When I was Born the World Shook

The birth of an Obsessive Compulsive

2011-09-15T13:57:00.000-07:00

Regardless of whether you believe in "Nature" or "Nurture," I really didn't have a chance. My poor, sweet Grandpa Ralph had OCD, except back then nobody knew what it was so they thought he was just doing weird things because he was drunk. The truth is, he was drunk because he couldn't stop himself from doing weird things. I know this all too well. I spent my teens and early 20's drunk because alcohol is really good at drowning your obsessions and compulsions.

How did I get to this point?

I had my first panic attack at age 7. My Grandpa Ralph had just died and I was in the tub with my biological dad watching me. I. Flipped. Out. I had no idea what was wrong. I just knew that I wanted out NOW and I wanted my mom NOW and I wanted my dad gone NOW. *I talked about how I discovered what my dad was a little bit here. He was a child molestor. He never touched me. With me he was just a watcher. With my siblings, only they know.

The bio dad was a nightmare of epic proportions. He was mean, heartless, soulless. He would scream at my mom and physically intimidate her. I have vivid memories of him chasing her around the kitchen tossing knives. One day he raped her right in our house with me there. I lived in constant fear that one day he would kill her. There were only two men that ever made me feel safe, now one was dead and the other turned out to be a pedophile.

Enter my stepdad. He was my mom's best friend at the time and he gave her the courage to leave and a safe place to stay. Even to this day he is the one person that my bio dad fears, but I'm not sure why. Eventually love ensued, they got married, and I got an amazing dad. I need you all to know that regardless of all the other things I will tell you about him, my stepdad was a great dad and I will forever be grateful to have him in my life. Unfortunately, his brother was murdered and my stepdad was never quite the same. He became angry, agitated, and drank way too much. He tried to get help once, but it didn't work. He just became meaner and more violent. My mom and I tiptoed around our house like mice avoiding a trap. You never knew what would set him off and send him into a terrifying blind rage. He threw things, he broke things, he punched through walls and doors over the most minor of offenses, and we were back to me seeing my mom get hit. One day when it was especially bad I went on autopilot, got in my car, and started the engine. My mom came flying out of the house screaming with my stepdad in pursuit holding a gun. That was the single most terrifying moment of my life. Everything that happened after that point is a complete blur.

Now I'm an adult. I have my own house, my own marriage, and my own kids. I felt so scared and out of control for my entire life that I'm now obsessed with it. There are dangers, germs, and bad people out in the world that could hurt my babies! My husband could die at work! If I keep them trapped in this little house where I can control EVERYTHING maybe they'll be safe and I'll feel sane! Unfortunately all I'm doing is suffocating them, making my children miss out on experiences, my husband go mad, family members resent me, and friends leave me. I'm aware of what I'm doing but I can't stop yet. Help will come, just please, I beg of you, be patient just a little bit longer.

A contributing factor to my OCD + 9/11 Remembered

2011-09-14T06:53:00.001-07:00

*I wish I could be more eloquent. I wish I could tell this story the way I want to, the way it looks in the deep recesses of my brain. Unfortunately it comes out all jumbled and confusing, exactly the way I feel...

In September of 2001, my sister, with whom I had little relationship with, and I decided I was going to fly out to NYC and spend a long weekend together. It had been 10 years since we had seen each other, and we wanted to begin a strong, adult relationship on our own terms. I was nervous but couldn't have been more excited. It was a new beginning.

Like nearly everyone in my country, I awoke on September 11, 2001 to the attacks on the World Trade Center. I watched in horror as the second plane hit on national TV. I screamed as I realized those were people falling from the buildings? What was happening? Why was it happening? Answers, PLEASE!

My brother in law worked in the World Financial Center and my sister left for work with him. I spent an entire day watching the towers burn, people jump, the towers fall, and thinking my sister may be dead. After all this time, we weren't going to get that chance to get to know each other.

I came home that night to an email from my sister saying that she was fine. The relief was unbelievable. Much to my parents' dismay, I flew into the heart of Manhattan mere days after the attacks to finally hold my sister in my arms.

