Belonging

I'm just not good at it. I just cannot seem to get the whole Socialization of Humans thing quite right. This isn't for lack of trying. As a child, I maintained friendships that I still want to have today. This is likely the reason why I associate with far more animals, than people as a general rule. That's not to say, I'm a hermit, although it's been brought up that my home-nest is pretty much all I live in, at any given time. I should cross-post this into My Doctor Is Killing Me, the blog I write for health advocacy. The reason for a lifetime of sole-ness has been directly related to illness, and for many kids today, they may be going through what I had to as a target of Colitis.

Colitis is a fancy word for "bum from hell". I'm keeping it clean here, butt wasn't. (See, the bad puns that I come up with, harping on stuff like this?) From the age of seven until I was well into my teens, I had to answer to a higher power: my toilet. Some people have happy anxiety responses- like butterflies in the belly. I had miners who enjoyed digging deeper into whatever it was somewhere in the back of my adrenalin responders, who rather than leaving for a lunch break, enjoying a beer or something,  would stampede anywhere, and everywhere I had a sense of new. New People? Where's the girl's room? School, camp, family, or any unexpected visit to or from someone-- it ran (so many puns), my world until I was 23.

Right before my 23rd birthday, I was returning to college after a time in the United States Navy, (nothing surprising relating to THAT), right when I was misdiagnosed with Crones, then petit-mal epilepsy, but somehow never anxiety disorders. My Harvard Medical psychiatrist suggested I try the Mind Body Clinic that was having a trial run at the Deaconess Hospital in Boston. There I was in a shrink's office, because the medical world couldn't understand my condition, (way familiar if you read the other blog), and rather than watching him determine then the core of  my issues, once again, my panic would undergo a new location.

Those were the days when I would arrive hours before I had to be anywhere. It's hard to go places with people when you're the one who needs all of the special treatment. I arrived at the Mind Body Clinic after my classes down the road, and about three hours early. That gave me enough time to scout where the bathrooms were, where the exits, emergency exits, and cafeterias were. Anyone who has a disorder relating to fear, and lavatory needs, well, that is what we do. (Even Pearl Jam's Mike "mad fingers" McCready knows of this, first hand, and as a spokesperson for Crone's.) I have a love-hate relationship with how I regained my life.

The work of Mind over Body response is brilliant, and as much as anyone can talk themselves into believing things, we can train ourselves away from it as well. That is something I learned. But there is a sense of belonging to the world that escaped me even here. My way to diffuse my fear is with humor. I was put in a group setting, (fear 1), with strangers, (fear 2), going through something I didn't understand at the time, (fear 3), and I didn't know if it would work at all, (doozy of a 4). We each introduced ourselves, but when it was my turn, I made a pun, as stated up in the start of this blog, and was told by the leader, quoting, as it still stings to think a professional would do such a thing to someone dealing with panic attacks, he said I should "shut up, no one needs to laugh here". There it was, I couldn't even belong in a group of people afraid of people. Wow.

I took him aside after the program and told him that what he said- pointing out me, and none of the other participants or their issues- that made me never want to go there, nor trust him again. I never went back. But I did read up, and with a psychologist, again from Harvard, I worked through the program alone. I never had a case of the "gimme the bathroom" again, except for one time, during a very bad night, during a very bad marriage.

But Belonging is a safe place. If we don't feel like we are part of something, we end up creating something to be a part of, whether that be extended family, organizations, "Breakfast Club" style outcasts, whatever it is that rings true for us, it is likely to ring true for someone else, and therein lies the safe state of belonging.  As a child, I would invent my personal "talk show", ala Mike Douglas, or Merv Griffin. I would be the host, and sometimes the guest. When I walked to or from school, this was a script in my head, and it gave a sense of being somewhere I needed to be, and where I was wanted. Other kids had make-believe friends, or siblings to rattle on about. I stuck in my "when I grow UP!" world.

