nycitygritty

[nycitygritty]

Stand Still, Look Pretty

An old piece of writing that I found at the airport today.

“But people have problems that are worse than mine

I don't want you to think I'm complaining all the time” I had a conversation yesterday with one of my close friends about writing. We spent half an hour reading one another’s writing, which is something I haven’t done with someone outside of the classroom in a long time. A lot of the writing we shared was older - from at least 3+ years ago. Having the chance to revisit that writing was funny, weird, and inspiring. It was amusing to see how much and how little has changed. I had the chance to reflect on how cyclical life can be. Feelings of powerlessness and a loss of control come and go. The excitement, fear and growth that come with the tides are constant as we looked back. Reviewing my prose gave me a chance to remember how much I enjoy writing, which brings me back here. Alex and I have decided to share writing with each other once a week. Every Monday we will have something to share - something to make Mondays exciting. I haven’t been here for a while because I’ve been going through a lot of change and I didn’t know how, when or if I should write about it. These past few months have contained their own cycles of fear, growth and excitement. Starting anew was refreshing. In a short period of time I seized many days. I had worried I wouldn’t be able to put myself out there again, since it had been so long. Without realizing it though, the mantra, “do something everyday that scares you,” kept me going. I put myself in new situations, tested boundaries and made mistakes. Having the chance to explore took me out of my ordinary world though. In my new world, I was pushing myself. My new life saw me constantly growing quickly. I’ve read, and believe, we are happiest when we are growing. When I thought about my professional life, I realized I wasn’t growing anymore. The steep learning curve I had conquered in the first few months of my job had plateaued. I was living my greatest fear of just getting by. For a while, it was okay - it was what I needed as I pushed myself in my personal life. But that complacency could not last.

Today finds me sitting in an airport waiting for a flight to NYC. I’ve been “unemployed,” or between jobs for a few days now. The timing of my funemployment worked out well and I can now enjoy my vacation without worrying about work at all. I chose to leave my old job because I realized it wasn’t giving me the sense of fulfillment I crave. I’ll be moving to a small startup in a week and a half. It’s in San Francisco, which is perfect because it significantly cuts down on my commute time. The company’s mission is geared towards helping people with social anxiety. The role is an office manager role with recruiting, event planning, people/culture, office mangement and a lot of room for growth. I’ll have a steep learning curve again and the smaller size of it gives me hope that I’ll always be learning. 

In realizing that I needed to grow professionally, I also recently took on a few new commitments. I decided to write for Psych2Go as a contributing writer. If I want to keep writing, especially in the workplace, I will have to build a portfolio aside from this blog. Having the chance to write short articles about topics that excite seems like the perfect opportunity to grow and share. I’m also going to work with Ingenius Prep and help students get into college. It seemed like a logical next step to my Admissions work. Education is something that has been hammered into me as crucial to being alive since I was young. Having the chance to help individuals who are working towards higher education excites me. There are a few other projects I’m taking on, but I won’t get into them just yet.

This post ended up being more of an update than I originally planned. I’ve been listening to this song on repeat though and I want to share what it means to me. When I first heard this song, I was going through my job hunt. Many of my conversations revolved around my job search and how difficult it was. Very quickly I got self conscious about how much I was talking about myself. Even moreso, I got self conscious about how much I was complaining. I often feel like I’m not supposed to have bad days. I’m not supposed to complain, cry, pout, sulk or do anything except smile, laugh and bring positivity, sunshine and happiness into the world. Complaining makes me nervous. I have trouble separating being negative or pessimistic from being realistic. 

*This is where this post ended*

[nycitygritty]

Essay of Place (Junior Year, Stanford)

By the time I left for college I had lived in four different rooms; now in my third year of college, that number has doubled. Each room that I called my own seemed to have more and more rules and became less and less my own. At one point, my room was so not my own that I shared it with my father. Presently, “my room” is a living room/bedroom hybrid and my authority over it has diminished to the point that I cannot overrule my fathers decision, as practical as it may be, that my cat is not allowed in it.

Growing up, I spent hours reading on my floor, surrounded by stuffed rabbits and Pokémon toys, challenging myself to read a hundred pages an hour. When I succeeded, I pulled another stack of books off of my bookshelf and decided to beat that record. Every now and then my parents would poke their heads in to check on me, but my tiny self was barely visible as I flattened my body as close to the ground as possible so that I might be able to bury my face so far into a book that I had smelled all there was to smell from each page before I finished reading it. From my fortress of books, I ruled my kingdom, deciding my own fate. “Let me finish this chapter,” I’d decree as I was summoned to dinner. From my room, which was three and a half steps from the kitchen, I could hear the sound of silverware being pulled from drawers and paper towels being torn from the roll in anticipation of a mess. It was these sounds that urged me to quicken my pace.

My room saw many changes throughout my youth, few more important than the addition of a television one Christmas. The television marked the beginning of a new chapter of my childhood story. With this page turning came the dramatic decrease in the amount of reading, fort building and tea parties with my stuffed animals that I did. My room, which had once been designed with my desk and dresser acknowledging my bookshelves as the favorite, now rearranged itself so that my television in the adjacent corner was recognized as the new child. Before long my lower bunk was removed (why I had a bunk bed as an only child is a mystery to me) to make room for a futon to sit under my now lofted bed so that I might enjoy my television more fully. The bookshelves that had grown accustomed to constant doting so that they gleamed white so loudly that none could enter without noticing them now silently collected dust as games and books sullenly awaited the moment that they might be needed. The index cards that I “had to have” for a book catalogue lay abandoned on my desk as my newly painted chalkboard collected notes on when Charmed, Friends and Will and Grace would be showing. And my dad, who I watched from my window toil endlessly in the garden, established himself as a presence in my room. TV, unlike books, offered the opportunity for communal entertainment.

