I thought I might include where I am in the present moment as I build this book about the four years I lived with another family (Miracle Mile) because my mother accused my father of being a child rapist, on the blunt end, not just a child molester. I laugh, I have to, because child molester was the lesser evil between the two.
Tough, I felt so unlucky about what happened when I decided to write a book about these years. I struggle with the past decade more so than I do with the distance past, my family. Strange men, specifically, strange older men came into my life, and they shattered my sense of self. They hurt me worse than my own parents.
Telling anyone about Miracle Mile — it caused me nothing but chaos and confusion. People did not grasp it conceptually. They THOUGHT they did though, even though I didn’t always make sense…that was a piece of feedback I received. “This makes no sense.” It didn’t. I can’t help that it might make more sense if the accusations were indeed true.
I struggle, today, not because of this story, though I do, but mostly because of the men who came into my life in my thirties, as that decade turned out to be the worst time of my life. I made stupid decisions, which is fine for me to admit, it’s more that these men were even stupidier, though they presented themselves as gurus, psychics, and geniuses — these men.
Help was a real shadow. I avoided it by staying outside of the United States, to get specific, as I only encountered this problem in the US. People who want to help, what I would say, there are tons of articles about the subject, since it’s a tricky idea. How do you help someone? Why did I need help? I was confused, looking back on the past decade, why did I need help, specifically? Yours? Why are you giving me drugs?
How was this supposed to help me?
Stuff like that.
First, I met this guy through a friend, and he turned out to be plant medicine facilitator. He brought me into this world—unnecessarily. He heard a little about my story, but these people didn’t hear it, didn’t treat me correctly, so — looking back on it now — why are we doing drugs, basically, in my apartment in Paris? Wasn’t this a therapy thing? I’m not against drugs, I cannot even get into this subject. I was not LOOKING to get into drugs in my thirties, to be frank. And even he admitted that I wasn’t brought into this “work” correctly. I did not need that. This was not therapy in any way shape or form. Not for me. Both my parents were mentally ill. Not to say that I was, but I came from a situation that necessitated extra precaution. And of course, in this loose group, I met the drug addict or daily user. Again, I came into this equation as someone from a real fucking background. So if the past that I wasn’t aware of… began to surface… I had ZERO care or assistance. I think that’s what hurt me the most, I had zero care zero assistance. Who gives a shit about Maria? She’s fine, whatever. I am not a fan. One of my friends, Nate, he didn’t like this man who brought me into this “work,” and it’s been a real struggle for me because I was vulnerable in a particular way. I wasn’t aware I could get hurt, for example. That was not in my vocabulary. This Slytherin, I call him, I mean, these were all Slytherins, but he, jokingly, looks like a Slytherin. I got involved with a Slytherin—a drug addict, genius — just like Dr. J. He was looking for someone to do drugs with, obviously, though he wanted to help me, too, one of these “helpers…” when, why did I need help to begin with? WHY?
This goddamn shadow.
That group, this plant medicine group, sent me down a track that was not necessary. I can’t HELP that I was living in a daze, I was not SEEING what was going on. I was not AWARE that there are real drug addicts, for example, because I had not fully realized that my mother was one. I didn’t want to project this story out into the world, which was a problem, so I did not know…and I needed to make a fundamental shift in thought. Discernment. My boundaries were not secure. This was not the right direction for someone like me, at that time. And this group helped me to deplete my resources, on top of it, as I spent my money with them. It was so maddening, because my ex even said “you’re the poorest friend I have…” so why am I here? WHY am I the one paying, while richer people don’t??? I was not poor, actually, sure, I wasn’t a goddamn millionaire, but that’s the sort of LOGIC that harmed me. I was belittled, my ex treated me like I had no one…when that was not true. I was encouraged in the wrong direction—generally. That was not CONSTRUCTIVE.
If you’re not a psychologist, don’t act like one.
