Sister in Green

 

Grade school days left me jaded toward certain people. My defenses were always up and my senses alert.

Sophomore year of high school came and I was already on cloud nine. Freshman year was a success, I just went to Italy and Sicily. My past, in regards to grade school turmoil, seemed so far behind me. You walked in and Mr. Steiner sat you next to me. Unlike previous times, I didn’t make a fist out of anxiety, I didn’t feel nervous or on edge. You sat and I introduced myself. What happened next was comical and typical for people of our heritages. It was as if we were sniffing each other out, questioning in our minds “is she safe?”. You then blurted out “my grandfather is probably rolling over in his grave right now because I’m talking to you.” I sat in silence. You put me in my place. But at the same time you reassured me.

We had many classes together as high school went on. Even the dreaded drivers ed! We weren’t particularly close and we didn’t hang out outside of school. But your presence was always felt.

Leaving play practice one night I saw you in the parking lot crying hysterically. Some girls were with you and were comforting you. I heard you cry out “you don’t understand, he’s my world”. I assumed it was a fight with your boyfriend, but I didn’t pry. I got into my mothers car and proclaimed how bad I felt for you. I was terrified of what I saw, I never wanted another person to have as much control over me as that man had over you.

Years later that very thing happened to me. Many years later. And I found myself crying out similar hymns. Oddly enough, it was with your help that I allowed this person in my life. I don’t know whether to thank you or curse you! But, if it weren’t for you, I would not have been able to rip off that band aid and attempt to heal. And in the times that I back tracked and was consumed with rage again, it was thinking of you that pulled me out.

I never said these words to you, but you helped save me. You and many other women in the school we loved. On the last day of school, I was a mess! I saw you and we reunited in the room we met. Through my tears I looked at you and knew how much your presence impacted my life. I was too scared to say anything, so I just sat and cried. You helped me be proud of who I am, even with our differences. In my dramatic mind, we brought together two groups of people to show that our similarities are more powerful than our differences. I’ve always had a penchant for the dramatics!

Thank you, my sister. I now and forever share the colors Gold & Green with you. Not because of where I was born, but because of where I grew.

Bambini

 

The church bells ring, alerting the believers that the time is upon them to worship. Vibrations of the bells can be heard throughout the neighborhood and if you are close enough, they can even be felt. But those bells have a different meaning to you, my friend. They alert you to get your next fix. To remind you of an exchange that needs to occur. The bells give you a shiver of guilt, the Catholic kind. You know what you are doing is wrong, but you do it anyway. Your defiance will surely be something you confess to your priest. We grew up in the same streets, but our stories feel miles apart.

  How far do you have to push until you stop and question “is this enough, is this too far?”. None of us came from perfect homes. We had people in our lives who brought us disappointment, but now you are serving up the disappointment. Where did you go wrong? I, like you, was called a daego and wop. I, like you, was made to feel inferior and not good enough. I, like you, saw people close to me die in tragic ways. What is it that you saw that I did not? What did you experience that I clearly missed? We were raised by a neighborhood filled of parents, grandparents and extended family. Our roots were never too far. What was it that made you spit in their face? I breathed in the same air as you, filled with exhaust from the bus and train. Filled with the smoke of restaurants and the fragrance of freshly cooked pastry. I ate the same food as you, full of basil and garlic and oil. But you consume things now that I could never imagine you would. You fill your lungs, your veins, with poison. I’m still referred to as “the kid”, but what you consume makes you look double your age now. And we are not many years apart. But it feels like you came from a different era, a different time. Not of mine. But I remember you. I remember seeing you run these streets and I remember looking up to you. Now I look past you, I look away.

 I am no better than you. My hurts and wounds have manifested in different ways, mostly self doubt. My own brain pumps the poison that you have to purchase and consume. I don’t need an outside source, it comes from within. But I want to understand why you do what you do. I want to understand how you have not learned. We saw people die. We saw legends fall, so I know you have felt that heartbreak. So, is that what you want? To create more heartbreak? I would have thought you learned the lesson. I know it can’t be poverty. We didn’t grow up wealthy, but the kids from the suburbs have the same problems. The ones who grew up with the white picket fences also struggle. But I expected more of us. We were different.

 Our ancestors, some not too far removed, made a great journey to this country. They left everything behind to attempt to create a better future. This is not what they would have wanted. They didn’t travel thousands of miles to see their trees break this way.

