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.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Sunday, November 4, 2012
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.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Life goes on
It's 9/11. And I don't have much to say-except in the past decade, I saw the Towers fall, was down at Ground Zero, lost my mother after a decade of cancer, and had two utterly lifechanging accidents. I have never considered any part of my life as a tragedy, although others have. I think that watching my mother fight so hard to live, showed me how much life means. It's beautiful. Every single day that a person chooses to get up and fight and find the daisy in the sidewalk is a triumph. Any time a person says hello on the street, every smile given, any friendships formed, any babies born, anyone falling in love, anyone taking a leap...these are the reasons I watch in wonder. I am no Pollyanna, but the people I admire most are the ones who get up everyday and experience it. I am not acting right now, I am writing. A few years ago I never would have thought. Because most little girls want to be actresses. I always wanted to be a writer and go to college. Which in no way negates my love of acting. But after the Towers fell, I had a cop stay in touch for several years. And at the end of every call we would enumerate the things we still needed to do. He wanted a tattoo. I wanted Broadway. And in each consecutive call we would tell each other what we'd done that we hadn't before. A beautiful ritual.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
To Amandita
I rarely answer the question directly, the question that people really want to know. My mother's death, of course, devastated me, but, I am asked constantly..."what happened?" Sometimes people's reaction to my story...isn't good. I am asked outright about lawyers and money, because, everyone has a case. Or I "look so good", which I do. Or "how was I before." That one hurts. Because my philosophy is that anything that happens to me becomes a part of me. And also, because I remember "before." My mother died four months before I was hurt. Her death gave me a lot of excuses to grieve. But what I am only now grasping is how much I grieve for the girl who ran for miles with her ponytail flying. The light girl who found the ridiculousness of every situation. I remember being pain free. And I trusted myself wholeheartedly, because there was just physical fearlessness. There was no fear that I wasn't valuable. Or fear of not being able to work. I remember when being touched was so easy. Life just seems more complicated when you have to reason out how much you can do in a day. I am not a role model, I am not hurt to help people. But if I do, if I can help you see where you can go.... then I will tell my story.
One night, I was coming home from a party I was working. An event I had done hundreds if not thousands of times. I was coming home on a sleety december day, and was dropped off on 33rd and 3rd. The train was on 34th and Broadway. I was wearing a baby blue peacoat over my tuxedo pants, and was walking. I made it to 34th and Park, right in front of my parents apartment, my old apartment. I may have been hurrying, because of the sleet and because I still couldn't walk by my parents place. It's a bad intersection, really bad. I had seen someone killed there before. I waited in front of the deli, waited for the light. I waited, and looked both ways. As I crossed, I glanced over at the cars waiting for the light. I noticed lights in the row changing. Then I realized it was a car hurtling right at me, a white SUV. In a split second, I heard a voice in my head say "jump". A voice that I listened to. As I jumped straight up, I was tossed over the hood of the car. I still feel it hitting me on the right hip. The car stopped. I was not knocked out. Oddly. But I was furious, angrier than I can ever remember. Pure rage. I yelled at the guy, told him he almost killed me, pull over. He pretended to, then started pulling away. I grabbed my cell and called my voicemail and read the licence plate number, and he saw me. And pulled to the side almost half a block away. I clearly chased him, because I remember sitting there arguing with the woman in the front seat, who told me I was making way too big a fuss and they were late for the babysitter. I told her I was calling the police. You know, all I wanted was for him to get a ticket? Standing there, in the pouring sleet, calling 911 myself. The ambulance didn't come. I saw it where I reported the accident and walked over. Cops were there. I was terrified of the lights, and finally a cop picked me up and carried me to the ambulance. He interviewed the guy who hit me before me. The paramedics were shocked, but told me I protected my head and wasn't sucked under the car. I declined the emergency room. I didn't feel hurt. The next day I felt weird. I went to my regualar doctor. He told me that if I had internal injuries, I wouldn't have made it to his office. I asked about my back. He said rest, it would be fine. Two weeks later, I was back. I couldn't move, literally. He put his hand on my back and immediately sent me for an x-ray. It felt broken. The x rays showed no fracture. But I refused to stop my life, until my entire body had locked up. I started physical therapy. It was the beginning. I did everything I was supposed to do. I worked. I ate well, drank water. And threw up almost everyday. But I kept going because I knew that once the muscles weakened, that would be it. I kept acting. I did about nine plays. My