I am one of those rare people who knew from the moment I
escaped the womb what I was destined to do with my life. It was obvious from the time I was very, very
young that I would undoubtedly become a world famous Oscar-winning movie
star. I could feel it IN MY BONES. Knowing the difficulties I may be facing, I
of course had a backup plan should Hollywood prove distasteful – I would be a
Princess. And whichever career path came
to pass, I knew I would be a Mom – I had names picked out for my kids by the
time I was seven. Jessica Lynne, Monica
Turner, Britain Ellsworth, William Darcy, and Christian Alexander. We’d live in a house with a pool and a game
room with pachinko and pinball machines, and my kids would be respectful and do
their chores without complaint. They’d
go off to college on full scholarships and become a doctor, a lawyer, a
veterinarian, an artist and a construction manager (I’ve got my bases covered
here). Everything was planned out for
the perfect, happy life…
However, from the beginning cracks began to form in this
splendid strategy. First of all, I was
born more than five weeks early with malformed lungs. My father was deployed to Vietnam and was
sent home by the Red Cross as I wasn’t expected to survive. He called me his miracle baby and credited me
for saving his life in his autobiography – in the beginning, when I was a
helpless wee little thing, all was good.
My early childhood was fairly normal – I was a very
intelligent kid, always impressing and annoying my teachers with wanting to
know more – asking constant questions and reading anything and everything I
could get my hands on. It went
splendidly until I started to develop a bit of a weight problem – eating my
feelings and anxiety regularly rather than dealing with stressful situations.
As my weight began to blow up, so did my father’s
temper. He’d grown up with a “fat”
sister and saw how miserable her life was and was determined not to watch his
daughter go through it – so, just as he did with his younger sister, he tried
to shame me into skinniness – which had the opposite effect. He would tie me to my bed until my room was
clean to his standards and would wake me up to revelry at 20 Decibels to get my
chores started on the weekend. It was
not a healthy relationship.
Part of the issue concerned my two perfect sisters – one
older, who claimed the role of Golden Child.
She was showered with affection, gifts, and was even taken on a trip to
Hawaii with my best friend Brian’s family one summer because my father thought it
more appropriate that SHE should go than me (even though he was my wonder twin
best friend). My younger sister was also
extremely beautiful, and would spend hours in front of the mirror perfecting
her hair and makeup to fit the image that ensured my Dad would leave her in
peace.
When I was ten, the city of Los Angeles implemented a
program in which inner city kids would be shipped out to the more affluent
neighborhood schools in the valley, and the valley kids would be bussed into
downtown Los Angeles. You know – schools
where they had metal detectors and things before you could enter the
hallway. My Dad, a nonapologetic racist
like his father before him, refused to have his children “integrated” on the
grounds that it wasn’t safe. As a
result, my older sister was enrolled in a fancy private school in Hidden Hills
and I was shipped to Utah to live with my Aunt Marlene for the fifth grade.
This turned out to be a mixed blessing – my uncle was a
terrifying and physically abusive man, who we discovered MANY years later had
been cheating on my Aunt for virtually their entire marriage. But my Aunt – she is unconditional love
personified – and I believe that my year with her instilled within me a belief
deep down that I WAS worthy and deserving of love, and that she would always be
there to provide it (which has proven to be true to this day).
When I returned to Los Angeles, so did the extreme tension
between my father and myself. At one
point, my mother brought all three of us before a family counsellor. Within the first few minutes of that visit,
the counsellor probed my father about his feelings towards me. My father said, “You want me to pretend that
I like her? I won’t do that. She’s a fat slob and a waste.” Or something to that effect – I don’t
remember the exact words, but I will never forget the look on the therapist’s
face as my father responded. He politely
asked me to wait outside, so I went and sat on the curb by the car – it wasn’t
too long after that my parents re-emerged and got into the car without a
word. We never tried therapy again.