We began my trip with tears, hugs, awkward silences, and a trip down to Ground Zero. The buildings were still smoking and I'll spare you the details of what it looked and smelled like down there, but just know that seeing it directly in front of your face impacts your mind. We went back to her apartment and she began a talk she had been wanting to have with me for 20+ years... Did our dad molest me too? My brain turned into Pandora's Box and it was opened. Too much. Too much for my little mind. September 11th, Ground Zero, repressed memories. I left that talk so confused, so destroyed, that when my friend picked me up from the airport I was laying on the ground. I couldn't even stand up anymore. I spent the next decade completely confused, in denial, obsessive, compulsive, and destructive to any relationship that was dear to me. I pushed friends away and I never talked to my sister again. I was angry with everything and everyone.

When it came out that my brother was a pedophile, I realized the apple does not, in fact, fall far from the tree and nothing was imagined. Nothing was embellished. It was all real. I relived everything and then some. More regret, more anger, more obsessions, more compulsions. I've never supported my sister and I've never let her support me. I only pray that someday my rememberance post will be one of acceptance, support, and survival.

I selfishly like to confess things and make people read it.

2011-06-02T15:32:00.000-07:00

Is there a psychological disorder where you perpetually blame the victim? I think I have it.

I was laying on the couch completely zoned out when something occurred to me. "You blamed that little girl for lying. You swore up and down there was someone who had a vendetta against your brother and made him out to be a child molester. Then he confessed. This little girl that you brutally doubted was a victim. NOT your monstrous brother."

OK.

Do you also remember, dear brain, that you visited your sister after a 10 year silence. She told you your father molested her and had you recall all the ways he was inappropriate. Devastation. Freak out. You are picked up from the airport almost catatonic laying on the ground.

Then why were you so easily swayed AGAIN to believe that this victim was lying? YOUR SISTER, you thought, was seriously confused and was filling your head with delusions. YOU weren't molested, so then there's obviously no way she was, right?

Wrong. Fucking wrong again.

Where I am

2011-04-20T06:03:00.000-07:00

We're coming off the heels of my biological dad's birthday. This has left me feeling weird, angry, and like I want to put a metal trash can over his head and bang it with a stick.

The tentative contact with my sister in law has been made. I have so much that I want to tell her and my niece, I don't know where to begin and I'm stalling.

Along with my mother, I've made the decision that I want to talk to my brother face to face. There are some things that I just can't go the rest of my life without knowing.

I know it's getting a bit redundant, but I can't thank you all enough for your support.

So that's where I am right now; not very far at all.

A Monster Among Us

2011-03-31T07:41:00.000-07:00

When I was born I was "Baby Girl Palmer" for 24 hours since my dad couldn't be bothered to be there for my mother and sign the birth certificate. This would set the tone for our relationship with him from there on out.

My brother is 14 years older than me and embraced taking on more of a father role in my life. People would often mistake he and my mother as a couple and him as my father. This absolutely delighted him. He poignantly told my mom once that he would die for me. I do not doubt this even to this day.

I always used him as a measuring stick to compare all males I encountered, yet none could ever compare. In my eyes he was the most perfect brother, father, husband, and cop you could ever meet. It has been absolutely painful for me that he has been sitting innocently in prison for nearly a decade. My sister turned her back on him and his wife divorced him. The only person staying by his side and keeping me informed was our father. Finally! This poor excuse for a dad is totally rallying and taking care of his son.

This weekend my former sister in law and my mother spoke. My mom wrote her to get my brother's current prison address, but my ex sister in law wanted to speak to her. What could she possibly want from us? She didn't even want to wait for my brother to be free! And then they spoke...

My sweet, perfect brother is a pedophile and our father has been telling elaborate lies to cover for him.

Crash. Boom. Thud.

That is the sound of my brain crashing through my heart crashing through my stomach and landing on the floor. To say that I am stunned is a gross understatement. I never read the deposition. All of my information came from our father. He said that there was this family with a vendetta against my brother the cop. His daughter befriended this troubled little girl and in a desperate attempt for attention she accused my brother of abuse. My dad said not only is this completely unbelievable of my brother, she's accused people before for attention. To save his family the embarrassment and torture of a trial, my brother took a plea bargain and sits in prison this poor, innocent, perfect god fearing man that I've always known and loved. My dad said my sister was this horrible wretch that turned her back on her own brother, and my sister in law was a horrible wife that wouldn't stand by her man and divorced him when he needed her most.
The reality was they read the deposition and knew the truth: he couldn't fight his urges any longer, molested his own daughter's friend, and came clean about it three years into his MUCH too brief sentence.