biggest accomplishment was that you couldn't tell I limped. I worked constantly on not appearing hurt. I mean, what parts are there for a girl who can't walk? About a year later, I was working another party at Avery Fisher Hall. I had the head table for a party of a thousand people. I noticed a screen set up badly, but was going to fix it on my way back. I turned to go to my table, when a felt a crack and everything went black. I remember the pain. A waiter caught me. I thank god everyday I didn't hit my head again on the marble. I remember his face and how his ams felt about me. I have no idea what his name is. He apparently sent for my captain who never checked on me. I remember the chefs laughing because it was funny. I remember calling my father and sister who tried to convince me to leave, just leave. I didn't. I couldn't figure out where I was. I talked rationally enough to file an accident report. But I got lost on my way home. I went to sleep. And when I woke up, I couldn't see. At the ER, I was told I was lucky I woke up. I knew I was in trouble. I don't remember much. I don't remember much for several years actually. I was on autopilot. As time went on, I rationalized everything to make it seem like I wasn't devastated. To make my pain invisible. I never limped. At parties, I learned that if you smile, nod, and don't speak, no one realizes you don't know what's going on around you. I cannot say that I was anyone's inspiration. My goal was to just get through each day. About a year after I hit my head, I was switched to my beloved Dr.Lim. He took one look at me, and sent me to Kessler, which is a Rehab hospital in NJ. It is the best of it's kind. I hated every minute. From the second I was greeted by a woman with no legs asking for a cigarrette to each time I was asked if I was a therapist. But that place left me determined. I met patients and I swore to myself I was not going to be one of them. I went to every therapy session. I was eventually switched out of my group and treated separately-which is actually kind've funny. Who gets kicked out of Rehab? But I refused to say in Group that I was a different person than before. Just wouldn't do it. When the therapist asked why, I told him I was the same, just add everything to my collection. After that session, and after every successful rehearsal, my therapists started lighting up every time I walked in. The other patients wondered how they could get better. I eventually gave a presentation to the therapists on modifying my life, because they had never had a patient who could break down her own plan. I never gave up. I never stopped acting, working. I never left the regular world. I wasn't brave enough to invite my fellow patients to my play... I was worried my failure would set them back. And I was right. I gave bad performances. Several. Many. But I knew if I didn't do it, I never would again. And that has been my rule. Just do it. Because I have lost everything....and gained more back. I am a deeper person. I am a more compassionate person. I maintained my presence everywhere. And I was an actress by night, patient by day at Kessler. I wish everyone could have my advantages of will, of drive, of "fuck you". Because right now, I am exactly where I should be. I will never be that girl that doesn't appreciate anything. I won't be. I have too much, and, for the first time, I am not afraid of my future, and my past is behind me. Dr.Lim, who was my confessor for every thing I did, moved to Oregon.On my last visit, he looked at me, and said that I wouldn't have recovered without my personality. I smiled. And cried my entire way home.
One night, I was coming home from a party I was working. An event I had done hundreds if not thousands of times. I was coming home on a sleety december day, and was dropped off on 33rd and 3rd. The train was on 34th and Broadway. I was wearing a baby blue peacoat over my tuxedo pants, and was walking. I made it to 34th and Park, right in front of my parents apartment, my old apartment. I may have been hurrying, because of the sleet and because I still couldn't walk by my parents place. It's a bad intersection, really bad. I had seen someone killed there before. I waited in front of the deli, waited for the light. I waited, and looked both ways. As I crossed, I glanced over at the cars waiting for the light. I noticed lights in the row changing. Then I realized it was a car hurtling right at me, a white SUV. In a split second, I heard a voice in my head say "jump". A voice that I listened to. As I jumped straight up, I was tossed over the hood of the car. I still feel it hitting me on the right hip. The car stopped. I was not knocked out. Oddly. But I was furious, angrier than I can ever remember. Pure rage. I yelled at the guy, told him he almost killed me, pull over. He pretended to, then started pulling away. I grabbed my cell and called my voicemail and read the licence plate number, and he saw me. And pulled to the side almost half a block away. I clearly chased him, because I remember sitting there arguing with the woman in the front seat, who told me I was making way too big a fuss and they were late for the babysitter. I told her I was calling the police. You know, all I wanted was for him to get a ticket? Standing there, in the pouring sleet, calling 911 myself. The ambulance didn't come. I saw it where I reported the accident and walked over. Cops were there. I was terrified of the lights, and finally a cop picked me up and carried me to the ambulance. He interviewed the guy who hit me before me. The paramedics were shocked, but told me I protected