Let’s Be Real Together

To this day, it is difficult for me to comprehend that I have lived an extraordinary life- for good and for bad. People read about my experiences and comment about how incredible it all is, how resilient and strong I am. People say I should write a book, or my life sounds like a Lifetime movie. And every time my brow furrows and my mind spins trying to understand. You see, it never seemed exceptional to me. It’s always just been my life. There was never an option not to live it.

I still feel baffled when people cannot relate to even the “regular” parts of my story. I once got into a conversation on an online forum where people were appalled that I’ve called the police several times in my life, for my own sake as well as others. I once called the cops because the employees of the tanning salon across the street from my apartment were kicking the shit out of a guy for some alleged infidelity against one of them. Or the time I called because there was an escort in the hallway of our complex refusing to leave. It wasn’t a trashy neighborhood, but these things still happened there. This all came up when I suggested someone file a police report about a situation she was in, and she said she didn’t know how. The people I was talking to had never witnessed violence, or crime, never had to face this side of life at all. The only way they could comprehend it was to make judgements about me, and where I made my home.

I’m still feeling like I’ll never fit in here, in this world of normalcy. I’m used to never having to bite my tongue because the people around me didn’t hesitate to talk about their mistakes, choices, or flaws. And they didn’t hesitate to tell you how they fought their way out, or how they are still struggling. But those were “less than savory” folks. Here, in “polite society” as it were, you don’t discuss such things. Or you have to wonder who your story will be passed on to, because your life is more entertaining than their own. Here, you laugh about a bottle of wine a night, because somehow it’s trendy and not alcoholism. And here people judge addicts and “know” how they behave based on what they see in movies or the news. But I can spot a functional addict from a mile away. Again, we don’t talk about it. Hush, hush Sasha, it’s not appropriate to discuss that one of your best friends in your life was a heroin dealer. And how absolutely fucking normal he seemed, except of course that you knew exactly why he took such long and frequent bathroom breaks. And when you tell people that you insisted that he stay with you, knowing exactly what he was doing and selling, those people can’t hide their disgust. How could you do such a thing, take such a risk for an addict? Because to them, an addict is something other. And to you addiction is something you’ve dealt with in so many forms, with so many loved ones, that you get a little outraged by the stereotypes. Yeah, my friends, my sisters, my mom, they’ve battled addiction. They never stopped being human.

You don’t discuss how many times your family members have been committed to the mental hospital. You don’t talk about how you babysat your nephew as often as you could when you were 14 because you heard your sister threaten to break his leg during a diaper change. Or how relieved you were when she gave up custody of her boys because she realized how awful and strung out she was. And how you respect her for that. You don’t talk about how your other sister has attempted suicide so many times that you can no longer tell when it’s from the depression and when it’s from the narcissistic need for attention. You don’t talk about the elaborate suicide note your mom once wrote when in reality she was hiding from the boss she’d been stealing from. Because my family is fucking crazy, ok, but yours isn’t and you think this is all so shocking. And I think you’re either oblivious or blessed, and I don’t know which and I’m not supposed to question it. Because we don’t discuss these things, Sasha, we pretend they don’t exist. We don’t talk about all the parents who are wicked narcissists, because we’d rather believe the facade, as if that actually helps anything other than our own conscience. Because it’s easier! It’s easier, you know, to walk around with our noses in the air and a spotless reputation. And it’s easier to discuss someone else’s drama than admit your own life is either boring, blessed, or a hidden shit show.

So here I find myself, living in a place for four years and still not feeling like I fit. Still not having a single friend to go have a coffee with because I don’t know how to pretend to be a “normal” person. And my life, while shocking to others, is just my life, and I don’t know what the hell else to talk about if I’m supposed to keep all that hidden. I don’t know how to do small talk. You can’t talk politics, or religion, you can’t talk about anything deep or personal. You can’t talk about being poor, because you’re supposed to pretend you’re not. You can’t talk about your experience if it doesn’t match the ideal. People either pity you or gossip about you. Or just flat out judge you. What’s left? I don’t know. I’ve never known and I probably never will. And I just wish all the stigma about all these things could just go away already. And I wish people could be trustworthy so that I could talk about my own life without becoming the evening entertainment for someone else. And I wish people could just be real and talk about what their lives are really like instead of putting on a facade that makes me feel like a freak of nature. Everyone but me can’t have lived a flawless life so far, it isn’t statistically possible.

So, hey, reach out! I’m here, and I want to hear your nitty-gritty. I want to hear your tragedy. I want to hear your mistakes, your regrets. I want to hear your longing. I want to hear what you really need to talk about but felt like you couldn’t discuss because you’d be judged. I want to hear what you never spoke aloud because you thought maybe it was trivial or crazy. I want to hear about your dreams, your passions. Those subjects that light you up and you can’t stop chattering about until you realize nobody’s listening. I’m listening! Fuck the taboos, fuck the stigma. Talk to me. The only way we’ll make this change, break these stigmas, is to just dive in and do it. Let’s be real together, and then, let’s heal together. Lose the shame, lose the judgment. Let’s just be who we are.