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balance (2): December 2011

Monday, December 19, 2011

how honest to be?

how much of your life can you reveal without being written off as the crazy dog lady, living in the jungle. this has been my lesson of the past few years. it is a brave thing, being yourself. everyone is crazy. some people can handle craziness from another perspective, some can't.

i have been writing an autobiography. but if i share it, there is the very real possibility that people will judge me by it. my ex boyfriend 't' was revolted...

this past week i visited budapest, for the first time. it was comfortable. i have distant family there. i recovered from jet lag in my hotel with half a bottle of wine and a strict cutoff of 't'. it breaks my heart (owwwwwwww) but i can only live my life without him right now. in budapest wandered the town, got lost. ended up eating crappy food and feeling like a tourist. my dad though, is hungarian. he broke up with my mom (whom he met in vienna, presumably) before i turned age 3. i spoke magyar til then. i ate crepes and ghoulash. i was daddy's girl for 3 years... and after that, nothing- a bleak nightmare, a war zone. so now when this dad of sorts traipses my way with promises of godfather tourist guides, i scoff and point to his dead replacement, my stepfather, synopsis to come..... i decided to rebel in budapest, to find my own way. which really, considering i like walking, is good. i rode the funicular from pest to buda, up castle hill where it rained dismally but was breathttaking. i walked the chain bridge back across the river as ships passed underneath. i went and soaked in the decadent bath house which was so beautiful but in which the men ogled my boobs. i poked at the gingerbread and drank mulled wine in the christmas market. i dodged a german hari krishna.

then i came to istanbul, where i have really normal friends. friends with apartments, with families, and friends with friends. baking christmas cookies, passing joints, being boring and polite. i have a night of bliss and connections to people like me, where we get wasted and the turkish guy complains about his wife. i next have an off night of antisocial twitches and the missing of 't', so badly.

istanbul is one of the most beautiful places on earth... so laid back and so friendly. so ethereally beautiful and ancient. i ride taxis for hours, pantomiming communication. i pet the fat fluffy strays on the cobblestone streets. i wink at the men who think they are macho or alpha. men are easy. they love me.

so back to honesty. here is one thing. i was drugged to the brink of death and molested from ages 4-14 by my mormon missionary stepdad. yessiree. while being a genius kid who skipped grades between comatose spells. my stepdad was later executed on death row for mass murder. my mother not only looked the other way but actively blamed and as a result abused me. i basically raised her kids while she acted like a prostitute. can i tell people these things?

i feel like if i tell the truth normal society will avoid me, like a freak. things happen, in life. they really do. they are true. it's a good story. it is my crazy. and people you have to explain to aren't worth it, right? would it be a story worthy of telling if it was too accessible? would my voice carry? all i know is i hate being judged incorrectly. 't' judged me harshly... oh pain in my heart.

it's humid and hilly and the calls to mecca soothe me, vying with calls from the shop men in doorways. i take pictures of the colorful lights and dodge glances and feel alone. i drink half a bottle of wine in my room to the soundtrack of bad movies. i contemplate the fact that i always get what i want, even if i am miserable in the process. i want to write but can i be so honest?

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