 Child from my youth. Bambini from my back story. Why? Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to us. You don’t need to push the limits, it’s not worth it. Remember who you are, remember where we came from. Remember the sacrifice it took to bring you into this world. Don’t throw that away. Don’t throw their struggles away and make them invalid. Try to remember the dreams we once had and the people we wanted to be. Be that person.

Panic Room in my Mind

I was 15  years old when the panic attacks started. While on a family trip in Italy. My stomach started to twist and I felt as though fire went coursing through my veins. “Get out” my brain screamed. “Danger, this is not safe. You are going to die. You’re worthless”. Mantras that repeated in my brain.

At 16 I stopped leaving the house, except to go to school. Even that was a difficult task. I lost over 50 pounds from not eating or not being able to keep food down.

18 years old and I lay face down on the kitchen floor. It was the first day of college and I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. My hands and feet go numb as I lay there and cry. “I can’t do this. I won’t make it”. My mother had to accompany me to my first day at college. That’s a fact that I have never told anyone before.

22 and I was on stage during a performance of Matt & Ben (a play about Matt Damon and Ben Affleck before they wrote Good Will Hunting. It was meant for two women to play the parts and I played Ben). Before going on stage I felt my stomach sink and the flush of heat go over my body. I stepped on stage and took my seat at the desk, typing on a keyboard as Matt gave a monologue. I remember looking down at my fingers shaking and saying in my head “stop the show. You cannot get through this. Stop it”. I went on to give my best performance, all the while having multiple panic attacks.

25 and I was emotionally preparing in the basement of my acting school. I was triggered by a memory and sat there frozen. The lights flickered, which alerted the next pair of actors to go up to the stage and do their exercise. But I can’t move. I just sat. My partner went up and I waited. Walking up the stairs felt like the hardest journey any human has ever made. It was as if I was moving through quicksand. I knock on the door to alert my scene partner of my presence. He opens and just stands in silence. The tears running down my face as my body shook. All he could do was hug me and he stood in silence as I sobbed.

27 and I’m drunk at a party. A boy who I adored at the time kept smiling at me. We were the last ones up and played a game of baseball on the Wii. As I did my best baseball pose, shaking my butt at him, he grabbed me and we stood and looked into each others eyes. We knew what was about to happen. I sat on the couch and he laid next to me. “I’m right here, if you want something then you make a move” I said. He laid there starring at me through glassy drunken eyes. “Show me” he said. What unfolded was my happiest moment and what quickly became my biggest regret. I went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and let out a silent scream. Panic again. I spent the night lying on the bathroom floor, bleeding and vomiting.

28 and I had the fortune to be photographed by a prominent photographer and film maker. We drive around town looking for the perfect spot. As she is setting up she mentions her interaction with a famous actor, one whom I adore. He was there that night when I was 27, on screen as we watched a movie. The mere mention of his name causing the memories of that night to flash before my eyes. And there I am again “get out, you need to leave, you are not going to make it”. I stopped the shoot early and went back to my friends house where I was staying. “I need to leave, drive me to the airport”. I left because of the panic.

29. Today. I’m on set for a short film that I wrote and was acting in. As I drink my coffee and stand out in the sun, I look at the people around me. Some friends who I share an interesting journey with. “Wow, how did we get here? And I’m so proud we have survived”. We film a couple shots and move on to the next location. Stomach drops. Danger is approaching. My body temperature is rising. “Get out. You are not good enough for this. You need to leave”. I went to a nearby bathroom and stood, looking at my reflection. “I’ve seen you before, you scared girl. Why does this keep happening? Why do you care so deeply that it penetrates your bones? Why do you put the weight of the world onto your shoulders? Why do you allow yourself to be a sponge to this crazy, dirty world? You are safe and you are doing what you love. This is the last place in the world for you to feel upset or unsure. You know what you are doing and you know that you are capable. Why be afraid?”

I went back to the set, attempted to push through, but failed. I had to call it a day and go home. I had to ask the nice men, who I was barely able to pay for their help, to pack up and go home. I was embarrassed. Defeated. Disappointed. Alone. I cried the entire way home, feeling like a failure.