The guilt is crushing me. I thought horrible things of my sister, my sister in law, and a poor, innocent little girl. My mom suggested that I read the deposition so I can stop imagining what happened and maybe work on getting over it, but I don't want to get over it. I want to suffer. I want to suffer so hard that I take away all the pain that this little girl is feeling. Give it to me, universe! I want it! I want to never ever forget her.

And don't worry, dear brother, I'll never forget you either. My sweet baby girl has your face and I look at it every day. You've given out some burdensome crosses to bear, but I pray that yours is eternally the heaviest.

My question for you is: What do you do when someone that loves you unconditionally does something completely unforgivable?

Call me Atlas...

2011-03-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

... for I have the weight of the world on my shoulders right now. Dramatic? Maybe a bit, but probably not.

Some things have changed, and due to these changes and twists I will be continuing my family journey on this blog. It's not really Athena Bee's material anymore. I don't want to force any weirdness down someone's throat that is visiting my blog to talk about babies and breastfeeding. I can go about my travels here where only the brave, thick skinned followers shall visit.

I will not be attending Blogher this year like I wanted.
I will not be contacting my biological father.
I will not be forging a relationship with my brother.
I will be venturing to New York to try to have a healthy, normal relationship with my sister, and maybe my kids can get to know their aunt, uncle, and cousins.
I will be venturing to Florida to get to know my sister in law/not sister in law anymore legally and niece, and letting the ladies get to know that aunt and cousin as well.

Maybe now that all the information is in place, all the right relationships will be formed, and I truly starting getting over everything I'll even finish my book that was started here. We shall see.

Chapter 2

2008-09-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

A week goes by without incident. No tumultuous affairs, no whirlwind romances. It’s finally time to head out to New York. Needless to say, my parents aren’t exactly thrilled with my decision to still go. But the old Olivia would have jumped ship. I need to show my sister that I’ve changed. I’m much more responsible and dearly love my family. I can not cancel this trip if I ever want her to talk to me again.
I go over to my parents’ house to try to make nice. They live in a boating community that is on the verge of being its own world. The people are quite different from anyone you’ve ever met. Not high class, but not ghetto. Just its own area. There are Indian burial grounds here, Ku Klux Klan remnants, and houses that are still set up to receive booze during prohibition. If you’ve never made it to the islands that are off the shores of Ohio, you are honestly missing out on some amazing views and very interesting history.

“Tom?” I sweetly say to my stepfather. And what follows this question I’m seriously not making up. This is really how we’ve talked to each other since I was old enough to comprehend all the different ways you could use the work “Fuck”. You’ll find that it has become a large part of my vocabulary, much to the dismay of my religious relatives. Is it still a bad word when you use it the same way that you’d use the word “car”?
“I know you’re not working today and I was just wondering if you could take me to the airport this afternoon.”
“I can’t believe that you’re still fucking going! I don’t even want to talk to you. Do you have a death wish? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you are? Do you know what happens to people that are dumb enough to go to a shit-hole like New York City by the fucking shit-hole dwellers that live there? They rape women in broad daylight in Central Park. Now with all these terror attacks! You’re going to come back here with some sort of disease and give it to all of us. I refuse to drive you to your certain death!”

God. What a drama queen. I guess I can take that Oscar-worthy monologue as a firm “NO!”. OK, I did not plan this well and I know it. I’m supposed to be getting on a plane in mere hours and I don’t have a ride. I call Eric. I know he’ll help me.

“Hello?”
“Hey, what’s up?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Not much. What’s going on? I thought you were leaving today.”
“I am. My flight leaves in a few hours and I thought that my step dad was going to take me but he freaked out on me. Something about rapes and diseases. He’d rather not.”
“Ok…”
“ I was wondering,” I demurely say, “If maybe you could take me to the airport.”
“Well, I was supposed to work today. No one else can take you?”
“No, I didn’t plan well. I’m fully aware of this. So you’ll do it?” I know he won‘t leave me high and dry. He’s just so great like that. I could ask him for a kidney and I know he’d give me one.
“Of course I’ll do it. I can be a little late to work. What time should I come to get you?”
“3 o’ clock. You’re the best. I’ll see you then!” See? How could I not be in love with some one that caring and that reliable?

Two hours until I have to be on the plane. I guess I should get packing. I impressively jam three weeks worth of clothes into a carry-on bag, and Eric pulls up. My cats know I’m leaving and they’re ticked. I tell them I love them, that grandma will come see them every day, and I leave. As I step out the door, I get an overwhelming feeling that when I come back I will never be the same. It feels like the world is spinning at an incredible rate of speed and I can’t quite catch my balance. That was weird. I try to shake the feeling and I get into Eric’s car.

