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I started this medication called Chantix today to try and quit smoking. It’s making me feel kind of goofy. I have been writing off and on all day and can’t get a decent thought together. I read just now that one of the side effects is loss of concentration. What were we talking about again. Oh, yeah did I mention I’m a hypochondriac ?
Anyone used Chantix before? Thoughts ?
I’m sure all of us have been tricked or duped by someone in our lives who wore a mask of sanity. Maybe this person wanted to gain something you had. Your affections, your confidence, your trust, simply to use those items gained, only to use them against you. Some may have more sinister reasons than others. I think to a certain extent we all do this. Take for instance all the “first dates”. Of course on a first date you’re not going to unzip your pants after the meal (well some of you might)… Maybe I should have said top button… You’re not going to say you find it comforting to pull fistfuls of your hair out when no one’s watching cuz that would really be laying it on too thick. There is nothing wrong with a sane amount of mystery and appropriateness in situations where first impressions make or break you.
I’m more talking about a con artist type of person ..I’ll give you a for instance. I believe I have mentioned before that I am obsessed with real life murder mysteries. I just finished watching a doozie on 48 Hours; the episode was called “A Knock on the Door”. The story began 30 years ago in Olathe, Kansas; A love triangle among extremely conservative Nazarene Christian’s. The wife, Melinda Harmon said it was a home invasion involving a couple of black dudes (how cliché.) She told police at the time that two strangers beat her husband, David Harmon, beyond recognition after breaking in around 2am. She claims they wanted her husband’s bank keys since he worked at a bank. During the scuffle she claimed she was knocked out for over an hour and once she came to she ran to the neighbors to call 911. The next call she had her neighbor make was to her husband’s best friend, Mark Mangelsdorf. In all actuality he was there before police arrived since he was really the one who beat his best friend to death as he lay sleeping in his bed. Apparently Melinda and Mark were having an emotional love affair and they were so conservative in their religious beliefs that murder seemed like a far better choice than divorce.
This poor David Harmon obviously didn’t see this coming, otherwise he would’ve been sleeping with one eye open and his glock under his pillow. Mark, his best friend and Melinda, his wife were wearing such an amazing mask of sanity that Harmon was wiped off the face of the Earth before he could even question whether they were having an affair.
25 years later, they are finally paying the consequences for the masquerade game they played for so many years. The gig is up and even though they went on, albeit separate from one another, to lead quite successful lives, justice eventually caught up with each of them and pulled them out of their respective million dollar homes and from the arms of their “perfect family”.
Obviously, none of us will have a story as good as David’s.. or as bad for that matter since we are able to tell it. I would like to hear from my readers. Please tell me about the best mask that someone has used on you.. I will share mine tomorrow.
I’ve never been a big Russell Brand fan but am seeing him in a whole new light.
He recently appeared before a parliamentary committee speaking about his own journey through drug addiction stating that where other addicts are concerned society should not “discard people, write them off on methadone and leave them on the sidelines”. He said “love and compassion” and abstinence-based recovery are the key to weaning addicts off drugs.
During a 30-minute speech Brand shared his personal beliefs with the Home Affairs select committee saying drugs should be decriminalized, with addiction treated as a potentially fatal illness instead.
He said: “I’m not a legal expert. I’m saying that, to a drug addict, the legal aspect is irrelevant. If you need to get drugs, you will.
“The criminal and legal status, I think, sends the wrong message. Being arrested isn’t a lesson, it’s just an administrative blip.”
The Get Him to the Greek star spoke about his addiction to heroin which landed him in the slammer a dozen times, was giving evidence to MPs as they reviewed their current laws on citizens possessing controlled substances.
Brand did not want the committee to mistake his point of view by allowing “a free-for-all where everyone goes around taking drugs”. Instead, he said addiction should be treated as an illness and society should recognize it as such. Brand says with proper rehabilitation and therapy addicts can become productive members of society
I couldn’t agree more. Even though his reasons for speaking to the committee were for the changing of current drug laws in the UK and not the US .. I do hope at minimum people will adopt his point of view worldwide in regards to how addicts are perceived socially.
