and smoking pot at the age of 17. I was promiscuous to the point of being nicknamed Swallow and Nympho in high school. I had a penpal romance with a man in a federal penitentiary at the age of 18, he was 45 years old and sentenced to 10 years for counterfeiting a lot of money. I actually went and met him once, he was a beautiful, big burly biker of a teddybear - my father found out and that was the end of that.
All this time, we moved. First from Alaska to Columbus, Mississippi when I was 18 months old. We lived on the base there until I was 3 or 4 yrs old, during which time I drowned in the Gulf of Mexico, I was actually pulled out and resuscitated by my father. It was no one's fault, my parents were trying to fix my toddler floating device at the beach one day and I wandered into the tide. I loved swimming, still do, I loved the water and the ocean called to me, so on my little 3 year old legs, I ran out to greet it and see what it had to show me. I remember the moment I released my breath and gave into the the watery womb of the ocean. Peace came over me and everything became so crystal clear, the colors of everything were so bright and vivid, the sun on the surface of the water was angelic, then a shadow came over, arms plunged down towards me and I came back to myself coughing up water and crying on the beach. I was scared by that shadow which was my father and by the sudden wrenching back from that peaceful place, not because I was drowning. This was the second time I was pulled back into this life.
Right after that was a major car accident, where I again narrowly averted death - this time saved by not being in a seatbelt, the force of the impact caused the back of the backseat to unlatch and come crashing down, it sent me sprawling into the back of my mothers' seat, leaving me with a scratch in my forehead from a rip in the upholstery vinyl and nothing else. The firemen who pulled my parents from the wreckage said we were very lucky, I was small enough that if I had been belted in, the force of the seat closing would've either killed or paralyzed me.
In the hospital, waiting for them to treat our injuries and put my mother's knee back together, which had been sliced all the way open by the dash on impact, we found out Mom was pregnant with Ben.
My dad discharged from the Air Force and we moved to Tucson, Arizona so he could go to bible college - he decided that God was calling him to be a minister and he was tired of the wake up calls. My brother was born there September 22, 1977 and we moved again. This time to Lakewood, Colorado to be closer to my mother's side of the family. During the next 11 years we moved 5 more times around the different suburbs of Denver. By the time I had finished middle school, my life was a living hell non-stop. I had no more friends, they all turned their back on me when I lost my virginity, I was tortured by bullies at school and then tortured by my biggest bully at home every night, my church youth pastor constantly lectured me about my rude behavior and disregard of everything and my best friend was my school counselor. Missy wasn't talking to me because I was getting more and more hateful and rebellious.
I had lost my virginity on a dare and a bet to my childhood crush; Darren was 17, the captain of the diving team and Junior class president at a local high school. A musician as was as looking like a mix between John Taylor of Duran Duran and Rob Lowe - he was an 80s teen girl's dream. He had a hobby, he liked to take girls' virginities, so he befriended me and my friends, then ignored us once he slept with me. He didn't care which one he got as long as he got one of us and I ended up being the one. It was as unromantic and unloving as you can get. To top it off, I wrote Missy about it, Aunt Diana found the letter and told my folks about it. In a rage my father stormed down to my school, pulled me out of class and screamed at me about being a slut and a harlot in the school office. It made me a pariah in the eyes of all of my classmates. At the age of 13, my life was spiraling quickly out of control and it was thought, towards an early death.
One of the last things Charity, my best friend in middle school, said to me before quitting our friendship was that she doubted I would live to see my high school graduation. She thought either my father would kill me or I would commit suicide to escape, but in her mind I was dead by 18. During those following friendless days I decided to prove her right and took a bunch of sleeping pills. Fortunately for me, I was forced to go to a church meeting that night, the 3 girls who were my last few friends saw something was wrong and asked me what I had done. When they found out I was trying to sleep my way out of this life, they got our folks to let us hang out in the classrooms during the meeting and kept me awake until I had both purged the pills and was past danger. So I averted death a 4th time in my life.
I was anorexic and constantly passing out, I had ruined my innocence, I had tried suicide - I hated myself, my life, my family, my best friend - the entire world. At this crucial point in my life, we moved again. This time to Kansas City, Missouri so that my father, having now graduated from college, could go to a Baptist Seminary for his masters in divinity and religious education.
