It Won’t Be Like This Forever: My Abortion Story

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…

our time ago…

 

We were having a bad patch.

It seems like we have been cycling through bad patches ever since we got together.

 

I don’t know how we got there.

How we kept getting there.

How we never seemed to leave there.

 

Months ago during that bad patch I sent him a link to a song about my sadness.

Ben Folds- Brick.

 

 

“That’s a song about an abortion, not us.” he said.

“It’s how I feel.”

 

Oh what little did I know all those months ago.

 

Months later…

I sat in a cold waiting room, alone.

I was filling out forms.

Procedures.

Signatures.

Statements of “understanding.”

 

 

“The world is sleeping I am numb.”

 

And the text messages poured in.

It was terrible.

We had been so terrible to each other.

 

I don’t know how it got there.

How it never seemed to leave there.

 

“She broke down. I broke down. Because I was tired of life.”

 

Inside of me there is a seed of love created in happiness.

Of something once undeniably there.

Of something that…

 

I don’t know how it got away from there.

I don’t know how it never seemed to leave there.

 

The picketers whom I had to walk past to get into the office chanted louder.

The door to the office was open.

Perhaps it was to try and remind the women waiting that there still was light.

That there still was hope.

That there still was… something.

 

I could see the picketers from my seat in the waiting room.

Their voices continued to rise.

Louder.

Stronger.

Echoing through the empty corners of that cold white waiting room.

 

And the text messages poured in.

It was terrible.

I felt terrible.

 

“Now that I have found someone I’m feeling more alone than I ever have before.”

 

I don’t know how we got there.

How we kept getting there.

How we never seemed to leave there.

 

“She broke down. I broke down. Because I was tired of life.”

 

But unlike that song, you weren’t there.

When they called my name, you were states away.

 

And these were my steps.

Little steps.

First steps.

Potentially last steps.

 

There was a part of me sentenced to die…

Whom it seemed you wanted to die.

 

The love I had felt…

That we had felt…

This would be a constant reminder and it was to be completely extinguished.

 

I wiped the tears from my eyes.

I took a deep breath breath.

I closed my eyes and pretended I was Dorothy.

I chanted to myself.

“It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever.”

 

And these were my steps.

Little steps.

First steps.

Potentially last steps.

 

There was a part of me sentenced to die…

Whom it seemed you wanted to die.

 

The next room I would be alone with a nurse.

Like the first, it would also be cold.

Stark cold nothingness.

It was the theme permeating throughout the building.

A sign of nothingness to be and to continue to be.

 

“Now she’s feeling more alone than she ever has before.”

 

The series of questioning would start.

Medical history.

Partners.

Relationships.

 

“Does the father know you are here?”

“Yes. He wants me to go through with this.”

“Do you?”

“I’m honestly not sure.  I feel terrible right now.  I want more information to try and make my decision.”

“Remember that this is your decision.  Don’t let anyone else force you to make one that you will regret.  It doesn’t matter if he agrees or not.  All that matters is you.”

 

“Now she’s feeling more alone than she ever has before.”

 

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…

our time ago…

 

He might not remember it but he said it.

“I want to have children with you someday.  I think you’re going to be a great mom.”

But he said it.

He said it multiple times.

 

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…

our time ago…

 

“She broke down. I broke down. Because I was tired of life.”

 

I don’t know how we got there.

How we kept getting there.

How we never seemed to leave there.

 

She continued to tell me about the procedure.

I would be asleep.

It would be relatively painless as I would be under anesthesia.

 

“The world is sleeping I am numb.”

 

“I want to find out how far along I am.  I need to know that much before I even begin to commit to anything.”

She understood.

 

It was time to take more steps again.

Little steps.

First steps.

Potentially last steps.

 

I came into a room filled with women waiting for their procedures.

Some of them were in hospital gowns.

Some of them were waiting their turn.

There were rollers with iv bags.

There were women waiting for ivs as well.

 

 

It was cold.

It felt like the coldest room so far.

Stark cold nothingness.

It was the theme permeating throughout the building.

A sign of nothingness to be and to continue to be.

 

None of the women so much as looked at each other let alone spoke.

Each woman either sat and stared blankly or covered their faces in their hands.

It was a room full of ghosts.

A room full of sadness.

A room full of undeniable pain.

 

I wiped the tears from my eyes.

I took a deep breath breath.

I closed my eyes and pretended I was Dorothy.

I chanted to myself.

“It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever.”

 

There was a part of me sentenced to die…

Whom it seemed you wanted to die.

 

The love I had felt…

That we had felt…

This would be a constant reminder and it was to be completely extinguished.

 

A nurse came in to check up on us all.

“How are all of you today?  Are you alright?  Well considering the circumstances?”

 

For a moment I felt calmer.

Warmer.

