I just got this message from another friend: “whatever is happening, I love you and hope you’re doing well.” After reading my blog post. How many times do I have to say, I don’t know if I was abused, what’s the confusion about? I told her, more than once, that I don’t know if I was abused. I’m telling you, it’s amazing to me. “Whatever is happening…” I have no idea how to respond to that. I said, I do not know if I was abused by my parents when I was four, and she didn’t respond. She didn’t even follow up with me. NOW she’s wondering what’s going on? “Whatever is happening…” I’m listening to the Golden Age, Spiderman soundtrack, as the taxi I’m in is weaving around Central Park, and it’s so beautiful at this time of year — the autumn leaves, it’s storybook. I really have reached a breaking point. I truly have.
It’s all good, these aren’t my close friends, I don’t know what else to say. Fine, let’s get a fucking drink while you’re in town with TOM CRUISE, as I’ve had hilarious conversations with this man on the psychospiritual plane, like maybe HE would be AMAZED by how no one gets it.
It’s amazing that a video on social media brought me words of concern, a VIDEO, please, what would Jay Shetty say? I started in my attic? I didn’t look that GREAT either? But I don’t get any concern, follow through, a how are you over that. “How’s everything going with that?” You’re going to have to lend a hand? I’m not even asking for one, it’s more, I don’t get it.
“Whatever is happening…” I do not know how to respond to that. I literally have been blown away by people’s responses. Like, if YOU told me that, what do you think I would do? Am I not allowed to be hurt by that? I’m going through the literal story, the literal story with this sexual trauma specialist — literal story, and he’s not shutting me down. he’s going, “Yeah, I can’t TELL YOU, but it’s already IN the story.” Am I supposed to KEEP saying the SAME thing over and over again?
I DO NOT KNOW IF I WAS ABUSED.
Truly.
Do not send me “whatever is happening…” I’ve been writing BLOG POSTS about it for a while now. I GET YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME — AND BELIEVE WHAT? — so no, I do not want to SPEAK to you, because IF YOU TOLD ME what I TOLD YOU, them, I would not be responding like this! I’m infuriated.
As I said in my newsletter — the NYTIMES, who questioned the validity of Amy Griffin’s statements, is going to be nodding at me, like they can follow the confusion, the pain, the utter impossiblity of it. My STORY has always been the same… I just don’t know if she LIED about him being a threat to me, because of what I went through. And regardless, I went through something that sincerely made me question whether or not it’s true. I cannot STAND this. “Do not contact me.”
It’s driving me nuts. Looking at these notecards, wanting to give it up, I’m telling you. I want to give it up. Sorry, I posted A COUPLE of videos on social media, and I wrote a blog post about it, because I am frustrated. Yikes, I didn’t want this shit. What’s the point? You know?
I don’t know, when I think back to this Hollywood screenwriter… how he wrote all over me, when no one even asked, the obvious, I don’t know. I didn’t think it was true, obviously, for most of my life, though I made no sense, remember, at the same time. I made no sense. The story made no sense. THEN, I started writing about it, with this lunatic screenwriter talking about fictional characters being “really good psychological devices,” and I woke up to what happened. Now, I don’t know. I have real questions. That are valid. Looking at my LUNATIC parents. Both of them. In my mind. I can’t even LOOK at a photo of them!
“Whatever is happening…” she says. That’s it, I’ve reached my limit. That’s it. I cannot talk for a while. I’m going to just do my best to finish this stupid story, and I’m going to reach out to EPIC with it, and HOPE they say, “we can work with this.” I’m going to lose it. The GHOST of my actress with me… as we curve around Central Park with my new vintage Gucci bag, which I bought myself for my birthday (it’s a joke, as people believe I am psychic, for real, okay? The screenwriter too, and he also believes that the line between life and death is arbitrary, let’s emphasis that word, so the ghost of the actress STAYS for real, to make a joke about it). We are amazed, just amazed. But now, I’m upset, and people are wondering why?