I have a new respect for Brand. Anytime a celebrity puts their name on the line for a controversial, yet much needed cause I applaud them. He is using his celebrity platform to give a voice to allow more awareness about addiction.
When the MPs suggested that as a celebrity he could be a role model for young people, Brand responded: “Who cares about bloody celebrities? Their role is insignificant.” He said he wasn’t trying to get a message across to young people but to people with addiction and wanted to ensure that the response to them was based on “truth and authenticity”.
I hate how most people view addicts as morally flawed individuals and not people that are suffering from a disease. More voices like Brands need to he heard to ultimately start erasing the stigma attached to addiction.
Thank you Mr. Brand. In return, I will try and check out your next shitty movie.
It was a breezy summer evening in Burbank in 2004. Even though it was well after dark there was an orangish glow that permeated the night’s sky. I stood at the doorway of my room admiring the paintings and knick knacks that Olive had recently helped decorate my room with. I loved my room; I had a super high canopy bed, freshly painted purple walls and newly refinished hardwood floors I had done all by myself. Olive had helped with the finishing touches of picture placements and decorative knacks. No matter what kind of day I was having I could put on Celine Dion or Luther Vandross hop onto my bed, grab my diary, vent any frustrations about life and turn off the light to a restful night’s sleep. It’s funny the things one takes for granted. How was I to know that that would be the last night I would spend in my room?
After changing into my nightgown, I put on Celine Dion opened my diary to vent about “Jason” my boyfriend, who the night before had made a scene at my friend Crystal’s when he woke up the neighborhood zooming over on his motorcycle to bust his way in to try and get to my purse to gain access to my pills. I could tell he was high on coke, even though he never took his helmet off, I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was in an altered state. After 10 minutes of calling me derogatory names like cunt, fiend, junkie, whore (pot calling kettle black), I still gave him half of my pills (at least 10). I guess he wanted them all. Crystal had heard enough and literally physically removed him from my face“get the fuck out of here. Don’t you ever talk to my friend that way.” He saw that she was serious and turned the tables trying to “warn” her about what a “con artist” I was (classic!) “She owes me these pills, Crystal; this is not your business. “Vanessa is my business, and you will not stand in my house and disrespect her” At one point he even yanked at my foot, pulling me off the bed. Wow, I had never seen him this ugly before. It scared me. His acting physical toward me sent Crystal into a tailspin and at this point had him by the arm and ushered him out. After he left, I was glad. I’m sure if Crystal had not been there I would’ve ended up giving him everything and would’ve endured a 3 hour rant. I was glad her strength overcame my weakness and she was able to handle a situation for me that I had already spent four years living. 2 of those playing this drug dance. Crystal and I talked the whole night about it. After many words of encouragement, she convinced me I was better than this. It’s hard seeing the mess you are in until a caring friend holds up a mirror. sadly, this was becoming my normal and she pointed out all the ways it had broken me down. She was right. I decided that the next day I was going to send him an email voicing my concerns and breaking things off once and for all. In my diary, that night, I wrote a sample letter, wanting to give it a night to sleep on before sending him an email. I had already become numb to this drama in so many ways that I don’t remember feeling sad… I was almost relieved.
I closed my Diary, turned Celine off and attempted to go to sleep. I tossed and turned. I would be lying to say that my relationship and the end coming near were not wearing on me, but it wasn’t what was keeping me awake. Was there a part of me that knew I would be in the streets for the next 2.5 years chasing my addictions? How could I know that that was the last night I would spend in my quiet sanctuary before taking off into the cold and unforgiving streets of Methamphetamine? I laid awake looking at the full moon. Maybe that’s why I am so restless, I thought. Around 3am, still awake, Crystal called my cell, I answered the first ring. “Hey, Fred (nickname), I’m in front of your house. I’ve got some “la la” and John from down the street with me? Let’s go for a drive”. I was awake already, why not? We had binged the weekend before. It’s just one night, right? I grabbed my purse and a change of clothes and quietly crept out of my childhood home.. and into a world that would take me further away from the innocence and carefree existence I enjoyed in that home each day that I was gone… I would never know home like that again.