And the tears dried a little, although not completely.

 

I waited my turn.

 

Some of the women finally began to talk.

It was like they had been awoken.

Even if just for a moment.

 

That nurse was a ray of light.

She was hope.

She was a sign that there were still people who cared.

A light in that blank canvas of nothing.

 

Because that’s what a small ray of sunshine can do.

Because maybe that’s why that door was open in the waiting room.

 

There is still light.

There is still hope.

There is still… something.

 

“They call her name at 7:30.”

 

Another nurse.

Another room.

Cold still.

Nothingness still.

 

“It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever.”

 

Another nurse came in.

“So you’re here to get an ultrasound to find out how far along you are?”

“Yes. I am not sure if I want to proceed beyond that.  I know that knowing that much will help me with my decision and my options.”

 

I was told to disrobe from the waist down.

She would return and we would find out my answer.

 

 

I looked up at a monitor.

It was waiting for someone.

It was waiting for me.

It was waiting for…

 

The nurse returned.

We started looking.

Measurements were taken.

Pictures were taken.

 

The nothingness that I felt disappeared.

I began to cry again.

 

Inside of me there is a seed of love created in happiness.

Of something once undeniably there.

Of something that…

 

I don’t know how it got away from there.

I don’t know how it never seemed to leave there.

But there it was… cozy and comfy in black and white on that screen.

 

A sign of life.

A sign of hope.

A reminder of…

 

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…

our time ago…

 

And while my heart fights the reality of that potentially never being anything more than a memory again

 

You’re still there.

 

I’m still here.

 

I’m not ready to say goodbye to either one of us.

 

And these were my steps.

Little steps.

First steps.

Potentially last steps.

 

There was a part of me sentenced to die…

Whom it seemed you wanted to die.

 

Maybe it did that day.

But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the way either of us thought it would.

 

That little piece of black and white was hope.

It was a sign.

A light in that blank canvas of nothing.

 

Because that’s what a small ray of sunshine can do.

Because maybe that’s why that door was open in the waiting room.

 

There is still light.

There is still hope.

There is still… something.

 

And while I admit I’m completely scared and not sure about the details of what’s about to happen I know that it’s going to be ok.

 

Because that’s what a small ray of sunshine can do.

There is still light.

There is still hope.

There is still… someone.

And I can’t wait to meet you when you get here.

In Remembrance: The Morgue is alive with words

image by Dan Simmons, Dan Simmons.com

Oh my dears.. there is so so much to tell you.  I fear that I have neglected you so.  I’ve hoarded my words.  I’ve stashed my thoughts away in a safe hidden place.

I don’t want to do that anymore.

At least… not the way I have been for months.

This is a forewarning to those who are faint of heart…

Things are about to get… very very real again on here.  Real beyond love stories.  Real and sometimes mundane.

I just want to tell these stories before they disappear.

Because unfortunately, my genetics are telling me that it may very well be my destiny.

Two sets of grandparents are currently undergoing this painful process that doctors call “The long goodbye.”  My grandmother on my mother’s side is farther along.  She is becoming a shell of the person she once was.  She barely remembers my mother or my aunts and uncles.  And, while she and I were never really close, nor me with my mother, I know that this is hurting the family around her who are close to her.

My grandfather on my dad’s side is also going through stages of Alzheimer’s.  Ironically, he is one of those unforgettable people.  He is the guy that is constantly making friends everywhere.  Who is the reason I probably talk so much.  Who… is one of my absolute favorite people (outside of my children) in the entire world (the other being his wife).

My heart is breaking as I am seeing one of the most wonderful and inspirational people-  slowly but surely forgetting more and more of his life… of his memories… of the beauty that he helped to show the world… that he gave to me… that….

I don’t want the world to disappear without knowing my stories anymore.

Granted, I’m not going to tell you everything.  If you want that, pick a lifecaster.  There are some things beautiful about sharing every single detail about ones life, and there are things beautiful in not.  I’m choosing a land of in between.  And that’s… ok.

It is my hope that you find something in these posts to bring you back again and again.  Perhaps it’s because of something inspiring.  Perhaps it’s just something silly.  Perhaps it’s comfort in mundane (oh how I wish some days to be more mundane).  But, if nothing else, I want these stories out there.  For the one day I can’t remember them.  For the chance that someone will. Because words are the way a person never truly dies.

—-

But until then, here are a bunch of silly pictures of tombstones.  Because there are enough posts coming up that you can be sad about and well, some of these images hopefully will help make you smile.  Note: none of these images are mine so please don’t sue me folks.

FUCK Fear

FUCK fear.

It’s been vetoed.  It’s been overturned.  The cake was a lie and we acknowledge that you THINK you can dance/sing/write/insert thing here but…  We get that you think you know it all.  And you have the piece of paper to “prove” it but….  But what?  You’re too afraid to stand up for yourself because of some outside source?  Some inside source?