With the new ticket that my dad had to my room, which became redeemable at any time due to changes in our family’s dynamics, came a heightened awareness of the influence that my father had on the development of my room, and as a result, myself. He was able to point to virtually anything–my hot wheels collection that sat faithfully on a shelf next to my bed, the carefully painted dragons and broomsticks across my wall, my bookshelves and even the television itself–and tell me when exactly those objects had been introduced, via him, to my room. The days we spent rolling toy cars over my carpet and researching types of dragons, lovely as they were, allowed for father son bonding in a different way than the introduction of a television did. For now I was older and had real world problems, as I believed them to be at the time, to discuss. I recall that I, while watching each episode of Will and Grace (which featured two gay primary characters), would push the boundaries of conversations around sexuality and my dad’s opinion of the gay community, always pulling back before sharing too much. For me, my room became a place where this kind of  entertainment and conversation were not only desirable, they were necessary.

It was this shift that allowed me to later have my father as a roommate as it led me to think of my room not as my own, but rather as our room. I came to expect that my father would spend hours with me in my room watching television. Of the four rooms I had before coming to college, two of them had a television. The two that did not became nothing more than a place to sleep for a few months. Even still, in one of those apartments with the TV-less bedrooms, I would often choose to sleep instead on the pull-out couch in the living room. Similarly, the two rooms I had with a television were the two rooms in which I spent the most time with my father, or even alone. My books were my fort no longer. Instead the remote became the scepter with which my father and I ruled equally over our room.

[nycitygritty]

Work in Progress

I don’t often say or write the words “I’m gay.” Perhaps it’s because I didn’t stumble upon the word myself. I was 10 when I first heard the word gay. I had just unsuccessfully asked a girl to a school dance for the first time. Word spread quickly. By lunch the next day, I was the gay kid at my school. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I learned what the word meant. I failed to understand how asking a girl to the dance led my peers to the conclusion that I liked boys, but it seemed that they knew something that I didn’t yet.

My first vivid memory of liking a boy came the summer before eighth grade. I had just gotten back from my first visit to Colombia since being adopted when I was almost two. My dad and I were at our annual Labor Day weekend camping trip. For some reason this time it was only us and one other family that I hadn’t met before. While my dad spent time with the adults, I was left to entertain the children. There were two boys (I think). The only reason I think there was more than one boy is because that summer my dad was always getting on my case for focusing all my attention on one person and ignoring everyone else. Whoops, I guess my hormones were starting to guide my actions.

His name was Steven (my middle name). He was beautiful. He is Colombian, like me. He was lean, not thin, like I wanted to be. The two of us would bike and play volleyball for hours. When it came time to settle into our hammock, his scent was a succulent mix of fabric softener (Suavitel, if you’re wondering) and musk. At one point, I wanted to show him something in my tent (probably a book or a video game). I remember knowing that we shouldn’t be there alone. It was my chance. I didn’t know what could happen, but I remember I wanted it to happen. But after a few minutes, our parents called and told us to join them outside. I was disappointed without knowing why.

Steven and I exchanged phone numbers. For a few days we texted a lot. It wasn’t long before our friendship went the way of most friendships that are built on only one in person experience, even if it was a camping trip over a few days. I felt a longing as I lay on my couch waiting for him to respond. That longing was painful and all consuming. I had experienced my first crush. I had experienced my first loss. Years later, we are now Facebook friends. He has grown from that lean young man into a muscular soldier. I look at him and wish I could tell him he was perfect before, but I look at him and tell myself I should want to look like him.

Much to my surprise, it was only a few weeks later when I developed a more serious crush on a boy. Over the year, Omar went from an acquaintance, to a friend, to a best friend, to a best friend with whom all the lines were blurred. Every night we would talk on the phone for hours. I don’t understand how we had that much time, but we did. I still have his phone number memorized from dialing it so many times. Every time “Abdul, Akhand” showed up on my caller ID I felt a stirring in my chest as I grabbed the phone and ran to my room closing the door behind me. On one of those Monday holidays Omar and I spent an entire day on the phone. Sometimes we weren’t even saying anything. My life depended on those calls so much that I soon had my own phone in my room. It didn’t have caller ID, but I didn’t need it.

Soon I was visiting his house on those holidays instead. We would find ourselves playing video games in bed and shooting hoops. We were partaking in more traditionally male activities, but there existed a tenderness between us that suggested more than a best friendship. We would wear each other’s clothing. My favorite part of that winter was wearing his jacket, his hat, his shoes. I felt important. I felt cared for. In class I would play with his hands and he would let me. Teachers didn’t look upon that too favorably though.

One afternoon, I went to his house. We started playing basketball in the park near his house. It was still early, so it was just us until a storm chased us back into the house. We retreated to his parents’ bedroom where the TV was. I don’t remember what we watched. I watched him adjust his legs, reposition his arms. His sweaty cologne scent pulled me closer. My hands grazed the beginnings of a beard. My arms played with the chest muscles that were big enough to admire, but not so big that they were intimidating. They looked comfortable as I moved closer so that I might rest my head on them as I watched. One hand grabbed another as I pulled his arm around me. Just as I made contact he moved away and we moved to his bedroom.

He sat at his computer playing a game. I sat on the floor beside him. Together we strategized. Together we won. Without asking, he put an arm around me and pulled me so that my head rested on him. I sat experiencing a happiness unlike any I had ever known. I had something that just was. It needed no words, it needed no acknowledgement. It just was. Until it wasn’t.