I started spending as much time as I could with my maternal
grandparents. They owned a shop that
made solar powered music boxes and other gadgets. At the time, it was extremely popular and
they were doing well. They gave me odd
jobs to do around the shop – which also employed all my AMAZING great aunts and
we became the oddest of girl groups – four ladies in their fifties and an 11-12
year old kid who wanted nothing more than to hang around with them.
At 13, my grandparents were doing well enough to travel to
Iceland, where my Uncle was stationed with the air force, and then on to Europe
for a tour. They invited my older sister
and myself, and my Mom joined us for three weeks of adventure – which instilled
a love of travel in me that I follow to this day, having visited around 50
countries since then. I was really close
with my grandparents – so close that they didn’t feel they had to hide their
smoking habit when I was around. I’d
caught them one time sneaking cigarettes and told them, “It’s okay. I love you.
You don’t have to hide.” Pretty
damn mature for someone who was so clueless on everything else in life.
When I was 14 I spent most of the summer at my grandparents
shop – and started my first entrepreneurial venture – The Jacobsmeyer Cookie
Company. My customers were pretty much
my great aunts, but they showered me with love and praise for my cookies – and
it brought me such joy to make them. One
of my aunts had official letterhead and envelopes printed for me as a surprise
– it was a time of great joy.
In 1984, the Olympics came to Los Angeles – something my
father was extremely excited about. He
purchased tickets and took my elder sister to the Opening Ceremonies, and sent
me to live with some friends of his in Arizona – the Alders. It was never explained to me why I had to go,
but I was happy to get away from my father’s constant verbal abuse.
I know now that I was sent to “help Cheryl with the
housework” – although that was never explained to me. Her husband Mark owned a series of toy stores
– and I loved to go with him and help out with the stores, but because they
were another strict Mormon household, my “job” was to stay home and do “woman”
things.
Not my forte.
Cheryl quickly became aggravated with my wanting to stay in
my room or spend time by the pool cooling off, and I moved from their house
into my Aunt and Uncle’s house in Mesa.
They were very kind to me – and helped me find my first “real” job
working at Der Weinerschnitzel. It
wasn’t difficult, but it was AWESOME getting a paycheck and I enjoyed it – but
after getting injured one day, I was “let go” for lying about my age –
something I hadn’t done – to spare the manager from censure over letting a 15
year old operate the fryer. I spent the
rest of the summer with my Aunt Maria – someone I could really talk to, and who
was kind. They had two small daughters,
who I absolutely adored (and still do to this day).
I didn’t hate my sister for being the “Chosen One” – just
the opposite, in fact – I tried to emulate her, and would hang around her at
school. She was two grades ahead of me,
and would let me hang with her group of friends provided I would run off and
get them snacks as their unofficial “errand girl.”
In Jr High and High School, I excelled at Drama and Drill Team
and began my rapid path to super stardom, which was quickly arrested by the
fact that I was usually kicked out of every play and every performance for my
recurrent tardiness. Family problems at
home affected my school work, grades, social life and stubbornness – and rather
than putting me in more challenges classes with my friends, I was kicked out of
the gifted program and advised to drop out of school because it obviously bored
me.
This pissed me off.
About that same time, as my father was dropping me off for
my final exams of the semester – he told me that my mother had filed for
divorce and they were splitting. AS I
WAS GETTING OUT OF THE CAR TO TAKE MY EXAMS.
This pissed me off even more.
Remember – I may be smart, but at this point in life had
never been taught emotional intelligence.
So I quickly passed the California proficiency exam with ease and then
got myself quickly in hot water for mouthing off to the Drill Team instructor. She was a lot like my Dad, “YOU WILL RESPECT
MY AUTHORITY!”
“Nah, I won’t.”
When the guidance counsellor said, “You have to play nice or
I have the ability to throw you out of school.”
I laughed at her and surprisingly found myself expelled and sent to
Canoga High – the armpit of valley high schools. I transferred to Chatsworth High by lying
about my address, but continued my history of tardiness and absences – so even
though I was in one of the BEST drama high schools in Los Angeles, I was never
allowed to perform.