In KC, I could start anew. No one knew my history, no one knew my family's dirty secrets of abuse. So I made up a lot, I lied to make myself one of the cool kids and it worked. My first year and a half in high school I became a metalhead. Growing out and then teasing up my hair, heavy make-up, big earrings, black clothes and wrestler shoes. I hung out with long haired guys who played in garage bands and their girlfriends, I went to underground metal shows and I was in a band with some friends, including 8-Ball who was a beautiful man with skin like dark chocolate, sinewy body and a beautiful, open face. He was my best friend Sara's boyfriend throughout high school and best friend's with Ryan, my sweetheart. We were a close little pack, the four of us, we teased and taunted each other mercilessly, but anyone else who dared to try the guys would chase after and stomp. Ah teenage boys can be so romantic in their violence sometimes, we all thought we were so mature and tough back then.
At North Kansas City High I met the guy who was my dream dude, Ryan and I were merely acquaintances when I met Mr. Dreamy. Matt was amazing and way out of my league. For one he was a senior when I was a freshman, for two he was one of the most popular guys in school, definitely the most idolized and sighed over. He was a phenomenal drummer, he was kind, sweet, compassionate, and actually took the time out to talk to me, he treated me like a real person, from time to time he would actually search me out in the crowds of smokers across the street from the school and talk to me about whatever.
Matt was tall and pale with long black hair and beautiful blue eyes, his smile was brighter and more beautiful than the sun to me, I always blushed furiously under his gaze. He wanted me to take violin back up and learn how to play an electric one - he said I would become famous if I did so. (I took violin for 4 years between elementary and middle school, I was considered a natural talent and was thought to go far - until they asked me to switch from violin to viola, I didn't like the switch and dropped it altogether.) My father refused to buy me a new violin, refused to pay for lessons - so I had to shake my head no time and again, refusing the man of my dreams the one simple request he made of me. Matt was like my heavy metal Superman, which may sound cheesy but he was the hero of our huge school and everyone's favorite student. Why he chose me to talk to and befriend I'll never know, but I reveled in his attention and soaked in the goodness which radiated from his heart.
When he graduated, a piece of my happiness left with him - I never did hear what happened to him, where he went or if he's even still alive. If he is, I hope someday to meet him again and thank him for that year of kindness.
Guys were always trouble for me, I'd fall for the ones I couldn't have and give in to the ones I shouldn't have even said hello to. We moved to the country, out in the middle of nowhere Missouri on Christmas Day of my sophomore year of high school. I hated the country at first, I was a city girl. I dressed like a city metal girl and the country kids had no idea what to make of me. But by that summer, I running around with the roughest group of kids in 5 counties. We drank to ridiculous excess in farmer's fields and at watering holes, we had sex as much as possible, we had huge parties in the houses of older guys wanting to get some young ass. I started drinking whiskey and tequila like it was going out of style. By 16 I had started dating guys a decade older than me, I was riding around with older girlfriends, dressing sleazy like a girl out of a Motley Crew video and getting into bars.
My high school sweetheart lived in Kansas City, we had a summer of sneaking off to be with each other, Ryan was big bear of a man 6'4" and 260lbs, kind blue eyes and shoulder length soft, wavy, light brown hair. I could hide behind him and not be seen. He cheered me on in my aspirations and was a gentle giant who was my bodyguard as well as my boyfriend. When my parents found out I was sneaking to the city to see him, they made me break-up with him and told me to break all contact with him. It broke my heart and sealed my hatred for my parents.
Then I started dating Gary. Gary was 25, built like a beefcake, tanned coffee dark from his work and a raging alcoholic. He towered over me and made me feel protected, he took care of me when he wasn't face down in a puddle of booze. He became the object of my attention, I needed the distraction - my home life was still hell, but now my father was an ordained minister and the pastor of a church. Now he raged against me because I was making him look bad to the congregation, I wasn't acting like a virtuous Christian girl and how could he get the church members to do what he said if he couldn't even keep me in control? The twisted logic and need for ultimate control in that statement hit me the moment he said it, I blanched at this and rebelled even harder.