“Ready?” Eric asks.
“As I’ll ever be. I’m really nervous. I’ve got to be one of the only crazy people actually flying into the city that the major attacks happened in. Am I insane?”
“Yes, but for many reasons other than this. You’ll be fine. I know you will be. You’re going to have a fabulous time with your sister.”
“Good God. That’s a whole other thing that’s freaking me out. I haven’t seen her in over ten years! What if she doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like her? What if we’re completely different and don’t get along? What if I get abducted and raped in Central Park?”
“What?! Calm down. Do not overanalyze this now. You have an entire plane ride to think about it. So save me the drama and do it on your own time,” he says and smiles.

We’re pulling up to Toledo airport and I think that I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m not used to doing things like this on my own. Usually I’m able to talk my way out of going, or at the very least have my mother there with me. I can only handle things like this if my mother is around. I know it’s probably not healthy to rely on her so much, but she’s always been the only constant thing in my entire life. My dad was never around, my siblings moved out when I was very young, and the only man I could trust as a child, my grandfather, died when I was six. My mom is all I’ve ever had. This is absolutely terrifying. My step father has been absolutely wonderful, but he was a little late. But this is all why I have to do it. I’m 21 years old. It’s time to do something on my own. My mom will be here to clean up the mess of me when I get back.

I ask Eric to come in and wait with me until my plane leaves and, of course, he does. We joke for a while and he tries to keep my mind off the weight of this trip that I’m about to go on. Then they call for me to board. Panic slices through me all over again. I start to say goodbye to Eric and to my horror “I love you” comes out. There’s no taking it back. There’s no blaming it on beer. It’s hanging out there in the air like the stench of onions cooking. I think I’m going to die. The look on his face says it all. It kind of looks like I just told him that I use to be a man. So the only thing left to do is just turn around and look for my salvation hiding behind an enormous man on the escalator. Did I seriously just say that out loud? What’s wrong with me? Now on top of worrying about this trip, I have to be terrified of coming back home to my freaked out best friend. I say a little prayer that he doesn’t tell another single soul what I just said. Especially no one in our inner circle. This just needs to be swept under the rug. I think I secretly enjoy making my life a little harder than it needs to be.

I’m standing in line waiting for the lady to take my boarding pass and I see my plane out the window. The wave of unsettlement washes over me again. Something is going to happen on this trip. I’m not trying to sound like a psychic and say that I’m able to foresee the plane coming down before it happens. That is not it at all. It all has to do with me. Something is going to happen with me and it’s terrifying. The feeling isn’t going away as I’m getting into my seat. I’m sure I look like I’m going to throw up because the guy seated next to me is looking at me with utter horror on his face. I try to smile to ease his mind, but the smile felt more like a sneer and I think that I scared him further.

Thank God I brought a book. Hopefully I’ll be able to dive into it and stay there for a while and ignore the flight attendant’s atrocious voice and the godless 4 year old monster kicking my seat behind me. The plane starts moving and my heart does a violent flip. This isn’t how I usually react to planes. I’ve been on them a million times. Something is definitely happening.

Flying toward NYC, straight at the Statue of Liberty, has got to be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. It was so moving. She looked beautiful. I had an overwhelming sense of pride come over me while I was watching her. This really is an amazing city. The warm feelings are fleeting, though. I was soon panic stricken again. It’s time to go into Newark International Airport.
The security’s intense, to say the very least. I can see lines for miles. This is going to take a while. I toss my bag on the conveyor belt, smile at the gentleman manning his station, and I walk through the metal detector. Fantastic! No beeps. I should be good to go!

“Miss, you’re going to have to step behind these ropes and remove your shoes.” says a surly little security woman.

Wow, this is odd. I’ve never had this happen to me before. So I walk over to their little pen and remove my tennis shoes. They proceed to use their little metal detector wand all over my body.

“Okay, now I need you to remove your sweater.” says the security woman who is now under sexual-orientation-suspicion.

Alright! Now what if I didn’t have a tank top on under this thing? I’d be standing in the middle of this airport half nude! Now I know that I look pretty ethnic, so either this lady has a thing for me, or we’re doing a little profiling here! After the metal detector probe, I finally get the all-clear sign. I put my shirt and shoes back on, and I’m on my happy little way. Or so I thought. I don’t walk more than 20 feet, and this Federal Agent looking guy stops me and frisks me! After I get away from him, I’m feeling a little cheap. I’m not entirely sure, but through all of that touching and commotion, I think I may have just scored.