My last semester, I flat out refused to attend some classes
– just showing up for exams and passing them with ease. Most of my teachers didn’t care and passed me
anyway – one didn’t, so technically I never graduated from high school. Back then, college applications simply asked
when you “finished” high school – so it never really became a problem. I have
two college degrees and no high school diploma.
After school, I spent my time living with my mom – who
showed all of us that it was okay to leave an abusive relationship – she took
the brunt of my father’s emotional and verbal abuse, and then moreso for trying
to shelter me from his anger. During
this time, I worked as a secretary by day and performed at the Moorpark
Melodrama by night. I also found myself
touring with the Hollywood USO to places around California and the West Coast
as a singer and a roadie. These were
truly happy times – and I thrived, for the most part. I did have an issue with bulimia – not
because I had issues with my still obese body, but because the owner of the
Melodrama theater did – and EVERY girl that worked there was hounded to be
thinner. It was like a bulimia club –
and in hindsight, I look at those picture and think, “Damn, I look hot! What the hell was her problem.” But we all went along and fussed about our
weight.
In my last show at the Melodrama, when I had risen in the
ranks and was playing my first lead role, I was partnered for the vaudeville
portion of the show with a 16 year old kid named Jason. We were a really tight knit group – and Jason
was the “new kid” and a bit annoying. He
followed me around like a puppy, and I was just trying to enjoy my success
without being bothered. Opening weekend,
he had a huge fight with his girlfriend – he asked if he could talk to me –
and, annoyed, I told him I wanted to go to the party.
He went home and took his own life. When I found out and realized how callous I
had been, I didn’t eat for days. I
swallowed an entire bottle of Tylenol because I knew that his death was my
fault. I could have helped him and
didn’t. I don’t talk about these things
lightly – I know how serious suicide attempts are, and this was my first
sincere attempt. I’m not proud of it –
but I truly BELIEVED that the burden of Jason’s death was on my shoulders, and
I suffered for an incredibly long time with that guilt
After taking a few community college classes, I received a
scholarship to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah – which made
sense as I had grown up as a Mormon my entire life. No alcohol, no coffee, no drugs, no sex –
about as clueless as you can be and still be twenty. College was my happy place. Here I made friends that I still hang out
with to this day, I participated in shows with great fondness – weirdly, I was
never cast as the “soon to be exploding onto the Hollywood screen” lead – which
confused me, but I still had a remarkable time.
I LOVED it. I worked for the
theater department, and I thrived yet again.
As I prepared to graduate, I bought my cap and gown proudly
– only to discover that one of my student instructors (someone who I had dated,
by the way) gave me a “D” in a major related class. First of all, I was mortified because I don’t
do “D” quality work when I show up – but also because this would prevent me
from receiving my diploma.
WTF. This is high
school all over again.
Since the student instructor had already left school and
moved to Turkmenistan with his diplomat father, I convinced the Theater
Department administrator that this was, in fact, a typo – and should reflect a
healthy “C”. Having worked beside her
for 3 years, she never questioned it and changed it on the spot – ensuring I’d
walk down that procession.
That instructor, by the way, is still an incredibly good
friend and we laugh about this often. I
still maintain Citizen Kane is a sucky movie, but we agree to disagree.
Following college, I took jobs as a theater manager at the
Texas Shakespeare Festival, the Mountain Playhouse, Tuacahn Outdoor
Amphitheater – and had a great time making next to no money, working 90 hours a
week but having fun with my friends (still….nice clean fun).
One summer I went back home to Los Angeles and got an
excellent job working on the back lot of Universal Studios – until I suffered
an accident on a golf cart(a great story, by the way), and the company suddenly
decided to claim that I wasn’t authorized to be driving a golf cart (after
doing this daily for seven months) and fired me. Jesus, people – accidents happen – why do you
keep firing me?
Fortunately, the judge ruled in my favor on this one and the
company covered my medical expenses as well as offering me free “retraining”
since I’d injured my back bad enough to prevent me from returning to work as a
“stock clerk” This changed my life.
