PMDD Hell - In the moment

PMDD – This is ME - in the moment...

I am sitting at work – suffering. PMDD ruins my life for 7 to 10 days of each month. Today it hit hard (at least 7 days to go!!)! I feel like I want to die…or have a hysterectomy. I would never say that lightly – I know how serious that is (I watched many loved ones go through it). I can’t suffer like this anymore. I have not felt this out of control and agitated in a long time. I am extremely weak, light-headed, angry, emotional, anxious, brain fogged (I just tied to leave someone a business voicemail and had a hard time getting my words out). A work friend just called and I started to cry. Another colleague wanted to have a brief meeting – but I know I am too irritated to sit with her. My eyes are glassed over and I am pale. Plus I have terrible lower back pain for about 8 days each month…I feel like I am losing a kidney! Ok, that was a little dramatic - ok, all of this is dramatic...that is what PMDD is like in the moment (Welcome my dear friends, welcome). I am seeing the gyno tomorrow – made them squeeze me in. I also have a blood test in the am from my psychiatrist – for EVERYTHING under the sun. He ordered this before I hit bottom a few days ago. This is my 3rd cycle on Loestrin24 and clearly it is not cutting it. I was on Yaz – and while it seemed to really help with the sever mood swings – my doctor took me off of it due to migraines and lack of a period. I did not get my period for over 7 months. And while she was not really concerned because your period is not real to start with when you are on a pill…she wanted to try something else. I’m dying here people. I have been reading PMDD books. I have lost weight and changed my diet. I am walking more. I take Omega 3s and Calcium which should help with my mood. I went to bed at 9:45pm. I am doing everything I can to combat the beast which is PMDD. It affects my job and everything about me. Feeling like this flashes me back to when I had Serotonin Syndrome or a conflict with my thyroid. I can’t do this anymore! – Keep ya posted…and if you never hear from me again…I have jumped off the PMDD Bridge! Ahhhhhhh!

The Facebook Series - Chapter 2 - Sex!

SEX!

It is 13 years this month since I have had sex. I am saying it out loud. My last impassioned evening was in a LAX motel room – with crunchy sheets and a stained comforter. Talk about hot sex. Yikes. I was 25 years old and out in LA for my Grandma Yetta’s funeral. I had been out there a year earlier to say goodbye to her. My Dad gave me a choice – “You can either see your Grandmother now, while she is still alive or you can come to her funeral, but you can’t do both – I can’t afford it”. The doctors gave my ailing Grandmother only a few weeks to live. I chose to see her alive. My father hated his mother. Grandma Yetta was a manic-depressive – otherwise known as Bipolar. Lucky me – the gene has traveled through the generations and has landed right into my brain. Ugh. Yetta spent most of my Father’s childhood in and out of mental institutions getting electric shock therapy and was quite difficult even in her not-so-golden years. My Dad spent many years living with either his equally as crazy Russian grandmother or living in a cramped apartment in Coney Island with several cousins. My father could afford to travel me back and forth to LA several times if he chose to (I didn’t have my own money at the time – I had just gotten my own apartment and was working at the GAP), he just didn’t know how to handle saying goodbye to his mother. He was angry at her for a life filled with pain and for being a financial burden. My Dad had been taking care of my Grandmother and my Bipolar Aunts since the 70’s.

