Love

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

I’ve been casually rereading The Princess Bride and ran across this again. I can’t imagine ever being able to say it any more poetically.

“I love you,’ Buttercup said. ‘I know this must come as something of a surprise to you, since all I’ve ever done is scorn you and degrade you and taunt you, but I have loved you for several hours now, and every second, more. I thought an hour ago that I loved you more than any woman has ever loved a man, but a half hour after that I knew that what I felt before was nothing compared to what I felt then. But ten minutes after that, I understood that my previous love was a puddle compared to the high seas before a storm. Your eyes are like that, did you know? Well they are. How many minutes ago was I? Twenty? Had I brought my feelings up to then? It doesn’t matter.’ Buttercup still could not look at him. The sun was rising behind her now; she could feel the heat on her back, and it gave her courage. ‘I love you so much more now than twenty minutes ago that there cannot be comparison. I love you so much more now then when you opened your hovel door, there cannot be comparison. There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quiet for you or sing for you, or if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do. I know I cannot compete with the Countess in skills or wisdom or appeal, and I saw the way she looked at you. And I saw the way you looked at her. But remember, please, that she is old and has other interests, while I am seventeen and for me there is only you. Dearest Westley–I’ve never called you that before, have I?–Westley, Westley, Westley, Westley, Westley,–darling Westley, adored Westley, sweet perfect Westley, whisper that I have a chance to win your love.’ And with that, she dared the bravest thing she’d ever done; she looked right into his eyes.”

Score for Humantiy

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

To the asshole that saw me drop my iPod today,

My best friend came looking for it 10 minutes later. Thankfully, you’d already scooped it up. You must be smarter than the average person I see rummaging through garbage cans, because you’d managed to complete a factory reset on it and make it your own by the time I got home from work. Thanks for stealing all my music, you giant sack of rotting horse shit. I guess returning things to their owner just proves to be too difficult for most.

Speaking Out

/ Lesley Rebecca / 3 Comments

I don’t know how else to beg, except to plead with you to share this post. After Audrie Pott’s suicide began making the rounds today, I found myself in an increasingly despondent state, wondering how we can stop this from happening to anybody else. The first step is speaking out.

Stubenville. The War on Women. Audrie Pott. Penn State…

In the last year, these things have been discussed to death, resurrected and put to death again. I’ve even written this post 30+ times in the interests of debating its effectiveness, but after reading about Audrie tonight, my heart is shattered. Her life was not over and neither is mine. None of the discussions we currently participate in are going to do any good until victims of sexual assault feel free to come forward and recognize that they are so much more than this moment.

Recently, I’ve been brutally honest with myself, thinking about my own hesitation to come forward, and what kind of limitations I’ve placed on my healing by refusing to outwardly acknowledge the impact of sexual assault on my life. I stand up for equal rights, for animals, against breast cancer…I even stand up for the Dallas Cowboys year after heartbreaking year, but April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and I want to stand up for myself and other victims of rape and abuse. I want to empower other men and women to come forward with their stories without feeling guilt and embarrassment. What you’re about to read is how I’m starting to do just that.

Rape. I can talk about it and lately it seems like everybody is. Until the last whisper of air is forced from my lungs, I will take up for victims, preach to them the importance of speaking out, and remind people that the fault lies with no one other than the perpetrator. However, what I haven’t been able to do until now is talk about my experience without feeling shame. I know what you’re thinking, “Rape? It wasn’t your fault.” And while I understand that it wasn’t my fault, I also know there’s a certain shame that accompanies feeling like I have to share my story in dark corners with hushed whispers. It doesn’t make talking about it any easier. Not because I think it was my fault, but because talking about it openly sometimes feels like the most isolating and horrifying thing I can do. To talk about it honestly means that I would have to open myself up to criticism, judgment, and admit something that has only passed my lips a handful of times in my life. I’m not ok.

If you’re reading this and we’re friends, you might have heard me mention it. There might have been a quiet moment when I spoke of it in passing. I might have admitted the same thing happened to me after you shared your story or maybe there was a night that we sat at the bar, had a few drinks, and the rum gave me hope that you wouldn’t judge me for it in the morning. In any case, I can almost guarantee what I said as soon as you told me how sorry you were. I told you that I was fine and that I’d been through a lot of therapy. Those were both lies. I haven’t been fine in years and although I went to therapy, I wouldn’t really say I went through it. I lied and told my therapist everything was fine, too. Enduring sexual abuse has taught me to play things close to the vest, so you shouldn’t feel slighted by my omission. I went to therapy and hid everything behind my wit, sarcasm, and self-deprecating humor; my specialties. I tried in vain to make myself out to be some kind of emotional superhero, who had magically been able to navigate the waters of recovery with deep thought and a couple of Dr. Phil books. In short, I was in denial.

