PART TWO: 2.1 PUBERTY, PURGATORY, and PRODIGY the band.

I am 11 and a half years old. At the end of my 6th-grade year during the summer, my parents break up for good. They don’t have any money to pay rent so the landlord evicts us. Child protective services push that our grandfather takes my sisters into temporary custody otherwise the state will. My grandfather allows my stepdad to move in on the grounds that he’s sober and attends AA meetings.

My stepdad enrolls me in 8th grade at the middle school close to my grandfather’s house.

I decided to fixate on this boy in my computer science class. I noticed he was always drawing or sketching in a small sketch book. I was excited to meet someone who also liked anime as well as drawing it. He was very talented at drawing. I figured if I befriended him maybe I could learn to draw as well as him. He was kind to me. I hadn’t experienced that yet from boys so naturally, I grew to have a crush on him. I wanted to be liked back.

Goths kids at my former, and predominantly puerto rican, black, dominican middle school – didn’t really exist. You would be bullied and dubbed an “Offie” . Goth kids in the mostly white middle in the nicer side of town were just avoided by normal and preppy kids.

My childhood best friend started to gravitate heavily towards industrial music, metal, pop- punk. Her mom started buying her clothes from Hot Topic. I remember feeling very scared and alarmed the first time I went there with her.

I didn’t want to be left behind so I slowly started to find ways to dress punk. I was no longer interested in hoop earrings, phat farms, timberlains, and mud jeans. I went from being called “DSL” ( Dick-sucking-lips even though I had never sucked a dick at that point in my life ) to just “Watch out she might cast a spell and curse you!” I went from being a short flat-chested, gap-toothed, bushy-haired-chubby girl to braces, slim, a cup and then finally tall. My relatives as well as my stepfather loved to praise how good I looked now that I lost my baby weight. Nobody knew I was skipping breakfast and lunch to appear like I had an allowance with my new friends.

One of the few white boys from my old school, Ronald had caught the eye of my best friend. I thought he was weird until he started wearing eyeliner. Then he was very cute to me. All of us would hang out in the basement at his house. He would show us music he liked. He had strobe light going. Prodigy on the stereo “Smack my bitch up!” Him and I started flirting or chasing each other around the basement. My friend seemed to be sick so she was laying on the couch.

Out of view from our other friends- I decided to kiss him. It was an innocent quick peck. The thrill of it was overshadowed by guilt. I had no idea my friend had a crush on him until later. I felt terrible.

Then there was a new guyfriend, Brandon. He was funny. We were all camping in a tent in the yard of my best friend’s family’s rhode island cottage. We got very close. Then we kissed. I had never had a french before so when his tongue just went languid in my mouth I was replused. I didn’t want to kiss like that ever.

Burn Out

The last time I got smitten was with my former spouse. I remember moving in with him. I gave up everything. My apartment, the furniture I worked so hard to attain, being close to my friends that lived in central Austin.

I was testing out “being at home” as well as “resting”. I started using the apartment complex’s personal gym. I also started restricting in secret.

I don’t feel like I’m doing that here but I do have anxieties around my inherent value or worth to my new beau. I’ve had too many men treat me well on principle of my looks. I made them look better. I was arm candy. I stop being arm candy; they want nothing to do with me. It hurt so much with my former to move in with him and for him to turn around and treat me the same way.

He knew better. He even told me it was important to him to get to know me that really wasn’t a rush anyway because of his ED/sexual anxieties. I explained to him the trauma of having a partner who refused to see me once I gained too much weight in their opinion. I wasn’t as attractive. My former spouse assured me he loved me for me. Yet a month or so into living with him, giving up my job, my life, my life style I felt a huge a mount of pressure to perform. To be his perfect wife. I am doing a lot at home so I’ll go work out. It was going fine until it wasn’t. I had the self-awareness to see the ugly head of my eating disorder rising. Her voice growing louder. I had the rational to pause. I needed a break. I was being too hard on myself. Surely there was a way to find balance.

I informed my spouse about my need to take a break and that I would return to the gym once I felt better mentally. He appeared to understand yet he started giving me the cold shoulder. This went on for a week or so. It crushed me. I felt panic. I thought he was different. Had I been duped again? It hurt so much.