So I took care of Gary during his binges and became one of the darlings of his gang of biker and garage mechanic friends. I started hanging out in auto shops and welding shops, I was wined and dined, I was given my choice of free alcohol and drugs - though I didn't touch any other drugs but pot until college. I could walk into any place with these guys, in my skimpy and skin tight outfits, long red hair, supermodel skinny and tall and have men twice my age falling all over themselves for me. They would turn on music so me and the girls would get up and dance in front of them. I thought it was all just a game, and after years of hatred from my father and inaction by the other men in my life - that attention was like my life blood. I knew all of the moves, the right clothes, the right voice, the right way to say things - I could make almost any man say yes to me at any time. I knew I was a little bombshell and used it to my advantage. But all I ever wanted was to be loved and to get the kind of attention Matt had shown me - kind, compassionate and honest. Too bad most of them were too preoccupied with the state of their dicks to notice, they were good guys don't get me wrong, but they just didn't get what was up with me at all.
I eventually left Gary, I was tired of trying to carry his 220lbs worth of muscle up the stairs to his apartment when he was too drunk to do it himself. I weighed 110lbs. less than him in those days, it was a struggle and usually took three of us to get him into bed. So I still hung out with the boys, but now I was single - they lined up and tried everything in their powers to be the next one in my pants. I didn't want another boyfriend, I wanted to play around - so play around I did. My girlfriends and I would pass guys around between us and compare notes. We were like the white trash Charlie's Angels, one brunette, one blonde, one redhead and the boys lusted after each of us. None of the guys measured up to that original long-haired Superman ideal in my brain, but one - a close friend of mine and he was strung up with a chick 5 years his senior who was a junkie and a single mother of two. He was my date to prom my Junior year, as a favor to me, but that's as close as we ever got to a date, he was addicted to his deadbeat girlfriend and as he told me, I was too good for him.
His best friend's girlfriend became one of my closets gal pals before I met Gary- Teena and I ripped it up like no one's business - she was a mini Joan Jett and was the one who introduced me to Bill - my first ever tattooist (forgive me but he was no artist). He worked from home, using a homemade tattoo gun hooked up to a car battery, my first tattoo was done by him in his dirty, grungy little apartment and it hurt like hell. I kept putting my hand in the way, to get him to stop - in the end he finished the outline of just the heart and then kicked me out, telling me that I was too much of a wuss to get a tattoo. So I have the black outline of a tiny heart on my right hip - I was the first one in my school (at that time) to get a tattoo. Even though it was supposed to have been a black heart engulfed by flames, just the outline was extreme enough to shoot me to the rank of one of the coolest metalheads in school. Even the cheerleaders and jocks were impressed.
As I got worse, my father slowly gave up and resorted to grounding me and taking away my car keys. I'd still sneak out and have my friends come pick me up at the bottom of the hill. My mother let me get away with everything, relieved that Dad was no longer abusing me as much and feeling guilty, she covered for me when I came home at 6am from being out drinking, getting stoned and having sex all night. Eventually though, she gave up on me too and they ignored me most of the time. Only when their lack of control over me threatened to be seen by the congregation or the conservative community did I ever get into trouble. Little did they know that I ran into members of many churches in the bars, that in our discomfort at catching each other in a sin we all kept the secrets to ourselves, knowing that revealing one of us would be revealing all of us. It gets kind of crazy in small towns in the Midwest like that. When you catch someone doing something they oughtn't while you're also out a-sinnin' , it's a silent agreement to ignore each other as much as possible or at least keep the deeds in the dark. The fact that one of the Baptist pastors' daughters was a boozin harlot was kept under wraps by quite a few folks who looked shiny and sin-free every Sunday morning in their churches.
My theme song back then was Rag Doll by Aerosmith. My father would parade me around as his beautiful and talented daughter in front of the churches and fellow pastors, then I would run off with my crazy friends and see how much trouble we could get into in a night - when you're bored country teens with a vengeance against the lot life has given you - it's a lot.
Some how through all of this, I bounced back and forth between being that rebellious hellion and a youth leader in my father's church and in the Christian community. I would clean myself up, change my ways, start believing in the dogma and become a virtuous girl once again. Then something would set me off and off I'd go destroying everything in my path again. I also managed to graduate from high school. My grades may not have been the best, but the teachers and administrators knew I came from a very abusive and neglectful home. They saw it in my eyes and in my constant illnesses, then they had a school psychiatrist come in once a week just to see me.