One day he called me and told me he was changing schools. He had tested into another specialized high school. He decided he was going to go. We hadn’t talked about it. He hadn’t asked what I thought. He just chose. I hung up and got in the shower. I sat in the shower sobbing listening to “We Belong Together” on repeat. I didn’t know what else to do. The rest of the year was different. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was everyone’s jokes that I was going to fall apart without him. He pulled away. It was an effort to make him spend time alone with me. I would bike home from his house crying. When the school year ended, I didn’t hear from him again.

My love life with boys was uneventful for the next few years as I had an on-again off-again relationship with a girl who I cared for, but didn’t love on every level. It was a confusing time as I balanced a heterosexual personal relationship at school and a homosexual internet  exploration at home. I fought endlessly, yet unnecessarily, to be seen as straight at school. Somehow having an attractive girlfriend was louder than any rumor could be. I was able to separate my virtual reality from my school reality until senior year.

[nycitygritty]

That Weird Space

You look at me uncertainly

or perhaps vacantly

as my mouth fights to not say

the words that play on repeat in my mind

Like a song that reminds me of

the way it feels in your arms

“I’m yours” dances on my tongue

As “be mine” fingers caress your face

Making their way to your hair

Without words we ask “What?”

so loudly that our longing for an answer

wraps around the room the way our

hands, legs, feelings do so effortlessly

Our eyes daring one another to say

The words that we want to say

To ask the questions that linger

But instead silence fills the space

between us

I tell you how happy I am to wake with you

“me too,” you say.

You tell me you like me and I say the same.

We’re too old for games

But us is too young for the way I feel

So i don’t tell you what I think when

We wake in the middle of the night

To look at one another. Or when you

roll over to pull me closer to you

And our hands find one another in the dark.

“Are you guys dating or friends?”

A simple question, we both know the answer

Yet we pause and look at each other

Before announcing the simple answer that

Yes, we’re dating.

The moment says more than we ever have

And I hope it conveys how I feel about you

Rather than the doubts that are long gone.

Tomorrow will find us in different cities

Yet, instead of staying up all night

We fall into each other’s sleepy bodies

Our bodies saying “I’ll miss you” so

We don’t have to

Disturb the effortless flow that is us.

Together we learn how words don’t have to be said to be felt.

[nycitygritty]

Epilogue - Walk the Line

I titled this collection, "Walk the Line," because my mother and I watched it over and over. She watched it many more times when I wasn't there. I am positive that she connected with the story. She was hopeful for the positive, happy ending that Cash found. I hope she found it. For her I will always walk the line.

I am happy that I presented on AA. I'm really glad that I was able to attend a meeting and get a glimpse of what my mother experienced. I'm thankful to have been able to hear from other people what they thought and to do some of my own research. I didn't just want to learn from this, I wanted to heal from it as well. I think I was able to do that. These songs weren't easy to listen to over and over again. These memories and feelings weren't easy to write about and they were even harder to convey powerfully. That is why I am thankful that I chose not to write memoirs. I wasn't ready yet. I think I need more time and more healing, but I think this was a good first step. I also noticed that it was trickier to write from my mother's point of view, even with respect to relating her experiences to songs. I'm glad I didn't tackle writing memoirs from her point of view just yet.

This project did require that I look deep inside myself though. It made me uncover inner demons, latent fears and repressed feelings that made me question my actions and words in the present. I plan on talking about those. I plan on letting those feelings be felt and those memories be remembered so that I can release them from my subconscious. I am aware that I have been trying not to follow in my mother's footsteps, but at the same time, I am scared that I am seeing myself hiding from pain, like she did, and that that could be dangerous.

I am part of so many systems and have so many identities within myself and placed upon me that expect (or that I assume expect) so much of me. With so many expectations, both real and perceived (which are real too!), disappointment is bound to occur. I think the one of biggest problem with all of the systems is how much we self-blame. It is important to recognize when we are wrong and when we have done wrong, but it is just as important to recognize when we haven't and other people are trying to make us feel that we have. We don't need to be anyone's scapegoat and we don't need to be victims. We shouldn't blame others for what we have done. The fact that the world that we are in makes it so easy for us to do this leads to so many problems. One of them is depression; another is alcoholism.

Alcoholics tend to blame themselves for what has happened, even when it isn't their fault. Divorces, deaths, beatings, etc. somehow become their own fault. They blame themselves for not being able to act. They are able to see what they should have done and blame themselves for not doing it. They blame themselves for feeling the way they feel. They blame themselves for other people's unhappiness. On top of that, society blames them for their inability to stop drinking and “clean up their act.” I don’t think that the portrayal of alcoholics in television and movies is healthy or helpful. Often the alcoholic is part of a punchline or is deemed a lost cause. Even worse is when the alcoholic is shown to make a miraculous recovery. It seems weird for me to think that showing a recovering alcoholic could be a bad thing, but when an alcoholic sees the picture-perfect movie alcoholic recovering in a week, they might wonder why they are unable to do the same. The approach that many songs take to alcohol in general is also unhealthy. It’s one thing to celebrate and recognize that alcohol can be fun. It’s another thing when that’s all teenagers hear and believe that they are unable to have fun without alcohol. That’s dangerous.

Alcoholism is a serious problem. It’s not just a problem with individuals; it’s a problem with society.

[nycitygritty]

My Way

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the final piece. Enjoy!*

"I've loved, I've laughed and cried. I've had my fill; my share of losing. And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing. To think I did all that, and may I say--not in a shy way, oh no, oh no not me, I did it my way...Yes it was my way."