I woke up early this morning because I am struggling with where I’m currently at, like I lost money, I was stripped of my sense of self… but that goes to “the guru.”
At the same time that I was getting involved with plant medicines VIA a boyfriend, sort of, long distance relationship, as if that was even a good idea, I met a guru…a wannabee guru in Los Angeles. He heard ONE line of my story, as that’s what I was writing about, and the first time I hung out with this real dick, he pointed to me across his living room — arm outstretched. He shook his pointer finger at me.
“KNOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW….” He sounded and looked like the catepillar from Alice in Wonderland. “KNOOOOOOW WHAT DO YOU WANNA KNOOOOOOWWWW LIFE IS NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU WANNA DOOOOO BUT WHAT YOU WANNA KNOOOWWWW.”
I just met this person.
Do I even need to tell you anything else?
Most people in my shoes would — stare at him, nod, like I don’t know what you’re speaking to me like this…and leave. No way, no way— President Barack Obama would not stay for tea. I needed to rely on President Barack Obama spiritually to help me through this — there’s no way President Barack Obama would allow anyone to speak to him like that. “I’m sorry?”
And the abyss, the gaping hole I felt when I woke up…to this. Why am I here? Why didn’t I get up and leave? I, unfortunately, could not bridge an essential gap because of how I was treated in the past. WHY do people do this to me? WHY do people start acting strangely? It struck me, but where? I got lured in. The next time we hung out, we’re speaking about my mother?? My PAIN? HOW and WHY am I here? WHY is this man getting a hard on… over this terrible ordeal I went through? This man, this guru, was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I showcased vulnerability, as, well, that story actually happened to me, and he mistook vulnerability as he has none, he was a heartless man, as pain. I’ve run into that comment before. I can’t show anything, you see, when I tell this story, which then gets me another comment, and President Barack Obama might be able to complete my sentences at this point as “the public” is a real beast. “Why aren’t you…not okay?” Um, “because I am strong…” I don’t know what to say.
That’s a snapshot of the main players that came into my life in my thirties. My decision to get more involved with these people only harmed me. I did not get anything out of it. I became psychic, what? That’s where I ended up, which hurts me, that I was disrespected to this degree. I had problems with power, it was a specific type of problem, one I had to seriously re-structure.
I was trying to tell my friend about it yesterday, and “the psychic period” exists in the same psychological spectrum as the sex scandal I was in, where someone can’t even really place themselves in it. “Psychic?” It’s otherworldly. I was flabbergasted by this supposed therapeutic approach?
And, was there abuse in my childhood? Was there abuse that I went through with one of these…unsettling groups of men…? Nothing about them, even the little I told thus far, would make someone feel safe. I wasn’t with safe men.
I was told I was special, Joan Didion (without any pages read), and even gifted… psychically and vaguely—the guru KNEW, as he had superior feeling senses, so he acted as if he were psychic, that I was SPECIAL. He kept saying that word, in a manipulative tone. Did I not KNOW I was special in his mind? Not a direct communicator. He’s deciding without any real need for my imput.
The guru was not associated with the plant medicine group, but they were all psychic. These men were the most psychic people telling me that I was psychic. They thought, “yeah totally, Maria came from a shitshow, let’s put this psychicness on top of her…” in short, this was the most unnecessary detour I ever took. This GURU — it sucked to come to terms with this later—was so slimy. He wanted to help me… by giving me meditation techniques? I’m looking at this hypnotherapist, going, why the fuck are you giving ME channeler tapes?
In the end, I was horrified. I developed an emotional attachment to the guru. I became unrecognizable to myself unable to place myself. I started disconnecting from him years later, like seven. I just held back.