So here I am tender, soft, and vulnerable. I guess I am unsure if it’s my will to work out or just my general will to improve myself for myself is still at the root of this. Coach ( dilf) and I are becoming closer. He says all the nice things. I feel my emotional body bracing for impact. I have been saying I feel like a candle burning at both ends lately. It caught up with me. I thought being more intimate with him would help. It seems to have overwhelmed me a bit. I feel scared I’m repeating the past. Even though he is so different from the latter. I didn’t feel good Saturday at work so I asked to go home. I took yesterday off too. I spent the whole day in bed watching my silly food nerd videos on youtube and then old mobster movies. I missed weight class on Sunday. I’m missing class right now as I type this. Coach assured me whatever I choose it will be the right choice because mental health is just as important as physical health. He is so sweet. I started calling him Coach because we were flirting earlier on over text. Sharing our workout goals. Encouraging each-other. It feels safe and innocent.

He’s went and shared some his own hardships this week. It just affirms to me no matter what age we are, we are all just doing the best we can with what we know or don’t know. I am grateful for this.

Then I have my ol’ friend who’s a climber. He’s back in town and sent me sweet “Thinking of you” post cards all summer. Before he left we had a nice time in nature together. Just cuddling and relaxing. We had a nice kiss and a nap together. It was very comforting. He helped me pick out my dress for my date with Coach. He also realized he should probably ask me out on a proper date too. We have plans now for Thursday.

Earlier in the week I made plans to see Z last night. I cancelled since I wasn’t feeling well.

Z and the climber it’s been a very slow process to get to know them and engage more intimately. Coach has been a whirl wind. Thankfully yesterday when I said I felt burnt out. I was about to say I think I just need a “me” day. Coach beat me to the punch. He suggested we rain check our breakfast/hike plans. I am grateful we came to the same conclusion. I still asked him to come by tho to kiss me goodnight.

All of this love and support around me. I think there’s a part of me that is like,

“Do YoU eVen REaLly DeSerVe it?” “YoU’rE nOt SpEciAL”

“YouR MoTher AbanDoned You AgAin” “EvEryOne wiLL leaVe once theY really Get to know you” etc.

These thoughts hurt. I don’t have to listen to them but pretending they’re not there isn’t helpful either. I redirecting myself to say thank you for sharing but I don’t have to believe you. I am a good person. It’s ok to have people around who care about me. I can believe in the greater good anyway. I don’t have to brace for impact or suspect harm. I am safe. I am okay. I am well. I am doing the best I can. I am releasing the past and looking forward to a new future.

Timeline 1 of my coast to coast moves.

It’s raining, it’s pouring, outside is boring. The mosquito population is roaring ~~~

It’s been rainy summer so far for Austin, TX. I moved back here when I was 21 years-old on $1800 dollars and whatever items I could fit in my car.

I started high school out here. My grandmother and I had to move back to her native turf of San Diego after two years of job searching here. She too old, not from Texas, and over qualified. She had connections in San Diego at least.

I would finished my sophomore year and then we would move to an East County suburb – know as Santee, CA. I remember feeling excited at the prospect of finding the real queer community. I remember feeling sad to start over. After 7th grade. I would move every 2 years. (The following list doesn’t even include the disruption move between 3years-old and 5 yearsold. That’s another entry though. )

• New Britain, CT( Kindergarden to the end of 7th grade) to West Hartford, CT ( 8th grade)
• West Hartford, CT to Kyle/ Buda, TX ( freshman and sophomore year of HS)
• Kyle/Buda, TX to Santee, CA ( junior and senior year of HS) graduated 2009
• Santee, CA to Oceanside, CA( To start at a community college called MiraCosta and ultimately drop out after completing one semester of college) 2009-2010
• Oceanside,CA to Vista,CA to Oceanside, CA to Vista, CA again before I would move back to Texas with the intention of living in Central Austin. 2010-2012
• Austin, TX – arrival June 6th 2012

My current 9 years in Austin is the longest I’ve lived anywhere. Besides the ages of 5 years-old to 13 years-old in Connecticut.

I often wonder if these many instances of moving is why I have such a detached nature to my surroundings/people. That the inevitable end is something I’m well prepared for. My grandma told me recently that the one the first times she tried to help my mother get treatment. The treatment facility asked for my mother’s history of addresses. My grandma remembers my mother listing 11 different places throughout Chicago and California in my first two years of being alive.

I’m kind of using this blog to organize a memoir book. So this is Timeline one of two. The second one will be more tailored to my journey in Austin, TX.