My mom and I loved Frank Sinatra. I loved Frank Sinatra because she did at first. Now that's one of the reasons I love him. Whenever I think of my mother now, I can't help but think that if she had had a final song, this could have been it. She always did it her way.

She left home at a young age. She came to NYC and immediately applied to be a server at a restaurant. She was offered a manager's position instead. She went on to own, manage and work for several other restaurants. She had a way with people and she had a way with food. She was a natural hostess, people person and had a powerful presence. Everything she did, she did her own way. Whether she was fixing a computer, making a pizza, setting up a gazeebo, making a costume or taking care of me, she did it all her own way with her own little flair.

She loved to make people laugh. She would have definitely appreciated all of the stories that we shared and all of the laughter.

And I know that she would want me to do it my way too. And I will. I promise.

[nycitygritty]

Every Breath You Take

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the fifteenth piece. Enjoy!*

"Every breath you take and every move you make. Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you. Every single day and every word you say. Every game you play and every night you stay, I'll be watching you. Oh can't you see, you belong to me. How my poor heart aches with every step you take."

An ex-boyfriend shared this song with me on a mixed CD that he made me for my 20th birthday. Along with the mixed CD, he included brief descriptions of why he included each song. At first I was confused about this song selection. But when I read his description, I teared up (yes I am quite the emotional person). He wrote about how this song symbolizes the relationship between a mother and her son.

He knew about my mother's passing just a few weeks before I met him and he wrote, "I'm sure she loved you so much....Throughout every step and choice you make in your life, your mother will forever be there to guide you and help you..." I was so amazed by how well he captured what I had come to believe. I know that my mother is with me everywhere I go. I know that she is protecting me and making sure that I don't get too far off track. I have been living by her words, "You don't know if you don't try" since her passing and I have taken chances and taken risks that I wouldn't have before. And they have paid off. I am in such a happier place than I was before and I am thankful to her for guiding me here. She has kept me safe.

I don't know what I believed about death and an afterlife before my mother's passing. But I know that I believe that she is still with me. I know that I believe she is still bringing me luck, happiness, safety and guidance. I believe that since she's passed, she's been doing her best to make sure that I am happy.

I remember one day I panicked because I forgot to order food for a staff meeting. At 1:00am on the day of the staff meeting I ordered the food. The next day I walked into the office and asked how the food was. I was told that the staff meeting was the next day. I freaked out. I had wasted money that wasn't my own on food for the wrong day. I talked to my boss and she said that the food never arrived. I called the place and they apologized and let me move the food to the next day, free of charge. When I told my boss she said "Someone is watching over you!" I smiled. It's true. Someone is watching to make sure I don't get into too much trouble.

[nycitygritty]

Don't Forget Me

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the fourteenth piece. Enjoy!*

"And if something good can come from bad, the past can rest in peace. If you see someone's hurt and in need of a hand, don't forget me...There are some in this world who have strength of their own, never broken or in need of repair. But there are some born to shine who can't do it alone so protect them and take special care."

I can't help but think about my mom when I hear this song. I can imagine that she would feel the same way. This song is from the TV show Smash! The show is about a Broadway musical that is being made about Marilyn Monroe. The musical ends with Katharine McPhee, as Monroe, singing this song after committing suicide. She begs the audience to remember her. She doesn't ask to be remembered because she wants to be famous. She wants people to remember the tragedy and pain that she experienced. She wants people to remember the helplessness and confusion that surrounded her life. She was used and she knew it. She begs the audience to recognize the same pain in others and help others. She needed help but didn't get it. But it's not too late for others.

When I read the list of resentments that my mother wrote and saw some of the things that she had kept, I realized how much pain she really had bottled up (no pun intended). Knowing her, I know that she wouldn't want anyone else to experience that same pain. She would want people to be helped. I believe that.

Alcoholism can be fatal. It can kill people as a result of an accident. It can kill people if they commit suicide drunk. And it can cause so many health problems. When we lose someone to something, we can't help but want to help other people who we see as being in similar situations. We want to make it up to that person we lost. But this song is about more than that. This song is written from the point of view of the deceased. They wouldn't want anyone else to feel the same pain either. As much pain as we feel for losing them they felt for years. As much as they wanted to be saved from that pain, they would want others to be saved from it. They are not silent after dying. They are still begging us for help. If something good can come from bad, they can rest in peace.

[nycitygritty]

Heaven Was Needing a Hero

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the thirteenth piece. Enjoy!*

"No matter how much I need you now, heaven needed you more. Cuz heaven was needing a hero, somebody just like you: brave enough to stand up for what you believe and follow it through. When I try to make it make sense in my mind, the only conclusion I come to is...yes, heaven was needing a hero and that's you."

I discovered this song shortly after my mother's passing. I don't remember how exactly (I was probably following links on youtube) but I do remember that I shared it on Facebook after I attended her funeral. I wrote about all of the things she had taught me. I wrote about how she taught me to respect everybody regardless of class, gender, race, ethnicity, skin color, orientation, religion, etc. I wrote about she encouraged me to take chances. I wrote about her humor, her beauty, her laugh, her love. I wrote about all of the parts of her that I loved and that inspired me. I wrote because I knew nobody else would.

I watched my mother as she started to attend church. I was there when she decided to go to midnight mass on her last Christmas Eve (which was also her birthday). She told me about the pastors she had met. She told me about the religious leaders she had spoken to who had been kind to her. She spoke of the ones who embraced everybody. Perhaps because I'm gay she told me about the pastor who proudly spoke of his gay son. I didn't understand then. She wasn't trying to make me religious. (She had vehemently argued with my dad about making me go to Catholic school) She was trying to show me what she had found. She had found that religion doesn't have to be structural. It doesn't have to be a commitment or a drag. It can spiritual. It can be healing. It can be whatever you want it to be. There's community and unconditional love and support. I wasn't ready to see it yet.