He sent me, a couple of times, a random picture on social media as if trying to hook me…get me to say hello to HIM, as in, he couldn’t even say hello to his own friend, supposedly? I was blown away by this man. He shattered my sense of self, manipulated me, since he acted as if he didn’t even need to ask me a question to KNOW who I was. He acted like a psychologist, a gifted psychologist who happened to not go…in that direction… when this man had no right. No right at all. He disrespected me the first time I met him.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
What he did was unethical. I was not a game. I was not on “The Hero’s Journey” as this guru acted as if I was…because I wanted to “be a writer.” He was ridiculous. I lost everything. I was a mess after this decade. I pretty much hate these people. To be frank, this stupid family story only caused me more problems. This guru, in particular, embodied what I mean.
I tried to voice that I didn’t know if —it was a lie about my father anymore based on what I went through, as I ended up in the hospital. I was ignored. I cut off contact with one friend because of it. I’m negotiating with others.
This guru only projected problems on me that I did not have, originally. He was obsessed with problems. He psychoanalyzed me over an I-TANYA DVD, so I could write a psychological thriller about this, most definitely… about a girl who comes from a real background and becomes endangered because of it. The guru got a weird hard on over my story, heartbreaking— he was a truly troubled individual. If he thinks that — that was the safest move to make with a nice girl, meaning, a very nice person, someone who worked very hard to not project her story out into the world, he’s insane. He put me at risk so he could play a role because he was bored.
I GET that he thought I was SPECIAL.
I just don’t understand why he thought I didn’t KNOW that.
Who gives a shit? You feel me?
All I did was open my mouth.
And I’m the one who paid the price, I’m the one who had something to lose, not this guy. I wrote him even. I would have to explain to a jury, in this case, if we were in that context, why I got involved with you to begin with… as he raised red flags the first time I met him. I didn’t even know, at that point, that I would have been able to end up with manipulative, mentally unsound people. Like, the Slytherin.
My ex, our friend in common, he said, “he’s crazy,” he said that. This is the plant medicine group. He said that “sometimes he treats people in unspeakable ways…” forget that this guy was a drug addict, why didn’t my friend, my ex, tell me that at the beginning.
“Do not get close to this person.”
I came from a background. Who gives a shit if I was pretty?
I already CAME FROM, I’m so angry, a situation that I couldn’t SPEAK about… so why did I need another problem that I could not speak about? My stupid psychicness. So I stepped onto a comedy stage. Stood there, good and comfortable, as I have nothing to hide, and I have begun to tell people about what happened.
“I became psychic.”
“You see? The trajectory: I was in a sex scandal when I was four, and by thirty, I became psychic.” I did not need that.
The sexual trauma specialist doesn’t know WHERE I might have been taken advantage of… but I’m pretty sure that I was.
I knew my return to NYC was going to be rough. I mean, I don’t have any money, which wasn’t the case ten years ago. I got a job as a hostess in NYC because my writing jobs aren’t enough, and I just got back into town. The guru said that, sure, spend your IRA MONEY, spend your MONEY because I could MEDITATE the money into existence, literally. Now, I can hardly scrape by, though I just got back to New York, not even two months ago, so I’m navigating as someone who was broken down. I was broken down, as a person.
“Words are not your primary form of communication,” the guru said. I don’t know if he has split personality, or he went off the rails… I don’t know.
The Slytherin, I believe, he sent me a message through my website at 5 AM in 2021, a threat, even if it was empty. I had asked him and his associate for my money back. The message was a threat about my actual bank was going to be shut down… no ask. I was struggling with the physical experiences I started going through, hanging onto “the lie” that my father was a child molester, coming to wake up to the fact that this total stranger, this Brazilian mother, decided in the end that it wasn’t true, because she found herself in a nightmare that did not get better.
I got out of the hospital after that, after spending a night on the floor struggling with whether or not I was abused—in that part of my body — and the Slytherin got on the phone with me… why? I don’t know.
He said, “you’re a really good friend,” and then, he farted… long and hard on the phone. “He sometimes treats people in unspeakable ways,” my ex, our friend in common, said about that. So I GOT the message, if you catch my drift.
I’m just doing a freewrite today… I need an outlet.