How would YOU feel? If you’re looking at notecards, building up a story, that you yourself did not understand, to get tangled up in nothing but confusion, arrogance, manhandling, and sentiment… with some screenwriter wanting to play GURU. You know? Jesus. I’m at a loss. Personally. I don’t know what to say. I mean what I say. It’s hard enough not being able to look at a picture of my parents, not being able to know, and everyone is missing the point. It happened, regardless.
All these people wondered, “why are you so unaffected?” WELL?
I don’t need to TALK, because I can’t, even, I’m too fucked up by all this, but I would appreciate a little comprehension. Is that too much to ask? It’s like— whoa — the journey — my mother now, yes my mother now, I said that, meaning, my current adopted mother, as this goddamn story provoked a maladapative pattern, forget trauma, no one is interested in mine — she is even acting like I didn’t say that.
Can someone please understand me? Why would I want to play “patty cake bakers man” right now? WHY do I have to play that game? I GET what YOU THINK, and this sexual trauma specialist, chill, but not so chill within me, is HEARING the story and telling me I have a right to be here. Please leave me alone with the “patty cake bakers man” talk. I’m graining away from all this, for the moment, because the guru’s bullshit, excuse me, about creating your own reality is even causing me confusion, and I imagine that abused people, people who have been abused, might stand with me at least — and blow this guy away!
“Everything that happens to you is what you WANT…to happen” on some meta level. Please. I just, I have reached a breaking point. It’s fine, the noise I am making is barely flashing a light in the world, my friends, like, I have 700 followers, blog posts can be deleted, as well as social media posts, there is absolutely no risk here. There is nothing major happening. No one gives a crap about my social media platform. Not yet anyway. I can adjust, keep trying to put myself out there…
I’m just finding myself at a point, like, why am I doing this exactly? The guru with his VOODOO talk, okay? Missed the point. He missed the point. I thought there was something of value within it, I just don’t know what that is anymore, because I don’t get any kind of encouragement at all — literally none. When it was UNREAL, sure. So is the universe telling me — just stop. No one wants your story. Or, do I have to take a deep breath and go, what I’m doing isn’t working… it’s just, I’m talking about a handful of people I hardly even see! I’m not even talking about… crowds of people here. This has been such an ordeal.
So — this is what I learned. I can’t mention my true feelings. I cannot be honest. I cannot experiment on social media for fear of….? I’m going to have to, for myself, because it hurts too much, you see, and maybe someone could have advised against going on social media? This guru, I’m telling you, this screenwriter, even “telling your story” with your cousins in Naples, Italy. Look, um, in my experience, no one responds well to any talk of child abuse.
When he said, “they see through the show?” What was this man even talking about? I can’t talk to them about that. Be real. Angelica Leibowitz? If you must know, when she thought it was TRUE, based on what was really happening here, she thought my mother was rejecting me because of that. Dr. J was not your average crazy. Sorry, I can’t help that I am the one, or one of those who come from Crazy Town.
I’m admittedly still struggling from this guru’s involvement — I’m still struggling with the useless psychic track that the plant people supported here. Okay? “Are you?” That’s a comedian…coming up to me at a bar, but for real. “Are you?” Look man, I don’t care, who knows? It’s just for me, they said, it doesn’t work like that, they said. It didn’t WORK OUT, so no. I got so aggrevated, so aggrevated by feeling isolated, rejected, ignored, and yeah, I suppose some people checked up on me… in airy-fairy tones, so I felt like I had to remain silent.
LOOK, no one, so mental health professional is going to HEAR my real story and know what to say to me. “This is insane.” It’s not the other way around. I’m not TALKING crazy, it is crazy. It does not LOOK good. My parents don’t look innocent. Forget the dementia. These people would not PUT MORE on me. They would probably stand by me as I explode at my entire life, and everyone in it. “This is probably deeply necessary in her case.”
“Something isn’t wrong with me, there’s something wrong with you.”
Everyone in my life.
Right now, it sucks. The whole thing sucks. But I hope that the Gods will smile in my favor. Just because I feel like I walked a road that I did not know I was on (with questionable characters acting like they know when they didn’t). And I still have to get these odd messages from people like I haven’t been clear here as to what the question of my life is right now. Looking at a structure that is holding together, for a story about all this, and the question is: was it true?