Incidentally, the summer after my freshman year, I became more interested in religion. Part of it was because of what I saw in my mother. But I was also searching. I was searching for the things that she had found. I just didn't know it yet. I believe we are stubborn. We are stubborn to admit to ourselves that we want the things that faith offers us, because we are scared of the implications. We are scared of the expectations. We would rather pretend we aren't looking for those things. But then when the chance to have them appears, we turn them down. That's what I did. I found the places that I wanted to visit. I found all of the information. But I couldn't bring myself to go. I was scared. I pretended I was scared that I wouldn't fit. But really I was scared that I would. What would that mean?

My mother was ready. She had nowhere else to turn and nothing else to lose. She was lonely and she was alone. She found her place in AA (I came back over Thanksgiving break and found that she was the star of an AA Thanksgiving dinner. She was in charge and everyone was looking to her for directions. She was back!). She found her peace. When she passed, I was more comfortable admitting first to myself and then to my boyfriend the real issues and questions I was facing. I was able to come to my own understanding of spirituality. I was able to read words such as God and Heaven without any unease. I automatically interpreted them as they fit my beliefs. That's what I was sharing when I shared this song. I was sharing that I had begun to understand what my mom had. I had take another step on my spiritual journey. I would keep my mother with me along the way. I have. I will.

The question of whether AA encourages members to become religious isn't as hotly debated as it was in the past. But I think there's a question that was overlooked. If AA does indeed encourage members to become religious, what effect does that have on relatives and close friends? In my case it sparked interest. But clearly it didn't drive me to become totally religious. Instead it allowed me to discover my own understanding of religion and faith, which interestingly enough is exactly what AA says it does. I don't know if the effect is the same for everyone, but I think that it depends on the AA member's interpretation and openness. People will take from something what they want. That has been proven by AA members who relapse and return, or who attend simply to put off a ticket. I don't think that AA is a religious group, but I think people can interpret it that way if that's the purpose for which they sought the group. The most important part of AA is that the alcoholic is helped. My mother was helped. She relapsed, but she was helped. For a while, I saw her again. The real her. That allowed me to find a faith that I had all along but couldn't quite understand.

[nycitygritty]

For Good

"I'm limited, just look at me. I'm limited. And just look at you, you can do all I couldn't do. So now it's up to you...And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness for the things I've done you blame me for. But then I guess we know there's blame to share and none of it seems to matter anymore."

For what was her last birthday, I took my mother to see Wicked. I finally had some money and I wanted to do something special for her. I had recently come out to her and she had been beyond accepting. I knew that she enjoyed shows and musicals and I had never gone to one with her. I knew that she would never treat herself to one, so I knew I had to take her. I chose Wicked because of our connection with The Wizard of Oz.

As we watched, I was my usual emotional self. When this song played, I couldn't help but think of her. I compared myself and her to Elphaba and Glinda. My mother knew that she had her limits. She was older and she had made a mess of her life in the past few years. But when she looked at me, she saw someone who could still be someone and who had somehow not only always been there for her, but had somehow also been there for everyone else and himself as well. She saw me as someone who could still reach his dreams. I could do all that she couldn't.

We both knew that we had made mistakes with one another. Yet somehow we both knew, and know, that it's okay. We understood one another. We were becoming better.

I changed my mother. I was the child she always needed. I was also the person she always needed. I stayed there for her. I stuck up for her. I protected her. She knew that. Because of that, she found parts of herself--hope, faith, strength--that she had lost. We were both changed (for good) by our love.

I love that "For Good" can mean either permanently, or for the better. I think both are true of our mother-son relationship. We were both changed for the better forever. We couldn't have done it without one another and we couldn't have done it with anyone else. We needed each other. We needed to learn and share with each other. We were so different and yet it all just made sense.

“For Good” makes me think of the part of AA where members get a sponsor and get to be a sponsor. I think that both having a sponsor and being a sponsor are super important. The sponsor-sponsee relationship is one that changes both people. Sponsors were once sponsees and were so moved by their sponsors that they wanted to be that person for somebody else. Sponsees need someone who can help them, talk to them, check in on them and make sure that they’re doing alright. Sponsors have the opportunity to feel empowered and continue healing and recovering. The sponsor becomes responsible for the sponsee, but at the same time, the sponsee has the responsibility to not disappoint the sponsor. The two are both in such different places at that point, yet they are able to work together and help one another. Often sponsors are on call 24/7 for their sponsee, which is super important. The sponsor remembers what it was like to be in the early stages of recovery and wants to help the sponsee as much as possible. Their relationship is special and life-changing for both.

[nycitygritty]

Hurt

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the eleventh piece. Enjoy!*

"Would you tell me I was wrong? Would you help me understand? Are you looking down upon me? Are you proud of who I am?"

I recently read John Green's young adult novel, Looking for Alaska, for a final project in another class. The novel is separated into "Before" and "After." The separations refer to the death of the lead female protagonist, Alaska. While I enjoyed the "Before" immensely, the "After" section made me uncomfortable. I still enjoyed it and could not stop reading (except for a few moments when I simply had to put the book down). I didn't understand as I was reading why I felt so uncomfortable. I made myself power through instead of trying to figure it out. Upon completing the book, I sat up (I had been reclined on my friend's bed). I felt happy to be finished, but despite being satisfied with the ending, I felt uneasy. Shortly thereafter I excused myself for the evening and bid my friends farewell. As I stepped out of the dorm, I turned on my iPod and this song started playing. That's when it hit me.