I was plagued by bladder and kidney infections since I was a baby, by ear infections and problems with my teeth and as I got older - by severe migraines. I was in the nurse's office more than I was in class some months, they saw my behavior, they saw my illnesses and they figured out the problem - so they did what they could in a small rural school in the early 1990's - they became lenient with me as long as I didn't break any school rules and if I did break any, they refused to suspend or expel me, but instead put me into in-school suspension. They worked with me and for me, trying to help me better my life without pulling me from my home or causing too many more problems at home. I remember showing up as some dance with Lori, drunk and stoned and acting obnoxious - our vice-principal came up to me, she pulled me to one side and quietly said "Rachel, honey, I know you're drunk and you can't be here like that, why don't you and Lori get on out of here, nice and quiet and we'll just overlook that it ever happened, okay?" I'm sure they just didn't know how else to help me. In the end, I graduated in the bottom third of my class, with the award of best actress of the year and a letter in choir.
My one passion in life was in all actuality, acting and singing. The partying just helped to numb me, but in theater, choir and voice competitions I excelled and was truly happy. In theater I could be anyone and I was usually a lead. In choir no one cared what I did as long as I sang on key and helped to make everyone look and sound our best. I got offers from colleges around the state to be in their theater programs and turned them all down for some reason.
Once I graduated, my Dad had decided to take up the position of pastor in a church in Battle Creek, Michigan. He had made a mess of the church in Missouri and was running from his problems yet again. So, instead of staying in Missouri I moved with my folks up north. I don't know why I did it, except maybe to meet my daughter's father and conceive her. Once in Battle Creek, I started to attend the local community college and became a vital part of their theater department. My professor, Brian, looked at me like a shining star and put a lot of his efforts into me. I was quiet and reserved, everyone knew my dad was a pastor and they all thought I was a conservative little Christian girl. But Brian saw the rebellion in my eyes and my stance, he told his star pupils to wait and see what I could do - I knocked their socks off and was brought into the fold.
I was infatuated with every single person in that group, they became my real family and I spent as much time with them as I could. We were the perfect example of hippy thespians in the early 90's. We sat around smoking pot, talking about philosophy and enlightenment, we threw big parties which were so mellow and infused with ganga - you'd never know there were so many people crammed into one shabby house. When we weren't going to school or hanging out, we were acting. It was like a fever in our blood, it was like a junkie's drug to us - we had to act, we had to be a part of the stage in some way or else we'd go mad. Again I became the sweetheart of the boys, protected and coddled in every way they could manage.
I went to Kalamazoo and partied with the metalheads there. I befriended two bands called Bone China and Thought Industry, I hung out with them and was like the band pet for a while. I didn't sleep with any of them, though I wanted to - I was just the hot kid who loved their music and attracted a lot of guys to their shows. I dated a small-time music producer, but he had too many neurotic hang ups and used me once too often to further his career. I have tons of stories from this time in my life, many hilarious but too many to tell here - ask me for one and I'll tell you as many as you'll sit through.
It was through the thespians I met David, I didn't like him for the first few months I knew him. But then one day, he came and asked me out on a date at Jeff and Joe's house. Jeff was my best friend, not very attractive, kind of weaselly and greasy looking, but he had a heart of gold. He encouraged me to go out with David and so I did. David took me to his company's Christmas Dinner and afterward I took LSD for the first time with him and his roommates. We called the J's over and a few other friends, 10 of us walked the winter streets of Battle Creek tripping out of our minds. By morning, we were still going but had calmed down a bit. They all convinced me to get out of my parental home and out from under the fist of my father. So the day after my first date with David, still tripping, I took Joe, Greg and David to tell my parents that they were taking me away from them.
