Rearview Mirror

I have avoided writing about my family out of sadness.Sadness because so much has changed since my mom died, and since I had my two accidents, which happened the December after my mom died. I think the worst part is my dad. He couldn't cope-he couldn't cope with me being hurt, and while he handled some of my legal stuff, I never felt understood-or like he was able to be supportive.I understand, as my therapists have pointed out, that many people can't cope with someone who is hurt the way I was hurt. I know that the memory stuff lost, and the pain were not visible-but I see my father doting on every stray animal, and asking waiters how they feel, and...it hurts. I am tired of explaining, and tired of trying to bring him into the world I have now-the one where I think about how to rebuild my life.And I get really angry sometimes, because he preaches that family is the most important thing ever.And doesn't seem to understand..I am family. I am staying here and trying to sort out my post Sandy life-and all I can think is-my mom would never have let this happen. It has destroyed us. I no longer feel like his daughter.I feel like an afterthought. Think of it like this-if someone were sick or in pain, don't you think they would will themselves out of it if it were possible?I come from a very difficult family, but knowing this and experiencing it is two different things. All I would tell him-if he would listen, is that it isn't my fault I got hurt. And I don't think we will ever be ok again.It's a mess.

What happened to me

They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. I don't know about that, being alive, and all-but... I will say this. When I was hit by the car, right before it struck me, I heard a voice say "up". And I jumped. As the car made impact-I saw flashes of what I hadn't done yet. I was holding a very small baby, a girl. I was taking a bow on a big stage-bigger than any I had ever performed on. I kept flashing on everything I wanted and hadn't done. I never say anything to anyone, for fear of seeming crazy.But it feels like I am meant for more. Seven years later, I still haven't done those things-although I have since performed on stage and held babies. I just keep going because I feel not done yet. It reminds me of all the WTC policemen who kept in touch with me. We wouldn't talk for months, and then out of the blue, I'd get a call from the guys. We would talk a little, but mainly we told each other what we still had left to do. Tattoos were popular. Broadway was my thing. It felt good to talk about the future. I have since lost track of everyone.I will remember them forever.

Today Could Have Been Better

I am still rootless, pulling along my little suitcase. I am in nice places, true, but they are not mine.And I feel that.I feel that acutely. I am feeling like a nomad-which is funny-I am not really nomadic, but this feels a lot like my early twenties, when I was sleeping everywhere. I had jobs all over, was acting, commuting from Long Island...there is a crucial difference though. My family was here. My mother, my father, everyone.My twin.My younger sister. Now...it's just me. My twin-who was my roommate is settled with my old friend. My dad has his girlfriend, and my younger sister is married. That leaves me. My friends have always been my chosen family, but i really don't remember being this alone. And I wish that I had family to depend on. But the fact is-I don't. Rebuilding my life will include all new people. I am using this as an opportunity to get rid of everything that doesn't make me happy. Minimalism. While I wish I had a normal family, one that got together on holidays, and wished each other happy birthday, and celebrated.I don't. And I am glad I am self reliant.I just wish the price wasn't so high.

Home

In Jane Austen, home is a running theme. The heroines are always in danger of losing their status and becoming the dreaded maiden aunt-or worse-the fallen woman. I am waiting to hear about an apartment, one to replace the one I lost in Sandy. the pretty little place I lived in for a decade. I still sometimes walk in the direction of my old home, forgetting that I am in a room about ten blocks from where I lived, a full lifetime away. It's been six months. Six months of couches, and unfamiliar beds, and roommates I don't know. Living out of a suitcase. I still smell mold everywhere. I can't escape it. I am not sure what is next. I dream of running away-to another city, another state. Another place. And this isn't like me. NYC is my favorite place in the world. Except...it's not. I was talking to the architect, and he was getting irritated with me. Finally....I was like...would you be happy living like this? He didn't answer, although he has aid he wishes he were me and could just start over. Of course, that's before he got a new commission and girlfriend, and hey...I am glad one of us is happy. I just want to go home. 