See, it wasn't the death of Alaska that was bothering me. It was her friends' reactions. They tried to unravel the truth behind her death. They weren't sure if it was a suicide or an accident. They spent most of the latter half of the novel trying different theories and looking for more information. Alaska was drunk when she died. That was part of what was bothering me. As I cleaned my mother's apartment, I was traumatized by what I found. I found 15 giant recycling bags full of empty bottles and cans. I found half-finished bottles of beer on her desk and in the sink.

At the same time, everybody told me she had suffered a heart attack due to the fact that she had been prescribed too many pills for her depression and the health effects of her drinking. My uncle told me about how she called him and told him about her relapse in the summer, but vowed to get her life back together. My father told me about her plans to move into a different apartment with a roommate so that she could get back on her feet. The last time my mother and I spoke she had told me about recently finding a job that was perfect for her. When she was found, she had been ironing her clothes for work. She was all set to go.

But still I was left with questions. Why was she drinking? When had she last been drinking? Why hadn't she called or texted me recently? What really happened? The worst question of all was the one that nobody would ever say yes to (even if they knew the truth) and that I was told to leave alone: did she commit suicide? That's what bothered me about the book. The teenagers searched and searched for an answer that I was told to leave alone.

I heard this song again recently and that is when I had the idea for this final project. This song is about loss. It's about hurting someone and hurting oneself as a result. Aguilera sings about regretting walking away and wishing that she could see the person she hurt again and forgive them for everything. I know that I hurt my mother. It doesn't matter that I was too young to say no to my dad and it doesn't matter that she was hurting me and could have "ruined" my life as my dad said. It doesn't matter that counselors told me I was brave or strong. It doesn't matter. I hurt her when I moved out. I hurt her when I didn't call her or text her because I was wrapped up in my own life. And I wish I could apologize.

The lyrics I chose were all questions. I chose them for two reasons. First, and more obviously, they are questions that we ask after loss. We want to know what the person would say. We want to know that the person is still with us. We want to know that they believe we are doing the right thing. But more importantly, any death, but especially this kind of death, leaves the survivors with many questions. Many questions that can't be answered.

The song "Hurt" is another song that speaks to the perspective of both the alcoholic or deceased and the people in his/her life. While the perspective of the survivor is clear, the perspective of the deceased requires some digging to uncover. Aguilera sings about the person telling her how proud they were before she walked away. She also sings about blaming the person for everything she "couldn't do." The deceased, along with feeling abandoned and feeling like a victim, also felt similar feelings t the singer. They both wanted to feel worthy and to be forgiven. They both wanted to share something but couldn't.

Self-blame is a common occurrence for both the alcoholic and the children. Even though the alcoholic is quick to blame others, there is often an element of self-resentment and frustration that traps them. Children (particularly if a divorce occurs) can be unsure of what to think, which leads them to think of themselves as the problem. Taking it upon themselves to solve the problem and save the parent is painful and unproductive.

[nycitygritty]

Analyze/Scared to be Alone

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the tenth piece. Enjoy!*

"All these monsters I couldn't hide beneath the bed or in my head. If I was stronger they would've died, but every once in awhile I'm terrified. Don't feel sorry for me. I'll be stronger than I look...Death can rear his ugly face. I'm just scared to be alone."

My mom was scared of being alone. She did not like the feeling at all. She would see it as a sign that she wasn't worthy of other people's presence, attention or love. When she lived alone she kept the three cats and the bird. She needed the company. She needed somebody to take care of. She needed somebody to depend on her. She needed to prove that she could do it. That she wasn't completely helpless.

She was scared of people too though. People could get upset with her. People could be disappointed with her. People could disappoint her. People could hurt her. The monsters under her bed were the experiences she had in the past when she was left, when she was let down, when people gave up on her. She didn't want that again.

A husband isn't supposed to do that. Children definitely aren't supposed to do that. She thought she was safe. But the monsters under her bed kept her drinking. She saw that she was becoming more and more alone. She was scared. Being alone would imply something about her. That she wasn't good to be around. For someone who has always wanted to be a mother and has always been naturally good at being a people person, that thought was too much.

Every alcoholic has monsters under the bed. The monsters keep them going back to the bottle or can so that they can forget them. They don't want pity. They just want company. They want somebody with whom they can face the monsters. They want to be able to protect that person from those monsters too. They want to be appreciated. They want to be told when they're wrong too, but they don't want to be chastised or left for doing something wrong. Alcoholics want to be better, but they want to know how to be better. They haven't figured it out for themselves yet so they need someone to show them how. They don't want to hurt people. But their fear of being hurt leads them to do things that could hurt others. They end up alone because nobody can tell that more than anything that's what they fear most. Their actions are the result of pain and sadness.

[nycitygritty]

Losing My Religion

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the ninth piece. Enjoy!*

"I thought that I heard you laughing. I thought that I heard you sing. I think I thought I saw you try. But that was just a dream. Try, cry, why try. That was just a dream.”

I grew up listening to this song. My mom and I would listen to it on the car ride home when we drove home after after-school. I loved it long before I could relate to it. And now I keep it with me. Even though it's about an unrequited obsession for someone else, I find that it relates to my feelings towards my mother both before and after her death.

I loved my mother unconditionally. It hurt me to watch her struggle. It hurt me to beg her to stop. It hurt me to watch her continue. But I held onto every bit of hope I saw. Even after she went to relapsed several times, even after she went to the hospital several times, even after she called me and told me that George Lopez was in a helicopter by our house trying to save her (a hallucination) I found little sparks that kept me going.

