There was a time when bouncing back was the order of the day, when my curiosity and my love for life trumped anything that threatened my future. But I'm in my 40's now and I don't have the same level of elasticity I once did. I depended on my ability to get right back up after every hit. I took it for granted to get me through the worst of times. But here I am today, the old tricks no longer work. The well is dry and it's scaring the hell out of me. I'm looking back and I'm wondering why I was able to crawl from the wreckage over and over and over again. For what? So I could say "look everybody, I'm so strong, nothing will kill me, not my multiple heroin overdoses or my determined suicide attempts, isn't that fabulous? Look at all the shit I walked away from, yet here I still am! I made it all the way to my 40's! Do you know how improbable that is? I really got it goin on bitches" So, yes, I am still here when the odds should have seen me resting peacefully in my grave before my 21st birthday. Yeah, and? So? Who cares! From as far back as I can remember I've never thought that simply getting through lifes tragedys amounted to anything worth mentioning. It's the how that defines one's worth. Just because the chicken made it across the road doesn't mean it's a successful chicken, all it means is that it has good eyesight and can run fast. Who gives a shit? Kudos to Clucky! Listen, I need to tell you why I'm here. I don't think I have a lot of fight left in me. I'm tired. I'm fed up. And no, I am not thinking about putting a hit out on myself. Please. Maybe I can't find any logic in surviving all I've survived, maybe a part of me thinks it's all been a waste of time, but I sure as hell won't be ending it all when there's a tiny spark of possibilty. The only thing keeping me here is my book, Pretend It's Not Me. If nothing happens with it, if no one reads it while I'm still on this god forsaken planet, at least I've left proof of my existence. Someone will know that while I was here I cared, I tried. The pain of others mattered to me. I was only 14 when I came out to my family on a Saturday morning in 1977. Two days later they drove me to the Lakeshore Psychiatric Hospital where I was deposited and abandoned. No one in my family ever spoke to me again. Over the years there were some family members that tried, like my Aunt Mary or my Aunt Winnie, but it would have been hell for them had anyone known they spoke with me, for any reason, ever. Hence the title of my book. If I called I had to be someone else. I eventually took myself out of that hospital. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. It's funny how those months that I was locked up in that place would define themselves in the years after. Everything about who I was or where I came from fell into one of two categories, before or after Lakeshore. I finally ran away to New York. Life on the streets of New York City for a 15 year old boy who was homeless, scared and lonely was rough, of course, but it wasn't as rough as one might think because one of the most important parts of being young is the ability to bounce back. Studio 54 and the Village felt like home. I survived, yes, but you can't imagine what happened to me on those streets. Had I not gone through it myself or seen it with my own eyes I never would have believed it. Do you remember when Oprah pegged A Million Little Pieces by James Frey as one of her book selections? She raved on about that book and everyone got on board. Well when I found out the subject matter dealt with drugs and liquor and how far a person can fall in the face of those demons I couldn't believe it. Here I am, barely able to pay my rent and he's making all this money and garnering international acclaim because of a story that WAS MINE! Can you imagine? It taught me something though. It taught me that anyone can have a story with all the elements that usually spell success. Sex. Drugs. Redemption etc...but unless you can articulate your story in a way that reaches people it's just another story. I only have a Grade 8 education, but I don't think I've ever lived a single day in my life when I wasn't conscience about learnng something. Even at 15. The kind of people I met over the years, be they captains of industry or interior decorator's, all had something I could learn. That being said,when I found out James Frey was full of shit I just lost it. I was so mad. I thought to myself "no one's ever going to look at that subject matter the same way again. Suspicion will block any hope for my story thanks to his stupidity! Well, my story is mine and my story is true. If I can accomplish just getting it down and storing it somewhere safe so anyone who might be interested can access it, that would make me perfectly happy. I hope I can do that on this site. I'll try.