Third Weight Class completed

This morning I executed my first bench press. I could almost hear my father’s voice in my head. I felt emotional briefly. So many moments as a kid crawling around on the floor underneath his bench set. Him scowling at me for to be careful or get back it’s dangerous. When my dad was sober and doing well he would obsess over gaining muscle. He’d eat large amounts and work out for a couple hours. I think the highest I ever saw him press was 275lbs. My current barbell is 35lbs. I added 5lbs towards the end of class. If I can get to hundred someday that would be amazing. I miss my dad so much in these moments.

I have a scar on the lateral side of my right knee. I remember crawling under him and his barbell as he sat up on the bench smoking a cigarette. The embers caught a bit of frayed athletic tape. The lit piece fell down onto my knee and burned. It seared my skin immediately. I cried out. He picked me up, holding me, apologizing for the accident. The scar has been there since I was four year-old. It has grown with me. I miss you, Daddy. I feel like my quest to learn how to weight lift is for him. To feel closer to him in whatever capacity I’ve known that doesn’t mean destroying myself for. I don’t want to be a drunk like him but I do want to be strong. I definitely don’t want my heart to fail a couple weeks shy of my 46th.

My Earliest Memory

One of my earliest memories is the day Kit was born. Dad takes me to the disney store at the mall. I am 2 years old and excited. I get a good laugh trying to hug his legs and stand on his feet as he walks. He smiles down at me and shakes his head.  Picking me up he leads us through our local mall on his hip. I feel safe. I squeal at the sight of the store. It seems massive and all my favorite characters are viewable. Tigger, Pooh, Bambi, Ariel and the coveted yellow princess belle dress. I run for the dress. It’s so pretty. I want to be Belle so badly. I catch a glimpse of myself in one the store mirrors. I don’t look like Belle at all. I don’t really look like any of the princesses except maybe Pocahontas. She has dark black hair. My hair is brown and frizzy. I frown. 

Dad points to the big pile of stuffed animals at the back of store. He directs me to go pick out two stuffed animals.  I gleefully run towards them.  I want the giant Tigger.  I reach for it and point. 

Dad says “No honey that’s too much money.” I point towards the medium sized. “No honey that’s still too expensive. “ 

I point towards the medium small Bambi. He looks at the price. He tells me I can pick any of the smaller ones.  Even better I could get two small ones for the price of Bambi. We settle on a small Mickey and Minnie mouse.  

We are walking through hospital wing. Dad leads me to the room Mom is in. There’s a lot of sunlight coming through the windows. I see her silhouette before my eyes focus enough to see her smiling face and the cradled bundle of blankets in her arms. I am gripping mickey and minnie for dear life. Mom calls me forward asking for a kiss. I slowly walk over. My mom moves a blanket. I see Kit. Small and soft looking asleep. Dad touches my head and says “You’re an older sister now. You gotta look out for her. Why don’t you give her one of your new stuffed animals?” 

“What? But these are mine.”  I whine. 

“Being an older sister means you have to get used to sharing.” 

I pout. I look over Mickey and Minnie. 

Dad smirks at me but his eyes are pleading “come now, don’t be a brat, that’s your little sister. You’re gonna have to share everything with her anyway”

“Fine. She can have Mickey.”  I think I am being clever by giving Kit the boy mouse. Minnie was better in my opinion. 

Kit coos in our mom’s arms. My parents are smiling so it makes me smile. There’s proud energy around us. I feel safe and happy.  

well shit

Today a coworker sobbed about her younger sister cutting her off. An all too familiar experience for me. The last time I interacted with my sibling I felt very exhausted. I was tired. I was tired of being at risk of being cut out. It was our father’s funeral for Christ’s sake. It literally was his dying wish for us to all be there for each other.

I remember the first time my younger sibling told me they hated me and that we weren’t really related. They were disowning affiliation to me. We were kids and kids fight. Yet Damn that shit hurt.

Our dad broke it up with, “You girls are sisters. You should be friends and look out for each-other. You’re family. Cut the shit. Bet, stop letting your sister get to you. “

What is worse is I started to say it right back. Hurt for a hurt.

It took years into my 20’s to realize the nature of our siblinghood was cultivated in atmosphere of emotional abuse from witnessing chaotic and violent sparring between our mother and father. Therapy helped me see through it. I wanted us to be close. Couldn’t we forgive each-other and move forward? We wouldn’t. There was too much stacked against us.