So, off we went to LA – to say goodbye to Grandma. I barely remember the goodbye…I hadn’t been close with her for several years – the Jewish guilt and yelling at me for not calling was a lot to take. The upside to the trip was seeing Jim. Jim was a high school boyfriend. We had dated for only a few weeks when I was 16 years old – but it was boarding school – so a few weeks in boarding school life was more like a few months at a "normal" school. I was a prude when I was 16 years old. Jim and I would make-out, but nothing further. He never pressured me. I wore his preppy XL sweater almost everyday and loved the smell of his Polo cologne. Jim was heavy and made me feel small. He had the same build as his Dad who was a pro football player…his face was warm and handsome. By mid fall Jim and I were ready for a dramatic break-up. I wanted to dump him, but he was a fragile guy. He had told me once that he always got dumped….so I was waiting for him to make that move. Finally he did. We were standing in front of my white colonial New England dorm. I could hear the girls chatting just up the stairs. He said it was over and I exhaled with relief. I told him I was proud of him and kissed him on the cheek. My first boarding school romance was complete. As I headed up the stairs to my room I could feel the stares from the girls with the preppy blunt bobs. I didn’t understand what they were looking at…was it me…was it all that dramatic….then I turned around and saw it…it wasn’t me they were staring at…it was Jim at the bottom of the stairs making-out with one of my dorm mates. “We didn’t want to tell you, but ummmm – we heard she gave him a blowjob down by the docks”. This was it…the big teen moment that can either make or break your popularity. I had to react perfectly…make a scene, but be in control. Deep down I didn’t even care…but my performance was stellar. “How could you! And with that slut!” I ran past Jim (I couldn’t muster up the tears…but I was good at the furious part). I could feel him chasing me…and just before I would have been out of view of the gathering crowd I turned, bent down, picked up the loose gravel at my feet and threw it at him. “I will never speak to you again, and to think that I was waiting for you to break-up with me! You are a weak loser. I wanted to dump you weeks ago. Grow a pair!” – With that...I gave the gravel one last kick in his direction and walked away.

The next morning the school was a buzz…and I was the feature story. As I walked into the grand halls of our beloved Academic Center I could see crowds around the bulletin boards. As I got closer and leaned in I could see that it was a letter from Jim…to me! Plastered all over the place. He never said my name or his…but the letter started with “Can you please forgive me – don’t believe all of the rumors…” and ended with “Tonight I contemplate suicide”. As I read the last line for a second time my mind slowly started to process what Jim was saying....the hand of Mr. Weeks (as if in slow motion) – reached in front of me and tore the letter from the board. “Wait! That letter is to me!” I didn’t know if I was in trouble - but I did end up in Mr. Weeks’ office sharing the whole story – sans the blowjob detail. Jim was fine and given detention for his overly dramatic stunt. I spent the rest of the year single and proudly not speaking to him…I needed to drag out the drama for the remainder of our Junior year.

Senior year started with a bang. I was hanging out in the butt lounge smoking with the other cool kids. The butt lounge was a desired spot. Back in 1987 you were aloud to smoke on campus in a designated location IF you had a letter from your parents. I had manipulated my parents into signing a release form while they were busy arguing about some stupid crap. Many girls came up to me asking if it was true – did I date Jim last year? I didn’t understand why every girl on campus suddenly cared about chubby Jim…then I saw him…holy crap…he was HOT! Jim spent his summer finding his passion for cycling. His California tan, cut off shorts and flips flops had every girl wagging. I loved the attention and decided I would take control of the situation by picking the perfect girl for Jim…this was fun. I had narrowed it down to 3 – then walked up to Jim and broke our nearly 8 month silence. He was so happy to have me back in his life – he didn’t care what it was about. It went right over his head that he was now a hotty. I finally talked him into to asking out Pam. She was a cute, down-to-earth, cubby PG (Post Graduate) with the most amazing blue eyes. PGs are students that have already graduated from another High School – but need one more year to get their grades up so they can attend a better university. Pam and Jim dated the entire year and even part way through their first 2 years of college! I was a good Yenta.

During their college break-up Jim reached out to me through letters. (This was before email…damn…I’m old!). The letters started off friendly…and soon turned to passion. As the letters heated up – the mix-tapes started to arrive. Jim poured his heart out through words, drawings and music. He went onto to reveal that he wished it was me that he took to the prom – not Pam. The letters were even hilarious at times. The only reason Jim did not pressure me into sex was because I was Jewish! He thought that Jewish girls didn’t have sex – he didn’t get that I was a prude and it had nothing to do with religion…more to do with the fat around my stomach! We started to talk on the phone – by then I had my sexual sea-legs and was ready to call him to the challenge. “Hey Jim, maybe one day we’ll see each other and I’ll fuck your brains out.” We were horny and on opposite coasts. I loved getting letters from him…they made me feel sexy and desired. Suddenly the challenge was upon us…my Grandmother was sick and I was in LA.