The entire time my stomach decided my social engagements, I didn't really make friends. I had people I liked to see, and spend time with, but I never really left the world of books, or music. I was safe there.  There wasn't any one trigger, and I never knew when my life would be under the rule of the Tidy-Bowl Man. (tm) For awhile, the only safe place was on my bicycle, but kids stole that. For another time, the only safe place was with my dog, but a car stole that. The more I wanted to be "normal" the less I belonged anywhere. This left me with a lot of very adult feelings, at a very young age. I was fiercely independent. While my peers were into rollerskating, I was learning Bob Dylan tunes on my guitar. When they were into drugs, I was into Thoreau. It was my drug- reading.

In graduate school, I made my first real friendships since childhood. Two women in the dance school and I hit it off so well, we were inseparable. Here were two other art people, two other music and movement lovers. When that went well, I added more friends. That went well. I  now have hundreds of friends all over the world, whom I consider "safe", and whom I feel a sense of belonging. I may have only moments with them, sometimes between years, but there is a sense of my life and world belonging.

What makes this so important to us? Why is Belonging such a deep vein of humanity? I lost nearly every photograph I have ever had of friends because they were kept with my mother figure- and when she died, her home, without my knowledge,  was sold and razed. There isn't a visual reminder of my worlds anymore. That was stolen from me as the dog, and bike had been. As I type, I think of the antique stores I visited around New England, and the dozens of photographs I would peer into, hoping to see familiarity. Someday someone may be in those stores looking at photos of me and friends I have and lost, and wonder what I was like, or who those people were to me, and why they were lost to me. How can anyone sell their memories to strangers? I wonder if all of us who lose our past in photographs find the same questions to answer.

No one likes a stereotype. No one likes labels. But sometimes they help unite. I'm an Atheist. (I do capitalize it, by the way, and I don't need to cap any god stuff, because it's just silly.) I'm Irish, French, Italian, and an American Mutt. I love art, comics, animation, animals, and that's not even the first part of the first list of things I love. But I find that there are always people who love the same things, hate the same things. I will never align  myself to a political party as I find that voting for parties rather than people  ruins the point of the election. I do vote. I'm a Veteran. I've got graduate degrees, one in Music, one in Film. I'm a wife. I'm a haus frau, in fact. I am a writer, and a singer. Sometimes I'm a songwriter/singer. I don't find the word Liberal to be a filthy slur, and I ride that word for all its worth most days. Titles do nothing. But, they do imply a place of belonging.

We want to be worthy. We want to be someone worth remembering. We want to be heard. We want to be understood. We want to be in control of our lives. All of this is basic humanity. We may feel like we're the only person in the entire planet that is exactly like us, and that is so deeply wrong. It's wrong. My ideals are someone else's. My words and comprehension are certainly those of someone else. There isn't a single person on this planet that has absolutely NOTHING in common with another person on the planet. That's why life works so well. That's why we belong. That's what makes life interesting. That's why it's important to be caring of one another. The stranger we meet may be the one who gets us completely. One flicker of recognition in the eye of someone else can be life changing.  It is the mind over body response, in its basest form. No matter who you are, what you are dealing with, what you are hoping to overcome, what you somehow endure- you are here, and there is someone else who will understand you. The bigger the internet, the smaller the world. It's the best time to belong. Somewhere.

Aging

What they don't tell you when you're a child is that once you reach adulthood, you are never, ever, ever, ever going to think at all that you are an adult. It is our Achilles heel unspoken to prevent children from overtaking us as a species. I might have posted this in my comedy blog had it not been so true. If this wasn't so much part of the world, it would be funny. It's not. It's HILARIOUS.

When I meet people for the first time, I tend to look at them,  not as the finely, or sort of polished grown-ups, but as the kids they once were. I look for a glint in the eye, a playfulness in their manners, and the weirdness of a habit they may not even realize they have. It doesn't always work. Some people just have no childhood left in them, and some only discover they can  have any appreciation of the power of play when they are far older. I like all of the ideas behind that. I just don't know if all people know their part of that big secret that kids aren't told.

