I only moved to Ronkonkoma last June ‘06. I see myself as a gypsy, looking to find my home, and it’s probably not on this Island. I stay here to be close to my parents and brother, though they add to my heartaches and anxiety. I know, why stay so near people who cause so much angst? I’m 46 biologically and about between 10 – 15 emotionally. My brain keeps evolving, but I become a little girl in a heart beat. My most precious gift in my life is my cat, Peewee, who isn’t very small anymore. My favorite times are having staring contests. He is my best friend. I lived in Manhattan twenty-something years ago, when I worked and carried on like a complete adult. I was practically fearless, but had earned the label of slut very quickly. I learned that sometimes happens when you’re molested at a young age. That abruptly stopped when I got into my early thirties. Oh, by the way, I had reluctantly moved all over Connecticut and once a whole bunch of people clapped when I said that I was renewing my lease! My life consists of many strings criss-crossing and connected, abruptly cut and knotted. When I was fifteen I became a teenaged alcoholic and it actually saved my life. My relationship with my parents was horrible and I thought of suicide all the time. So I picked up a drink, really a bottle, and it pretty much stuck to my left hand until I was 24 and joined a twelve step fellowship. I was then addicted to men, especially married ones and am blessed that I walked away with no life threatening diseases. Someone or a bunch of ones were with me during all of it and I was just cocky and thought I was invincible. If you don’t know by now, I have borderline. I wasn’t diagnosed until 1998 and before that, I had no idea why I was in so much inner turnoil so much of the time or why I didn’t really know how to make a decision or who I really was inside. I made myself what others, especially guys, wanted me to be. I was run over by this one guy’s act of moving out of my apartment and going back to his wife, when the night before he told me we could be married in February if I wanted. Then, next day, I came home to an empty apartment, with no sheets on the bed. My heart hasn’t beated as hard since then. I was so attached to him that I wouldn’t let go and he kept telling me he’d be divorced in another eight months. He strung me along and I had a breatdown. I almost immediately got into another relationship with an abusive guy, still not over Adam, and one morning we had another fight that broke the camel’s back. I blew off my best friend for a lunch date and went straight to a bar. I had almost eight years clean and sober. I ordered a beer. Ten months of doing that and still feeling the horrific pain, I walked into an emergency room and told them I had a migraine and instantly, I was inlove with opiates. I had to leave Connecticut because of it and came back home to my parents, totally humiliated and broken apart, like a china doll and tried to get clean. I had almost twenty months in 2002 and picked up again. I’m still trying to give it up.

I’m afraid of growing up and I’m afraid of not doing so. I’m afraid of not being in control because when I’m not, my anxiety attacks my body and I can’t swallow. I just called and left a message for another therapist. I know I have to do the work, yet I’m afraid I won’t be able to get inside of myself and take risks. I dream of having three woman friends, like in Sex in the City and learning how to date. My cat always come first. I haven’t killed myself yet, but I think about something happening to Peewee and I immediately start crying and think that I’ll take a whole bunch of pills immediately. I have to stop letting my brain take me there. Thanks for reading – I hope I didn’t put anyone to sleep.