The guys couldn't believe that I had been so calm and cold, that I hadn't freaked out on the drugs. But it was so clear to me, that This was my golden opportunity to escape and nothing was going to stop me. My parents had to allow it, I was legally old enough to live on my own and declare my independence. So we packed up my stuff and I moved into the urban commune which was David's house. I stayed in school enough to be able to still perform with my thespian family, but I did little homework, I rarely went to class and I failed every subject but theater. My days were as the house mom, everyone went to work while I stayed home and cleaned, cooked dinner for the house. I had an allowance of a 1/4 bag of pot to smoke myself a day and they gave me the money I needed to run errands, get groceries and buy things for the house. I never squandered that money and I took my job in the house seriously. I was perpetually stoned and David lavished me with gifts, flowers, chocolate, LSD - whatever he could to keep me happy.
Then we decided to start experimenting in our love life and everything fell apart. David wanted to try threesomes, but there were way more boys than girls - so when a male friend made an offer to join us in bed one night David said yes. They didn't really ask me, but I was stoned and didn't really care. It proved to be a mistake, David got gun shy with another man in his bed and then jealous, even after he insisted that we continue while he watched. I didn't like it too much and was relieved over his discomfort, thinking that would be the first and last time I did that. But no, David now had something to prove - he could do this, he was man enough to go through with it - that guy was just too intimidating and not a very close friend.
So he decided that we would try again with Jeff, my best friend. He brought it up to the J's, they thought it was a splendid idea and so they came up with a plan. Then he told me about it, in the kind of way that you tell someone their going to do something and that's the end of it. I didn't want to, Jeff was a virgin - I knew he'd fall in love with me, he's so tenderhearted and sweet. I didn't want to mess up my friendship with him or hurt him in anyway. But Jeff insisted and David insisted, so against my better judgment I went through with it. David again couldn't engage in the activities - but this time he sat in one corner of the room and silently watched.
Jeff didn't fall in love with me that night - I found out he had already been in love with me for a long time and taking his virginity sealed it. He kept asking David for another threesome, if that's what you could call it. David, having finally given up on the idea, gave us free reign to sleep with each other whenever he wasn't home. Jeff took every advantage of this that he could, until our friendships became strained with everyone and David called for a stop. Still David and I were living together, I took care of his first daughter during the day because her mother was a heroin addict and couldn't, I now performed outside of the college and we were our usual hippy selves. Every once in a while, when we were trying to hook up a deal for pot or acid, one of the dealers would look me up and down and offer an extra cut to be able to sleep with me. It took me screaming at David that I would not ever - never, Never, ever - sell my body for drugs, especially not fucking pot or acid and that his response to that proposition would always be "No way dude, sorry, she's mine and mine alone" or I would no longer be his and he'd be alone. At first he had no problems with the thought of letting them have a little time with me to get a bigger cut, I should have seen that for what it was and left him right then, but I was only 19 and naive as all get out.
It was during a children's tour of Charlotte's Web that I found out I was pregnant. Everyone acted like it was their baby and got excited. The only catch was that I could no longer stand smoke of any kind - so I went sober. After months of stone from the moment I awoke to the moment I went back to bed, smoking two packs of camels a day and popping acid like candy - I went cold turkey from it all. It was like being thrown into a glacier fed mountain lake, I looked at my life and was horrified by it. We were all losing the house we lived in and my parents wanted us to marry, so David and I moved into my folks house. Out of respect for my father, David slept on a cot in my parents room and I slept on my brother's old bed (he had taken over mine.) My mother went to Colorado for the summer to get her head on straight about her marriage which had only become worse once I had removed myself from the family formula.
David and I promised each other no more drugs or booze, no more crappy lifestyle - we were having a baby and I refused to bring it into that life. His grandmother had bought my wedding dress and the rings and then decided to loan us $10K for the wedding. Unfortunately, he came home - to my father's house - stoned out of his mind, eyes shiny and red; I looked at David and found him disgusting and pathetic. It wasn't the stone, no, it was his lack of discipline and lack of respect for the promise we had made to each other. I talked to my mom on the phone for hours, she finally decided to act like a mother and she helped me make the decision to leave David for good. She had decided to leave my father and move back to Colorado, I could move with her and have the baby there.
I broke off the wedding, I kicked David out of the house and out of my life. Then I found out what kind of man he really was, he took the money from his grandmother, not telling her that the wedding had been called off. Then he turned around and gave me some of it for maternity and baby clothes - telling me he had told her, but she had insisted on loaning him the money anyway. I took the money and went shopping for clothes, the rest of it I used to help with my move. Then his grandmother called my house to ask about certain arrangements for the wedding and was told the truth. I talked to her and told her what David told me, I told her I had called it off a month before and I asked her if she wanted the dress and rings back to sell for part of the money, I told her about the baby and the clothes, offered to return the clothes and give her the money from that as well.
