okay. from the beginning.

i liked to wear red shoes. i didn’t like to wear clothes. things were usually really confusing to me. they weren’t home a lot so i didn’t have anyone to talk to. we had a lot of babysitters. some of them were just children themselves, because i would watch them fumble around with their responsibilities. the night my brother was born my dad’s cousin watched me. he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. i was gentle with michael. i didn’t understand him though and sometimes I would be aggressive, like bite him or put toys in his diaper. i could always get out of trouble. my mom didn’t have the attention span to dole out discipline convincingly. she only grounded me once in my life, and it was for something really, really stupid, because she thought that’s what parents are supposed to do (she said it like, “well I guess what other parents would do is ground you…”), but i blatantly went out the next day because I knew she’d forgotten. My dad was strict. He was like military. He was a drill sargeant. He kept you in check. I told him once that I wanted to play basketball. So he dragged me out to an outdoor court at 6am and made me do layup drills, screaming at me the whole time. I decided that I never wanted to play basketball because I’m a big pussy who’s too sensitive. My dad is a very very angry man. I remember that anger. It’s rage with a hair-trigger. I spilled milk on the couch once (I mean, it was literally over spilled milk) and he flew into a rage that went from the couch to me cleaning my room. He threw objects at me, including a binder that hit me in the leg and really hurt. I ended up getting really angry about it so I waited until he went off to bed and then I started crying until I hyperventilated and I freaked my mom out. I pretended to have body spasms so they took me to the hospital. I didn’t say a word but I think the doctor knew something was wrong. Because later, my mom whispered to me that the doctor told my dad that he had emotional problems. sometimes i would throw michael under the bus when my dad was angry, because even though michael was so vulnerable, he would still take things out on him. but the thing was, michael never let anyone attack me. If my dad would dare hit me in his presence, little autistic michael would jump in the way and scream, “NOOOOOOO.” he wouldn’t let anyone touch me. he would yell at my parents to stop yelling at his sister. but i never stood up for him because i was a coward.

ah, fuck. at what point can I make up for my cowardice in life? how much good can I do to erase the fact that I am a coward? what if all this strength I supposedly have gained is just something that crumbles into dust in the face of a real challenge? who am I really, if I built this image of myself on the foundation of “I am not a coward,” when I know deep down, I’m building my entire personality on a lie? What if it’s not a lie and I’m actually stronger than I want to admit, because I’ve spent so many years hurting myself out of guilt that I’m still not convinced that I deserve to feel good again. I wanted him to do the work when really I need to do the work myself. what’s so clear to others, you absolutely can not see. It’s the curse of irony. that twilight zone where the guy who loves to read and finds out that due to a natural disaster, he’s the last man on earth so he’s happy he can read all these books in peace…until he breaks his glasses. you spend your life begging for a mirror, because you can’t see yourself anymore and have no idea who you are. and that’s the thing. all you’ll really know of yourself, is reflection. but all that you can feel of yourself, is infinite.

i must be stronger than i realize, but i don’t know why i can’t see it. i’m so afraid of finding out i’m still a coward.

just try, julia. for once, just rely on your own inner compass.

“we accept the love we think we deserve.” – stephen chbosky (the perks of being a wallflower).

i left this book out on the coffee table for weeks before brian finally borrowed it. he left me a note and said he’d taken it to italy with him. i hope when he reads it, it speaks to him.

today i had a very unsettling experience.
a homeless came out of nowhere and smelled my hair.
it was like one moment i was walking and he was walking in the opposite direction, and the next, there was a memory of him smelling my hair and he had already passed me by. I was about two strides away before I really comprehended what’d happened. I turned around, and he was walking away, cackling to himself about it. I just stood there and couldn’t comprehend what happened. On one hand, what the fuck was that?

On the other hand, I discovered something curious. I go so deep into my head so quickly when I’m vigilant or scared that I lose the present and all I experience is the memory of something, like I’m watching a delayed film strip of what happened but it’s not something I’ve ever consciously experienced. I can hop so far out of a moment when I’m scared, that I can only remember it when it’s over. I know what this means. But I can’t see what it actually looks like. What the fuck was I so traumatized by that my perception of reality and memory’s so fucked up? What happened to me? How is it possible that someone can’t remember large portions of her life?