Insomnia

I try not to feel bad. I work hard at optimism.I am a grateful girl, don't ever mistake that. I do, however, at this moment, hate everyone who tells me how much harder it is for them. Or about the starving children in Africa. Or the people who are less intelligent or less blessed or whatever someone has going on in their head about me and my life. I am a very private girl.I value my solitude.I appreciate those who come tiptoeing gently into my life, and even some of the ones who bulldoze their way in. But tonight I am sad. It's late, and I can't sleep.I stopped the migraine, but know tomorrow is going to be long, no matter how much I love school. It is true that you find out who your real friends are during a crisis. And-yes-I feel guilty for being a bad friend myself .For how can I be a good one if every day seems like a disaster? I think of my life-the one I built brick by brick, the acting craft I was so obsessed with. I miss that obsession. I miss feeling the adrenaline of excitement over getting into the head of someone else, finding the window into the world that each character gave me. I still slip into people's heads rather easily, and it's a favorite game. But I miss....before. I miss when my mother was around to talk to, and my main regret is that I didn't appreciate it. I miss my father, although he has moved on. Now-my twin is gone. Megan. I will probably never live with her again. Why didn't we appreciate it? It's amazing what the upside down life makes you realize. I was crying today for the first time out of homesickness. My home was my haven, the place I felt safe. I had a whole life there for twelve years. Grief-just rears up sometimes. Grieving for my health, my mother, my acting....it seems unfair. And in this world-people think you're  not taking responsibility if you don't make the choice that they think you should have. I stand by mine.I did what I had to do-and mainly-it works.I am content, if not deliriously happy-but it feels like my youth slipped away and I had no chance to enjoy it. Actually-the fact is-I did. But I have definately never taken the easy route. And now-perhaps, just for a moment-I wish I had. True-I have had so many adventures-but this is one of the nights where I think of my legacy and my place in the world. And-more simply. I want to go home. And I want to know I am on the right path.Because this is so hard.

Sitting in my room

It's been something like 68 days since Hurricane Sandy. That is a mind boggling reality. It feels like so much longer. I knew when the storm crashed into my apartment that I would never go back-but it's definately an adjustment. I have slept on friends couches, stayed in hotels, and collected bits and pieces of my belongings-which mainly consist of cotton. Or H&M. H&M is amazingly sturdy. I am definately going to make a note of that. I actually landed in an apartment a mere six blocks from where I lived. And yet-it's WORLDS away. I rarely even go down to my waterfront anymore-although that's probably because it's too cold, and I have developed a severe aversion to being chilly. I veer between being grateful I am ok, and resenting everyone's questions about FEMA-which annoys me as much as being asked how much money I got for my car accidents. Not enough. In my case, yeah-it will help. But I still am living in a strange place with people I don't know, and, to me? It's a mixed adventure. I want to see the future and embrace the new beginnings, but it still feels like I live in the tail end of a disater movie. I am not even totally sure I am the heroine. I guess technically I am. I am a little amused by what survived my Tsunami. A Kindle-which is a godsend. My perfume collection-well, mostly. My teddy bear-which survived a washing in horribly hot water. And skinny jeans. Out of all my clothes???? I never liked skinny jeans. It's so petty to be like-but, but...THEY'RE SKINNY. But I feel like that. Although they go with my boots, so what else does a girl need? I can't believe it's only been 68 days.

Disaster Girl

Today I am sitting in a cafe near what is left of my pretty Jersey City apartment. I am staying with my friend on his couch, and am quickly grabbing what I can out of my place. I found some treasures like my mom's photo album, and have done laundry. LOTS of laundry. I am not nearly as traumatized as someone caught in a flash flood in her own apartment should be. I have no cell service.No internet. But-I am here. And if nothing else-I have learned-rebuild once, you can rebuild again. Anything else isn't even an option really. School went back friday. I am still here. Ok. More later. Off to do paperwork.