She said not to worry about all of that stuff, that I would need the money from the dress and rings for baby supplies, that I needed the clothes and that it wasn't my fault her grandson was such a fuck-up. She used that term for him exactly, actually - out of all of his relatives I liked her the best, she was hard as brass knuckles, sharp as a tack and generously compassionate when she liked someone.
So my mom drove back up in my grandfather's truck, helped me pack it with all of our things, and on the last day of my performance at a bed and breakfast Victorian-style garden production, my first paid acting gig, we left Michigan for good. I was five months pregnant, partner-less, penny-less and heading towards a empty horizon. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do with a baby and my life, but I had my mom's family and they would at least make sure I wouldn't want for any necessities.
My mom and I moved into her folks house and stayed there until December of 1992, when we moved into a one bedroom apartment together. I had decided to give my child up for adoption and there was no need to plan for room for a baby, there were no baby supplies to be had, we just waited for the day of her birth. I had even already chosen and met the adoptive parents several times by then. My mother's family, my father and the thespian family in Michigan were all in an uproar over it, I became the black sheep and the despised person. I was told that Missy and the Gosnells didn't want anything to do with me because I had backed up my mother's decision to leave Dad and we didn't talk for 10 years after that. But as with everything else, I persevered.
I was 10 days late when they induced me into labor, I was in labor for 3 days before I gave in and had an epidural put in - she was born naturally at 7:09p on January 27, 1993. She came out and started screaming what sounded like NO! at the top of her voice, at 8lbs. 5 oz and 21 1/4" long, she was a big baby and very healthy. I had her for 24 hours before handing her over to her new parents, in those hours I realized that I would make a horrid mother at the age of 19 and that her adoption was the only way to try and make sure she had a better childhood than I did.
I grieved inconsolably for months afterwards, the only times it stopped was when I got a visitation day with her. I was allowed to see her whenever I wanted for her first two years. After she was born I moved out on my own for the first time and then promptly met Daniel, who was in the last class for airplane mechanics on Lowery Air Force base before it closed down. He lived with me when he wasn't on base and within 3 months we decided to marry. He was the fourth man I had said yes to and he was as terrifyingly wrong for me as the other three had been. He left me at the alter, breaking up with me over the phone from his mother's house in Gulf Port, Mississippi while on leave before he was stationed in Okinawa. I had been packing in preparation of moving there with him as his wife and had gone to pick him up at the airport, he didn't get off the plane. I called the airline and somehow got the woman to tell me that he had only bought a one way ticket. When I called him to ask him why, he broke it all off viciously and cruelly, telling me how he used me and what an idiot I was to believe he'd actually marry me. I went on a rampage and destroyed everything he left behind, shredding his clothes by hand in my fury.
That's when I decided to become celibate and try to clean up my life, I started going back to church, became a part of a singles group and a youth counselor for their high school girls. I tried to be pure and honest and a virtuous woman, someone a nice guy would want to marry. But no, the guys in the group were as bad as the guys without faith when it came to sex and relationships. Especially when I was honest about my past, at age 20 my number of partners was already close to 100 and I was ashamed of it, I was trying to reverse what I had done. I tried this for 2 years, remaining celibate and sober the whole time, then I decided to really think about life, God and the universe and started asking the church leaders really hard questions. They kicked me out of the church.
By the time I was kicked out, I was 21, what better thing is there to do for a battered, broken and angry young woman in America than go to the bars and clubs? I started hanging out at Muddy's Coffeeshop again, made friends with some friendly bikers. I started going to poetry readings and hanging out with the beatniks and then I was introduced to the local goth scene. It became my home and my family, it still is in a small way, 13 years later. I moved to Denver's Capital Hill and met Jonathan at a local coffeeshop during a meeting for the LIDA Project's first ever show. We slowly dated for a few months and then moved in together. We were together for 11 months, by the end of it I was abusing him as my father had abused me, even though I was in anger management therapy and had been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - I couldn't seem to stop myself. The pattern of abuse was replaying itself and destroying my life, only this time it was all my own doing.