End of Chapter 1

2008-07-30T07:31:00.000-07:00

I don’t believe it. She’s OK. I’m so overcome with emotion that I just start to cry on the spot. My cats swarm me to see what’s wrong. How could I have let it go this long without seeing her? How could I have let it come this close to never being able to see her for the rest of my life? How can my parents not understand why I have to go?

From the time I got home, I’ve become fixated with watching the news. I wasn’t even going to answer the phone again until I realized it was Eric. I get annoyed with myself because my heart leaps when I see his name on my phone.

“Hello?”
“Hey, let’s get out for a while. I’ll be there in five minutes and we’ll go to our bar.”
“Hey! I’m busy right now you know!” It’s a lie, but I hate that he can just assume that I’m sitting here alone with nothing to do, just waiting for him to call me and rescue me from the mundane.
“You are not busy. I’m almost there.”
“OK, see you in a few.” Dammit.

He wants to go to the bar tonight. No big deal. Maybe there’s another beautiful girl at work that I get to hear about. How the Hell did I let myself fall into the friend zone? Dammit. Fine. I’ll go. Any excuse for us to hang out together. He is the person I spend the most time with. My best friend in the world, if you will. Oh, but here’s the catch. I’m completely smitten with him and he has no idea. At least I hope he has no idea. God, I’m pathetic. But how could I not? He’s the one that’s always been there for me since the day I met him. When I lived with a guy up in Detroit (huge mistake) right next door to my ghastly biological father, and I was fat and miserable and lonely, he came up to see me every weekend. It was the only thing that kept me from making the Detroit Evening News or an episode of COPS for domestic violence. When I finally left the lying, cheating Detroiter one night at 1 a.m. and just decided to start driving home, Eric was the one that was there for me on the spot. I honestly thought at the time that I was going to die. I thought that I was in love with that guy and I would never recover. I enormously despise the person that I was when I lived with him. I was a paranoid, whiney, obsessive girlfriend. He was COMPLETELY in love with himself. He thought, he was the best singer/dancer/looking individual to ever grace the Detroit Metro area. I was also the only one that wasn’t completely convinced of his closet homosexuality.
As it turns out, the relationship really had no effect on me whatsoever. In fact, that entire segment of my life is so vague that it’s like a movie I barely remember seeing, or like it happened to someone else. It only creeps up every great once in a while at an inopportune time, when I get afraid that every man is just like him.

Eric comes to pick me up and we’re off. Everywhere you go people are watching the news and they are pissed. The entire country is in an uproar. No one knows what is going to happen. So Eric and I get thoroughly drunk. We’re playing bar games, laughing, and having a fabulous time. Then he tells me how beautiful he thinks I am. Excuse me? Could I possibly have to deal with any other emotions today? This isn’t funny. He can’t screw with me like this. Is he kidding? What am I supposed to do with this? So I laugh, say “of course I am,” and with that understand that I’m going to obsess over this for the rest of the night. He breezes right past it, smiles, and takes another drink. Dammit.

When he drops me off I am convinced that I have exploded into hives. Is this the time that he finally attempts to kiss me? Crap, he looks like it. When that happens, there’s no turning back. We will pass the friendship line and go into the stage of either complete bliss or complete disaster. I zoned out for so long and I ran through so many different outcomes in my head I forgot that we’re sitting in front of my house and he’s staring at me with kind of a concerned look on his face. Oh, right. Time to get out of the car. I laugh, say goodnight, and run up to my door. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that I dodged a bullet.

I’m pretty sure that I ended up daydreaming about Eric and me together for a few hours. I know that I’m pathetic. I really do try to stop thinking about him. I know he’s not at his house doing the same thing! He’s probably sitting in his room drunk, playing some sort of ridiculous video game. I prefer to picture him pouring over his copy of Walden, stopping only to reflect on the amazing intellect and to picture my beauty. I attempt reading my book to stop thinking about my little life, but it doesn’t work. I begrudgingly get into my bed. I didn’t realize that I was so exhausted from the last 18 hours until I finally stopped moving. The entire day is running at warp speed through my mind. My sister, my best friend, and the Trade Center debacle. I honestly think that my head is going to explode. Is spontaneous combustion real? I wish some of my friends were insomniacs. It would make being awake at 4:30 in the morning considerably more entertaining. Maybe I could call Eric. Oh for God’s sake. I’m just going to watch Court TV. They don’t judge me.