It's the politics that tries to beat into us that we're supposed to be grown-up and responsible and not silly. There's a dream I have that some night, deep into debates, and filibustering that there's a codger, with his lobbyists in the back playing with their Yo-Yo, or someone beating on a game of Milles Borne with their buddies by the Ted Kennedy Memorial Bench. That was a card game my childhood best friend and I would play for hours upon hours. That could have been the only game, but there were trees to be climbed and a kid down the street with a pool. I wonder if some Congressman thinks that it would be fun to scale the balconies like Eddie Vedder did in most of the shows I saw in the early-to-mid 1990's.

A few weeks back, in the middle of August, my husband reached his fiftieth birthday. I never consider him a "grown-up" but it's weird thinking I'm married to a guy who is now officially OVER fifty. As an actual child, I couldn't picture myself over forty. But here I am, way, way, way over forty, and wondering if I'll be just as giddy as I am today. I think we all grow in huge ways, not physically, but emotionally, (screw spiritually, consider it an offshoot of emotionally if you are speaking with me). I also think that just as we change from the day born until the first grade, we change from one decade to the next, if we are lucky to make it that far.

We change the way we stand, the way we walk, the way we speak- for instance, in my twenties I would babble "motherfucker" in nearly every sentence, when "fuck" was not appropriate. "Shit" has since replaced this, and still when I utter f-bombs it generally is on stage, or in a crowd setting. If we try to remember how someone's voice sounded when they were kids, to meet them as an adult is often a jarring change. In my case, it's my weight that usually throws people. (Off of couches, usually). For most of my over-eighteen years, I was a spotty size five, occasionally zooming as far as a six. Tiny. In my childhood, on asthma medications, I tended to remain a bit chubby- which was weird because I don't really remember many meals at home. Now when people see me, they try, in adult-like politeness to say "You look great", when they really want to do is laugh out loud and say, "You look GREAT!(big)". I get that. The one adult quality we tend to learn is how to keep our actual thoughts in our heads. Some of us are better at it, I'm not as good at it. My friend Jennifer is the only other person I know who will give you an answer to a question, regardless of the question, and regardless if it is something that need be tiptoed about. Neither of us tiptoe. We're too big.

For a long time, I had the idea that when a person becomes a parent, THEN he or she becomes an adult, for real. I watch my friend Leila and Shayne, who are both very amazing moms, who have home schooled their kids. I say this half in jest, for Leila has given her two kids both home and traditional classroom education, but every moment with her is a lesson in something. She's amazing. (Her blog, Stop Speaking Whinese, is a favorite amongst parents in the punky-mom community, where she thrives.) I've seen both be very strong, authoritative adults, guiding the irchins into a lifelong step towards independent thought. Both are teaching their children to be adults. In the same breath, Taylor, the oldest of the children of whom I speak, is set to graduate Cal Arts, the very school where I met the young, pre-parent, pre-married to her instructor, Shayne. I saw Shayne as Taylor is now. Both are deeply loyal and loving, and both are goofy as all get-out. Taylor will give you the history of Manga, fully illustrated with facial visuals of characters, just as Shayne would talk about the Mexican waiters she flirted with at her job. Taylor is as Shayne was, except with a penis and about a foot and a half taller... and not married to his film teacher. The mirror is there, the everlasting childhood is there. Rather than Legos and video games, Taylor now plays with Legos and video games.

Every week a woman comes in to clean my house. Why? Yes, I'm gimpy and things are hard for me to do for more than a few minutes at a time, but really, my husband is a kid. He hates any housework. He will  leave the same diet cola can on a table for as long as the table has legs, or until he sees someone else moving it, when he says, "OH, I was just about to get that!" His boyhood world is about not having to clean up after himself, and we both are deeply addicted to movies- so much so we have a theater in our house. Mike has a boy's night out once a week, and that in itself is a testimony to non-adulthood by any male at any age. Penn, Mike, and a few of the Penn-o-philes wander into Penn's theater, and take in films with the only and I mean, SOLELY only and one purpose, and that would be to see who out smartasses the films the best. One day, we all watched the Stooges, and went into fits when Penn backed up to the spot, the line, the event that we couldn't stop laughing over, until we were all raw. No one in that room is ever going to be an adult.