I regret so much regressing and deciding to give you, Kit. A taste of your own medicine. I let you down.

If there’s anything I wish I could of said to my coworker today – instead of I’m sorry that’s so hard – I’m no expert on this – I wanted to say whatever you do – do not stoop to their level it will rip you apart in ways you possibly cannot imagine. Chase them. Tell them you love them and you care. They don’t have to go through it alone. You’re here. You’ll always be here. Take the space you need and you will trust they will talk to you when they’re ready.

I feel numb now. I better go to bed.

What is routine?

Sometime during the end of last year I found the chore log book in my packed up in my belongings after moving in with a close friend. I decided to use it again. This time though– it would be for self- care.

I have signed off on the following tasks every day for last 7 months of 2021.

1. Wake up by 8:30 am + Make bed

2. Drink water 16oz of water, take my meds + vitamins

3. Brush teeth/wash face

4. Feed + water cats

5. Make breakfast at 9am-10am

6. Journal/affirmations

7. Stretch or yoga on youtube

8. Lunch 12pm

9. scoop litter and take trash out if needed

11. Have dinner 9pm or protein shake if no energy / feed cats pm

12. Shower/ Brush teeth PM/ wash face / take melotonin

14. Go to bed by 10:30pm

The last entries made we from my youngest sister, my former spouse, and me a week before all hell broke loose for her and I.

The evening of September 11th 2019 around 9pm. I pull into drive way and am texting my youngest sister to come out and venture to In n Out with me because period cravings. She declines says she’s curled up in a ball from her period. I send her a few more texts trying to wager her company. She doesn’t respond. I hope it’s because she’s getting dressed to join. I idly start scrolling through Instagram. My car being habitual my decompression zone when I get off work to get alone time. I test out waiting a little bit but become lost in scrolling.

My little sister Courtney comes out with a panicked look on her face. “BET!” she cries. I get out of my car concerned. She meets me as I stand with her cellphone in hand. She lets out a somber breath, “Kit is dead.”

Even as I type this my body trembles in memory. Tension builds in my upper traps. There’s a humming tingly feeling in my feet. My heart beats a little bit faster. The carrots + cucumbers with tsakzi greek yogurt dip I pulled out for my lunch look unappetizing. I just forced a bite and it’s bland now.

I am a fool for trying to articulate this memory of mine before I need to leave for work. Deep breath. Inhale slowly for a count of 1….2…..3…..4. Exhale slowly for a count of 4….3….2….1.

The deep abdominal breathe exercise has settled me a little but I lost my appetite. I am going to quickly pack this food up and head to work in the mean time. I am 7 minutes behind now.

I digress again, Bettina.

The scientific method of getting an Engineer to complete more household chores.

When my stifled inner house-wife angst started to creep it’s way out, it started with house hold chores. My Phd-in- electrical-engineering- spouse was unconvinced that I was baring the brunt of all the house hold chores since I started working again. I sought to prove my truth.

My understanding had been that if I went back to work there would be an equal distribution of household chores between us. I would ask if I had misunderstood. He would then tell me I didn’t and that he is “doing things” around the house. I just don’t notice it. That he feels like I’m nagging at him. I could be more appreciative in his eyes. I was left in anguish because I knew my observations were accurate. We were both exhausted of my over-reminding him to follow through. Also, where was my appreciation?

From his perspective – I was nagging him and showing distrust in his capability. I felt bewildered. A theme of me showing how I don’t trust him flaring up again. How could I do better? How did this relate to trust? It was so confusing. When things don’t make sense for me – I turned towards google to research on ways to better communicate a need for fair distribution household chores in a marriage. Upon further reflection, I thought about what other tact I could use to better communicate to him so that he will believe me in seeing that I need his help or at minimum recognition and gratitude.

Then I remembered he typically points towards data or finds errors in the statistical data when I would emote over some horrible political story to comfort me before I spiraled into a “what is the world coming to?” puddle. He once gifted me a book called, Factfulness. I am grateful for it. It listed tons of data about the world. The world is improving even if the media counters that notion with it’s fear-mongering. Anyway with this “Look at the data” lesson in mind I came up with a solution. I purchased us $8 blank adult chore log book.

