I might concentrate on psychological genres a moment, as I really went through enough of them. You know, when it comes to the relationship I had with the Hollywood screenwriter, a man who was a New Age person sort of disgused as not one. He’s giving me “the Seth Books,” telling me to forget “the costume,” which is already problematic, because “the content is right…” and I don’t know if he were to, not to say I went to foster care, hand that book out to “people from divine births” as he told me, literally speaking, that my birth was divine because I was born to parents who were not there. He wasn’t not speaking figuratively. Danger. Fast forward to the end of my life, “it doesn’t matter what the rent is…” crushed, I got crushed. “Meditate on the time of day, your location, and repeat, plenty of money comes to me,” while I am in a shithole. And he’s going to say, “why are you doing that to yourself,” when his brother told me the same thing. When they were young, he took his hand, and this was told to me as if it were wise, and he started punching him with it, “why are you hurting yourself….” No, why are YOU hurting your own brother with HIS hand? And yet, what would his brother do, lie for his brother? Protect his assailant? You see what I’m saying? THAT’s who I got involved with. Not a benign character. An “evolved” meditator. It was the dark side of manifestation, the dark side of — using your mind as if it were a piece of tech that you could access to make magic feats happen. Not to say that, “you know, I happened to fall into some perfect line of logic where I showed up, and this happened, and then…” I just don’t know the utlity of getting obsessed with how things unfold in some META way.
That guy has dangerous beliefs, dangerous especially to me, someone who came from a complicated background, which I have the right to say. I have the right to say that what happened to me was unacceptable. He acts as though he’s not making decisions, like taking his brother’s hand and hitting him with it and blaming him? Disturbing. There might be something I can do with that relationship. That descent into madness, despair, where she doesn’t even know if she was abused, but based on… Jesus, I look back, and I can’t even believe it was possible. “They FEED YOU…” and picture Emma Stone, calling him, continuing to play his game, that “I wasn’t fed…?” And he doesn’t SEE his hand. Shoving that down my throat. Over a book draft! He evidently, based on his LEADING statements, believed I wasn’t fed or cared for properly, when I gave no indication of it. Sure, probably, I guess, but what in hell told him that vaguely suggesting this was a GOOD IDEA?
I can’t STOP talking about this asshole.
I used not be able to watch these types of movies, and now, I just might find solace in them. So I’m going to go see it. He was not a well man. He was fucked up, really fucked up. That was abusive. That was an ABUSE of power. And it almost killed me, this relationship. So—my anger is cosmic. I suppose that will dull in time. I don’t know how to begin putting that relationship in formal words, because, once again, he doesn’t SEE himself. YOU YOU YOU — when YOU started it. Meaning HIM. My heart, literally speaking, was in a state of agony for years. My literal heart. He hurt me worse than my own parents… and that’s with the potential sexual abuse in it. His “helping me” routine, unnecessary, a waste of time and space. And I’m going to keep talking about it, because that was insane. “The theme here in nourishment,” imagine? That’s what he said. When I said that I had met a guy—right???? — a chef. We were supposedly just friends, right? Though, um, someone had to talk to me as if I were a traumatized individual, which wasn’t fun, “that’s not a friend.” And my “I don’t know” persona was a coping mechanism, understandable. Don’t ACT, coming from my background, that I DON’T KNOW how people can treat you, but I think about the Epstein girls, and my heart goes out to them, because confronting my vulnerability and the pain of having been misused and abused by my parents… made me almost want to end my life. That I—yes, was vulnerable, yes. For real. I’m being so honest. What is the point of living? Now, I’m not being totally serious, but I have had my moments, for sure.
So yeah, I mention that I’m dating someone…? A chef, and isn’t it funny, I’ve dated ONE chef, before, people speak hyperbolically. I wouldn’t call it a theme, I would say, I love Food. Like, many many magazines exist about food and beverage! People love FOOD, restaurants, DRINKS. And this guru, in Beverly Hills, amazing, just amazing, he stops. Hands behind his back, guru-like, a teacher who has never taught anyone. “The theme here is nourishment.” And I’m acting like wondrous, what do you mean? You see, he’s manipulating my innocence… whether or not he UNDERSTOOD what HE WAS DOING to this degree of depth, is not my problem.
“I don’t know,” he said, brows raised………. trailing off…..as if he did know… he just couldn’t tell me. “I’m always feeding you…” he said, when, finally, when I got support around this lunatic, someone informed me. “Why the hell is this man speaking to you like this?!” I thought we had a recurring lunch date? “Feeding me?” Disgusting. It was disgusting that he enjoyed this. “I’m always feeding you…” a woman he remarked was vulnerable. Unbelievable. And he took advantage of that. I let him, sure, asshole. A classic male asshole. With superior feeling senses… a psychic, yes, though he KNOWS he can’t say that, he can’t be open about that. A smart man. Strange. Very strange. That was a mentally ill person, meaning, that person had issues—a personality disorder. ETHICS. What he did was unethical. He presented himself as a big shot writer with genius capacities if not supernatural.