The sexual trauma specialist said, “are you asking me whether or not your mother could have really put you in this situation?” Meaning, the years I spent on Miracle Mile because she accused my father of being abusive. “Yes,” he said.
I hate this guru so much some mornings, and I’m trying very hard to let it go, but I felt mistreated, truly. I felt like he crossed LINES left and right…and I did not see it because of where I came from — and that relationship harmed me.
His wealth is infuriating, like he can go hide behind Mommy and Daddy, this mean boy, as he is a mean boy. His brother told me, which I realized later, as I came to wake up to my whole life, so that includes the past decade, that the guru grabbed his hand when they were boys and started punching him with his own hand. “Why are you hurting yourself?” That’s who I got involved with. His brother said that to me…as if it were wise. The guru, as a boy, took his hand and hurt him with it, even if he didn’t hit him hard.
So I got involved with a person who would take someone’s hand and start punching them with it, believing that they wanted that. Can you imagine? That’s the type of person who would rape a woman believing that she wanted to be… you see? That’s the logic that disturbs me.
I have to find a job, I have to start over, and luckily, I have such a positive outlook, as I always have, that I know I’m going to be fine… I’m just angry that I got involved with lunatics. I want to sue my mother, actually, for damages, as her little sex scandal actually affected me. I want to sue everybody, actually, to be honest, but I wouldn’t be able to…but I would love to watch the guru lie, I would LOVE to watch him lie.
He would have to, an “evolved person.”
As they were all men, one might assume that I had problems with my father…I don’t know what to say about that now… they weren’t sexual, as far as I know, except with my ex, but the guru might have been in love with me…unclear… as he said, in a deranged fashion, “you cannot disappoint me you have my love,” because he weirdly decided that — why this was a PROBLEM I do not KNOW — disappointment was the “base feeling” between my father and I. This relationship wouldn’t make anybody feel safe.
So I don’t know what to say, because the guru had emotional problems, that was clear, given how he delivered this — disturbing comment. I was not in a “father play?” I was so shocked. Why are you role playing…? And mixing up love in it?
My mother was the genius, she was mentally ill, she was the drug addict, and even the type of person who made this mother who took me home for four years…question her handling of me, sexually.
Just please.
This guru’s brother, another spiritual leader? Of some kind? These two men: tweedle dumb and tweedle dee, that’s what I call them now. WHY they are so wise, WHY they take themselves to be spiritual practitioners, I don’t know. What exactly was their life experience? Where exactly is this wisdom coming from? Picturing myself sitting on their sister’s couch in Bel Air… unreal. My friend, the one who introduced me to this family, she told me that their sister said “we should not introduce Maria to my brothers, because they,” as in they, not one, “will fall in love with her…”
Given what happened, I don’t even know how to tackle that statement.
WHY was I introduced then? If that’s what she said?
The guru I hate. I hate that man.
I just moved into my little room in NYC, so I’m sensitive, I’m going through a tough move in. I don’t think that I need CORRECTION REFRAMING when it’s simply understandable. No offense, but the obsession with wisdom, the Instagram wisdom, is a touch too much.
Now, I have hip problems, which caused me to flip out, literally, because I went through so much pain… physical pain… in my hips… a few years ago to the point that I passed out, and then, it was gone. But it reappeared, which startled me, because it was real.
I traveled for the past few years, but I worked on this harder than hard floor at this restaurant, and I had to go to a body worker. I don’t even know if I can take a job that requires me to be on my feet… with a stupid friend, a so-called friend, knocking me down because I couldn’t believe how she reacted to me telling her that I didn’t know if I was abused back there. Didn’t even ask, “how are you doing?”
I don’t know why… she doesn’t even know the full story, and yet people generally acted as if they did. The guru did, everybody did. I have no interest in speaking to anyone I knew.