He didn’t want to be nagged. I definitely didn’t want to be wasting my own energy reminding him to do his share. Nor, does any woman wish to be described with such an abhorrently sexist word such as “nagging”. I wasn’t nagging. I was reminding. I was holding him accountable. I was doing my best to be patient. Anyway, I made a list of daily and once a week chores. I told him I thought this solution would help each-other see at numerical level ( aka provide data) who is accomplishing what without having to monitor the other closely. I logged everything I accomplished and kept my mouth shut for 12 weeks. Then I presented him the data recorded.

In my mind, the data said that I was correct in my theory. I don’t remember him apologizing for disbelieving me or uttering a thank you for all that you do. He might of. What I do remember is that it was tarnished with his counter argument — My job of employment worked me significantly less hours than his salary based one. I consistently worked 4 days a week where as he could and would often work up 5-6 days or more as 8-18hr days as a deadline approached. We compromised on him doing 20% more while I performed the rest. So there you have it – if you’re married to an engineer- collect data to point him towards. I digress.

My husband’s implied expectations

[Couple’s therapy homework // hand written diary entry ]

1. I work towards and stay concerned with attracting him.
2. I am to ask him about ordering snacks but don’t expect him to include me in any choice he makes about buying any new technological stuff.
3. He expects me to write his ‘to do’ lists and be the personal house inventory computer to access at any time of day if he needs to locate something.
4. That I’m a well of information to be accessed at any point.
5. That he always drives us around – and when he does I’m not supposed to be on my phone around him
6. That if he wants me to do something his way he expects me to agree to do it that way
7. He’s allowed to ask me any type of questions that are really like an order or managerial speak

No Kisses for a day and a half.

[Handwritten entry from my journal June 28th 2018]

No Kisses for a day and a half. I’m so sad to be in this mess. I am frustrated. Richie says I confuse him a lot with my ‘unpredictability’. I’m starting to think he doesn’t REALLY listen to me or take into account that everything I’ve shared about my need for communication aids at my happiness level. I shouldn’t be snooping but I found him saving some screenshots of some friend/acquaintance he met through some of his ex-girlfriend’s cousins, Jason & Maria. ( I loathe them for reasons I’ll explain later.)

The pictures were of her and her friends topless at Barton Springs. Another screenshot was of them dressed up whimsically. I feel pissed off. I feel pissed off because Richie is calling me inconsistent. Why is this a big deal when I sent a nude to Evan without asking him if it was okay. He didn’t even fucking consider telling me about this online crush. I have told him EVERYTHING about every crush I’ve had. I tell him whenever I feel like branching out and flirting with someone new.

Furthermore, he told me I don’t need to ask him every time I want to hangout with Evan or if I want to kiss him. These past few weeks have been so stressful. I don’t even want to kiss Evan anymore but selfishly I like the attention. He thinks I’m incredible. I started drinking a bit at night which is problematic. So I stopped. I want to not drink for 90 days. I’m going to Al-Anon Family meetings to work on my trust issues + codependency.

I think the other reason I’ve snooped is because I don’t know what the fuck he spends his free time online. CLEARLY there’s a huge problem between us. I spend a lot of time reading stuff about Marriage, self-awareness, ADHD etc. From his browsing history, I saw only funny reddit threads and articles that reflect his own interests. Which is fine and makes total sense. I guess I just thought with a sea of information online accessible, he would care enough to look at the same stuff I have been. I just feel like I’m the one with problems so I need to change so he can be happy and comfortable again.

Do I even deserve that back now? Is it appropriate to even feel this way? I feel like my heart is breaking. I want to run away. I just start getting pissed now whenever I hear him say words like “Efficency” or “Mindset”. “What information are you getting this from? Let me show you the data. ” he says.

I’m so sick of being treated like I’m a bad critical thinker. As if I don’t research anything. All of this crying is ruining my stupid eyelash extensions. Maybe I should let them just fall off and cut my hair. I don’t feel like ME or that I can be myself.

Richie says “ADD is not a good excuse.” I wish he would just read about it because it’s stressful for me to work on myself and educate him at the same time. I don’t want to educate him when he’s never outrightly asked me. He just expects it. When I remind him that he has the internet to consult, he implies I’m being unfair since it’s more ‘efficient’ to ask me.

Blahhhhh…

I’m going to try journaling more now because I’m so confused, hurt, and stressed. He wants me to chase him. He tried to cuddle me a couple days ago after our drunk driving debate. He came home smelling of alcohol. In the morning the smell persisted. My hand hurts so I’m going to stop writing for now.