I’d always been interested in computers, and now I went
through a complete training course on computing over several months – before I
had even finished my classes, I’d been offered a job by the training company
and became one of their staff trainers – something I’ve continued to do part
time for over twenty years.
Soon, I was working “real” computer jobs and eventually
focused on computer security – which has become my passion.
When I turned 30, I realized that I was starting to get too
old for the leading lady roles in Hollywood – so I started working out and
eating better. I lost 60 pounds, dyed my
hair platinum blond, bought a cute little two seater convertible and got a
tattoo. No longer pretending to be a
Mormon, I had my first drink – and I met”Henry”, and began to experience my
first everything else.
At first, it was like a fairy tale – he was handsome and
intelligent and we got along so well. I
was absolutely feeling amazing and looking amazing, and ready for
adventure. He was recently divorced and
unbeknownst to me – NOT ready for the relationship that quickly blossomed.
I don’t want to go into the details of this phase – they’re
actually really, really hard to discuss.
This is essentially my first real relationship – and while it started
out perfectly, it went down a path I could never imagine that I would go. He wanted to do things in bed that I found,
based on my upbringing, abhorrent. And
once I acquiesced, he would take it a step further. He wanted to go to Swingers Clubs – which I
did, although I really wasn’t in to it – he wanted to experiment. I let him, because I loved him, and hung out having
great conversations with open minded people while he was screwing people in the
other room.
His need to explore only increased over time – to the point
that he was bringing prostitutes (male and female) home to our apartment, and
later our house, while I was out on the road making money – money that would be
missing out of our joint account when it came time to pay the rent or the
mortgage. Then when it was our night to
go out – he’d always have an excuse or a better offer would come up and he’d
SWEAR that he’d make it up to me, but it was always a lie.
That relationship, tumultuous at it’s best moments, ended
one night when he brought home a 17 year old girl he’d met on the beach that
was down on her luck and told me she’d be spending the night. I made her a bed on the floor in the living
room – she complained she didn’t want to sleep on the floor. I told her, “tough shit.” She stormed out – he yelled at me and then
followed her out.
I’d had enough. I was
done. I had nowhere to go. I had nothing. It was over.
I made myself an alcohol filled milkshake and took an entire
bottle of something – sleeping pills, I think – it was really hot that evening,
so I took a pillow and blanket and laid down on the bathroom floor where it was
nice and cool. To be honest, that night
is quite a bit fuzzy. It was a lot of
pills and a lot of alcohol.
I woke up 56 hours later in bed. Henry was in the other room on his
computer. I struggled to sit up and
could see piles of dirty clothes on the floor – I realized later these were all
the places I’d thrown up when he helped me from the bathroom to the bed. He’d just thrown towels or whatever over them
so I could clean them up later.
I don’t know how or why I survived – but I called my younger
sister and told her what I’d done. She
told me that if I didn’t get into my car and leave by the end of the week she’d
never speak to me again. But how could I
leave? He’d drained the bank accounts
yet again. I packed my two seater
convertible a few days later and drove from Florida to California, where I
stayed with my sister for several months – grieving and waiting for him to beg
me to come back. Which I would have
done, but thankfully, he didn’t and my sister made sure of it.
It's hard to understand how a relationship can change so dramatically
over time in such small increments as to turn your life completely upside
down. I’m not proud of those years and
some of the stupid things I was coerced into participating in – but I AM very
grateful for the open mind and thoughtful demeanor that rose from the ashes of
that period.
After bemoaning my misery with my sister for six months, I
found a job in North Carolina working at a training company. I interviewed over the phone and the manager
offered me the job on the spot. So I
packed my car up and began my next adventure – I’d never been to North
Carolina, so it was truly embarking into the unknown.
On my FIRST day at work, in my FIRST class – I met one of
the most seriously annoying students I have ever encountered in all my years of
training. I’m not kidding. He questioned everything I said and
continually made sarcastic comments. I
think I threw the dry erase marker at him at some point, followed by the
eraser. I was seriously rethinking my
cross country move if all southerners were going to prove as disrespectful and aggravating
as this guy. He kept referring to me as
“Lackluster Instructor”
Thirty one months later, we were married on a beach in
California.
