My parents never call me. Estranged from my one sister and not talking to one brother. The last sibling is handicapped and doesn’t choose to associate with me, either. It’s painful, dark, and lonely. Yet I feel more peace than I have felt in years. I recall the moment the peace entered - driving in my car with my father and I had just told him about the suspected sibling abuse. His response was to ask me why I would even bring it up if I didn’t remember it. His response started to break my heart, but very quickly I felt an overwhelming cloak of peace come over me. Like armor protecting the warrior. I am grateful.
Yet, I am still sad. Sad that there’s such deep betrayal. Sad that I don’t have a family. Sad that I am alone in this world.
I started writing in my early teens. Maybe even before then; I can’t quite remember. It feels like I’ve always been writing. Journals and poetry mostly. Yes, I’m sure it was before my teenage years; because as a young girl I kept diaries. Where are those?
The point is that writing has always been a balm to my soul. And I’ve somehow not paid it enough attention in the last 10 years, or so. Unfortunately. But I read something yesterday, or the day before, that reminded me that my overall balance actually depends on me being able to write freely and express the emotions and thoughts that are in my head and heart. In my soul.
And so, here I am. Back at it. It’s truly comforting. If I had a video of all of the times I’d sat down and put thoughts into words, it would be quite the lengthy movie. I’m glad I’ve kept this blog over the last 5? or so years. (I need to figure out how long it has been.) Even though a lot of what I’ve written is painful, I’m still glad that I have those thoughts in black and white. They are precious. Maybe even my most prized possession outside of my children. And dog. They are my longest companion. They have been there for me in my darkest moments as well as my happiest times.
I am 50 years old, and I am feeling it. It has been a long journey. But a pretty amazing one, as well. So much betrayal and heartache. I had no idea! And my own family has turned against me. It is extremely painful. But I don’t want to focus on that now.
Beautiful moments? Riding on the back of Paul Weller’s Vespa and laying my head in the hood of his parka where I fell asleep. I felt so safe-guarded. So cared-for. Driving down the street w/ Paris Match and running over the kid’s ball and then laughing hysterically. The days that each of my children were born. Visiting TT’s grave at Rose Lawn. Dancing on American Bandstand and the drummer of The Alarm giving me his drumstick. Balboa. Driving up PCH - Newport Coast. Living in La Jolla and Marc. And the San Diego Temple. Flying around the world again and again and again. Alone. Writing in my travel diary with my feet straight up on the window—looking out at the typhoon weather—and not being afraid. Not even for a second.
The first time I flew into Hong Kong! It was like landing in a treasure chest. What an amazing sight. The Twelve Apostles outside of Melbourne. Climbing the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Walking on the Newport Pier to the very end...what was that place called? Paris Match’s love from the pulpit when I was just 16 or 17.
Because I’m going to L.A. in August, I reached out to Paul Weller tonight. Oh, and because I’m thinking about buying a vintage Vespa as part of my camping, #getoutside campaign. I had the best messaging conversation with him. So full of love and depth. I’m left feeling warm and understood and accepted and wanted and special and cared for and sought after and thought about and on and on. Just wow.
“You know I would marry you in a heartbeat.”
“You are so sweet, beautiful, passionate...”
“Our story is yet to be written.” (I literally started crying with this one. Tears. Running down my face.)
“Not only are you so beautiful but your disposition is so attractive.” (I love that one! Someone who can see beneath the surface of what I’ve become.)
And so I am once again grateful for these rare moments that I get to feel like someone, somewhere cares about me and loves me. That I’m not going to live and die without leaving some little bit of a footprint on someone’s soul.
I have found peace lately. Or it has found me. I don’t take that lightly. I know where peace comes from and I know that it is by grace and not from anything that I have done. That is where they have it all wrong. All wrong. And so I am grateful and I will continue to walk in gratitude even though my heart is broken in pieces and forever will be different than what it once was. I can be kind. I can be gracious. It is simple. That is all.
Thank you, Paul, for 35 years of love. Thank you for the gift of love in the future — even if it never comes true — thank you for the hope. It’s a beautiful thing.
I just need to remind myself of your narcissistic ways and how brutally cruel you were in the end. You are dead to me - forever. So shush, my heart!!! Buck up! Warrior on!! And just in case there’s ever any attempt, please come here to be reminded of the cruelty in response to empathy. The betrayal to complete trust. It was a ruse. A theatrical performance played out on the stage of my life. But, I will give it this: it helped me start to heal a long-ago-broken piece of my soul.
Do not give in. Stay strong. Resist. Turn away. Simply walk away.