I'm absolutely not an adult. I have pet rats, spent most of my thirties working in ren-faires, and I draw cartoons all day, when I'm not in my music mode- playing in a band that exists online. These are things I could want to be as a kid, as they say in Inglorious Basterds, "there's a bing-o". My hair is maroon at the moment- on the burgundy side, and when I was married, it was blazing pink, with my tattoo peering just above the dress that was made to appear like a ren-queen's gown. Far, far away, on a planet formerly thought of as explainable go I. I still wear t-shirt nearly every day, live in sweat pants or pajama bottoms, as I did for most of my adulthood (?), and watch cartoons when I can on Adult Swim. I am an adult who has more toys now than I have ever had as a kid. That's what is the truth about adulthood, the toys just get bigger. The other difference is that we're the ones who pay for those toys.

The car is mine. The house is in my name because I was in the Navy, so the government thought that for the torture of existing in a sexist, racist, hyper-religious, right-wing marching band, without instruments, I earned the right to a loan, so I could now pay them for the honor. I'm in school, still, taking free courses with MIT, Harvard and other schools around the globe. I play with toys- an XBox, a Wii, and loads of video games that are here for me to abuse when I'm not doing Zumba or some other belly dancing thingy. I pay for the rights to my toys, and as a child, in years, I paid for most of it in ways kids aren't supposed to. I was one of the kids who didn't become a kid until I was in my twenties. I learned a sense of play. I explored who I was in many ways. I did all of the things I didn't get to do as a teenager, and even was in a band in my early thirties. I may have grey hairs, but mentally, not a one. My body may act like it's not being nice, but I still use it to do silly things, like pretend Wii-hulu hoop. When I ever go into a pool- I become the same dolphin I was when I was smaller, (and many years younger).  And, when I watch my husband's favorite movie, Jaws, I remember how my best friend and I grabbed at each other when that tooth-shaking scene presented a big surprise!

I can enjoy these moments because I accept that I am not ever, as in never, going to be anything other than a big kid. I am never going to belittle anyone else a second, third, or fifty-first childhood. When I see real kids now, I see them not with envy of their youth, but with the glint of the all-knowing- "you think you're a kid NOW, wait until you're forty!"

Comprehension

As a child I was close to only two people, Christine and Nadine. and to me, they were my sisters.  In the summer, the Brunelles were my other family. In later years, Joanie, Laraine, and Sylvia were the only confidantes, and later in high school- I was a theater geek, and a newspaper writer, so I had garnered a very tight group of outcasts as the only people I could rely upon. Chris, Mischa,  Rebecca, Bob, Vinnie, Joe and I were it. Just a hovering of weird, in a world where weird seemed okay. Human Sexual Response was our band, and I never got into smoking, drugs or anything like that- because I figured a clear head was the only asset I could ever have. Home life, terrible, my escape had always only been in my friendships.  The only place I felt like I belonged was around people who didn't feel like they belonged anywhere either.

About 30 years ago, I went to Massachusetts College of Art for the first time. There I was heavily involved in performance art, and got to meet some incredible people like Jim Jarmusch, Dave Van Ronk, and even the non-named people who still influence my work today. But, money being money, and survival being survival, I left my  home ground of art, and joined the Navy. I don't know if it was to see if I belonged someplace, or to see if I could just do it and find a place in the world. I found again, some great people, like Debbie Barnes, whom I haven't found since.I fell in love really hard, for the first time, and not with my original starter husband- it was after the divorce that I met Erich - that one love that proves to you how unfair life can be, and the only person in my young life who I ever really looked to as an equal. He didn't feel the same, and by the time the Navy was done, I was heading back to Mass Art, and trying to find out what I could learn about myself. 