To be continued.
Will continue this chapter tomorrow..
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Today, I got to thinking about the different roles we play in life (Mother, girlfriend, boss, mentor, student, male, female). I was once friends with this girl who got married after finding out she was pregnant to a young man from Seattle who comes from a pretty prominent family. It wasn’t until the honeymoon that her new husband let all of his demons out of the cage and began beating her to an inch of her life on a daily basis. She did not have very stable roots growing up and did not have a strong foundation to fall back on. She lost the first baby due to a severe beating she endured during the 6th month of pregnancy. She got pregnant again within the month of losing the first baby. Meanwhile, she was trapped in this wealthy, private, socially prominent family as they all sheltered her abuse to the outside world. After she had the baby, and after he abused them both she hopped on a train to her mother’s in Oregon. Of course, the custody battle quickly ensued. This family paid off judges and tortured this poor girl because her ex husband’s mother wanted the baby. The rich grandma won and she was left childless and defeated. It has been 6 years since she’s seen her child. While I have my own feelings about that I am reserving judgement to understand what it must be like to go from the role of battered housewife to single mother to alone.. How does one do that?. If you met her today you would never guess she had any children or once had a role to vastly different from the one she plays today – which is Vegas party girl,, making a dime any way she can. From what I gathered, she is not attempting t0 get her child back but does use speed as a means to keep her awake so she doesn’t have to be tortured by her dreams. As I was driving I was picturing a story she told me of her daily routine she had as a mother. Waking up before the baby to make his meals for the day so she could go to work and take him on the bus with her to childcare. I’m sure at the time that she played this role, she might have felt her own frustrations, yet when she tells it today she recalls this role with a smile on her face and a tear in her eye..
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What about the role of switching genders? My sociopathic, porn star, prostitute, transgender friend “Preston” recently got DD implants. When we were first friends he only dressed female to entertain Johns. As soon as the trick would leave he would drop his water boobs on the living room floor, take off his skirt and go back to being the role his mother so desperately wanted him to be; a boy. Preston is from the bible belt the south and has a mother that has always wanted him to fulfill a traditional role of son, husband, father, 9-5er.. As much as she voices how much she just wants him to be happy, deep down she wants the little boy she gave birth to to become all the things she dreamed he would be as an adult. Granted, she should’ve known something when he would sneak to her closet and try on her pretty dresses and hats as a tyke. She still voices to me how she thinks Preston is really straight and going through a phase and what a great husband she hopes he will make to create the grandchildren she desperately wants. For years, he has played the part, never showing mom his female persona and telling her from afar he is happy in a role he hates playing. I suppose he did enough soul searching to realize that his/her happiness is more important than faking the role he was born into. I wonder though if she is going through a certain mourning process as she departs from male and joins the rest of us miserable females.. I suppose that may be just me that is mourning Preston and not her.. I will miss him.. His female self is a bit caddy.. hopefully the adjustment process will take him out of being a junior high school girl.. anyway.. Props to her for chosing happiness.
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I have had quite a few costume changes myself, yet nothing as drastic. I will say going from the baby of the family, to straight A student, to girlfriend, to ex-girlfriend, to drug addict, to prostitute, to 9-5er, to Aunty has essentially left me “role-less”.. I am still trying to pick the right role in this game of life and mourning all the others that make one cringe.
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Has anyone ever had a major role change in life? Has it made you happier/sadder? Was it an accident or did you choose this role? Looking forward to good stories.