Trauma seeks trauma and someone was kind enough to give me a spiritual mirror for a bit. I know so many people say walk away, it’s a dark tunnel, but there are those of us who are looking for redemption. We have to find the answer to the questions about our history because by knowing it will set you free. Right? Or is all this spiritual stuff just complete bullshit? What’s at the bottom of this tunnel, at the end of this journey? Man, weird shit has been happening in my life. And I’m sober and conscious most of the time but people just come out of the woodwork lately. And sometimes they scare me. Why?

The closer you get, the more people want a piece of you. Who do you trust?

as the night falls, let’s see which parts of me come out to play tonight…

some people live like this…

they’re available for something unavailable
they’re unavailable for something available

push me
pull me

fantasy is so much better than life

the universe will give you *nothing* because you won’t let it.

Say No To Dirty Old Men

There are these psychologists who share an office on the floor of our building. I see them occasionally, and while one guy is cool and I like him, most of them seem like your standard crazyass LA therapists. Like the woman who looks like Tracy Ullman playing a crazy therapist, complete with the random ponytail at the TOP of her head that she’s dyed purple. What’s that about?

Anyway, the bathrooms are right by their exit door so you end up running into them a lot. There’s this one older guy who looks more like an asshole lawyer than a therapist. He has collar-length hair that he slicks straight back, he wears crisp shirts tucked into his pants that sit a little on the high side, and he walks with posture so extreme, I swear there’s a rod up his ass and he gets off on it. This guy has a black lab that he brings to work every once in a while and always ties up outside our door. My coworker once noted that he’ll leave this poor dog out there for the entire day with no water, so we usually bring a dish of water out there. Once, his dog kept barking and I was watching it from our window. All of a sudden, this dude comes slamming out of his door with his notebook in hand, and starts screaming at his dog, “Max, SHUT UP! We talked about this! SHUT UP!” It was really sad but I thought it was funny, because this guy was clearly in the middle of a session. I imagined some poor patient spilling his heart out about how he was molested by his next door neighbor, and meanwhile, there’s this barking in the background and his therapist is totally not listening before he just gets up and says, “I’m sorry, can you excuse me for a second?” Then ten seconds later, he’s outside screaming at his dog. That’s just so absurdly unprofessional.

Anyway, I ran into him in front of the bathrooms once and he was asking me what my name was and which company on the floor I worked for. I was at a trade show in Atlanta the next week and one day, the week after I get back, Eddie transfers me this caller who specifically asked for me. So I pick up and the guy says, “It’s Dan with the black lab.” I’m like, what? He’s like, “Dan with the black lab. I work on your floor.” I’m like, uh, okay. He says, “I heard you were out of town.” I think, that’s creepy, because that means he must have tried calling last week and someone told him I was out of the office. He says, “I understand jetlag, I just got back from Asia myself.” This is a huge red flag, because by throwing out that he’s been to Asia, he’s basically letting me know he’s down with the yellow. Then he said that he’s going to have his dog at the office on Wednesday, and he doesn’t know if I mix business with pleasure dog walking (what is pleasure dog walking? does it involve fondling?), but he wanted to know if I’d be interested in walking his dog with him. I said, I have a boyfriend. He gets flustered and he’s like, “Oh…oh you’re quick. You cut this right down to what this is. Uh, okay. Well…I’m sure that the next time I see you, it’s not going to be awkward.” I’m like, dude, whatever. You’re a stalker.

Later I found out from my coworker that the reason he drives a Mercedes is because he did one of those radio contests where he married someone he never met, then quickly took the prize and got divorced. Gross. This is just the type of guy I would look for in a therapist.

So I don’t know what’s wrong with these fucking therapists because there’s another guy who always hits on me. And this guy’s in his 50’s. He’ll stop me by the bathrooms because he wants to tell me how beautiful I am. Once I left my office and went to the elevator banks and he must have seen me heading for the elevators from his window, because all of a sudden, he comes running out of his office, then acts like he’s gotta go down to his car. So I’ve gotta ride the elevator with him, and he’s telling me how beautiful I am and trying to get information out of me. Then we get to the garage and here’s the thing. He didn’t even have his keys on him, so he just kinda pretended like he was going to his car but then changed his mind.