my head and wasn't sucked under the car. I declined the emergency room. I didn't feel hurt. The next day I felt weird. I went to my regualar doctor. He told me that if I had internal injuries, I wouldn't have made it to his office. I asked about my back. He said rest, it would be fine. Two weeks later, I was back. I couldn't move, literally. He put his hand on my back and immediately sent me for an x-ray. It felt broken. The x rays showed no fracture. But I refused to stop my life, until my entire body had locked up. I started physical therapy. It was the beginning. I did everything I was supposed to do. I worked. I ate well, drank water. And threw up almost everyday. But I kept going because I knew that once the muscles weakened, that would be it. I kept acting. I did about nine plays. My biggest accomplishment was that you couldn't tell I limped. I worked constantly on not appearing hurt. I mean, what parts are there for a girl who can't walk? About a year later, I was working another party at Avery Fisher Hall. I had the head table for a party of a thousand people. I noticed a screen set up badly, but was going to fix it on my way back. I turned to go to my table, when a felt a crack and everything went black. I remember the pain. A waiter caught me. I thank god everyday I didn't hit my head again on the marble. I remember his face and how his ams felt about me. I have no idea what his name is. He apparently sent for my captain who never checked on me. I remember the chefs laughing because it was funny. I remember calling my father and sister who tried to convince me to leave, just leave. I didn't. I couldn't figure out where I was. I talked rationally enough to file an accident report. But I got lost on my way home. I went to sleep. And when I woke up, I couldn't see. At the ER, I was told I was lucky I woke up. I knew I was in trouble. I don't remember much. I don't remember much for several years actually. I was on autopilot. As time went on, I rationalized everything to make it seem like I wasn't devastated. To make my pain invisible. I never limped. At parties, I learned that if you smile, nod, and don't speak, no one realizes you don't know what's going on around you. I cannot say that I was anyone's inspiration. My goal was to just get through each day. About a year after I hit my head, I was switched to my beloved Dr.Lim. He took one look at me, and sent me to Kessler, which is a Rehab hospital in NJ. It is the best of it's kind. I hated every minute. From the second I was greeted by a woman with no legs asking for a cigarrette to each time I was asked if I was a therapist. But that place left me determined. I met patients and I swore to myself I was not going to be one of them. I went to every therapy session. I was eventually switched out of my group and treated separately-which is actually kind've funny. Who gets kicked out of Rehab? But I refused to say in Group that I was a different person than before. Just wouldn't do it. When the therapist asked why, I told him I was the same, just add everything to my collection. After that session, and after every successful rehearsal, my therapists started lighting up every time I walked in. The other patients wondered how they could get better. I eventually gave a presentation to the therapists on modifying my life, because they had never had a patient who could break down her own plan. I never gave up. I never stopped acting, working. I never left the regular world. I wasn't brave enough to invite my fellow patients to my play... I was worried my failure would set them back. And I was right. I gave bad performances. Several. Many. But I knew if I didn't do it, I never would again. And that has been my rule. Just do it. Because I have lost everything....and gained more back. I am a deeper person. I am a more compassionate person. I maintained my presence everywhere. And I was an actress by night, patient by day at Kessler. I wish everyone could have my advantages of will, of drive, of "fuck you". Because right now, I am exactly where I should be. I will never be that girl that doesn't appreciate anything. I won't be. I have too much, and, for the first time, I am not afraid of my future, and my past is behind me. Dr.Lim, who was my confessor for every thing I did, moved to Oregon.On my last visit, he looked at me, and said that I wouldn't have recovered without my personality. I smiled. And cried my entire way home.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Leaving Home
Now, comes the time when I start talking about my life. The deeper stuff, the more painful stuff. Lessons that actually change people are not little. And for me to be the compassionate woman I am today, well, it was a long journey. I had a very,very happy childhood. Magical, really, the childhood people dream of. a beautiful house in the country with pets, and gardens, and passages, and books. But there are always say,three days, in your whole life that change your course utterly. Mine was a day when I was a senior in high school. I was sick that year. For the ENTIRE year. Lyme Disease. My mom had been diagnosed with cancer, but at that time, there was hope. For us kids anyway. Our parents, in retrospect, knew better. One day, my mother woke me up from my nap. She was absolutely ashen, but calm. And she told me I "needed to start packing." She didn't specify what. I didn't understand. So, while she went to pick up my sisters at school, I looked around....and thought about what I should pack. I decided on an overnight bag, with a small photo album, and only a few days worth of my clothes. I sat and waited. My mom came home and was upset. She had meant the whole house. I have no idea where my father was-I found out later he was unreachable in court. This was the house I grew up in, spent my whole life in. And we walked out with my cat, my dog, and overnight bags. My parents put everything in storage, which we ended up never retrieving. My last memory of my house was clutching my cat and looking over my shoulder at the house getting farther and farther away. After a moment, I looked forward. I would be lying if I said I didn't know life as I knew it was over.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Dare