My baby brother had announced his engagement and I told
Damian he had until the day before to put a ring on it or I would die of shame
that my youngest sibling married first.
We got married the day before, making it easy on all the relatives so
they could easily attend both. It was
beautiful – perfect weather – perfect day – I’d organized everything to
perfection. Well, ALMOST to
perfection. I’d made sure everyone had a
ride to the venue except me – and I was stranded at the hair salon IN my
wedding dress with no cell service and no local taxi service. One of the stylists eventually took pity on
me and dropped me off – I mean, it’s not like they could start without me – but
it added ten years onto my Mom’s life when I showed up 45 minutes late.
OH – and in a cast – but that’s another story for another
time. (And a pretty good one, actually)
Damian and I were happy – it was a good marriage and an even
better friendship. He suffers from
chronic depression, having survived a tremendous amount of trauma on his own –
but we had a lot of happy years travelling and scuba diving. The only thing we really ever fought over was
money – a problem that continued through my second marriage. I finally realized that being trapped in
Florida with Henry and having no money to escape – feeling like the only way
out was death – instilled a DEEP DEEP fear in me about money. But I wasn’t that enlightened at the time –
and Damian, who quit his IT job and started working at a scuba shop, ended up
in considerable debt. Enough debt that
it prevented me from getting a security clearance.
When I filed for divorce, we were living in Hawaii and I was
paying most of the bills – he was working harder than I was, but there’s just
no money in scuba unless you own your own shop. Although the primary reason for
the divorce was money, I’d also lost over 100 pounds after gastric bypass
surgery and was loving all the benefits of looking and feeling great. Although I couldn’t verbalize it at the time,
I subconsciously wanted freedom to explore life as a normal sized person –
something I felt I never had before. It
wasn’t because I didn’t love him – and he certainly hadn’t done anything but be
wonderfully kind and supportive.
Damian and I continued to live together – I got my clearance
and started a wonderful job at an Army base in Hawaii – volunteered to be part
of a play for the local community theater and started dating a Lieutenant
Colonel named John. I hadn’t planned on
dating – it just kind of happened, and at first it was a lot of fun.
John proposed to me after only a few weeks – considering the
fact that he was still married and I certainly wasn’t looking to be attached, I
declined. We planned a trip to Scotland
for the wedding of his niece, during which he nearly broke my arm throwing a
tantrum – then he snuck off and was discovered in a closet with one of the
bridesmaids. (I didn’t know this until years later) I knew he was struggling, but I didn’t
understand the depth of his long standing mental illness. I told him he needed to sort out his own
situation before he could propose, and he said he would.
I was offered a job in Europe – a long time dream of mine –
and I took it. I decided I would take
six months, go and explore Europe and then reevaluate what to do next. And that’s just what I did.
On my first day of my new job, in my first class in a city
called Bamberg, I met Neal. He was very
sweet – he offered to pick me up from the hotel and drop me off at the end of
the day so I wouldn’t have to take a taxi – he took me sightseeing after class,
and let me use his phone as a hot spot when I didn’t yet have access to the
Army’s network.
A few months later, we were a thing. Spending weekends together even though we
lived about 2 hours apart. I remember
one weekend we were at a Wine Festival just outside his tiny little village and
having a really good time. I wasn’t a
problem drinker then – it was just a fun night out. John called me out of the blue, but because
of the live music, I couldn’t really hear what he was saying. I told him I was at a festival and to call me
the next day to catch up.
That’s the last time I ever spoke to him. He hung up the phone, drove down to the
storage locker he rented next to mine and hung himself.
He had called me because he was at rock bottom – he reached
out for a friend, and told him I was too busy.