I think to myself— I should be able to find a good job, but I haven’t been able to yet, but now that I got rid of these superior men, I can hear myself think. I don’t know if I wanted to BE A WRITER. I think I wanted to work on books. The experience I had when I decided to try this path out was so terrible, truly terrible, that I hardly want to do it, anymore. It angers me, really, that I got whipped up in psychic talk, when I don’t even know what my gifts are, I mean, the ones I can USE in the world.
Look, as a tip from the wiser though I am younger, someone might not know what they want to DO, yes, DO, after they work out… their whole life. I was not a game. I was not a toy. I can’t do it yet, but I will let their sister know. That’s a plan. What did she know? What did she hear? Did she really tell my friend not to introduce me to them? Does she know they have issues like this?
I started performing again, since I’ve been back. I’ve been open mics, as I would like to develop a show about Miracle Mile and the psychic period. I thought the guru might make a stellar character to present to an audience.
“The book,” taking it out of my head, “is a psychological object.”
“You’re,” taking it out of his head, “taking it out of your head…”
Again, WHY am I here? I was just a girl at a cafe.
I’m meeting with four musicians this week as I’d like to sing again, so that makes me happy, but I have to take care of my immediate problem, money, because I’d like to get back into acting, actually, but that’s going to require an investment. I went over to Trader Joe’s even, to get a whatever job, but I’m worried about my hips as I woke up with minor soreness, but I don’t want it to get worse. I didn’t want to be here.
I struggle with hate. It’s my heart talking. Not my mind. My heart aches with hate for this guru at times. I heard “you create your own reality” 14,000 times. I got the picture. It was disconnected. I didn’t need more shady characters.
I’m going to spend today seeing if I can get on one of these writing platforms to see if I can bring in work another way. I’m so stressed out, I’m so heartbroken, like, I always loved life, I never saw anything as impossible, I couldn’t believe this guru. I couldn’t believe I fell for it, really, but he presented himself as an expert, and he was a good actor, though maybe not, actually. I don’t know.
He actually harmed me. His involvement, his understanding of my life—harmed me. I did not deserve to be treated casually, I did not deserve to be treated as if I weren’t a real person… his desire to teach someone what he knows, whatever that is, seriously hurt me. And he can’t admit what his beliefs are, that’s the thing. I know that. So WHY did he bother me with it?
I want to end up on his sister’s couch, you see. I imagine, even meditate on it. I never had hate, I really didn’t want to have to deal with hate. What this means in looking back on my childhood, “no,” I did not want to be a play thing. I was four. I did not a choice. And for some of us, smiling at this stupid excuse for a psychologist in this guru, that’s a journey to get to.
He had no idea what he was doing.
Telling me, listen to this.
The first time I hung out with him, he pointed his finger in my face to say “life is your idea” rather than an active exercise. So he “helped me along,” sure, and I was looking back on this like, I don’t understand why this is happening. “If there were chalkboard here,” he began in a belittling tone, “I would write family and circle it.”
Okay, that one, that one caused me enough problems. First of all, WHY am I here? Why is this man inserting himself into my private life?
Family was not my “LIFE IDEA.” I’ve spent my life trying to work out my family… so he was wrong.
Here’s a thought, as this man believes I am Carl Jung? That’s what he said. These gurus act like the world isn’t real. Dangerous. I came from a world. He knew nothing about traumatic patterning, nothing.
The guru also believes that I am “divinely inspired,” by the way. That was his brilliant piece of feedback about my draft. I was “born to parents who were not there…which sounded divine to him…” a crazy statement to make.
I sound like — don’t I? — like I was in a cult.
That’s what my friend said yesterday, “shit were you in a cult?”
“Sort of.”
Laughing, “I was the only one there though…”
Can you imagine reading that sentence in a book…?
“A wiseman said that I was born to parents who were not there, and that made me divine…” what was he trying to do? I am confused. Do you know how disturbing that sounds?
I want to drive this man over to foster care — go ahead, big shot, go ahead— tell these kids that they are divinely inspired. It sounds cultish. “I was special,” he said, and it sounds like I was being manipulated.