How did I still not fit in when the world around me there was nothing but nonconformity? Ironically, Nadine, who had changed her name by this time, was also a close friend again, and I trusted her because I knew where she came from, and what her heart was. I never wanted to have a friend again, after Erich, but there I was, now with two. Reconnecting with her somehow made me feel like I had roots, and I had something I could rely on- a past that wasn't all scars.

Graduating came early, as it had in high school. Early, but late, that is. I started school then left, then started again. I met my first live-in boyfriend, and he taught me how to appreciate myself again. As a rebound, the relationship started doomed, but as an education, it was key to my life ahead, and I'll always be grateful for it. When I launched into graduate school at Cal Arts, I was determined to meet friends there, and have someone to talk to besides myself or my guitar. I'd always written music, and songs were spewing like a baby on sour milk. Now I was behind the camera, and then again, on stage with Second City. I tried keeping in touch with my ex, and the artist formerly known as Nadine. And she was even key in getting me reconnected to the other only friend I had- Christine.

Christine was busy with her own life, and I wrote a couple letters to her then. I sent one inviting her to see me at Second City, Santa Monica, and another to tell her I was working in a film company. By this time, I also became close to Shayne, Michelle, Pamela, and Jen H., who all were parts of the diamond that made me- each facet cooled or warmed by different reflections. I didn't hear back from Christine, but it didn't hurt as badly because I was in a place I felt, for the first time as an adult, in a home- a place of belonging. After graduating, save for Shayne, I couldn't seem to find anyone anymore, and I couldn't seem to connect. I returned to that place I was in high school, and undergrad school, of desperately looking for a place in the world that was mine. Solo life was more familiar to me, and I spent many years, not seeking a single person to spend time with. I preferred being in my car, singing at the top of my lungs or working at the Comedy Store- I could be on stage but not part of the experience, that way.This was a world I could observe, and make people laugh about, but it wasn't one I could feel human in, at all. It ended up crushing me, so much so, that when I finally did feel love, it only lasted minutes.

Life was hard on lots of levels- my health was deteriorating, I  had surgeries, I sat in hospitals without family, and the one boyfriend I had during that time, broke up with me six hours after I left the hospital after throat surgery. When my work life was great, my home life was shite, and vice versa. This isn't really a blog about any of that, though. It's about reconnecting and feeling worthy of anyone else's attention. People would tell me positive wonderful things, but at the same time, I was hearing that they wanted me to change what I did or how I did it. This was so great in one case, that I ended up nearly homeless for life, and certainly at the lowest point I had ever attained. I'm skipping the New Mexico lifetime. It's a blog on its own. Somehow I managed to return to California, to San Francisco this time, so I could sing, and learn about music, and do stand-up above a laundromat. Again, amongst atists I found a small flock to fly with, and one friend, Sandy, I took upon as a personal quest- to be her big sister in a way I couldn't be to my own flesh and blood. And then we lost touch.

I ended up married again, for the only reason of wanting to be needed or to belong, and that, as you would assume, turned out terribly. He was in love with drinking, and I was working three jobs to support us. He ripped into my self esteem worse than anyone had- I blamed myself for his inability to be kind to me. This, after I chose a man who only showed love to his daughter once when I was around him. He couldn't be a whole person, and to this day, I can't understand if I was part of his life so I could avoid mine or if I was part of his life so his daughter could see him as stable for the first time. Shattered shards of crystal that made up anything I had ever done for myself were laying around at my feet. At this time, I tried hooking up with my lost friends- the ones who knew me under all the titles- and hoped someone would return the need. The song writing was my one solace. It still is, but for different reasons.