I was so committed to the appearance of recovery that I even convinced myself I was ok, however, there have been tell-tale signs that I was, in fact, not. After a fairly abusive relationship and a string of bad decisions, I quit dating. I knew something was wrong with my ability to choose a suitable partner and, frankly, I hadn’t seen myself as worthy of anybody in a long time. I still find it nearly impossible to connect with anybody on an emotional level and I have a startle reflex that fills me with such violent anger that I nearly decked my eight year old nephew after he snuck up behind me in the kitchen one night. None of these are life skills I’m hoping to hang on to.

Some people will say the internet isn’t the forum to air things like this, but honestly, until you’re the one living with the aftermath of sexual assault, you’ll never understand how deafening the silence is. I’m not saying any of this for pity. I’m saying it because I’m finally tired of watching survivors carry the burden alone. Why should we? If we had been burglarized, mugged or punched in a bar, would we fear being blamed for the crime? Would we be afraid to talk about the scars we were learning to live with? We are not the ones that should feel shame or humiliation and this is not the end as we know it. I want to be open about what happened to me and encourage other people to be open about their experiences. I want to promote a world where people can come forward and get the help I wish I’d gotten for myself in the beginning. I’m not alone in this. None of us are. I spent a lot of time thinking about this the wrong way, but now I understand that talking about sexual assault isn’t going to isolate anyone. By encouraging others to speak out, it’s going to free us to heal others and allow ourselves to be healed.

Walt Grace and Me

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

I am in love with this song at the moment. I know it’s not typical of John Mayer, but I love storytelling songs and this inspires me. I feel like I’m on my own submarine ride right now.

Walt Grace, desperately hating his whole place,

Dreamed to discover a new space,

And buried himself alive,

Inside his basement, tongue on the side of his face meant,

He’s working away on displacement,

And what it would take to survive.

Cos when you’re done with this world,

You know the next is up to you.

And his wife told his kids he was crazy,

And his friends said he’d fail if he tried,

But with a will to work hard,

And a library card,

He took a homemade, fan-blade, one-man submarine ride.

That morning, the sea was mad and I mean it,

Waves as big as he’d seen it,

Deep in his dreams at home.From dry land,

He rolled it over to wet sand,

Closed the hatch up with one hand,

And peddled off alone.

Cos when you’re done with this world,

You know the next is up to you.

And for once in his life it was quiet,

As he learned how to turn in the tide,

And the sky was a flare,

When he came up for air,

In his homemade, fan-blade, one-man submarine ride.

One evening,When weeks had passed since his leaving,

The call she’d planned on receiving,

Finally made it home.She accepted,

The news she’d never expected,

The operator connected,

A call from Tokyo.

Cos when you’re done with this world,

You know the next is up to you.

Now his friends,

Bring him up when they’re drinking,

At the bar with his name on the side,

And they smile when they can,

As they speak of a man,

Who took a homemade, fan-blade, one-man submarine ride.

Doppleganger

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

“We didn’t get in a fight in a Circle K last night, did we?”

While I would hope that I always remember occurences like that, the insistence of the police officer had me questioning my own memory of last night and I had to ask my friend Jack if he remembered something I didn’t. He just looked at me like I was crazy, which is the look I normally get from him, so it didn’t do much to make me feel any better.

“I filed a police report for my stolen stuff and the cop was adamant that I was the girl she pulled out of Circle K this morning.”

“I don’t think so,” Jack replied.

“Good. I spent 20 minutes trying to convince her it wasn’t me. She said I was in there fighting with my boyfriend, who was tall and wearing plaid shorts. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I was wearing plaid shorts.” Jack suddenly looked a little scared.

“I know.”

Frankly, if somebody told me they’d seen the future and I was going to get into a heated argument in the middle of Circle K, I would assume it would be with Jack, so nothing about the cop’s story seemed uncharacteristic of me until she said the girl had taken her bra off and abandoned it in the convenience store. I’d never take my bra off in public. Except for that one time that I did..but that was just so I could throw it at Kiernan while she sang karaoke. So I might take my bra off, but I definitely would have put it back on. Plus, all of my bras are accounted for.

At this point, I’m left with two theories. One being that I have a twin on this tiny island or somehow Jack and I ended up simultaneously sleep walking, bumping into each other and getting into another argument. One is just as likely as the other down here.

Love. Everyone.

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

A lot of people have asked me how and why I picked up and moved 1400 miles away to a place where I didn’t have any friends. I’ve talked and joked about it for years, so it didn’t shock anybody that knows me well, but mostly it comes down to love.

In the last year I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. I’ve always considered myself a Christian, but I was never really dependent on organized religion. I never liked the idea of somebody else telling me what my relationship with God should be like. It seemed like that should have been between me and God. I have a brain and I can discern the difference between right and wrong…most of the time. If I can’t, there’s probably not a commandment for it anyway.

In the last year I’ve tried very hard to reconcile my personal beliefs with what I see happening in the world. I was raised with a pretty amazing mom who always showed me (not told me) that loving people, being kind and forgiveness were what it’s all about at the end of the day. They are the fundamental values of nearly every religion.