Jim and I met in the lobby of the Four Seasons where I was staying with my parents. We headed off in his dirty pick-up truck. Jim was still living at home at the time…so we had nowhere private to go. We parked the blue dented truck on the Pacific Coast Highway and went at it. First the kissing, then the bra, then the rubbing…then…then…the cops. Flashing lights behind us and a speaker “There’s no parking on the PCH”. Oh my GOD! This was out of a movie…I quickly closed my shirt and snapped back into the moment…my Grandmother was dying and I was making out in a nasty pick-up truck with a guy I haven’t seen in 6 years. Yikes. We zipped, snapped, hooked, buttoned and called it a night. I wished him well – and headed up to bed.

My Grandmother lived much longer then the doctor’s expected…a year. By then she was not the only sick one in the family. I had cancer. I had completed chemotherapy and was about to start radiation. Jim and I did not speak much that year…once I got sick…he checked out – as many people did in my life that couldn’t deal. I wanted to attend my Grandmother’s funeral. My father quickly softened and not only flew me out to Cali, but also my brother. I stayed at my Aunt’s apartment and tried to provide her some comfort – even in her deeply depressed state (she was on a Bipolar down swing). My father suggested I stay in California with my Aunt for at least a week. She needed the company and in his words “You deserve a break from being sick”. I took him up on the offer. I also knew this meant I would have a chance to see Jim – and finally make good on our sexual promises.

On my last night in LA Jim picked me up at my Aunt’s assisted living apartment and took me out to dinner. Thai food – his favorite. We had it all planned out this time. We booked a room near the airport so I could catch my early morning flight with no complications. Jim brought all of the romantic accessories - candles, lotion, condoms and massage oil. We took a shower together first…to wash the Thai stink off of us and to calm our nerves. This was the first time we were seeing each other naked. My hair was starting to grow back from Chemo – but it was fuzzy and it was hard for me to feel sexy. I was starting radiation in a few days and it was difficult to focus on the task at hand…getting laid. Jim did everything possible to please me…but with all of the chemo in my system, plus anti-depressants – it was like I was numb down there. It was a long steamy night with little satisfaction for me, but I loved being next to him. I still found him very cute.

Once I arrived back in NY – my treatments started up again – radiation started on Halloween of 1995. The letters from Jim returned to their weekly flow – he no longer feared I was going to die – now that he had seen me – he was able to cope. More mix-tapes…this time his message was clear. He was in love with me. He hoped to marry me someday. I found myself taken back. As much as I cared for Jim…sadly I did not love him. On New Years Eve Jim called to tell me he loved me over the phone…I could not lie…and I told him the truth – “Jim, I’m sorry – I wish I could love you, but I don’t”. Jim was devastated. I was relieved. He stopped calling and the letters stopped as well. We lost touch.

I have dated less then a handful of guys since cancer – 13 years ago. At first I was self conscious about my scars and my weight. I gained a lot of weight during chemo (not everyone becomes a sickly rail – my luck - I added 30 pounds and was topping 200 lbs). I started to fear the idea of being touched. The antidepressants in my life killed my libido – and eventually I didn’t care anymore. Masturbation was also a rarity.