When I looked up the song, I learned that "losing my religion" refers to losing one's temper or civility or being at the end of one's rope. I'm not sure about the first two, but I related to last one a bit. I often felt that I was at the end of a rope. But I managed to hold on over and over. More than that, losing my religion meant to me that I was losing parts of myself that were extremely important. Sometimes that meant that I was losing hope. Sometimes it meant that I was losing my ability to think clearly. Sometimes it simply meant that I was becoming lost.

But no matter how lost I became, I kept my eyes on my mother trying to protect her. At the end of her life, I knew that I was the only one she had left. She told me. But even if she hadn't I knew. I carried that with me to her funeral. When I saw my extended family (I hadn't seen anyone from either side in years) I was resentful. I was frustrated. It wasn't fair that they acted as if they had been there all along. When my dad rose and said that she had never been abandoned, I lost it. Inside of course. It was bullshit. I did everything I could to keep myself quiet. I couldn't even look at him. That's when I momentarily lost my religion.

Since her passing, I dreamt of my mother once. But it wasn't, as the song says, "just a dream." I spoke to her. I told her about my life. When I felt myself waking up, I turned to her and said, "I have to go now. I love you. I'll see you soon." My mother didn't believe in good-byes, at least not with me. She always believed in see you laters. That's a part of my religion now. And I'm not going to lose it.

[nycitygritty]

Wasted/Jesus Take the Wheel

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the eighth piece. Enjoy!*

"I don't want to spend my life jaded...I ain't spending no more time wasted. Jesus take the wheel cuz I can't do this on my own. I'm letting go so give me one more chance to save me from this road I'm on. Jesus take the wheel, oh take it from me."

These two songs speak to the time that my mother truly committed to AA. After seeing what her drinking had cost her, she realized that she didn't want to lose any more time. She had missed so many moments for years of my life. She had lost her job. She had spent all of her money and a large chunk of mine. She had finally hit rock bottom. She didn't want to waste her life anymore. She committed to AA for herself, and for me.When she found AA, she also found religion. She realized that she didn't have control of herself anymore and so she asked for someone else to take control. She let her faith and belief be her strength. She carried the serenity prayer with her everywhere she went. She carried her coin from 1 day of sobriety with her. Her sponsor got her a ring and she wore it. She knew that she could do it. For some time, she found the strength and the faith to get by.

[nycitygritty]

Because of You

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the seventh piece. Enjoy!*

"I watched you die, I heard you cry every night in your sleep. I was so young you should have known better than to lean on me. You never thought of anyone else, you just saw your pain. And now I cry in the middle of the night for the same damn thing...Because of you I try my hardest just to forget everything...Because of you I am afraid."

Throughout high school this song stayed with me. Watching the music video to this song only added to the most emotionally powerful aspect of it: the idea of depression, pain and tragedy being transferred from generation to generation in an endless cycle. I had one of my biggest breakthroughs while I was listening to and belting out this song as I walked down the street one night. It was during the summer after my freshman year and I finally confronted many of the feelings that I had left alone (even during counseling). I let the tears come, I let the anger come and I let the healing begin. When my mother passed, I removed the song from my iPod because I knew that I would feel guilty listening to it.

I had seen both of my parents fall apart, I had heard them cry. I realized that I was protecting myself (I still do it sometimes without noticing it) from certain pain or heartache by either rationalizing it, doing anything to avoid it or trying to stop it before it happens. When I realized that I became even more resentful towards both of my parents. I had been robbed of my childhood. I was forced to grow up before I should have (which is probably why I was Peter Pan for halloween one year).

The most painful part was realizing that I was walking in the footsteps of my parents. Not the good ones. I had tried so hard to save myself from a future of pain that I had created a painful present for myself. I picked fights. I became paranoid. I became clingy. I let my best qualities become my worst. I let my desire to be happy keep my in a lonely world where I never found true happiness. I was scared.

The music video begins with the singer in a serious fight with her partner. He is about to smash a picture when time freezes. The singer sees a younger version of herself who brings her through a series of memories from her childhood, including a fight and her father moving out as she chases helplessly after the car. After watching the memories, the singer runs back to the present. Before time unfreezes she takes the picture from her partner's hand and they hug. Their daughter emerges and the family comes together. The ending gives me hope. The singer was able to realize the cycle and was able to do something about it. I hope that I can as well.

[nycitygritty]

Sober/Please Don’t Leave Me

*My sophomore year of college I did a final project for a class for which I collected a list of songs that related to my experience with having an alcoholic mother. Much like with this tumblr, I used the songs as a prompt. I will share these one at a time to allow for further insight into my life and as a way for me to track my growth as a writer. This is the sixth piece. Enjoy!*

"When it's good then it's good, it's so good 'till it goes bad, 'till you're trying to find the you that you once had. I forgot to say out loud how beautiful you really are to me. I can’t be without you, you're my perfect little punching bag. And I need you. I'm sorry."

I put these two songs together because they capture an important moment of my mother's life. There was a time when I saw my mother desperately trying to help herself. She didn't want to be the person who stayed up on the computer all night with bottle after bottle of Heineken. She didn't want to hear from me the things that she had said to me the night before. She didn't want to have to keep realizing that she had said those things even if she couldn't remember them.

Being drunk, like I said before, was an escape for her. She could get away from her pain and see invincible. She was no longer the weak person that she believed herself to be. Instead she became a woman who could break down a door. She could say things that she didn't mean and not have to pay a price for it. Nobody could bring her down. But she didn't like the consequences that it had for me. Or for my dad even. She wanted to experience the same happiness, or at least lack of pain that she felt while drinking, while she was sober. And she tried desperately.