On tuesday early, early in the morning....6 am early-I checked my facebook. It may have been tuesday-I can't remember. And knew something was wrong. I had chills as I scrolled-looking at memorial posts for a friend of mine. I had just spoken to him-he was the first birthday wish I had. He checked in regularly-I knew something was wrong, and I texted him everyday. He always got back to me. Always, and fast. Until wednesday. I think....last wednesday...he never ever, complained. He told me about his neighborhood in NYC, his friends who were so close to him, much closer than his parents. He told me to get a passport because I was the kind've girl who needed one for my adventures, and knew I was afraid of flying-which he started to remedy by telling me about his duct taped adventures in Thailand. I was shocked, but it worked. If Anthony-aka Dare- was ok, well, wouldn't I be? He was so funny, went to Columbia, loved clothes. I started texting him pics of dresses I liked immediately, and he was like-"yes" or "no". So funny. I do that. No one's ever done it for me. He was proud. He made sure that I knew he was a safe place to be, even if he was a big, fighter guy. We laughed about a satire on "booty dancing" that was one of the dirtiest, funniest, non-pc threads I have ever loved. Both text and Facebook. It went on for an entire day-and was made even funnier because I was sitting, working, and looked up and "Save the Last Dance" was on...the scene where Julia Stiles is being taught to grind. I started cracking up-because he was so smart with his humor, so on target. I joked that he needed to teach me to dance. He was going to, I totally swear. He was going to meet me, I swear. Just, not today. He wasn't good company. "But are you ok?" So like him, I've since found out from his old friends, his childhood friends. Apparently, I was inducted into a very special club. A funny, big-hearted club. And -yes-a club of really beautiful women. I'm not joking. You should see them .You should all talk to them,too. Amazing. And looking- I realized-if these women and men in his life, who were so there, on it, couldn't save him-no one could. Here's what I knew, and thought Dare did. Whenever someone asked him about Bacon-they were saying "I love you." Whenever someone teased him about his email habits and work and coffee, they were say "I love you". Every text, every message, every phone call. I looked at the threads written, and realized he had talked of every single person. My heart breaks a little more with every, single brutal detail that comes out. I can't read anymore. I can't. But if he saw how people treated Bacon, he would know how much he will be missed. Because he was Ant's. I can't think of him as a news article. He is just too full of life for that.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Birthday girl
Today-it's my birthday. I made no plans except dinner with Meg. It's so funny to see where I am now-a little worried about where I'm going. When I was in first grade, I finished the entire Nancy Drew series. The WHOLE thing. All 63 books. The grown ups were impressed by my skills, but I loved her world. She was 18, had a car, a lawyer dad, and went around solving mysteries. She had two partners in crime, and a boyfriend. No mention of college. Or a job. But I never realized this at 6. She reminded me of my mom, who knew how to dress for dinner, and knew how to be very ladylike. Perhaps she reminded me of me a little-since I was obsessed with information. Meg and I grew up in this old,old house that had more secrets than you can imagine. We found tunnels and secret rooms, turns out the house was listed as being in the Underground Railroad. So mysteries, secrets,stories, and history were all very, very real and human to me. We had the run of the place, and I remember riptailing down a huge hill to ride my bike through a stream to splash myself. Meg,too. We really had a great childhood.On our birthdays-Mom went all out. We had ponies, and clowns, and it was really funny-Meg and I were incapable of sharing friends. So-following the rules of invitation, I ended up with the boys in my party, and Meg the girls. This was a super small town, so we all knew each other so well, none of us objected, and we had one friend who was particularly good at shuttling between all the fun-Molly-who was officially Meg's friend. She brought us Strawberry Shortcake trays one time. Identical ones. So funny. Whenever we got gifts, it was always two identical things. So funny now, but when your six? We also have always had our own cakes and people sing separately. Last night, I hugged Meg, which I rarely do, and pinky swore she'd miss me. She asked where I was going. I told her we wouldn't be together forever, and we should enjoy our day. So tonight,we're having dinner, and I'm getting cupcakes-which will be different flavors. And we will toast each other. I love you, Meg. We still are partners in crime.
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