All I did was state what I was writing about.
I told my friend yesterday, I’ll conceive of a show, where these characters will live and breathe and even thrive — I need to alchemize these experiences into something that brings me plenty, something that amuses people, shocks people. And I’m just dealing with the statements that these people literally told me.
“That sounds divine to me…” so this person lives in a world with magical powers, you understand? Sure, spend the most money you ever spent in your life on rent, because “it doesn’t matter,” he said, because I could ideate the money into existence.
Ridiculous.
I cannot believe that their sister would even agree.
But sure, I can build wealth, sure, AGAIN— why am I HERE?
Anyway, I keep getting through these moments, but if you’re a pretty girl? I’m PEERING through these years, searching for reasons why I deserved to be belittled, disrespected, and put in harm’s way… by people who presented themselves as knowing better. Anybody, look, they’re going to tell me I was stupid.
Watch out.
If you’re a female, watch out.
No one gives a fuck that you were a kid once.
But why would someone take advantage… of someone who might have been abused when they were four? Why would you give that person drugs… while trying to marry them, sort of? Mixed up. These people were mixed up.
I started thinking about — a field of possiblities of what I could do now, but I have to solve an immediate problem, and I feel tender in my hips today, so I don’t know what to do. Luckily, I have a sliver of savings left, but a sliver. So I can’t really use that.
I read about crazy things that have happened to people without rhyme or reason. It happens. It, admittedly, along with the revelatory experience I went through when I reopened these years, knocked me sideways. What does my life even mean? If a guru, this horrific person, would treat me like that? I got the sense that his sister might not have been all that aware… that he couldn’t really be open about our relationship? Why? What’s the problem? If we friends? What was he worried about?
Being perceived as un-benign? Why?
Today, a lot of people talk about manifesting… it was never my problem. Why is everyone so obsessed with manifestation? This positioned my pursuit already in a problematic framework. I did not think it was impossible… becoming a writer? Are you joking? I hate to say this because I’m not like this, but the guru smells of stupid priviledge. Stupid.
I keep trying to, I suppose, rely on my intuition, as I find myself with problems now that I did not have originally. I hope that I’ll keep, I guess, garnering the courage to talk about my story on social media…it’s strange, come on, “so child molestation…” you know? I’d like a career, now, as I wasn’t that interested in it before, but I just don’t know what that is…
As the guru represents, it was mostly people’s reactions to this story that propelled me forward to write about all that… when I actually don’t care that much. Other people did, weirdly. It’s not like I’ve gotten encouragement from my friends, at all, in putting myself out there. What my family now does not understand, I’m pretty sure, is that they don’t look all that sound. That situation doesn’t look sound…
Picture someone asking me publicly about it. “Tell me about them.”
Lots of changes, deep deep changes, a new life. I know, in a real way, I can reach success, I’m alright. I can turn these experiences into something, so I’m going to open mics. I’m taking a deep breath and beginning to think about producing content from a place of what I’ve learned. To me, honestly? Looking at my friends, sorry, I’m grateful to Jay Shetty’s recent kick of telling me, personally, to walk away… no, he’s saying, these are not your friends… as I’m going through this… which made me laugh. I don’t care that much about social media. Meaning, who cares if I try and USE IT as a CHANNEL? Jay Shetty, he’s a monk, he started in his attic, I think, and okay, I might not be a monk, but I did come from a story that typically grabbed people’s attention.
I was in a sex scandal when I was four. Both my parents were ill. Even that, that was the grand revelation of my life, which might bring me “crickets” from any audience member, like, “good job, Maria.” Very good job. Slow clap. I used to say that I was — sort of adopted by all these families — with my parents as loose, disconnected entities. No, I got the first sentence sorted out.
“Both my parents were mentally ill.”
And that’s why everything else happened.
Sure, my father was diagnosed secretly with Parkinson’s, a couple of years after the sex scandal, but that is not soothing…. he kept it a secret, and his “secret illness” even sounds like a joke, until it became Alzheimer’s…
So, in short, both my parents were mentally ill and throw in secret dementia.