So yesterday, I’m coming back from lunch and he steps out of the elevator. Every time I see him, I kind of roll my eyes on the inside, but then I have to gather up my armor and play a coy defense. Guys like these are sharks and you have to dance with them just right, or they think you’re egging them on with a challenge. So I make a joke about going up or down, then get in the elevator. As the doors are about to close, he puts his hand in to hold the door and asks me if I would be interested in getting together for dinner or coffee sometime. I’m like, yo reality check –you’re old and dirty. But instead, I ask, “In what sense?” He says, “In the sense that maybe one coffee will lead to another coffee.” Coffee? Is that what we’re calling mad, inappropriate old man boning these days? He asks me, “Would you be interested?” I said, “Not in a romantic sense.” He said, “Oh, not romantically?” I said, “No.” He said, “What about as friends?” Because a 20-something year old woman can never have enough 50+ year old male friends who hit on ’em. I told him I would think about it. He said he would buy me coffee as a friend and I told him again, I would think about it, then hit the Door Close button.

What’s the deal with dirty old men? What makes them think that hitting on a girl half their age is appropriate, you might ask? The problem is that they honestly don’t realize it’s inappropriate because emotionally, they hit this point when they said, you know what? I refuse to acknowledge that aging happens. So in their minds, they still see themselves as young, robust, virile men of 25. So you see, this dude thinks he’s younger than me, so therefore, he can’t see why I would recoil in disgust at the promise of his saggy, saggy man parts.

I talked with Rie last night about how we need better men in our lives…men who are emotionally mature. I told her that it’s a waiting game for us, so we’re just dabbling while we pass the time. If you’re a strong woman and you’ve got good internal integrity and a sense of who you are, you basically need a man who is also strong and solid inside. Men don’t achieve internal integrity until they earn their confidence through being successful in life and having gone through serious emotional experiences, the reflections of which allow them to open up and become more at home with their emotional lives. When they get older, there’s this point where they decide either, I refuse to acknowledge that I age and evolve so I’m gonna ignore reality and never grow up, or they embrace each new chapter of their life and embrace aging gracefully. In another sense, some men with serious baggage will decide, I’m so against letting anyone in to touch my hurt that I have decided the area of neglect in my life is going to be love, that they will decide to live out the rest of their lives in emotional solitude. They can still get married, but you will see, it will be a marriage filled with the echoes of silence, because she’s married a ghost. A man who has made this decision will never be a partner. I think it’s when men fully embrace aging and their evolution and their emotional lives in their entirety, that they become very good partners. They realize that no one person is perfect, neither themselves or their partner, but the difference is that both people try their hardest, and both people ALWAYS come to the table to TRY. Unfortunately, this almost never happens until they’re older and life challenges them until they wisen up. You can always recognize someone who has reached this point. You can see it in their eyes. There’s an inner peace, they’ve integrated their insides and though they may not fully know what’s in there, they’re willing to explore it and they’re not afraid of it. And this energy and inner confidence is radiant. These are the good partners. It goes the same for women as well. Look into their eyes. You’ll know.

I’m con
vinced that my life partner is going to be older. Not necessarily significantly older than me, but I won’t meet him until he’s older. I wonder if sometimes my parents are disappointed that they didn’t get to see that, to see me bring home a nice young man filled with potential, but if you look at me, my spiritual depth as a result of my life journey, my level of awareness and intelligence…I need someone stronger and smarter than me, or at least as strong and smart as me, and I think most men need to have had a certain level of life experience and awakening before they get to this point.

I definitely don’t want a dirty old man. Or anyone who’s an emotional child. These guys just want women who adore them and affirm their Peter Pan Syndrome, and they will have fits when I start running intellectual circles around them and calling them on their shit. But I do want someone strong, balanced and confident in expressing every facet of himself. I want someone I can share all of my crayons with.