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I know we are all a product of our past and choices we’ve made. I, for one have to deal with the fact that at 30 I have wasted big chunks of time on exchanging building a productive future to drug abuse and at times running from my past. There are times though when I find myself having a death grip on certain items from my past. Just the simplest act of going through my wardrobe and deciding which clothes to give away to the Goodwill .. There are items I simply can’t part with.. Why? One such item I haven’t been able to let go of the last 5 times I’ve triffled through my wardrobe is a shirt dress I bought in New York in 2005 that I bought when I weighed 80 pounds.. It’s very last season and will never fit me again.. (hopefully) It even has a slightly visible yellow stain towards the collar.. yet I can’t let it go for the memories that are attached to it are memories I suppose I can’t and don’t want to get rid of.
In 2005 I was almost at my rock bottom, I was strung out on speed and pills.. I was living with a sociopathic, porn star, cross dressing prostitute who persuaded me (to put it nicely) into the world of prostitution. We took a trip to New York and Boston together for 3 weeks during the summer of 2005.. There isn’t one bad memory I have from that trip, even though this person, today, I would classify as one step away from the devil for he has done things like rat on me to the police for his drugs, or stolen money and conned me so many times..I can’t let go of the connection we shared. Even though I know now that he has no capacity to love anyone or treat anyone, much less a best friend, like anything less than a possession or pon in his game of life.. I struggle to erase all of the memories.. For now, I will keep the happy ones, not forget the bad, and keep the stained dress.. Maybe next year I will be able to throw it away.
I guess for now I will start with something more simple like erasing my DVR recordings.
Does anyone have someone from their past where even though the outcome is all bad it is hard to part with mementos from it?
Hearing about Dick Clark’s passing made me think immediately of his biggest fans- Flo and Kay, two identical, savant, twin sisters. The sisters were featured on a documentary in 2009 on TLC showing how much they worshiped Dick Clark; he was their God. They even went into a depression after the show 100,000 Pyramid was canceled because they never missed a day of that show (much like Judge Wopner for Rainman) I can only imagine they will be facing an even greater challenge with his passing. It’s always sad when an American Legend dies.. but all I can see is the twins in front of their TV hearing the news I just heard and falling to pieces. May Flo and Kay heal from his passing and possibly find another icon to idolize.
It was Easter Sunday. My mom had an idea. “Why don’t we go to Hallmark and get your sister some cards and gifts.” We hadn’t heard from my sister “Sloan” in weeks. For all we knew we could be delivering these gifts to a headstone.. I’m sure the thought ran through all of our minds as my mom, brother and I loaded into the family van to take a family field trip minus one.
We got to the parking lot at Hallmark. I remember the sun was so pure and brilliant as it shown down on the reborn spring flowers. It was the kind of day in LA that lets you know why the real estate was obscenely high for days like this are priceless. So why weren’t we happy or enjoying Easter Morning?
This was the 3rd Easter we spent minus one family member after Sloan’s addiction to speed had ravaged her body, mind and spirit. We spent 3 years on egg shells on pins and needles fearing but expecting a middle of the night call asking us to identify a body or a knock at the door from a Burbank cop asking if we knew where our family member was. It was the 3rd year that on a nightly basis my desperate mom and I would cruise the streets looking for her car, only to pull into our driveway at home with tears drowning us out of the vehicle. We never knew where she was. Anytime she did come home she’d validate or surpass our deepest fears. The ghost of Sloan would enter the house always 10 pounds thinner than the last time, more hollow in spirit and presence, more depleted in looks and vibrancy. Where did she go? When or if will she ever come home?
Before she got abducted by her drug of choice she was the good girl, the best really. I was always kind of jealous at how much my mom would brag about her daughter. Her daughter with the genius IQ, the girl so beautiful that every modeling agency in LA clambered to sign her. Her daughter, the most popular girl in school, which was a hard feat for a bi-racial girl in Burbank of all places. Her daughter, ASB president, yearbook president, “the girl that will cure the AIDS virus one day. Her daughter, my sister destroyed to pieces by a drug called methamphetamine.