Ok, well let me remind you today that fear gets you nowhere.  If anything, it only robs you of opportunities.  Opportunities to succeed.  Opportunities to be more than you knew.  Opportunities… to learn lessons.

So please say with me.. FUCK FEAR. 

Suck it up buttercup.  Make more for yourself you baby. Yes. YOU. Baby.    Because you fucking deserve it.

Let’s review:

FUCK fear.  The new you thanks you in advance for listening.

/Class dismissed.

One week of sobriety: A test of self control

Last week was a blur of disappointment and successes, but not for the reasons most might be thinking.

The biggest stateside video game conference had come and gone. It hadn’t been a fun filled week for me as it was for the many that gather here to our great city to celebrate the latest advances in technologies.

I work in two fields: journalism and entertainment. And while video games are a part of my 9-5, they are followed by my true passion: journalism. I have been fortunate to have resided on both sides of the fence. Each has its perks and setbacks.

I did my laundry Sunday. I washed away the remnants of people that I had thought more of before last week, of someone who I didn’t know what to think, of someone whom there exists a war in my head with what to think, and of pieces of myself that I’m learning more and more about.

I waver in between worlds within the spotlight and highlighting those who sparkle under it. But this camera sees a depth of field that…

With any conference comes the after parties. Behind these scenes is where the real magic and disasters occur. It’s the stuff of a million stories that writers won’t write about. It’s the stuff of stories that they probably should write about. It’s stuff that gets compiled into your brain and begs and begs to be released but rarely ever does.  Its the stuff that you wish you didn’t know.  It’s the stuff of stories that can drive you insane due to the lack of ability to release.

It’s the story of someone making an ass of themselves meeting someone for a secret rondevous. It’s the story of trying so hard to impress someone that the only thing that surfaces is the detestable.  It’s the story of having so much alcohol in order to make others tolerable, that a black out happens. It’s the story of [redacted] and the story of [redacted redacted].

When you work in the entertainment industry, you see this in so many instances that eventually, you have two options:
1) Let it overcome you.
or 2)Find a way to overcome it before it consumes you whole.

Life becomes more exhausting than usual. Not only does the weight of your own reality weigh on you, but so does the weight of the people vying for their chance to shine in the limelight of a coveted piece of fifteen moments of fame on the tabloid of choice.

Fearing an impending overdose on it all, I elected to take a command step forward. Paired with someone to assist in co-miserating the experience, I embarked on a journey into a world of glitz and glamour free of a method of escape. For one week I would be alcohol and smoke free.

Notes: I am not a daily drinker. I drink on a number on an occasional basis: networking parties where everyone has a glass of something in their hands, happy hour with coworkers, dates, and when something is really getting to me. The same generally applies to my smoking habits sans for one additional place it enters. Ah the “joys” of Los Angeles traffic.

Day one was to start when he left. He and I had spent the whole day together booze free. The evening had been cut short unexpectedly. Our plans to disappear into historical places taking roost in fabled haunts with as equally fabled spirits faded into the ether (for the time being).

An hour after he’d left however, I found myself assisting a friend (and veteran featured personality) with an art show she’d curated located within a seedy motel downtown. My time was spent in a bed navigating perverts (read: art enthusiasts) through the graphiti clad thrashed rock themed art room. He and I had talked earlier about me attending the show and I was originally going to stay at home and work on my book, but yet there I was. In the middle of it all, I stayed true to my mission. I remained sober and penned away at a notebook as the crowds waved in and out.

One shocking thing happened from the alt-shock event extravaganza  was not what I was expecting in the slightest. Among the sea of onlookers was one of the artists featured in the show with a very special guest. He was a “short” man.  Five ten with brown hair, scruffy and parker-esque. He had a smile that illuminated the room. His words faultered as he was nudged to “Just ask her”.

He talked to me a few minutes.  He’d wanted to take my picture with this artists work. Both of them were delightful people but there was something more about this gentleman. While talking about how we’d both ended up at the event by way of serendipitous routes, my tale of my mission to be sober for the week came up in conversation. He turned to me and said “I completely understand. I’m sober myself.” Does like energy really attract like energy?

When I arrived home however, it was nearly 2am. I was exhausted from the event. I’d had to help scrub the graphiti off the walls and clean up the aftermath. There had been four of us toiling away that evening cleaning. Being an art curator (or in my case, assisting one) is not always as glamorous as it sounds.

The bar below my apartment had my favorite beer on tap. I immediately walked up the steps and got a glass. But after I’d paid for it and it had been poured in front of me, I began to feel horrible. Day one of sobriety had been going so well. Within an instant, I’d ruined it.