One person I connected with was doing well in her life. Another, Pamela, had moved to Reno, and became a show girl, I didn't even emotionally recognize her anymore. Everyone was disappearing. I had a dog. That was something. One of the friends invited me to dinner, where we enjoyed talking about life, liberty, the use of adjectives, and even the smell of curry. But for some reason I still don't comprehend, she thought I wanted to hurt her in some way. I was at the lowest point I had been in years, had no self esteem, had no friendships except, thankfully Shayne's, and my life was just torn up by divorce, moving from northern to southern California, and hunting for a job anywhere.  Have you ever sat in a dining room with someone who slipped a piece of silverware into their bag? Or at least you THOUGHT that's what they did. and tried to confront that person? You eventually notice that the silverware was hidden by someone's foot on the floor, and even with this information, you still argue to this person about the wrongs in thievery. That person still feels accused, and tries and tries to get you to see the truth? I felt that way. I felt like I was being accused of stealing silverware, when I was just clumsy. I finally relented realizing, I couldn't refute the claim anymore, and it was exhausting even trying. The only way to prove to someone that you want nothing from them is to ask for nothing and walk away. This one event still hurts more than any lovers quarrel or spat with an ex- it hurts more because it came from someone I never in my life ever thought of harming, nor taking advantage of- my only recourse was to step away to the loneliness again.

The Ren Faire geeks took me in, and I slowly built a new emotionally stronger person out of the shards and burnt edges. My health finally took over my life completely. Time for friends stopped. I became a stage/recluse person. I lived online if I wanted to talk, but I missed my friendships. I was so grateful to have never lost Shayne- she is my rock in most ways- we're completely different, from Politics to religious matters- but she is what I try to be-- brutally kind to those around her. I started engaging in human contact again, and after many years, although I still embrace solitude, I fear loneliness far less. In recent months I've reconnected with the Brunelle family, and some people from my childhood neighborhood. I still would love to find Nadine again, and Deborah, and Rebecca, and anyone who helped me be who I am today, in the best way possible. And I've resigned myself to the notion that some people will always assume the worst out of a friendship and not see me as I am, but me as they assume I am.

Today, I'm happily married to my LAST husband. I have a close relationship with my Dad. I miss two really close friendships that took me away from the unhappy parts of life- Amethyst, a Rennie, died at the age of 34- from a disease she never should have had.  My sole mother figure died in 2001, days before 9/11, and that story is recounted in my books, and on another set of blogs. I now chat day-to-day with old boy-friends, old gal pals, and former classmates with only the feeling of belonging again. Thanks to my husband, I don't feel alone at all, and if anything he has filled my life up with more amazing people. In a few weeks I will return to Massachusetts for the first time in years. I hope to find a trio of Suzies, a former boyfriend and his wife, even my brother and sister. For their sake, I'll also meet with my mother, although I don't know if this is a smart move. It is one of kindness, so that their lives are less difficult, though.  One of our dear friends, Kelli, is watching our children during this trip- our children all have fur, four legs, and in some cases, a passion for litter.

As I get closer to 50, I hope to continue re-discovering the warm relationships with people. I don't know if they all feel the same about returning that discovery. If I lose them again at this point in life, I have to just grieve and move on. There are people who do make me feel worthy of love, attention, kindness. A former high-school teacher, Mary, has become one of my favorite people on the planet, and I consider her to be closer now than those many years ago. I've reconnected with Michelle and Pamela- both of whom are now parents to children as beautiful as they are.  Each week yet another Jen, (I know about 15 of them?), and her husband Carl come by for movies. I'm very close to a few people whom I only know via textual context online. Life works so much better when we've accepted those bits and pieces of the past and integrated them into our present. Life would be painful if I lost friends- and because I didn't reach out to them- after they've gone, died, - without any way to feel the happiness I felt with them again.

This is also the age I now understand if the past shapes us, it needs to be understood, not ignored. There are so many people I'd love to understand now, whom I may never have contact from again, like Deborah, or Rebecca. There are the outcasts who know what it's like to have only music or words as a place of solace- like Joe, or Mischa. If everyone could shake of their titles for ten minutes, it would be so great to reconnect with the PEOPLE that made up my world, rather than their jobs, or their ambitions. I hope to always be a friend to those who saw me as one. And, if I'm not up to their standards, quality, or description of friend, then I hope they'll leave me with just the memory of the times we were close. Memories are the only possessions I really have- everything else can disappear. As long as I'm able to think, and reason, the memories are all I will ever have- and I'm quite wealthy, in a sense,  because of them.