I remember feeling hopeful when we entered the Hallmark store. Maybe if we say the right thing or maybe if she likes the gifts we give her she will choose us, not it. I walked to the sister/well wishes/get well aisle I looked through every card three times. We had to get this right. This had to wake her up. I found the card. A picture of sister’s in black and white holding hands, looking adoringly into each other’s eyes as they skipped through the park.
We took the cards back to the car so we could write our heartfelt message; the message that would let the light shine in. I wanted to say the perfect thing. I told her how much I loved her and how much I would be there for her if she would just come back home with us and get sober. I knew this would work this time. I pictured her opening the cards and gifts, having a moment of epiphany, smiling, apologizing, then taking my hand and letting go off the death grip her addiction had on her. Did she know how much she’s missed?
I walked to the door with a smile on my face. Maybe that sun was shining on us that day too. I suppose I really got my hopes up too high. My wishes that Easter Sunday did not come true. After we banged on the door for, it seemed like a lifetime, to the house she inhabited that week, my sister with a blanket draped over her shoulders answered the door. She’s alive. She seemed irritated and violated. Why didn’t you guys call first? She still hadn’t read my card yet, it wasn’t too late for a happy ending. We followed her back to this room… she fell onto it and started snoring before we could close the door. My mom kept gently budging her, she patted her leg, the way you pat a baby’s back that is crying or fussy. Sweety, we have some things to give you. She opened one eye and managed to sit erect on the bed. God, she looked worse than I’d ever seen her. Is this what they call rock bottom? She read each card and politely smiled at each one as if she was opening an ugly sweater on Christmas morning. Next was mine. She neatly opened the yellow envelope with balloon and hearts drawn I’d drawn on it. I was 14 after all. I watched her eyes as they tracked the words I had written. When she closed the card, She gave me a heartless shoulder hug and fell back into a deep sleep. We left to spend another Easter minus 1. What else was there to do?
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I just joined this social network called “OneRecovery”. It’s like Facebook for addicts. I needed to post a synopsis of my story. I thought I’d share with all of my 3 readers what I posted.. hehehe
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I was born and raised in Los Angeles. My dad was a star on a hit TV show from the 70’s/80’s. My mom was an exotic dancer (reformed from Catholic School I guess). I was raised by a single mom.. As is everyone else is LA I was a child actress. I looked just like Shirley Temple when I was little and worked a lot landing a couple of movies and commercials. I was always in the gifted program in school, but I had debilitating social anxieties. I only attended 2 days of high school before transferring to a very very small private school to avoid the crowds and debauchery of peer groups.
The funny thing about my story and what still really surprises me is that I have lived on both sides of the addiction fence. My sister got addicted to speed when I was 12. The pain I encountered is indescribable. My sister is 7 years my senior, yet I always looked up to her. She was my idol, my star. I would cry myself to sleep most nights when she’d get lost in the frenzy of her addiction and not come home for weeks on end. Once asleep, my nightmares grew increasingly strong; she’d be dead in her car on the side of the road. I would beg her to stop. I never understood how she could torment my family the way she did. Didn’t she have a choice in the matter? Could she see how this was killing my mom, my brother, me?
I finally understood at the age of 22, once I hopped the fence and joined my sister. Before then, I was the poster child of sobriety. I was always the designated driver. Deathly afraid of alcohol and drugs. I didn’t take a drink until I was almost 18. It felt kind of nice. I liked the warmth I felt and the way my inhibitions became erased. I never really cared for booze tho. I was always just a social drinker. Then, I found pain killers at the age of 20. Where had these been my whole life? First pill, I fell in love. Those too started out benignly. Only on Sundays with girlfriends. Then I started getting migraines and was diagnosed with scoliosis.. and doctor’s were dolling me out large, large prescriptions for anything I wanted. I had an excuse. I started taking daily and before I knew it I was popping 20-30 vicodin a day. It didn’t help that I entered a relationship a closet addict. When I met him I was still the Sunday pill taker, occasional boozer. Slowly but surely our demons joined forces .. (I don’t blame him at all.. I’ve made ALL of my own choices).