The next day I went to visit family in Huntington Beach. I was intending on spending some time as a mermaid beachside a bit as well. Of course, the outfit I chose as I headed to the beach felt more suiting of the event I was at last minute then what I’d ended up wearing. Cest’ le vie. As I packed my bag my brain immediately went to “cans of beer and smokes”.  I shook the idea off and headed seaside.

Even after I’d arrived to family bbq, the two items I’d left behind were pushed into view. My family helped to make excuses for why it would be alright.  So did friends who’d invited me to return back to the bar below my loft bribing feats of hilarity in kiddie pools.  Everyone seemed to chime in “You can just start tomorrow.”

Remembering the night prior, I stuck true to the goal. It was a bit frustrating but it was nothing compared to the temptations that would follow the rest of the week. One such example happened later that evening when I’d arrived home. My secret guest and I had limited ability to enjoy our weekend as my roommate (who isn’t usually home and isn’t home as this is being written) was home for the entirety of it. However she’d had a guest that evening. I wanted nothing more than to go downstairs and have a beer. No can do.

I found myself as the week progressed, and as life continued to rapid fire bullets of everyday flies in the ointment, running a gammit of emotions from intensely frustrated with my lack of easy escapism, to rationalizing the act, to… undeniable clarity.

I went to my first networking event without the escapism. At one point, I’d thought that the booze was necessary. You need a glass in your hand in order to be approachable after all right? Almost right. The event had been a test of wits. It forced me to modify the way I went about my interactions. With the sobriety came more clarity and control over myself in navigating the event than I’d remembered experiencing for a long time.

My eyes were wide open.  I saw everything.  I was better able to gauge who would be the best conservators. I met more valuable, more mature and more truly talented people than I might have had I not been completely sober. I immediately was able to see how I could make their businesses better.  I was more on point with statistical and competition information.  I felt empowered by my lack of a barrier to readily access that information.

The main rationalization I’d previously turned to for the reason to do it “I deserve it” became the reason not to do it. It evolved. Perhaps I did a little in the process as well. And while I may not go completely sober or smoke free right now, I will continue to follow this path. The lessons that I have learned from this week shall not disappear into the ether. I highly encourage each of you to try this for yourself. You don’t have to have a huge problem for it to be effective.

Why?  Because “You deserve it?”  Almost.  It’s because “You deserve more.”

If you or someone you love is experiencing a debacle great or small with alcohol or any other substance, don’t be afraid to seek help with it. You are not alone. For more information on support centers and other outlets, or if you just want to attend a meeting to see what others are saying to see for yourself, feel free to look into the following link at your leisure:

Alcoholics Anonamous

Destination Self: The stuff of fantasies

It’s nearly 4am on Monday morning and my brain is going a 1000 miles an hour.  This month… this year… everything has become such a wonderful blur of busy that…

Six months ago, I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.  Now, I’m happening to me.

I have been fighting a long time to garner success.  Los Angeles is a city where dreams are made and often broken.

Not many people know this, but I have been battling with a lot.  For an “oversharer” I don’t share quite a bit more.  It’s difficult being in a spot where people are watching you.

I was on a bus in Chicago last weekend and I saw a bum babbling about.  It made think even more about the paths that I’ve gone. About how far I’d come from being a little girl in pigtails living in suburbia Illinois.

“This guy is sitting here instead of a mental health facility because no one cares.  Is it better for someone to care or is it better that people don’t?”

Something I’ve struggled with for a long time is this.

The change my grandfather gave me has taken another form.

I’d said at the beginning of the year that this is the time where I finally get everything I’ve dreamed of.  And here it is February and it’s happening.

• I have a great job with a technology company that was rated one of the 10 best places to work in. There’s enormous growth opportunity.
• I have been doing a lot more writing- including a piece where I was fortunate enough to interview pinup artist legend Olivia De Beradinis and 1960s Batman series star Julie Newmar. Afterwards, I watched a surise in Malibu.
• My bike is fully operational and running again.  However I’m buying another one in the near future… with self propelled wheels.
• I have multiple photoshoots in the works.  That’s right, I’m finally working on that modeling portfolio I’ve been wanting to do for some time now.  If you’re reading this and want to schedule a shoot, email me.
• I flew cross country to meet a fantasy man who has adored me from afar for 4 years.  When I saw him, it felt like the opening scene in this video… and that’s not even the half it.

Life is pretty surreal right now.  However with that also comes the multiple stresses that have come about due to these successes which,  for once, seem to only keep coming.

For the longest time I have been fighting to get to this point in my life.  Now that it’s happening, part of me is scared shitless.