When I was in kindergarten in a small town in West Tennessee one of my best friends was a black girl whose mom knew my mom through nursing school or work. This is a town where even today I see racism that makes my skin crawl. When I was nine we were living in Austin, Texas, and one of my mom’s good friends was Sam. Sam and his partner were amazing and the day she took me to see them in the hospital as Sam was dying of AIDS has stuck with me more than she has probably ever realized.

Being different was never taboo to me, which ironically made me less tolerant of the intolerant.

When I started gravitating toward my gay friends at my first job, my mom initially wondered if I was a lesbian. I’m not, but I realize now it was because they were accepting and open. It’s been 16 years and I still call these people friends.

It’s not about what you are, it’s who you are. It’s all about learning to love people, all people, unconditionally. That love and tolerance of everybody is an amazing part of my new home. After being raised in the Bible Belt, I feel like I can breathe down here. The entire atmosphere has a more positive energy.

Granted, my friends in Nashville are some of the most amazing, loving people on earth and are in no way stereotypical, anti-gay marriage, Southerners, but that’s why I knew they’d be supportive of me now, and they’ve all exceeded my expectations.

This is all to say that I don’t understand people so full of fear and ignorance that they would modify a founding document to deny equal rights to people based on their sexuality. The last time they did something similar in 1875 it banned interracial marriage and we can see how that turned out.

If you’re so inclined to believe that God sent his only son to die for our collective sins, which frankly I don’t think I do anymore, why would you not be able to see the love he has for ALL of us? That love is what I do believe in. I can’t imagine doing anything that would make my mom turn her back on me and I can’t imagine God doing that to any one of us, either. Especially not because they chose to love.

I realize that my intolerance of the intolerant is contrary to what I’m writing, so today, instead of writing off North Carolina, I’m going to pray. I’m going to pray to the God I believe in that the people of North Carolina, and the world in general, will stop worrying so much about who’s right and wrong and start loving and treating each other as equals.

Thank you for the reminder, Nina. Love. Everyone.

Dear Cancer

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

Dear Cancer,

Six years ago, I was in a relationship the worst human being on earth. We’ll call him Clint. I am firmly convinced the only reason he doesn’t have a website dedicated to warning the world of his psychopathy is because people are afraid to mention his name after they finally excise him from their life…like Voldemort. He was emotionally abusive and left a shell of me in ruins. He was, by far, one of the worst things to ever happen to me in life.

There are two people that I credit with pulling me from the rubble. One of them is Diana. In the years since I met her, through Clint ironically, she has become a sister to me. She was the one glaring silver lining that I got out of my time with him and for that I am eternally grateful.

I love her so much I escorted all three of her girls (3yrs, 4yrs and 6yrs at the time) to DisneyWorld on my own so she could have a morning to chill out after being trapped with them for a week. That is hardcore devotion.

Today Diana was diagnosed with breast cancer. I am 1,000 miles away and can’t get to one of the people I would kill for without asking any questions. I want to hug her. I want to hug the girls. I want to be able to tell her that everything is going to be ok. I want to reassure her. I want to reassure myself.

I’m trying not to worry. She’s young. I’m sure they caught it early and breast cancer treatment has great success. These are the things I’m trying to focus on. I’m trying not to cry. I’m trying to push the fear from my mind. I’m trying…

So you see, Cancer, you can’t have this one. We’ve never formally met, but I can assure you I am every bit as stubborn as she is and I will help her fight you every step of the way.

Sincerely,

Lesley

Big Girls Don’t Cry

/ Lesley Rebecca / Leave a comment

When I was 10 I had a boyfriend named Zack. He was my boyfriend for two days.

It was a thrilling proposal. I think my friend Jennifer was more excited that me about the prospect of us “going together” and it was the equivalent of an arranged marriage in my world. Jennifer asked him if he wanted to go out with me, then turned and asked me if I wanted to go with him and…POOF! I had a boyfriend. To celebrate a bunch of us kids went to play in the creek that ran behind our suburban Austin homes. That’s  when I sliced my foot open on a rock. I didn’t cry in spite of the pain, but I also wouldn’t let Zack comfort me.

I begged some of the other kids to go get my mom and eventually she appeared, pulled me from the large stone I had perched on in the middle of the creek and helped me hobble to the car.

I never talked to Zack again and we moved to Nashville two days later. (Zack, if you’re reading this, you should know I’ve moved on and you should, too.)

It occurred to me that I did the same thing today, 23 years later. Only this time, when I need my mom, she’s not really thrilled to find out I’m in a bind. In fact today was the first time I’ve talked to her in the eight days since I totaled my car. I was with a friend when she called me this afternoon and as I hung up the phone I fought back the well of tears struggling to surface in my eyes and shrugged off the comfort offered from someone who was trying to help. I’m in this one alone, but what bothers me more is that there’s nobody around I can even cry to.