My sister was still using. I had amputated my connection to her. I couldn’t ache anymore. I just let her go and loved her from afar. Never hopeful, always expecting the worst. The one drug I swore I would never touch was meth. It disgusted me! One night my boyfriend had some and pressured me to try. I didn’t love it.. I didn’t think about it again for 6 months until a close friend of mine was just doing it on the weekends.. I thought what the heck? This will never become fulltime. Then one day in the summer of 2004, my sister called me, she needed my help. Her boyfriend had just been taken away to prison for 10 years and she was in shambles. My sister, my idol my all needed me? I didn’t hesitate. It happened to be on one of those meth weekends. She had me meet her at the boyfrineds.. what a disgusting place. Stereo equipment and items that had been bartered to her dealer boyfriend stacked floor to ceiling. There wasn’t even a place to sit. The place wreaked of sweat and hopeless dreams. How could my sister live like this? She seemed quite content and had managed to carve out a seat for herself among the filth. Little did I know by summer’s end I too would carve out a seat and join the ranks of all hopeless tweakers who begged to enter, if only for a hit.
It was the perfect storm I suppose. I was winding down on the toxic relationship I was in. I was going to college and maintaining a 3.75 gpa, but found myself lost and wondering which direction I wanted to take in life. It was summer after all, I wasn’t going to keep up this sharade for long.. right? I don’t know if subconsciously I was trying to get closer to her.. We did become closer than ever.. but by summer’s end were arch enemies. Her boyfriend’s best friend was asked to come over and check on us and make sure we were doing OK. He ended up wooing me over. God knows why? I had only ever been with 2 guys before him and I was seriously in love with each of them. He always wanted to keep our relationship private. “Your sister will kill me” he always said. Well, the night after I was intimate with him, he was intimate with my sister. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know until I told her after the fact that he had been seeing me behind her back all summer. Instead of manning up, he lied and said I was psychotic and that we were never together; she believed him. She 86’d me from the palace of tweakville… she claims that she wanted me to get sober. Yeah, like that was gonna happen? Instead a sheltered little girl from Suburbia was left to her own devices.I had never bought speed or hung with a circle before. Just my sister and the guy who two-timed us. Boy, what an ugly world. I ended up being date raped, getting into 3 car accidents in one month, selling my ass, taking residence with a sociopathic, porn star, pimp/prostitute who stole all my money and turned me out. I was not prepared for that world I entered. Ugly is an understatement.
For 2.5 years I chased my addiction on the streets. Doing what I could to survive in LA of all places. New Years eve 2006 was when I hit my first rock bottom. I literally slept on the streets in the coldest night of the year. It probably was a god send because I took the first plane out to Las Vegas to live with my mom. I white knuckled it for 3 years in regards to the speed. Now the pills were another battle, but soon I got off those too a year after I got to Vegas… Before I got off the pills and after.. I became a solid citizen, I worked full-time, I was closer than ever with my family and my friends from childhood.. Not one slip up with speed, not a thought.
I heard a term recently that’s used in AA that I love – Don’t put yourself in slippery situations, if you don’t want to fall (or something to that affect). Well, last year, that’s exactly what I did. I was working for a company that was downsizing and they hired me on to pick up the pieces. I was a wreck. working 12 hour days, dealing with an asshole for a boss. I decided to take a vacation to see an old friend. I met him in the druggie world in LA.. but we always seemed to have this bond that went far beyond drugs and even during times of sobriety we would hang out and have good clean fun. This time was different. I got to the airport. We got to the car. He said “I have this fire speed”. I told him he was nuts I was never touching the stuff again. I went to sleep that night and tossed and turned.. “Maybe I could do it just this weekend?” “No one will know.” “I can’t even get it in Vegas if I wanted to”, I thought.. I woke up at 6am that morning. Met him in his studio (he’s a musician) “OK… Lemme do a line of that.. Just promise me you won’t let me take any home and I have to sleep everynight I’m here” .. Boy, the rational of the addict.