I feel that my experience might make me a good candidate to diffuse my ideas and learning on social media… sure, it’s in my pocket, and plenty of people have started out that way. I’m getting there. I don’t know what the F “brand” means…
Barbara Harris just popped into my mind at AJs Supermarket…
But there’s something I can do, for sure. I can play these characters, I can play what it has been like for me personally talking to people about the sex scandal. I can get to a video where I am STUCK in the LOOKING GLASS. I am a real girl, for the love of Christ, not PINOCCHIO. I can figure that part out. More so than social media itself, I hate people’s ATTITUDES about it. It’s a goddamn TV channel in your pocket.
Anyway.
I get through one of these blog posts, and I tend to cycle out what I need to. I’m just working on my book proposal right now. I publish a section of the book once a week. When I re-read them, I think I can discern that someone might call this “stream of consciousness,” which isn’t what I’m going for. But I have to get the ideas out, so I can organize them in the end into clearer chapters. So that’s where I’m at.
The description of Dr. J…
Amazing, no?
She was a real case. One for the books.
“The whitest woman I have ever seen…” that, I hope I’m right, sounds Grimm.
It’s unorganized right now because I don’t know where to put her description yet, and I’m developing it, so I’ll just keep going for the moment. She was a Joker, truly, and it amazed me to come to that realization on the floor of a hospital. I could write an iconic villain. The seeds were always there looking at her figure and her personality… I saw her as prescient, somehow. But I arrived at that conclusion later on, that she was a Joker, or could become a thrilling villain — I could turn a despicable character into a positive object — a villain. I found the key to continue, to get up off a floor of a hospital with pain in my loins, not knowing why, because I embraced the villain. I never thought I could even play a villain, but maybe I could.
My whole world collapsed, my whole world concept, as I was writing this. I came to wake up, literally, to what Angelica Leibowitz was saying, that she wasn’t sure, actually, if it was true about him or not… I was eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, when I conducted this undercover investigation that grew to include the Catholic Church as an organization.
I don’t know how to structure this book yet, as I do not know how to structure one. I know that I will come to question the lie that my father was a child molester, but the problem I have, is the feeling that no one reading is going to question whether or not it was true… so I don’t know what to do with that. They’re going to go, “wait what? When did it become a lie?” Oh no.
With descriptions such as these.
The sexual trauma expert, I haven’t gotten to him yet, but he stopped taking notes. He was worried about Dr. J, because she sounded so sexually unhinged. So WHERE I might have been abused, he didn’t know, only that, by what you’re saying, he didn’t understand WHY I was asking him, “could she have really done this to me?”
“Could she have really done this to you?”
“She already did.”
I’m not in a rush to complete this book, which was a problem in the past, rushing against the clock with limited funds, wanting to yell at these so-called geniuses — that’s what makes me so angry — for encouraging me in a destructive direction and PRETENDING like they KNEW what my story was! I get that I was stupid. But why were you? If you’re a genius? If you’re a…book writer? I was looking back like, why exactly are you helping me? Absurd.
So now I have problems, for sure, in that I have to figure out how to make money, in that, I struggle even, knocking down my stupid family. Did you say you’re concerned about my mental health? Did these people not hear me? I said, imagine? Imagine! Angelica pointed at me. “I said I do not know if I was abused…” so don’t give me some crap about mental health. I truly got angry at this so-called family.
The book is not that big of a deal…all I had to do was get a job, learn how to operate basically speaking, and will I come to learn that — oh no — it was true about my parents? Please, I need someone to hold my hand not knock me down. My friends don’t realize it, thinking about Nicholson’s face in the shining, but this time, you see, it’s Dr. J’s face — Joy. I know there’s a really good idea in Dr. J being a Joker and even me, “The Joker’s Daughter.” It’s hilarious for sure. How true it is. I’m eating a banana, even, right now, as I type this: “I am the Joker’s Daughter.”