My panic has been with me for 15 years. It’s part of me but I refuse to allow it to define me. My anxiety and depression are within me, but they are not me. I have fought my brain so many times to get to where I am. And there is so much more fighting that I have to do to get to the place that I want to be. “Why, why does this have to happen to me? So and so doesn’t have to do this. She gets booked and doesn’t have to deal with this.” My step father looked at me and said “yes, those other people do get jobs. But you are carrying an extra weight and you are making your jobs.”

Today was a set back. But I will only continue to move forward with this weight I carry. And with each day I get one step closer to my dream, extra weight and all. 

 (Photo taken in LA while having my panic attack. Photo Credit: Ama Lea)

Ode to an Angel

It was nearing the end of 2003 when I saw the trailer for an HBO miniseries, starring Al Pacino and Meryl Streep. Such heavy weights in the acting world that I was convinced they would create a solar flare just by being in each others presence. I caught the tail end of the last installment and it had me massively confused but intrigued. HBO wasn’t going to air the reruns until February or March of 2004, if my memory serves me correctly. But I waited in anticipation for it. I should mention that 2004 was the year I graduated high school. Most of my friends were securing money for college or buying beat up cars. Not me! I was racing home to watch Pacino and Streep. That’s actually a running theme in my life – kids go out and climb trees, I run inside to watch a performance. I digress.

The opening score was a melodic tune that literally swept you through the clouds and ended with a tight frame of the Bethesda Angel in Central Park. The series was Angels in America.

Directed by the great Mike Nichols and starring Al Pacino, Meryl Streep and Emma Thompson, to name a few. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. And it dealt with themes that were close to me, yet so far away. I can’t even attempt to explain the whole plot, but it deals with the AIDS epidemic in the 80’s, while also commenting on politics, religion, sex, drugs, hallucinations and Mormons. Basically, all the things that you are not “supposed” to talk about. But to me it was delicate information given to me from the astounding writer, Tony Kushner. Never before had I seen something that made me question things while also slightly offending me but peaking my interest to make me want to watch more.

Very rarely can an ensemble cast as large as this pull off a flawless performance. With multiple actors, well, there’s usually a dud or two. It’s ok, I’ve been the dud and I can tell you that it doesn’t feel great. Luckily, this piece didn’t have that problem. It is compromised of eight main actors: Al Pacino, Meryl Streep, Emma Thompson, Jeffrey Wright , Mary-Louise Parker, Justin Kirk, Ben Shenkman and Patrick Wilson. My attention was quickly placed on the character of Harper, played by Mary-Louise Parker.

 It’s not easy to describe Harper, but to paraphrase, she is a pill-popping Mormon housewife who suffers from hallucinations and is married to a closeted homosexual. As the story unfolds, Harper demands the truth from her husband, Joe, who is played by Patrick Wilson. It’s a truth that she has known all along and she harbors guilt and resentment for knowing his secret. After a particularly bad hallucination, which involves Eskimos  and biting down a tree with her teeth, she gets the courage to pack up her things and leave Joe.

I’m watching this chaotic story as a 17 year old viewer. Harper became a huge inspiration to me at that time and she continues to be. What, a Mormon pill addict doesn’t sound like a hero?! No, I get it, she doesn’t. But seeing her in the context of the whole story is a different animal. On the outside she is seen as weak, fragile, dependent and a complete basket case. I mean, she has an imaginary friend names “Mr. Lies” who is a member of the International Order of Travel Agents and whisks her away whenever she needs to escape. It’s far from lucid behavior. But, in the context of knowing who she is, seeing the truth, understanding the core of humanity – Harper has a one up on all the other characters.

Just this week I was reciting a monologue of Harper’s and contemplating the complexity of her character. It made me think of how quickly we judge those who suffer from mental illness. Labels like crazy and deranged are thrown out constantly. It’s a quick title that we throw out to not have to deal with being uncomfortable about the topic. But if you look a little closer you will see that what you label “crazy” might just be brilliance. You were just too busy or scared to take that look.

And with that, I leave you with my favorite quotes of Harper Pitt, from Angels in America:

-“Imagination can’t create anything new, can it? It only recycles bits and pieces from the world and reassembles them into visions… So when we thing we’ve escaped the unbearable ordinariness and, well, untruthfulness of our lives, it’s really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged into the appearance of novelty and truth. Nothing unknown is knowable. Don’t you think it’s depressing?”

-“You, the one part of
the real world I wasn’t allergic to.”

-“Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there’s a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that’s so.”