I came back to Vegas.. with just enough on me to get me through my work week. After the comedown. I took a sigh of relief. I’m glad that’s over. Well, it wasn’t. And, it turned out I did know someone who got high. I was laid off. I had a decent unemployment paycheck and I was off to the races.. again.. This time wasn’t as bad.. but I did manage to get arrested once with drugs on me.. I just completed my program for the courts.. I slipped back into pain killers for a few months, I did dabble in prostitution again, I did lie and cheat and steal from my family.. I made friends with people that were like vampires. They wanted to suck me dry for all my energy and my money – I let them.
I just turned 30 in January. Months before that I kept telling myself “OK – when you’re 30 enough is enough.. you have to quit”.. 30 came and went. Not a thought. It was a Thursday night, Feb 8th I had just gotten my UI money. I spent it all in one night on drugs and a poker machine that made me her bitch. I got to my car and fell apart. I couldn’t stop crying. It was my mom’s birthday the day before – All I could hear were her sobs through the phone begging me to get better. I didn’t even see her on her bday.. What was I doing?
I decided enough was enough. I drove to my mom’s.. I came through the door at 4 am.. I asked if she’d let me stay with her so I could get better. She agreed. It’s been a little over 2 months. I have been blogging and trying to connect with the reason this all started. I’m thinking of writing a book. It’s such a journey. I have learned so much about the world and people that I don’t think I would’ve learned had I stayed in college.. but what I wouldn’t give to throw the clock back and stay on the right path and go to college. My only hope is that the pain and daily struggle was not in vein. I can’t have wasted my life in la la land on a life without purpose.
Oh Crystal, sweet tragic soul. Why did you grace us with your spirit for such a remarkably short time? Crystal was hard for anyone to understand. She was beautiful, crass, rude, spirited, and loyal to the death. She wasn’t beautiful, she was gorgeous. Gwen Stefani would be jealous of her looks – even though similar, Crystal’s was more ethereal and timeless. She had a fascinating style, “sleeved” arms, a punker pink style.. fluorescent or platinum hair. One might think that tattoos and funny colored hair would detract from a pretty girl’s good looks; It only enhanced hers. She had a bleeding heart for the underdog, a loyalty that would prove to me at times stronger than a blood sister. At first impression, one might mistake her character as cold, odd, distant, and self-consumed, but once she became comfortable in anyone’s presence she proved herself to be anything but.
Crystal didn’t have the sheltered upbringing Olive and I took for granted. No one had ever unconditionally loved her. As I type that it yanks at my heart terribly. I had never met her mother. I knew her father quite well (or so I thought). Crystal’s parents divorced when she was quite young. She lived with her mother until she was 12. On a long distance trip to visit her father one summer, her mother abandoned her at a 7-11 in another state. Her mother called her dad to pick her up as she apparently could no longer handle her rebellious pre-teen. I can’t even fathom the feeling. Being a young girl already suffering from emotional trauma from being molested at 2 years old. To unknowingly, grab a Slurpee for the road to return to the parking lot abandoned and alone. I never asked her how that made her feel. I wish I had. Crystal made no bones about the fact that she despised her mom. I could tell she really loved her and probably wanted nothing more than for her evil mother to emerge from her narcissistic coma to show her daughter some sort of love or loyalty; that never happened. Her father, did not know what to do with this unruly pre-teen, I can only gather, because he never knew how to handle her in to adulthood. Richard was one of those strict Mormons – he didn’t even consume alcohol or caffeine. He never connected with her emotionally. He only would throw money at her to keep her quiet – if only for a few minutes..