I’d spent YEARS watching and being overly cautious after what happened
with Jason years before – vowing that I’d ALWAYS be there when someone was in
need. So you can imagine how much this
hurt, and how broken I was. I lived in
Stuttgart – two hours away from Neal, who was really busy as an active duty
soldier. This was when I really started
drinking unhealthily. I was 42 – unable
to cope with the grief and guilt, not having the skills to emotionally process
it like an adult.
Neal was there for me – he’s a caregiver, and he tried to
heal my soul – and in some ways he did.
We were happy. I moved into his
house up in Bamberg until he was called to deploy to Afghanistan.
As he was preparing to leave, my stepfather died suddenly –
he had been skydiving with his friends (he was a professional) and after the
last jump of the day, he landed safely, smiled, and dropped dead of heart
failure. It was another devastating
loss. Not just because I loved him, but
because I saw the transformation in my mother after they met – and how he
healed her of all the abuse she’d sustained from my father just by being
himself.
While Neal was in Afghanistan, I found a new job working in
Stuttgart – but my drinking began to spiral out of control. I had a group of girlfriends – mostly Army
wives – who ALSO drank heavily. We were
“the wine women”. The only difference
is, we got together on the weekends – and I drank alone every other night of
the week.
Neal came home after nine months. We were married but still living 2 hours
apart – so he didn’t notice at first how bad it had gotten until he was reassigned
to Hawaii. Moving to paradise was the
beginning of the end for us. He deployed
so quickly after we married (a week later, actually) – and we had never really
lived together for a long period of time – so we didn’t have that time to bond
and grow together. We didn’t have any
shared interests, we didn’t have any friends in Hawaii (that is to say, HE didn’t – and he didn’t
try to). He became addicted to “World of
Tanks” and I would sit upstairs with a couple bottles of wine until I was ready
to pass out. He would come to bed late
and be gone when I woke up. This
continued every day – and we were both miserable.
He retired from the Army after 20 years and 1 day – I took a
job as a contractor in Germany and got us moved back to Stuttgart – even moving
in to the same house I’d rented before.
I thought we’d be happy again as he’d be able to see his kids more often
– but honestly, it didn’t get any better.
Finally, in 2018 – I knew things were doomed. I signed up and went to an in-patient rehab
center in Ireland that believed the secret to sobriety was mass and
meditation. We were imprisoned on a
segregated campus (and I mean that literally, as we were locked in and guarded)
and I learned a lot – mostly that I don’t think I’d be a very good Catholic and
I really, really hate vegetable soup. I
forged a friendship with the Priest on site, Father Dominic, who became a very
good friend and who introduced me to a relationship with God that I’d never
experienced before. Truly the kindest
and most Christlike man I’ve ever met – ALSO, an alcoholic in active addiction
(even though we weren’t supposed to know this, it wasn’t that you can’t
tell.) He changed my life – but nothing
could save my marriage at this point.
I moved in with my younger sister back in Maryland until I
found a job and a place of my own in Virginia.
SHE finally succeeded in finding a job in Europe and moved away. My drinking began anew.
I took a job in Kosovo, which is a dry country –
specifically to try and quit drinking.
(Why else would you go to Kosovo?)
Living on base and not having a car proved a successful way to maintain
sobriety, and I enjoyed my time there – I was eating well, I was walking 14,000
steps a day – I was feeling great.
During a routine Mammogram in Macedonia, the doctor told me
very seriously – that’s a pretty big mass, and I’m certain it’s cancer – but
don’t worry until we get the biopsy results back.
Don’t worry? Are you
serious?
I was SO angry and confused and afraid – I was feeling every
emotion and no emotion at the same time.
I stopped at the grocery store in Macedonia before crossing over the
border and loaded up my car with Beer & Wine to prove to the guys I work
with that I NEVER get stopped coming into the gate.
A few hours later, I was standing in handcuffs – having been
arrested at the gate. This, too, is an
AMAZING story for another day – or you can read it on my blog. It was UNFREAKINGBELIEVABLE – and also, cause
for immediate dismissal and return to the U.S.