In the midst of all these mind blowing events, the following has also happened- and all within the last week and a half:

• My bank card was compromised despite not leaving my purse.  At this time someone made multiple charges to gas stations out of the area.  While the funds have gone back into my account, I still have not gotten a replacement card over 2 weeks later.  I flew cross country to Chicago with hundreds of dollars in cash in my purse on public transportation just in case of an emergency while out there.
• Going on the trip back to Chicago was mind blowing.  I’m not even talking about the person I met (although he is magical as well… that’s another story in itself).  I saw things about Los Angeles that made me remember why I was so hesitant to stay here.  I saw things about Chicago that I didn’t get the chance to experience much whilst living a mere 45 minutes away.  I felt the warm embrace of a city life I’d always dreamed of.  It made me do a lot of thinking about these other worlds out there.  About a city that is so warm even if it’s blustering cold outside.  Of the opposite scenario.  About how both of these worlds have opened my eyes to more about myself.
• An enormous potential opportunity for my writing may be in the works.  While I can’t reveal exactly what, whom it would potentially be with or anything else, let’s just say it’s one of those things that is the stuff of dreams.
• I pitched something elsewhere and that was also taken with positive reception.  I am so busy as it is, but yet I keep adding more to my plate.
• My sleep schedule has officially broken.  When I was in Illinois, I could barely sleep.  Now I’m back and I either can’t sleep much at all or I’m sleeping too much.
• Did I mention I met someone who had previously been a fantasy?  Do you have any idea how life altering that is?  I flew 2000 miles away to meet this man and he not only met but exceeded my expectations.  Should be easy right?  No.  With the whole 2000 miles it commands a lot of patience.  My brain is jelly and is now coping with the clash of reality and fantasy becoming one and the same.  Things will happen organically if they are meant to happen.  I’m stepping back and breathing.  I don’t have anything to worry about so I should stop worrying.  This one, is essentially the least of the things I am/should be worrying about, but alas, its on my mind because its one of the realest romances I have experienced… and it came out of a fantasy.
• My mother called to remind me about how it’s wrong to be the way that I am essentially.  My whole existence to her is taken with such disdain.  From the fact that I didn’t see her whilst in Chicago to her failure to see how I’m busting my ass off for things she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

And that’s just part of it.

I’ve learned so much about me with all of these experiences.

I’m not always the greatest with things.

I may apologize for the times I falter, but this is pillar of life is strong and vibrant.

I know that it’s alright to be vulnerable.

It’s alright to break down.

Without these moments, one wouldn’t be able to sustain things atop the world.

I have aspirations to conquer the world.  I have the ability within me to do it.  I’ve asked for all these dreams to become realities, and now…

This is happening.

This is really happening.

I’m taking a risk by putting this out in the open.  I currently have career opportunities and stability that… well I’ve never really had since my marriage dissipated years ago.  I’ve wanted this.  I’ve dreamed of this.

I told my biggest fan recently:

“I dreamed of you.”

and he told me “I dreamed of you too.”

Another friend of mine and I had a conversation about him before I got on that plane:

(4:16:58 AM) friend: real life dream girls like you don’t happen every day
(4:17:34 AM) me: aww
(4:17:50 AM) friend: it’s true miss
(4:18:08 AM) me: real life dream boys like him don’t happen every day either

So what the hell is my problem?  I’m so much stronger and braver than I’ve been behaving over the past couple of weeks.  To those that have been there with me through it all, I thank you so very much for your patience, compassion, and your unwavering confidence in me.  It means the absolute world to me.

It’s 5am now.  It’s time to get ready for work.  Here comes a 10 hour day in a dream world.  Here’s another day working towards making even more fantasies become realities.  Here’s to another day of me learning more.

Fail often, succeed once.

Today I’m throwing away failure.  Not only am I going to succeed this once but I’m making a commitment to myself to succeed in much more than that.

We have the ability to get everything we want if we only reach out and grab it.

It just takes time.

Home: Building our own definitions

This is my mother’s house in suburbia Illinois.  It’s not the place where I spent my entire childhood.  It’s the house my mother bought on the tail end of my parent’s divorce.  Its next door to the house I would spend my last year in Illinois before I embarked on my dream path: the shores of California.

My mothers world and mine are very very different and its more than just the zip code.

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.

Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You’ll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it’s gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it’s like a cycle or something. I don’t know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.

It’s been nearly 3 years since the itch hath caught me, but here I am yet again.  A white sky and wind chimes silently protest the rolling thunder filling the canvas.  Blank pages used to frighten me.  This one doesn’t surprise me at all.

I came back to celebrate the life of a man I didn’t know that I didn’t really know.   What do you do when you find out everything you thought you knew was a lie?

It started off small: a piece of him I thought I had.  On the day of his death I proudly wore a US Army shirt with his last name written on the pocket.  I’m not sure when (I believe it may have been in my days of ROTC back in high school) or how I acquired it but I always believed that was his.

I knew my grandfather was military, but what I didn’t remember was that he was not in the army.  He was in the navy.