At one point in my life I wanted kids…but now I am glad that I don’t have any. I used to say it would be nice to be in the game so I at least had the option of having children…or at least falling in love. Now – no matter what – don’t want them. It is time to stop passing the Bipolar gene in my family. Battling mental illness for the past 5 years – like my Aunts and Grandmother before me has been hell. I do hope to care enough to have sex again someday. At this moment it is about baby steps. I first need to start socializing with my friends again…and maybe it is time to buy a new vibrator. (smirk)

As for Jim – we reconnected on Facebook a few months ago. He was in a long-term relationship with a very controlling and abusive older woman. Pam gave me the details via email. Today is his 39th birthday. He is living with his parents and works as a fair grounds security guard. A few nights a week he is a Reggae DJ – which is his passion. We could not be more different. He sends me cyber hugs and pokes on Facebook almost weekly and I can feel him longing for me…he is lonely. I have no interest…I am embarrassed of my current mental state and can’t imagine myself with a security guard who smokes pot daily. He is warm and wounded – and I am shallow, single and bitter. I still have every letter Jim ever sent me – tied up in a bow in a box on a shelf…just like my sex life - maybe to be taken down someday and touched…

The Facebook Series Chapter I - Part II (Childhood Friend)

(Please read Part I – dated September 28, 2008)

December 1994, I had finally moved out of my parent’s apartment and I was living with a random French girl, Sofie, whom I met through an ad in the Village Voice. The apartment was tiny, but at least I had a cool exposed brick wall in my bedroom. My Ikea fashioned room was always hot…so hot that I had my radar removed by the Super. I would wake-up drenched every night. I would wander around the apartment opening every window to let the winter air in. It drove my roommate crazy. I was working at the GAP, but not on the floor. I was more “corporate”, but don’t really remember what my title was at the time. They kept trying to suck me into the GAP culture as a manager, but I was certain that I would leave soon and either return to film school (that I had recently dropped out of)…or land a job in television or talent representation.

Audrey and I spoke a few times a week and I had even made trips out to New Jersey to visit her. It was weird being back in her home, the same smells, the same bedroom, the same view of my old house and my Mom’s sewing room. I was depressed during that time. Actually, severely depressed. I recall missing a few days work (maybe even a week)…I just couldn’t get out of bed. One night I pushed myself to get out of the house (it was just before Christmas)… a childhood friend and his older brother were visiting from Boston. We were neighbors in Cape Cod where we had a family summer home for 20 years. It was an odd night with crazy details for another story. The most important detail of that night was that I had a terrible cold and seriously swollen glands. So swollen that I could see a lump protruding from the left side of my neck. I starred at my neck in the bathroom mirror in the restaurant for about 20 minutes. When I got home that night my roommate was still up and her Mother, who was a Doctor, was visiting from France. I asked her to check my neck and Sofie did all of the translating for us. Her Mother told me (in French) that it was nothing, just a swollen gland from the cold and not to worry. I was not a fan of Doctors, most likely because of my Mother’s death and fear of illness, so I avoided them whenever possible. My only concern at that time was that my family was going on a big vacation to Mexico to celebrate my Father’s 60th birthday and I didn’t want to get an earache on the plane. The next day I showed up at work and immediately called the Doctor. When I asked my boss to leave for a few hours she was pissed. Again, I had been missing a lot of work. She told me there was no coverage and if I left, I would be fired. I made several calls and found someone to come in. She was still threatening me, but I left anyway. I must have known that something was truly wrong – to risk my job over a swollen gland just so I could be healthy for Mexico - well it wasn’t really my style.