The Military Police called my boss, who showed up at the
station – when I saw him, every pretense of strength I had failed, and I
started crying uncontrollably. “I’ve
got cancer.”
Needless to say, they didn’t actually fire me – I went to
the base commander and explained what happened and my arrest mysteriously
ceased to be - less than two weeks later
I was back in Macedonia at a private hospital getting my lumpectomy. My surgery was Friday, the 13th of
March, 2020. I awoke from surgery to
discover they’d closed the borders as a result of COVID.
The American embassy helped to get me back into Kosovo once
the doctor released me (about 3 days later) and I convalesced in my private
room. I spent the next six months
undergoing chemotherapy in Pristina, Kosovo followed by five weeks of daily
radiation in Macedonia. I was
immune-compromised and extremely lucky to be working for a boss who had been
through it (although not in a global pandemic or in a third world country) – he
worked with me to keep my job and also gave me a driver to and from treatment
every day, which was a blessing as chemo progressed.
Less than six months into my treatment, I lost my cancer
buddy, Ben – he had been my fighting partner, going through his own struggles –
and I’d just spoken with a day or two
before and planning the travels we’d take when given our clean bills of
health. Within two weeks of his death, I
lost my best friend from Ireland (Barbara) and my father, who had been
bedridden for nine months and declined rapidly when Covid prevented visitors to his care home.
I spoke with him almost every night on video chat while I was in Kosovo
– it was one of the most emotionally gut wrenching things I’ve ever done,
watching him deteriorate and eventually die.
Eventually I completed treatment and resigned my position –
wanting to return home to friends and family after being literally isolated for
so long. I stopped in Germany and spent
a few months with my younger sister – where I again fell victim to Dornfelder
(the best wine in the world). My
experience with cancer put me in a “Devil may care” mood – CARPE DIEM! Not in a healthy way.
I returned to Virginia in January of 2021 to a new job close
to my Mount Vernon home. It’s a great
job, and it’s a great house – but returning home was the hardest time
throughout my entire cancer experience.
Because now I didn’t HAVE cancer – so that constant outpouring of love
and support was gone – I was CURED! And
I was alone, and I was feeling like garbage physically, and before you know it
I was back to one or two bottles per night.
Didn’t matter how financially difficult things got – there
was ALWAYS money for wine. The clerks at
every 7-11 within five miles knew me by name, and knew my brand.
In April of 2021 – Damian moved from Hawaii to
Virginia. He knew I was struggling –
he’d seen my posts on Facebook about the clumsy falls I’d taken, the most
recent one being bad enough to knock me out cold. He flew out to help me get the house repairs
in order and in exchange, I gave him six months of free rent.
Six months later, he decided to stay – and we set up a lease
agreement and he’s been here ever since then.
He witnessed my struggles and supported me when I tried to quit on my
own and failed. When I promised I would
quit for a month because he was more important than the wine, and failed on
that too. He watched me attend a similar
program to Lionrock in November/December which I absolutely hated – it worked
for a few weeks, then my counselor pissed me off and I was done.
The thing is – I KNEW from having conversations with my
oncologist that alcohol was affecting my bloodwork and my immune system, and
that it played a significant role in the growth of my cancer. But it wasn’t enough motivation to get me to
quit.
In April 2022, grieving the loss of my best girl, Princess
Peanut, I drank myself stupid and ended up taking a bad fall – breaking ribs,
knocking over my raised garden beds, and laying unable to get up for several
hours. What is this? Do I have a death wish?
Days later, I woke up still hurting and I’d had enough. I didn’t want to quit drinking – I don’t
think any addict really does – but I knew it was time. I was running out of chances. I called up Lionrock and about sixteen other
places – and after talking to Nicole, I had a gut feeling that this might be a
good fit. It has been one of the best
decisions I’ve ever made so far.
Next month I’ll start working on shedding some of the PHYSICAL
weight in addition to the emotional baggage – and then MAYBE I can finally get
moving forward with my career as an international movie star. Time to CARPE DIEM (in a healthy way)!