It wasn’t until I had flown cross country to the place I grew up that I would find out.  How much of what else I remembered was also a lie?

I’ve been journaling intermittently throughout my trip.  My mind is scattered and focused… but every time I try to focus on the very man I came here for, I can’t seem to stay there.  Why?

When I’d made the call to my mother (a woman whom I don’t have much of a relationship with) it was greeted with disdain.  See, I haven’t been “home” in years despite many friends and other family here requesting me visit.

“You have friends and family here that care about you and want you here.” friends would tell me.

“I’ll be back someday… likely in a box but not anytime soon if I can help it.”

And that’s when I’ve come back.  Last time it was for my cousin’s funeral.  Time passed and so did another.  Tragedy happened again.  My mother’s side seems to get the brunt of it.  Perhaps its because there are more of them than in daddy’s immediate family.

When I’d come back last time, I saw friends as well.  I don’t believe death should be a sad time.  Its a time to celebrate life all around you.  So when I come home, I make a point to see as many friends and family here as I can.  I do my best to fill the days here with positivity.  Nothing gets accomplished with sadness and worry.  Life has a way of working things out.

Theres a touch of a scent of mildew.  The water washes the country roads of its city grime.  The sadness remains constant.  It bids to swallow this place whole.  Not so secretly, a part of me wishes that it would.  Perhaps this is why I ran to pages of comic book and blobs of paint.

My favorite place for baked raviolis closed down a year ago.  Some of my friends had moved to the city.  I find less and less reasons to return every time I come here.

The phone call to tell mom I’d pulled the favor with my longtime friend and gotten a ticket home was greeted not with an ecstatic thank you, but

“This is not a vacation.  You are here to see me and be with my family.  That’s all this is about.  It’s not about you.”

And while it isn’t a vacation, it is about family, and, as selfish as it may sound, it’s also not about them.  Life is a journey and the destination is yourself.

I made the call to my friend for my mother.  She and I have years of darkness that I want nothing more than to get through.  I haven’t been the nicest person.  Neither has she.  There are reasons I don’t live here anymore.  There are reasons why I don’t make a huge effort to come back.  The feeling of “home” hasn’t existed in this place I spent my childhood for what feels like ages.

I was speaking with someone this morning about what home is.

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You’ll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it’s gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it’s like a cycle or something. I don’t know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.

Home is not just a place a person spends some of their time in.  It is a feeling.  It is a state of mind.  It is a place of refuge.  It is comfort.  It’s a hug.  But it’s more than that.  It’s very specific.

Home is not something you are given.  Home is a gift that is found deep within the heart.  I am constantly surprised by the places where I have found this very specific embrace.

I was standing in line at two stores before I made my exodus from LA.  I’d lost more than a grandfather this week and I wanted to chronicle via film the whole adventure.  I didn’t make it to the checkout line with a camera.  Instead, I bought 3 bags of candy.  I didn’t even buy a notebook.

I went back to my apartment and packed in a rush.  I wasn’t the only one going on a trip that morning.  After I gathered everything, I dashed to see Prince Charming.  I wanted my last moments in Los Angeles to be spent with someone who brought back to the surface these feelings of home simply by just existing.  Someone beyond myself.  If only for a moment.

Even being there, however wasn’t about just him.  It was about me.

We both live in our singular worlds and at times we peek out and step into a world outside of it.

This would be the first trip we would not take together… but that’s a different story.

He brought me to the airport bus.  It was late but I would still catch it.  I really do need to speed up.  Was part of me just not wanting to say….

We kissed and said our “See you laters.”  I’m not a fan of the word “Goodbye.”

Is that partially what this is about?

The rain stopped outside. I shouldn’t be inside writing.  I should be out and about meeting a stranger in my hometown visiting from Portland or a secret admirer from a city just outside my “home”town.  I should be visiting friends and having a grand ole time.  But this is not a vacation.

The door slammed.  My mother returned from work.  I think I may toss on my Converse and get muddy and contemplative and wet. Years later,  my escape route has changed very little.

My mother is watching family videos.  In her world, these were the “happier days.”  And as much as I do enjoy my own moments of nostalgia, moments with her are not the moments that I turn to.

A friend of mine gave me a challenge for this trip: to film only the things that made me happy about being back.

“My mother would never be filmed.” I told him.

In the vacuum of silence and laughter of yesteryear, I look at how different our memories are.  Beyond just my grandfather, were these too all just… an illusion created in the mind’s eye?

Off I go into the great white yonder.  Armed with a camera and a pen.  And while it isn’t a vacation, it is about family, and, as selfish as it may sound, it’s also not about them.  Dare to build your own definitions.  Dare to create your own stories.

Life is a journey in ever constant motion and the destination is yourself.