I had not seen Dr. Gersh in quite some time. He saved my Dad’s life a few years earlier – so I felt like I was in goods hands – it was comforting to see his face, but I was still nervous being in a doctor’s office. The space was getting old and dingy - but still had that prestigious uptown address. It was a quick exam. I pretty much just told him I had a bad cold and was going to need something for my congestion, especially on the plane. He is usually so thorough, but I think he got distracted as I talked about my Dad’s upcoming 60th and how grateful I was to him. He told me to take some Sudafed on the plane and I should be fine. As I was hoping off the table, I said “Oh, I forgot to tell you I also have this really swollen gland”. He felt my neck and quickly changed his tone. “We need to get a blood test, some urine, a chest x-ray and a possible biopsy…use this cup”. Then he left exam room. I stood there in my paper gown shivering, confused, concerned, and lonely. Suddenly I felt very grown up. After I got dressed I went into Dr. Gersh’s cozy dim office. I had never been so direct and mature. “Dr. Gersh? What are your fears and concerns?” My voice was very grounded. He paused and searched my face to see if I could take it, “I believe you have Hodgkin’s or Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.” I sat down. I told him about Audrey. I knew that Hodgkin’s was the “good cancer” and Non-Hodgkin’s was the “bad cancer”. It all made sense, the depression was a side-effect of the cancer, so were the night sweats.




The next few days were a whirlwind not just for me, but for everyone around me…especially my Dad. I had cancer. The details of this time will all be revealed at another time on this blog…but this my dear friends is The Facebook series…so back to the tale at hand. I called Audrey that night and told her the news. “Audrey, I think we need to go on Oprah.” That’s how I found the way to break the news to her. It was way earlier in my diagnosis – it was still just a lump, but my doctor was SO certain that I had some form of cancer and unfortunately he would be right. Audrey and I had the same disease, the same stage, the same everything. We went through it together. Our roles flopped again, now she was the Mother / advisor. She went through everything 4 months ahead of me. We actually went wig shopping together. 24 and 25 years old. Wig shopping.

I truly thought that cancer would change Audrey. That she would become less self-absorbed. We maintained the friendship for about a year. As Audrey healed and her hair began to grow back she decided she wanted to become a make-up artist and a model. I was still going through my battle, but since I had taken photography in film school I offered to do some test shots of her for a comp card. She quickly got signed to an agency in New Jersey (wasn’t quite NY fashion ready). Her agent actually loved my work and offered to hire me as one of their test photographers. I told them when I was healthy I would give them a call. I never did…but that was pretty exciting. A good friend of mine, who was a well known New York musician, was prepping for his own photo shoot and needed a make-up artist. I got Audrey the job. On the set she yelled at me in front of my friend a number of times. My friend who never gets involved with girl drama told me that he could not believe the way she was speaking to me. She was back to her bossy spoiled ways and I wanted no part of it – we had been through too much. That night when I confronted her over the phone, with my usual tears, she yelled at me and told me to get over it. That I was too sensitive. The disagreement got nasty. We both said some pretty hurtful things…that I don’t even remember today. We NEVER spoke again. I guess we just needed each other during that time, but both knew it wasn’t meant to be. That was over 13 years ago.

Over the years I kept tabs on Audrey through my Aunt B, just wanted to make sure she was healthy. I even saw her on the street once. I ducked to the other side of the street. She was working in the beauty industry and was wearing way too much make-up, but she looked healthy. Her hair was long again, and she was still beautiful.

About 5 weeks ago I started to reconnect with the few friends I had from my hometown on Facebook. I didn’t even bother to type in her name. But I did find Elana. I sat there starring at the computer screen. To friend or not to friend….. Did I want to open up that can of worms? Who did Elana grow up to be? I felt so guilty for the way I treated her all of those years. Finally I clicked and made the friend request. She replied within minutes. She was so excited. So sweet. When I opened her page I found a link to her personal website. I could not believe what I was seeing! There was Elana’s homepage, and there she was…bald. She had cancer. 38 years old and battling breast cancer. My eyes filled up with tears and I yelled out loud “No, No NO!” How could it be that 3 out of the 4 little girls that played together almost everyday had cancer in their 20’s and 30’s? I was angry. I was afraid for Elana. I worried about Katie! Elana and I have been in touch via Facebook and several emails. We don’t think our cancers are related. She is the 3rd generation on her Mother’s side to have breast cancer – but by far the youngest. We do believe that Audrey’s and my cancer are linked. There was a girl across the street from us and few years older that had Hodgkin’s disease as well. Elana is doing more research on this. She will be in the NY area over Thanksgiving and I plan on seeing her. She doesn’t remember anyone being mean to her as a child. She has either blocked it out or is too embarrassed to share otherwise, but I did say I am sorry.