“She did this because she was jealous…” you see, that’s what my father said. “She wanted to tear us apart…” okay, feeling winded, twisted, and nauseated, needing someone to HOLD ME, please. Mirrors being smashed off the walls, so, thirty years later, I’m on a roller coaster ride, blinking that these statements. So, she lied about you being a child molester because she was jealous? Please. Of a four-year-old.
“This is how she left it,” he said, when I haven’t been here in four years, though that’s not entirely true, now is it? So where did I sleep? You see? Easy for you to make decisions about what really happened when it’s not your body… or story. I’m telling you, this drove me nuts. It truly did.
So that’s it, I’m on my blog again, I was feeling positive this morning, and my friend came to mind last night, and I haven’t spoken to her in a while, so I reached out JUST to say hello. And she hits me with concern over a social media post, but you navigate through it… what are you even talking about? So I’m pissed, officially, I’m so angry, “whatever is happening…” you know what? I went into the car with this bitch when she was having a panic attack over some DUDE? Drove around with her for hours? So imagine, please, for any reason, if you didn’t know if you were abused, what do you think I would have done? Enough.
Can’t say hello. It’s not happening right now. Not everything I’m doing right now on social media is working according to the first 5 people there, THANKS. I decided I would move things around… and I’ll work out my anger and confusion over the stupid guru… his direction, suggestions. What an arrogant man that was. Acting like a guru because he meditates. Can someone hear me please? And the thing is, I would never act like that. And what, would he TELL ME based on his FEELING what he thinks happened?! I cannot stand this man. That’s exactly how he acted to my detriment! This sexual trauma specialist was like, who even is this person?
Alright, I’m done for today. I didn’t want drama. I didn’t want strife. I can’t help that I’m, I don’t know, dealing with that, so when I get ignored by my supposed—closest friends, shouldn’t I just get new friends? Like YOU made yourselves very clear, now MY question is WHY would I be here? When I feel like, generally, I would keep acknowledging it, keep saying, we can keep talking, if you’d like…? How’s that going? “It’s more everyone else.” I just keep on trying to get this story out there, in some capacity, seeking validation, it’s just—it might not be there.
I feel as though I have to accept, just don’t talk to certain people, just smile and nod, don’t make any reference to my feelings, this story, and don’t contact anyone who’s going to be concerned about a social media post about a funny Christmas. Does that make sense? But it doesn’t occur to her to say, “hello, how are you?” Or, “wow, what you said, yeah that’s concerning…” that I don’t know if I was abused? The social media post lingers… but not that. I don’t know what to say. That’s all I have to say.
I really don’t know what to say about this one. So I might go dark a second. I don’t even post that often. I really don’t understand the problem. I’m going to finish this story, “um,” imagining a little nice PING informing the EPIC editors that my story has arrived, they have no idea what’s coming… and I hope they respond to it. I’ll keep going. Is there something wrong with sucking, even? I mean, one post, for a minute, to get to something? I don’t have these sorts of judgments.
Except to say, I might need to put on makeup, or I might need to make it clearer that. I am not being serious… about a Christmas-sport-experience. Maybe wrong context. Maybe not the time. Like it’s premature. I just end up getting frustrated and angry because who gives a shit? So that’s that. I’m struggling with this stupid platform, that I am not even on, I’m not scrolling that much, but, I don’t know, the guru said, I should figure it out. And is that true? You know?
I was supersonic speed biking to the antique gallery through Central Park to buy this bag and glass for my birthday, as I decided to embrace the fairytale explorer vibe. I felt like I had to say goodbye to my entire life… just a big goodbye, waving, waving it all away. Goodbye! I don’t even understand it. But I got April, I got that date in April, when I will present new work to The Pit, as a woman told me, who developed a one-woman show, did. I’ll keep developing it, there are always call outs for work… so I’ll keep doing that. I never cared about this platform… someone just said, “here try it…” and it caused me just problems, and I don’t know why… because what I’m doing is embarassing? Is that even fair?