If this note has touched you in any way, I would love for you to write me and tell me your story.  What is your definition of home?  What makes an amazing memory amazing?  Do you believe that where you grew up is your home?  Why?  How has it shaped you as the person you are now?

Thank you so much.  I look forward to hearing from you.

In the blink of a moment

There were two meetings for coffee yesterday.  One was with a friend/business associate, the other was with a friend/former business associate.

Quite frankly both of those meetings were exceedingly important to me.

With things making a turn for the worst with Mr, and well… the quest for a 9-5 still ongoing, the interludes were…  pretty helpful for me.

That is, until I blinked for a moment.

Yesterday, after coming home from coffee and folding cranes, we turned the corner to see the lot where my truck had been parked previously, was now empty.

A new business had opened on the corner… a medical marijuana dispensary.  The lot had transients outside and was newly painted.  I should have moved it sooner.  I didn’t and it was my own damn fault.

We’d known that it was going to happen, but could do nothing about it.

I don’t feel unsafe here, but in a way… I am really not happy that it went up.

Why?

Because my truck is gone.

I wish it were not true.  But unfortunately, it is.

I called about it.  It’s been gone longer than I thought.  I was told that by my roommate it had been gone over a week.  I was so busy that I hadn’t noticed.

I got a call from a friend in [redacted] last week- “Come visit me.  I’m in town.”

I went down there for a day and a half.  I went to close that door and take a big look into my past/present.

An hour into the visit with the best friend I had there, he says

“When are you getting your passport?”

He took me to all the things that we used to do back then.  A movie, dim sum, jamba juice, tacos.  He offered to take me out for drinks and I declined.

It was another life… an easy button that I just didn’t want to press.

Dad always said I did things the hard way.

He reminded me of what little it took to…

I wasn’t really happy back then.
I wasn’t happy in my marriage.

And as good as he had been to me… there was something missing with everything else about that relationship that it just never could go past that “friend zone.”

There wasn’t passion.

There wasn’t a deep intellectual connection and a firey desire for…
I realized that I may have only experienced that a couple of times in my lifetime, and one was not my marriage.  It was not with the grip.

I knew the difference and I could feel it.  What’s worse is that I worry I may have squandered the chance at that something amazing with…

The night there was even harder on me.  I told him when I went down there that I wanted (despite his efforts) nothing “of that nature” with anyone and… well if I did have that, I wanted to explore that with Mr… whenever the time may be that..

The next day I drove to the ocean.  I said my goodbyes.  He says he wants to visit me here in LA.  He may be serious.  He may not be.  It’s not something that I’m really thinking about as much as I thank him for being my friend… and miss that part of him. I know it will never be though.  I know that what I want is something… far greater and “unattainable.”

I was cleaning my room last night trying to get my mind off of things.  It’s just a truck and in the end, it really shouldn’t matter… but that piece of shit meant something to me.

In cleaning the slate, I thought about things him.  The way I’d acted before… the time that’s passed.
I know what I did wrong.  In the rush of things… first his interest and my want to take things slow to get to know him better… to my rushing…

I got silly and stupid and carried away.

I know that I have done wrong and hope that that chance isn’t completely gone.  I think it moved way too fast, and am hoping that Mr and I can get back to that point before all of the shit really started coming about.

It never fully felt like it was just a friendship to me, even when it was.  I think that deep down, we both knew something was there… and frankly it scared the crap out of me too.

It has resorted to petty silly arguing and what not.. it’s just is not what either of us wanted when we first entered into it.  All I wanted was a sidekick to share in my adventures.  We didn’t want any problems… and really there should never have been.

I’ve thus, elected myself to be free of relationships and romantic interludes until further notice.   With one exception: I don’t want to give up on him just yet.  I’m not expecting it to happen anytime soon or even at all.  But, who knows what’s in the cards?

I am reminded why I was hesitant to really getting into anything after all of the stuff that’s happened in my past.  Call me sour grapes or call me cautious.

I am also reminded that my collection of friends is diverse and, well apparently I like to do quite a bit that it seems many aren’t up for.  Maybe I’ll meet some new people along the way.  Maybe I won’t.

And while I’m happy that I met him… even if it doesn’t work out to…

It’s going to be ok.

I know that I am fully whole.  I don’t need someone to complete me.  I may be alone on many of my adventures, but at the same time, I don’t think its a complete bad thing.

So if you see me at roller derby Saturday, come say hello.  But otherwise, I’ll be off on my own exploring this city though no longer occasionally in a vintage truck.

One day at a time.

I’ve found that it’s really the only way to fly.

And maybe someday I will meet a bird that will perch with me… if even for a short moment.

Here’s hoping that when I do, it’s you that’s there by my side.

But if not, well…

Bam! Yet ANOTHER project

As some of you may know, I attended Comic Con a few weeks ago.  What many of you do not know is that my background in video games is only proceeded by comic books.