The PMS Plung!

What the frig?!? I was doing great. I was happy. Conquering my fears of the subway with a smile. Then the hormones started to brew. Last night after my CBT session I hopped a subway - knowing full well that I was on edge from lack of sleep and PMS. It was just too much. The train was moving too fast. My heart was racing. It was packed and I had to hold on with both hands and just breathe. My ipod was too loud. Then too soft. The music was too fast, then too mellow. Nothing was right. I wanted to jump from the train..."just get to my stop already. Oh come on already, ok, ok...you're gonna be ok". Finally the train stops...but I need to transfer...not there yet. Through the packed Times Square Station at rush hour. Panic attack. keep moving...

I have been suffering from PMDD for over 2 years now. I have been on YAZ and I am now on Loestrin24. Now, I don't want to send my male blog readers running for the hills. "Ahhhh, she said vagina!" - ok, no. Get over it...this is about being bipolar and at times...yes, being a chick. Oops. This is also about a downward spiral that is out of my control. I get very sick each month - sick in the mental sense. PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder) is what it says - DISPHORIA! Learn about it here: http://pmdd.factsforhealth.org/
I completely lose it each month! I can't function. Some months it is for 10 days! This month so far it has been 4 days - 2 have been really bad. My psychiatrist does not want me on "the pill" for my PMDD - he feels that hormones should not be messed with. I have tried to go without it and it was a disaster. My gyno wants me on the pill - they never seem to agree. So I am trying Loestrin24. My guess is that I will suffer around 6 days this month. That is better then 10. I feel like I don't know where to turn. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

The Know You're Bipolar When....

You know you're bipolar or PMS when The Hills makes you cry. What is that?!?!

The Facebook Series Chapter 1 – Part I

If you are apart of the Facebook culture then you have experienced the exciting reunions with old classmates, neighborhood pals and perhaps former lovers. You may have also gotten the awkward friend request from someone you don’t want back in your life. This new culture has unearthed both the good and bad in relationship etiquette. Now, I am sure I am not the first person to chitter chat about this new culture on their blog, but many of my reconnections have been extreme tales - stay with me here...I know the first tale is long, but trust me it is a doozy. I will break it into a 2 parter. I have seen this exciting revolution bring me to the brink of absolute giddiness over random reconnections and it has also brought out the painful sorrow of deep down guilt. Here's one of those connections.



PART 1 (of 2)

I will start with my childhood next door neighbor. Ah, but which one....that mystery will unfold as we go. My hometown is 35 minutes outside of New York City. It's an idealistic New Jersey community with tons of ethnic and economic diversity, yet most of my block was Jewish. It’s the kind of town that doesn’t have a “downtown”, but rather a “Village”. My block was stunning and trimmed with real gas street lamps, it still is. (It is now known as the Historic District, which cracks me up). I was lucky to have 4 best friends on my block. 3 of us were the same age and one was 1 year older. Our colonel houses were in a row. It could not have been more perfect. We didn’t even need to cross the street to play. We could run from yard to yard with no interference. We even managed to create the world's sweetest Slip-n-Slide you have ever seen....yard to yard! For the sake of my own privacy (I won’t pretend it is for them) I will be using fictional names. The girl in house number 1 was the oldest, the tallest, the prettiest, the bossiest, a bit of a snob and my best-friend, Audrey. She had silky brown hair that flowed to her butt. It was the 70's and that was cool! The next house was me, short, artsy and very sensitive. I was a "natural" auburn back then with big brown eyes and freakles. The third house was Elana, spoiled, chubby and had the best toys. She also had great clothes. The last house was Katie, she was a bit of a book worm with a strict mother that scared the shit out of us, so we didn’t play with her as often. Audrey and I were by far the closest. My Mother died when I was 6 years old and just starting the first grade. Audrey, at only 7 years old, tried to take on the role of Mother. It was more then your average game of "house". I had a loving house-keeper at that time, but I remember Audrey making me oatmeal for breakfast and walking to school with me. I can’t image what that must have been like for her…watching your best-friend’s Mother die at such a young age…it must have been a terrifying reality.