Chapter 1 Cont'd

2008-07-30T07:30:00.000-07:00

That is how I spend that entire day. Judy and me staring at the television in silent awe. The planes crashing, the people jumping, and the towers falling all right before everyone’s eyes. No sparing the weak. Everyone is able to watch. Talk about traumatizing. Then it hits me. Oh my God, my sister is going to die before I ever get to see her again. I haven’t even spoken to her since I was like 10 years old. Now I’m never even going to get the chance to tell her that I’ve always loved her. I’ll never get to tell her how much I looked up to her beauty. How I always was so intimidated by her grace. I’ll never get to explain myself as to why I wouldn’t come see her for the family weekends when she was in college. It has nothing to do with my mother being overprotective. I was an eight year old hermit. I never meant for her to feel unloved. I toiled with the idea of her sitting there; the only one without a little sister to show off for these weekends. I try to call her and no one is home. I try to call her work and no one is there. Cell phones aren’t accepting calls right now. I know this is it. She has died, and she’s never gotten to look at a face that is just like hers.
Judy tries to comfort me all day. My best friends, Jennifer and Maria, also try to help me out. Even the girl that just started working with us is trying to console me. Nice effort, but I still
think that she’s a complete idiot. Probably why I have such bad karma. It all stems from this piss-poor, holier-than-though attitude.

Somehow I manage to put in an entire shift at work without even really noticing that I was there, but all of a sudden it’s time to go home. Was I even supposed to work today? I go back to my apartment. I live in a dodgy part of town between two sets of projects, but I absolutely adore my place. An entire wing of an old Victorian house for only $300 a month. You can’t beat that, even if I can’t take my own garbage out unless it’s the middle of the afternoon and I periodically hear my neighbors demonstrating their proficiency with firearms. It’s in the constitution for them to have their guns. Who am I to judge? I like to assume that if I’m ever being attacked they will again show off their firearm prowess and come to my rescue.
My three cats greet me at the door. I swear they know when I’m upset. I give them all some love, put on my kettle, and flip on the television to obsessively watch more CNN. This has got to be the wildest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The phone rings and it’s my mother. She’s fearing the worst about my sister as I am. My Dad wasn’t up for many father of the year awards, and his ex wife went through a rebellious period, so she pretty much raised my half sister and brother as her own.

“Olivia, please tell me you’ve heard from your sister,“ she wails.
“No, I haven’t and I can’t get through to her either. What the Hell is going on?”
“This is insane. I’ve never seen anything like this before. You do realize you are NOT going out there next week, right?”
“Mom! You don’t understand. This is not up for debate. If my sister is OK I HAVE to go. I’m sorry. I know how difficult this will be for you, but I absolutely must go,” I said. “I really don’t even want to talk about this right now without knowing what is going on with Christine. I’ll call you as soon as I talk to Christine.”
“Fine! Enjoy explaining this to Tom” she yelled and then hung up on me. Did my mother just hang up on me? Great. That went well.

I hung up the phone and turned my computer to check my mail. To my joyous surprise there is a message for me from my sister’s address. I try to not get too excited because she may have written it last night. I open it. It’s from today!

My Dear Little Sister,

I was afraid that you were worried about Greg and me, but we are fine. I haven’t been able to get many calls out, but email still works. I was visiting Greg in his office at the World Financial Center when everything happened. They told us to stay where we were, but we decided to go outside. When the towers collapsed, we ran down the street from the debris and jumped into a hotel lobby. I’m so glad we were together the whole time and I didn’t have to worry about where he was.
Well, my dear, I have many other letters to write. I know everyone must be freaking out. I just wanted to let you know that we are fine and that I’m still looking forward to you coming out to see us, baby sister. Hopefully you’ll still be able to get on your flight. I love you!

Chapter 1

2008-07-29T05:57:00.000-07:00

I remember when I could easily fall asleep at night. I remember when my mind could take a break from the constant running. I also remember when everything changed for me. I didn’t realize it right at the time. I was under the impression that it all went to shit in September of 2001. But, actually it was all the way back in 1987. With the way the psyche works and ignores actual chronological time, this is my series of events. Now, I don’t want this to deter you from reading what I have to say. This is not some tale of woe; my way of looking for sympathy on a global scale. With drama comes comedy, and my overly dramatic life is wrought with comedy.