Jonathan kicked me out and I moved around Denver, living 7 different places in 12 years. I became a dominatrix for 6 years, becoming one of Denver's favorites and groomed by the Queen of Denver's Underground to take over when she stepped down. I came close to fame that way, but ran away when it came too near me - I didn't want the responsibility or the spotlight's lack of privacy which comes from being a celebrity. I tried acting again, but had gained a lot of weight with the pregnancy and the heartache of the next two years - so I could no longer be a lead, I was cast in the mother and nanny roles and told I had lost my youthful beauty to fat, so I must make amends with it and just accept that I would never be a starlet again. I left theater and singing behind.
I slowly spiraled further and further down until I lost everything but my cat and a few possessions. In 2001 I found myself homeless and crazy. A couple who are good friends of mine took me in and let me stay with them for 9 months, slowly helping me pick myself back up and to help myself stay up. I got into regular therapy, I went on psychiatric meds, I got on the system and picked myself up off the ground. I lived in state housing for a year, a tiny studio surrounded by other people too crazy, disabled or elderly to live anywhere else. I tried to make it back into society, I became friends with some Wiccans and started becoming a part of Denver's pagan community.
Ever since getting kicked out of my church, I had turned my back on Christianity and started looking for a spirituality which could stand up to my questioning. I discovered Druidry and held fast, learning, researching, studying. I looked for a teacher and found online a man who lived in New Zealand, he taught me via email, phone conversations and letters. In the interim, I learned ritual and ceremony from my Wiccan friends. Eventually I headed down the path of an eclectic warrior pagan. I made my way through until I became a 3rd degree priestess, but still there was something not right and I continued my search. Eventually I ran across Celtic Shamanism and in studying that many of my vast spiritual pieces started falling into place.
Unfortunately, I was still crazy and my life wasn't getting better in quality other than my means for survival secured. My core group of friends still rallied around me, trying to help as they could and we were the inseparable brat pack. They were the glue which held me together all during my twenties up til I was 31, we all held each other up in one way or another, a bunch of morbid geeks having fun anyway we could. In everyday life now, I bumped into them randomly as the universe pulls us back in together and then releases, the dynamic has changed as we grow older and change ourselves. As life goes on a few friends in the Brat Pack, like myself, have dropped out of being around as much and new friends have stepped up to fill in the hole, life's just funny that way. There are too many stories about these friends, too many memories of all shapes and sizes and truthfully, I feel selfish about them - I want to still hold these to my heart and not share, at least not in a public way. Besides, the Brat Pack is split between those who are extremely private and those who don't give a shit - there's no way to regale you with stories about one without having the others in the mix somewhere. These are the friends I see still with me when I dream of being old and senile, you know, being crazy old farts in a nursing home together.
I fell in love, full and true, for the first time in 1997 - it took me two years to say yes to Craig, only to find we were at such different levels of emotional involvement that it would be cruel and completely unfair to continue dating. He is a beautiful man, inside and out, I feel at peace and blown away simultaneously whenever I'm in his presence to this day. He has middle eastern features and skin, long and wavy dark brown hair, warm chocolate brown eyes and a perfect smile. Craig is a man of mystery, dry humor, many skills and talents and a huge heart. He is the only one who truly knows how to deal with my anger, who knows exactly what's in my heart by the sound of my voice - he was an ass at times, but he helped me through the grief in the beginning, he let me rant and rave, he dealt with me tapping on his window falling down drunk in the middle of the night, crying over him and each time, he picked me up, brushed me off and said "I know you love me sweetheart and I love you, but it can't happen and it's really better this way." I acted atrociously at times, I didn't know how to handle fully loving someone and being turned away. It took me 3 years without any contact (my idea) to get over the pain of that parting and he still takes my breath away whenever he's near me.