Crystal was a stoner, free-spirit who believed in the spirit world, but did not believe in religion. Crystal was out early looking for love in all the wrong places. Anything to fill the void of abandonment and the utter indifference she received from both parents. At 15 she took up with a hardcore cholo type who abused her and drugs. Her father didn’t seem to care that his little girl was infiltrating into a very dangerous, potentially life altering scene. He would even drop her off with this adult man to spend weekends with his only daughter. Once she reached the porch of his house and as his car reached 30mph would he yell out of the car “don’t get pregnant”. Obviously, that form of birth control did not work. Angelica was born November 17, 1999 to a beautiful, emotionally abandoned, lost, teen mother. Crystal would convey how at the moment of Angelica entered the world there was this radiant light that entered the birthing room.
I didn’t meet Angelica until she was almost 2. Anyone who met this child said her name was very fitting as she was really an angel baby. She was the spitting image of Crystal, just half a shade darker. Angelica was an old soul, who was brilliant and unconditionally sweet. She sparkled like a fire cracker; wise beyond her years. It’s funny even though she was technically a baby/toddler when I met her, I always saw the old soul behind her eyes through her all-knowing stare. I met Richard, Crystal’s dad the same day I met Angelica. They all lived together in a luxury apartment in the nicer part of Burbank. Richard was there for Angelica 110%. A lot of people would mistake her for Angelica’s dad because he took such impeccable care of her.
Crystal feeling more and more emotionally lost and therefore battling constantly with addiction and bad men could not be a fulltime mother to Angelica. No doubt she loved that girl the best way she knew how. How can a mother be a mother to a little girl when she is a little girl herself who was never been loved or shown how to be a mother by her own mother? I was taken aback at Crystal’s weird, dysfunctional relationship with her father Richard. They never communicated. Sure, they would talk, she’d shout demands “I need a new car”, I need new boobs” I need $100, the dope man is here”. His response was always “OK Crystal.” I never would’ve guessed he would do what he did to his daughter and beloved granddaughter, but on further reflection, this situation was a ticking time bomb waiting for someone to explode. Oh, how I wish he had exploded on a tree or just himself, not on my Crystal and Angelica.
Crystal and I really did have a lot in common. She was painfully shy, and awkward in social situations as was I. Most people assumed that we were stuck up snobs but, we would talk about how often we were misjudged by others for being stuck up, cold and distant, when really, deep down, we were just deathly afraid of interacting with people. I’m sure that’s what attracted her to Olive in the first place. Olive and Crystal met at beauty school when they were 17. Olive’s character is the antithesis socially awkward. Olive has always been outgoing, direct, a “friend to all” type of gal who is not afraid to walk into any room with confidence and poise and by nights end have every man in love with her and every girl wanting to be her best friend. Even though Olive is a striking blonde with model looks, legs for miles and a thousand watt smile, females are never “jealous” of her. She has a way of making anyone feel good about themselves. One simple complement to an insecure chick and they are putty in her hands. By nights end they are making appointments to get their nails done together or bring flowers to a recently departed grandmother’s grave. Crystal and I were the polar opposite. We’d enter a social gathering and take refuge in a corner chair and just observe the party like we were watching a movie on a flat screen.
Olive was our common thread for a few years.Crystal and I only hung out in Olive’s presence until that Summer; the Summer where my journey began into the depths of drug addiction and emotional suicide. Once Olive was taken out of the equation, Crystal and I fed into each other’s predispositions and insecurities with love, loyalty, music and drugs. Drugs were not our only bond, but it certainly was a factor.
Oh, how I loved that girl. I can hear her giggle now.. I’m picturing her now, legs crossed, swinging forward, weed pipe in her left hand and giggling so adorably and infectiously. I can’t get her out of my mind. I guess, I never want to. It was very hard to write about her. Even though she’s been gone for 4 years, I’ve never actively thought of her for this long. I didn’t want to ache this way. I just wish we had been on good terms when she left us. It was such a stupid little fight. She never understood the unconditional loyalty I shared with my sister. Crystal, you were always there for me… I’m so sorry I couldn’t communicate to you how much I valued your love and undying loyalty. I know we are OK in the long run. You know I will always love you. Oh Crystal, you sweet, tragic soul. Why did you grace us with your spirit for such a remarkably short time?
whatsherbox 