I’m just done, today, I am done. I have a cute Gucci sack, laughing, as I bike through Central Park, picturing Barbara Harris biking with me… and she’s laughing too… I’m picturing Tom Cruise, even, laughing… just the absurdity that I have to deal with sheer agony… of people asking me “whatever is happening…” while the sexual trauma specialist speaks, he continues to, about what this might be, and in my case, “it really happened,” so… he’s not exactly a therapist like that, he just left me with empowerment… that I should feel empowered… but it’s hard to feel that way, when the world, when it feels like the world doesn’t want you to exist… like, thanks Dr. J, really, thanks for the joyride, lady, because that was a fucking nightmare.
“Breasts at my door,” Angelica Leibowitz said. “My front door,” looking at me with DEMONIC eyes. “Breasts, Maria, at my door. I opened my DOOR and there were breasts! Maria,” she moved closer to me, “BLOUSE totally open. OPEN. Maria, blouse OPEN.” And I’m biking through Central Park… with Barbara Harris… as real messages from my friends scroll, about me being confused, to cut to: me at four throwing fists, screaming my head off, with her daughter, as my father stands at a wide open door like a guilty man. Being dropped off like a THING at my house — and the more I put together, the angrier I became, I went through a whole bodily event. Sure, mix in crazy people, all that. The sexual trauma specialist, he’s able to hold a complex moment. And I don’t know, it’s the strangest feeling…like the more I let go… you see… of all of them… all of that… the better I feel, the realer I feel, like I don’t think I’m wrong. I don’t think I’m wrong that I’m going to be backed up, that the story doesn’t sound too good… that I deserved better than this. Better friends.
So my whole life, it came to a real end, and I’m going to be forty soon, and I’m not at all where I want to be, but I got a beautiful glass, made of real gold, I got a lovely bag, a new address to get a vintage belt once I find the jeans… and I have a classic view outside my window of golden leaves, red, a beautiful ride through the park. I thought, it’s a great setting for a superhero, as I saw the Joker when I was in the hospital, and I thought, hey, you know, my mother looked like one… so maybe I could bring a Joker into existence… I didn’t know what that meant… but I see glimmers of stories, imagining I don’t know, turning off the road to see the specialist in some TV show, film, something, as I’m thinking of going in that direction, or I’d like to. There’s a lot I could do with that story, and I really really want a happy ending. I want something good to come out of all this. I want to be able to look back and say, it’s over, I’m exactly where I’d like to be.
This book, Jesus, whatever, is well received, simply, because in the world at large, it’s not exactly that unbelievable. I don’t know how to tackle that one, it was a real situation that got out of control over a four year old. The world might not even care. This guru painted HARRY POTTER pictures. Like I was in fact Harry Potter. The most successful version exist, according to him, MERLIN, when it’s like, can you look at yourself? Over that. Over a little sex scandal. I don’t think anyone is going to tell me, I’m not describing that accurately… a short cut version.
I felt like I lost my whole life. And from the looks of it, I don’t know if I’m losing or gaining even if I’m alone. I had no idea with this one, I still don’t. It turns out, I wasn’t a good friend at all, that’s the conclusion I had to come to. You know? That I went in the wrong direction… even. But I’m sure that will change, I just really don’t know what to do with my world right now, my old one. It’s just a goodbye.
I’m going to keep getting on my feet, I will finish this story, and open up to what’s next in my life. I’m spilling out because I’ve had a terrible time, truly, a terrible time — and I have no one right now, and that wasn’t always the case, but then, they all forgot where I came from. Again, the story didn’t change. Even my closest friend who also called himself my manager? When I am not an actress. He even said, right? About my father? Sounds abusive? So what exactly is that new? Or unbelievable about it? I agree, I definitely am struggling with the believability of it.
So, that’s it, I need to go, and I’ll keep getting on this blog. Thanks for reading, if anyone is, as I still struggle, really, with the future crap, or this idea that anyone wants me to get “there” at all, wherever “there” is, guru. Ever feel so much resistance, you don’t know if it’s the universe saying — stop, you’re wrong? Or am I supposed to keep pedaling through this because there’s a real reason to…?
I mean, just thinking about what I heard people say to me about all this.
Anyway, I’m off.