Tee-hee, sex scandal… Dr. J is rushing to the IRS…
I’m trying to get to the point where I can just play that card — the Joker card, as it’s one in my life deck. And I only feel support and encouragement, hilariously, from the domain of art, in developing that idea. What a good if not inspiring (funny) take on a sex scandal… or just a villainous mother. I’m not exactly against all the reactions I’ve gotten in calling Dr. Joyce Rebhun a villain produces.
“What’s your problem with it?”
“Is there no such thing as a villain?”
I’ll let that one float……
It’s cool, even, “we tend to think of the path of the villain as a fall from grace, but Joy showed another way was possible,” thinking about this hero with his “novel idea” that “another way is possible.” It’s not that new, hero. So that’s solid. I do think there’s real truth in it. Joy. Not a spot of darkness in her. Not exactly true, but to start, as she was a symbol of disconnection… with her eyes as strikingly blue as the sky.
“Joy,” that’s my idea for her Joker name. I thought “Dr. J” was good, even chillingly perfect, but Joy is better…as that was her signature trait. Her wrist like a flimy hanky — her life and death involvement in the IRS—rushing to put out emergencies — the life and death of it. “The Mother Teresa of the Tax Industry.” She’s a businesswoman, chicer than chic, saving the world! She looks as if she stepped out of a magazine page…she doesn’t have a scratch on her face, so the Joker today, in my humble opinion, would not be typically disfigured. I describe her as a picture-perfect grotesque with her real but fake red wigs. That’s the performance style. I cannot help that the words are the words, that she was grotesque creature with the physicality to match. I cannot help that my former theater teachers would be proud of me… coming up with that phrase that has resonance today… picture perfect grotesque.
“It’s good.”
They’d say.
“Clear.”
“Even true.”
I’ll get there.
I get knocked down, sometimes, because of the men who came into my life, and because my friends more or less ignored me nicely, of course, when I said I didn’t know if I was abused, which is, no offense, grounds to say goodbye for life. I’m frustrated that I don’t have money right now, that my hips hurt, today, so I don’t know if I can take restaurant work. I went to Trader Joe’s even to get another whatever job, as I’m looking for a better job, more writing jobs, something new, even, but today, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The restaurant I’m working at only scheduled me for two days this week, after I had to take a week off because of their floor. On my day off, too, so I’m frustrated with them, frustrated with myself. But it’s more the extreme pain I went through a few years ago… when I went through experiences I couldn’t explain. It shook me. Like, what happened? Was this true? I worked out a lot, I ran a lot in my youth, it’s just, I went through real pain… that went away, completely, and now, it presented itself… again.
I haven’t seen the sexual trauma specialist again. I have to make money first, so I can keep learning from him.
I didn’t need to be here though, and it was stupid, look, it was stupid. It’s more that these men were stupid. A waste of my time.
Mostly, I feel like things are going to go well for me, so I’m just having a tense moment right now. I don’t not believe in the possibilities of it all, or that something magical couldn’t happen to me, you know what I mean? That wasn’t my problem.
I’m trying to think of creative ways of making money, but I don’t know how yet. I’m going to let go of this post, and I’m hanging on because I am struggling financially, and I just didn’t have to, and no, I don’t think that acting like I can make money magically appear — was the safe or productive approach, and when I think about how much MONEY the guru has, it bothers me so deeply because what did I do this man? What did I do? He comes across like a gross rich guy. To this man, now, looking back on it, what was he thinking? I couldn’t believe it, because it seems, in retrospect, mean-spirited.
But sure, I’ll try, I’ll try to make money magically appear… as I’m moving through the city, looking and thinking, what can I do? No problem. No problem there. I want money to come in a box to my house. At least 50k. If not 150k. For sure. A million dollars, even. Delivered to me, tax free. Please.
Anyway, thanks for reading.