But she was trying at a time when my father was pulling away. And taking me with him. She saw that if he went then I had to go to. She knew that there was no way I could stay with her if she kept drinking. She pulled herself together from time to time. She showed us how vulnerable she was. She apologized for things she had said and done. Our dinners and time together became somewhat more regular. But it was too late. She didn't want to believe it was too late. I saw her trying. But my dad didn't believe it.

I heard the desperation in her voice when I said I was gone. I am too scared to imagine what she was like for the next few days. When she would call we would end up fighting. She tried everything to get us to come back. My dad wouldn't have it. We couldn't go down with her anymore. She needed us. She needed us to take care of her. And she needed us to catch her anger and sadness.

Alcoholics often isolate themselves without realizing it. Sometimes they do it physically. Other times their anger and pain scares people away. Sometimes they become unbearable and people have to leave for their own safety and well-being. Whatever the reason, the alcoholic realizes that there is almost nobody left and tries to hold on to somebody. But with so few people left, that person becomes the focus of all of the alcoholic's emotions--positive and negative. That's a lot to ask of anybody.

The alcoholic at some point recognizes that they have a problem. But even then, they can't just magically stop drinking. They know that they want to be sober, they want to be in control again. For a while everything is good. It keeps getting better and better. But then something happens. And everything falls apart again.

[nycitygritty]

Happy

“Well, give me all you got, and don't hold it back, yeah, Well, I should probably warn you I'll be just fine, yeah,”

I’ve had a good amount of friends reach out to me to share their support, stories and appreciation after reading my writing. It means the world to me that not only are people taking time out of their hectic lives to read what I share, but also they feel moved by it. I really hope others are able to relate to and/or grow from what I share. I want to make the world a place where more  people feel safe sharing their stories with everyone, or at least someone. Even if you can’t relate to what I write, I hope you can understand where I’m coming from and keep in mind other people out there are going through or have gone through similar experiences and are reacting to them in all kinds of ways. We are all so much more than we seem

That being said, I would like to let you all know that I am truly and genuinely happy with how my life is going. I haven’t always been this happy, but I can certainly say I am happy. I can feel happiness in the way I think about the present and the future. Joy fills my body as I don’t think about the past with lenses of sadness, regret or shame. Glee comes naturally everyday because I am letting events unfold and people do as they will without overthinking or questioning everything. Mostly, I am thrilled by the growth I am seeing in myself - physically, emotionally and in pretty much every other aspect of my life. Being stagnant is something that has always scared me.  Being able to see and feel the changes in my life I am choosing to make is immensely satisfying and a constant motivation to keep moving. I wake up everyday excited for work and excited for what I’ll be doing after work. The days go quickly, but I enjoy every moment of them. They’re being lived, not endured.

All of this isn’t to suggest I am going through life with no thoughts about my past whatsoever. Nor am I refraining from examining the decisions I am making or being passive about what is happening in my life. The key here for me is how I am making choices. Choosing requires thought, analysis and consideration - not only about how decisions affect oneself, but also how they affect others. For a long time I have had the latter down pretty well. I have been very good about thinking about how my decisions affect others, while putting myself on the back burner. Not being able to acknowledge and realize my inner desires has, at times, held me back from being happy. Not listening for my inner voice became a norm for me. Doing so has been capping my potential. I’m getting better at finding the balance between saying and doing what I want while simultaneously being mindful of others. That makes me happy. 

I have been doing and am doing a lot of things that are new to me. At work, I’m about to get a new set of responsibilities. I’ll have the chance to work with another team, while still working with my current team. I am so excited by the new work I’ll be doing and how much there is to learn. I’ll have a new set of roles to become familiar with and be able to work with candidates further into the recruiting/interviewing cycle. Every meeting I have about this new frontier motivates me to work harder. I had my first class of training for my volunteer program last night. I was exhausted and napped on the way there, but the material and discussion about what we’ll be doing as volunteers kept me alert. I took notes. I spoke up. I got excited for my next class and what’s ahead. I started doing Body Pump, which is a full body workout with very few and short breaks. I haven’t been great about anything like this before because I’ve lacked the discipline to keep going. Having a class that I go to makes it easier to keep going. I don’t wander around a gym wondering what I should do and knowing in the back of my mind that nobody at the gym is keeping tab of what I’m doing. I’ve already begun to see and feel the way my body is changing as new muscles are being used and familiar muscles are being pushed harder than they’ve ever been. Not all of the new things I’ve tried have been as wholly positive. That’s where learning comes in. I went a little harder than I planned to this weekend (hence no posts) and got a little too excited by how much there was to consume at the How Weird Street Faire. I ended up being fine after a short intermission. My instinct after that incident was to feel shame. And I let it happen. After I came back, I allowed myself to keep in mind that I had tried something new and I had gained a better understanding of where my limits are. I don’t have to be so hard on myself all the time. People make mistakes. I had fun with my best friend. I’m happy. 

I took a Buzzfeed quiz, “What Song is Actually About You?” My result was the song, “Happy,” by Pharrell. So there you have it. If a Buzzfeed quiz says it, it must be true. The result said, “You’re extremely cheerful and always walk with a little pep in your step. You know how to perfectly brighten up anyone’s day, and people love having you around. You’re always happy and you wouldn’t live your life to be any other way.” I can’t speak to what other people think, but I do walk, sashay and dance down the street with a pep in my step. While waiting for the bus or Muni, I move away from the crowd to better feel my music with my whole body. I look on the bright side, find the good and try to show people their best sides. I smile loudly, almost intrusively sometimes. But I don’t have to fake it. I’m enjoying life and no matter what happens, I know I can handle it.