About the time I turned 30 I weighed 300 lbs and was in chronic pain from the way the excess weight compressed and curved my spine. I had a few revelations and was trying to turn my life around. I was starting to lose weight when I met Tres and that man made my heart stop in my chest the first time I saw him walk through the door. Average height, Scottish and Native American mix, he has a Scots features, a tribesman's body and straight rich dark brown hair that falls past his ass in a braid. His smile is kind and his eyes sparkle with mischief, he is one of the most beautiful men I have ever met in my life. To top it off, he's amazingly kind, generous and openly loving to all. We started dating soon after meeting, but he had just left his wife and two children, so he needed space and time. I gave it to him, I really didn't care if he dated other women as long as he was open and honest, as long as he didn't start sneaking around behind my back. One of my friends and teachers was a woman he was interested in and trusting her, I gave my blessing to both. It was a mistake, feeling guilty for not including me in group activities because it was also a date for them, they started sneaking around behind my back or when I was around, sneaking off in the middle of an event when I wasn't looking.
Eventually she had convinced him that all I wanted was sex, he spent more and more time with her and he pulled me into a nasty fight in the middle of a huge festival, spouting the lies she fed him as the truth, resulting in our full break up. I know from him that he loves me and acted naively, but it was his choice and he stuck with it. The man who said he needed time before committing to any relationship, who said no more children - got her pregnant that night and then married her a year to the day later.
A few weeks later I went to Burning Man for the first time and it blew my mind, even though disaster after disaster was happening in my life, I was moving forward at an extremely exhilarated pace. Things were happening left and right, I was meeting more and more people, I was starting to create and believe in myself again, I took on more and more responsibility. I met One Tribe and was encouraged to hang out with them. I finally got to know Mukti and Kriya, finding that I knew them from my rocker days in my early 20s, they encouraged my participation in the collaborative group and I joined. I traveled all over Colorado, Utah, Nevada and through California from Reno to San Francisco and back. I drove from Gerlach, Nevada to Denver by myself, my first long trip with no one else in my car. I had a music therapy session in Moab, Utah, climbed around Arches National Park and Mesa Verde, the weight kept dropping off of me. I made friends and then lost most of them, I worked my ass off trying to do my first art installation, which went to Apogaea and Burning Man; I organized and ran Beltaine Festival, Litha Festival, the urban Lughnadsah Festival, and a fundraiser party; was leader of my first theme camp at Apogaea in June and then leader of a camp three times that size in a high profile area at Burning Man and provided structures for Earthdance. I was then introduced to the community in the mountains and I found a place where everyone exhibits those initial looked for characteristics which are so simple - kindness, compassion and honesty and the amount of drama is so minute as to be non-existant. I'm a single gal in the midst of a bunch of young families and I love the energy.
I was told recently by a new friend from up there that he keeps waiting for my shadow to come out, but that he hasn't seen it yet. It's the same thing as wondering what my motive is or saying, 'you're great, now what's the catch?' but from a more loving and accepting of human nature point of view. I laughed to realize that I had shown him my shadow fully, more than once and he hadn't even seen it as such. So I told him and I explained my actions, his response flooded my heart with joy. Moon, he said, you're a weird woman, with a Y wyrd, and I don't think that's a bad thing; we're a lot alike and I'm trying to understand who you are, so far I like what I've found. (That's paraphrasing an entire 1 hour conversation on our thoughts and feelings of each other as friends.)
Where's my shadow? It's in beating my habitual negativity fostered from childhood, in coming to accept my childish eagerness to be and do everything, in my need to be able to love anyone and everyone without any motive other than being friends (though I'm working on loving without any motive at all, no matter what - it's still a bit conditional for me.) It's in my gullibility and naivety, in the fact that sometimes when I'm acting like a child, that's really me and no pretense. My shadow is in my need to analyze everything to the minutest detail while holding onto the naively painted big picture of my dreams. It's in my perpetual need to talk and write all of this out - I went too many years in silence and now instead of pitying myself for such a crappy upbringing, I am amused at what a crazy, wild life I've lived. I'm amazed that this is my life I was just writing about, but it is and I'm still alive, I'm becoming the kind of person I've always idolized and for once in my life, I'm not being kicked in the teeth by anything, I'm not fighting for my survival, I'm not fucking everything up in another doomed relationship with the wrong guy and even on my darkest days I realize how blessed my life has become.
I have many memories and each fact and story in this has a ton of smaller stories within it. I've lived a very full life and I'm only 33 - not half bad at all.