So I’m going to see Bugonia, I’m going to cry, probably, and I’ll watch movies like that, that involve psychological journies. The boy in Whiplash practically dies… because he also admires this prodigal figure, the jazz conductor, and he gets caught… me, I felt as though I got caught up in a JAZZ orchestra yes, like, why does he think this? I’m not even in my desired arena? You see? He’s telling me I’m SPECIAL, while belittling me at the same time though HE believes that he is HOLDING ME UP, though I do not NEED this PRESSURE. He projected on me in such a way that would inspire an orchestra, and I — keep going back. Amazing. I mean, most of the people I know, once again, I’ve tried to talk to about this, they don’t even know what to say — AGAIN. Like, why do people do this to you?
Like, my friend is a Tony nominee, my other friend has been photographed by Annie Leibovitz, my other friend is a Tony Award winner. They did not have to deal with this shit, people exercising their power, because they were…talented? Which was not the deal here. I was SPECIAL. Do you understand how manipulative that is? I was special? How? So I deserved to be psycho analyzed over a lost DVD? I deserved to be insulted by some disgustingly, truly, emotional man shaking his hand at me on the street. “You cannot disappoint me,” over a LOST DVD, “you have my looovveeee…” I looked back on this relationship, like, BLOWN AWAY. He did this because I was special. HE TOLD ME, picture him taking his own brother’s hand, “that I WAS SPECIAL,” he then held me up after confusing me, “and he intended to keep his perspective…” what the hell was that? Script analysis. As if I didn’t KNOW I was special, over an I TANYA DVD? No way. That’s the type of behavior that friends are — intervening, no. Get the fuck away from that guy. Not HE, not HIM, not get away from her. ME, “why the fuck are you here, Maria?”
You see, I needed this person. “You’re not SEEING THIS…” it almost killed me. He doesn’t care, which was so like my mother, just her illness, her true insanity. And my father? Who knows, at this point… he was an abusive person… he’s going to in a sense take your own hand and HIT you with it. YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT, you see, and in the “about” section of the movie, if you would, it’s ABOUT the age of disconnection. Someone who has no clue what a relationship is, and who is going to derive some sick pleasure… is HELPING a girl to the point of killing her.
“It’s a really good psychological device,” this fictional character in my draft. A man who hated me, in fact. But he’s going to BE RIGHT THERE EXACTLY WHEN I CALL NO MATTER THE TIME. HE’S GOING TO — GET OFF THE PHONE QUICKLY when I call. He’s going to weirdly psychically say, suggest, that “he was thinking about me…” when I called. He’s not going to SAY anything, really, but then, when he does talk, it’s going to be weird. Nightmare. Satan. He told me a fictional character in my draft was a “really good psychological device.” And HOW was that supposed to help me, at all? His brother was a bit looney, as well. Giving me channeler tapes. This guru, he’s ABOUT THE ENERGY. Cra—aa—zy. Imagine? The comedy? This man turned to me in Beverly Hills.
“What’s the central energetic frequency of this material…” about something I was writing. You’re “spinning it up,” the energy, “can you handle it?” I mean, truly speaking, what is he doing? I was panicking, I mean. YOU CAN REACH greatness through a book draft? When I was, literally, at step one someone who had never, not in my entire life, exhibited any… behavior like this, ever. Ever.
It’s NOT because I was repressed, asshole, as this man only inspires this sort of language. He disturbed me. I came from a background. Anyway, another day where I — can’t even believe this man, really. The first night I hung out with him, I tried to pay for my drink, as I wasn’t sure WHAT exactly had interested him about me… he didn’t ask me out on a date, or anything. And he said, I’m living in my sister’s attic, no, loft, and that he was better off than me. I wasn’t unfortunate.
He got triggered by my background, by me, as a vulnerable, feeling person. Someone who was remarkably vulnerable, someone remarkably kind, unaware, too, and he chose to become a guru… wanting to help me… though I did not need HELP. He did. He needed help. Psychological help. What he did was wrong. It was not okay at all. And that straight up ruined my life. SURE I DID IT, his obsession with ME being the ONE. He should look at that, and try on not being a weirdo. He was a total weirdo with a nice car.
Now, I remember once, I don’t even know how we got here, but “he gets laid,” he told me, as if he “goes out and gets laid…” from time to time…and I’m like, is that the way you speak to a LADY? I look back at this guy, and I go, I have no idea how I didn’t see what an ogre he was. A true ogre. Like, “good for you?”