Growing up, my family, in particular my father, has had a love for books.  Dad would hand me books since before I could read.  He told me tales of fantasy and these larger than life characters.  My mother never understood this aspect.  I truly believe dad may have been doing it partially to piss her off.

They are now divorced and happier.  She lives in Illinois still with her new husband.  Dad lives in suburbia Los Angeles in the dreaded 909.

The comic books that I collected growing up are currently stored in a trunk in a garage at my mother’s home.  I am actually quite amazed that they are still there, regardless of whichever condition that they may be in.  You see, my mother burned the baseball cards I collected at the time.

Dad’s house is like another world entirely.  Everywhere you look is traces of his fixation with comic books.  He has a full bedroom for my son that is nothing but Spiderman.  Dad is a big kid at heart.  He frequents comic shops weekly.  He raised me on books like Tales from the Crypt, Batman, and Spiderman.

Uncle Jay & I in my son's Spiderman Room

Despite my recent cosplay endeavor, I wasn’t always a Supergirl fan.  Dad wasn’t interested in Superman.  It seems that you are either a Batman fan or a Superman fan.  We were the former.  The new Detective Comics featuring Batwoman are currently in my monthly “must pick up list.”  Superman still has of yet to make a regular home for me.

However even back then I really didn’t partake as much from the mainstream comic book lines.  There has always been a draw for me to the artistically popping, underdogs of indie comic books.  Maybe that’s why I was rebellious growing up.  Maybe that’s why, to a degree, I still am.  It feels awesome to be a cliche.

After the convention I began to re-evaluate where my passions were.  While I do love video games, I have found that the community within the comic book industry has some very important things to offer me that, well video games really don’t for me- timelessness and a foundation in encouraging literacy and imagination in its execution.

I found myself looking back.  At my own childhood.  Of sitting on shoulders with loose teeth as my dad pointed to superheroes on comic books.

In present day, I have passed these things to my children as well.  I encourage my son to read comic books.  And, while he may go with his grandfather and read those mainstream books, he also reads indies with his mother.

my son reading "The Edge" a story within Volume 3 of the comic "Flight"

I realized that I had not been completely true to myself.  Perhaps part of the reason why I never felt at ease or why it didn’t just all fall into place was that.  I was denying myself the potential to reach further.

When I went to Comic Con, I was representing Girls Entertainment Network.  And while I am thankful for the opportunity I had to work with them, I have come to realize that I have a different vision for how I would like to proceed with my venture into comic book journalism.

Approximately 2 years ago I purchased a series of domains for various projects that I was considering.  I had been mulling over the thought about a comic book site for some time but never made the jump into it.

I went to a movie showing of the 1943 rare Batman serial and an exhibit this weekend on the Golden Age of comic books over at the Skirball Cultural Center.  It reminded me so much about what we, as a culture, have lost, what we have gained, and what remains the same though it may have a different face.

It was profound and moving with its subtleties and brash overtones.

The time has come.  The past doesn’t always have to be so scary.  Neither does the future.  It’s time they shook hands.

I will continue to write freelance for comic book realted sites, but am also gathering steam for what I need to make a website that I believe will be something I am proud of.  Please stay tuned for further information about my site: Superficially Iconic: “a site for comic book intellectuals.. and everyone else too.”

The sky's the limit oh dear Superfriend of mine.

See you at Long Beach Comic Con.  And now I have to get ready for a superhero birthday party… Marvel turned the big seven-oh today don’t you know?

2 Choices

Dear Hannibal,

Dad always said that I do things the hard way.  And you know what?  He’s right.. to an extent.

I am going to take both choices of advice you gave me… both of which, actually turn into the hard route.  Or maybe it’s not.  Maybe…. just maybe… it’s both.

Thank you sir.

Time and perseverance.

It’s going to be a fight all the way through.  But from me, you may or may not have known I was going to do that.

Cheers,

Scandalous

Prose: Untitled focus

“Enjoy the concert.  Here’s hoping this guy makes you smile.” he said as I was preparing to leave.

A text message from another world came in… what he didn’t know, was that I was already glowing.

“I don’t need a dude to have a good time.”  I told him.

And I didn’t.

And I don’t.

I realized that anything above and beyond that, regardless if worked out or not, was just a bonus.

It has taken me a long time to get here, but I’ve finally arrived.

This is who I am.

This is who I want to be.

It’s nice to meet

… me.

My eyes are open.

My heart is as well.

Love is a battlefield.  You don’t have to retreat but you have to keep your shield up, even if it is a weapon as the Spartans say.

I am prepared to be the person I have always wanted to be…

I am prepared to learn the lessons and experience the pain and the levity without prejudice.

Because that is how you get stronger.

Because that is how you progress.

With a concrete squishy heart…

With eyes wide open…

I know that anything is possible.