This cannot seriously be my life. No one has it this ridiculously hard year after year. My first trip to New York City. I should be so jazzed. I’ve been planning this trip for the last three months. I haven’t seen Christine in at least ten years. Who goes that long without seeing their sister? What makes you think that it’s OK? Give me a break. My family is insane.

So there I was. 21 years old. Having the absolute time of my life during this right of passage. The countdown to NYC had begun. Only a week left! I wake up on September 11th to the phone ringing all too early in the morning. “What?”
“Olivia?” Who else would it be? I live alone. And, in my mother’s mind, I always will be alone and I will never give her a grandchild. I’m more than likely a lesbian. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“Yes, Judy, it’s me. I don’t want to work right now.” However, as I say that to my boss, I start to notice the panic in her voice. Actually, I can’t even put too much into that. She really is quite dramatic. If you don’t fill the ice bucket at work before you leave you’d think that you’d just hit her dog with a three wheeler… but I digress.

“Are you watching T.V.? Something is going on in New York.” There is an icy panic to her voice that let’s me know I didn’t forget something while I was closing the shop last night.I do not get dressed. I do not turn on the T.V. I just get up and drive to the shop in a mental fog. I do not have to look first. I have known Judy long enough to know that this must be huge.As I pull into the parking lot, our coffee shop has many more cars there than usual. You’d think we would be busy being that we were the only shop for miles, but we have never once advertised and we don’t even have a sign. You wouldn’t believe how many people try to order fried rice from me or how often I hear “what a lousy Chinese menu I have”. We’re hooked on to a Chinese restaurant whose tower blew down some time ago and took our only sign with it. It actually made the news in our little community. I had to be on TV with no makeup, soaking wet hair, and getting interviewed by a close-talker. I walk in and see the TV on. There are three incidents that constitute turning on the television at the shop: 1. I’m working late and I can watch the Simpsons in peace. 2. Judy is working a 12 hour day and doesn’t want to miss her soaps. 3. National emergencies. This was not a soap opera day. People are just standing there like zombies watching our circa 1970 television. No one is speaking. Just staring. Then we watch the second plane hit live on national television.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell is going on?” I yell. No one responds.

Things You Should Know

2008-07-28T12:33:00.000-07:00

A. I am afraid of:
1.Spiders
2.Men shorter than me.
3.Men with red hair.
4.Aliens
5.Any bodies of water other than pools.
6.Let us be honest here, pools too if it’s dark out.
7. Clavicles
8.Antarctica
9. Space
10. Rogue Waves

B. Should I be embarrassed about the following?
1. I like Neil Diamond… a lot.
2. I like the movie “You’ve Got Mail.”
3. I pick my nose in traffic almost daily.
4. Every Disney movie has made me cry.

C. I am named after a large-breasted woman that my dad thought was hot.

D. I was born out of wedlock and I was old enough to remember my parents’ wedding.

E. I practice paparazzi photo poses in the bathroom mirror.

F. I was born and then there was an earthquake. Odd only because I was born in Toledo, Ohio.

Author's Note

2008-07-28T12:31:00.000-07:00

Don’t feel as though you HAVE to read my Prologue. I know most people skip these (myself included) but I feel that it really gives you some insight to what’s going on in my mind and most importantly, I think I’m funny. A lot of bad stuff has happened to my Mom and me, but this book isn’t meant to be a downer. We laugh every day, even if we woke up crying. We honestly think that most things are funny; especially if one of us gets called fat at some point throughout the day. Now, if you have no interest in “Me”, please skip this part and just go right to the story and pretend that I’m not just talking about myself. Trust me, I’m not egotistical whatsoever. I just don’t know anyone else quite well enough to feel that I could tell their story and do them a service. I can’t even begin to tell you how these different events have affected the other people that were involved in them with me. I’m scarcely able to tell you exactly how they affected me in the grand scheme of things. I can only hope that someday they will send me their stories.

Prologue P.S.

I’m telling the story that happened to me. Yes, other people were there that I saw and talked to, but they all might just be made up or embellished. So don’t get yourself all worked up thinking that I’m talking about you and putting you in some book that anyone can read. Don’t be so serious. Remember, I’m just putting myself out there. I would never throw any of you under the tracks just to get someone to read my damn book. Please read my damn book! Don’t make it so it’s only my mother who reads the book. That would be sad for me.