Whenever we would play with Elana it would be fun…but we were mean. We would always leave a mess behind in Elana’s house so that she would get in trouble and we honestly just used her for her toys. I also remember us calling her names. Looking back I must have been hurting so much from the death of my Mom, that I took it out on my poor neighbor to the left. As we got older and our bodies changed – we got meaner. We toilet papered her house and made prank phone calls late at night. When I was alone with Elana I actually liked her…and we would have a blast (I think these moments are what Elana chooses to remember today). We liked many of the same things; we loved to sing together, ride bikes in her driveway and make-up dance routines. I just felt like I had to keep it a secret…she was the loser of the block…the kid that got bullied, and sadly, I was one of those bullies. I moved from that block when I was 11 years old. My Dad was getting remarried and we needed a bigger house since our family was doubling in size. The new house was in an affluent part of town “up the hill”. I did not hang out with those girls again and I eventually went off to boarding school a few years later.

I saw Audrey a handful of times over the years. Our Father’s played poker together every Monday night for almost 40 years and when the Jewish High Holidays rolled around there was always a chance I would see her at Yom Kipper Break Fast over a bagel with lox. Those poker guys were more like Uncles - so "family" holidays were often spent with the same cast of characters. I miss those guys today - a few have since passed away. When I would see Audrey at these holiday events it was usually awkward. I would linger in another room until we were forced to cross paths. When I moved away – she was hurt. I was getting a step-sister and that’s a role that she had always played – or wanted to. She didn’t know her place anymore and as much as we wanted to maintain the friendship, she was a year older, into being popular and a bit of a J.A.P. – it just wasn’t a fit. I always found her to be self absorbed and at times down right mean. We went to the same middle school and we did acknowledge each other in the halls with a slight nod. She was also in the same grade as my step-sister – that was just weird. We eventually stopped speaking to each other. There was no big blowout fight, it was just too hard. I would see Elana in school, but we were in different cliques, actually I’m not sure Elana had any friends. Katie went to private school in another town.

About 11 years later I was 24 years old and living with my parents in Soho (they moved out of New Jersey when all of their kids finished school). I was about to move into my own apartment on 29th street…but trust me, I didn’t want to go. I was living rent free and it was the most fabulous apartment in NYC. It was a Monday night…poker night. My Dad still made the trip to New Jersey for the weekly game. The same group of guys. Like any other Monday my Dad would get home around mid-night. It was always the same routine, he would say goodnight as he passed the lower level den and head off to bed. On that night he walked past, said goodnight and headed up the stairs…but turned around with news to share. “I have sad news about your old friend Audrey”. A shiver went through my entire body. I had a dream about Audrey the night before. I had not thought about her for years. In my dream we were in our childhood houses. My Mother’s sewing room faced Audrey’s bedroom window about 50 yards away. We were our adult selves…the dream was like a silent movie. I was trying to reach out to Audrey’s hand, but I could not touch it. “She doesn’t want anyone to know, but she has cancer”, my Dad said, “So, don’t reach out to her”. He actually said those words “don’t reach out to her”. I was completely freaked out. I told my Dad about my dream through tears and we agreed that I had to reconnect with Audrey. I was afraid for her. The next day I called my Aunt B. – she was best friends with Audrey’s Mother and she would tell me what to do. She immediately gave me the green light and said that Audrey just needed a friend right now.

Audrey and I were fine, we picked up like we were 10 years old again. She was terrified and it was my turn to be the Mother. She had Hodgkin’s Disease – stage 2b. As we caught up on our lives it turned out that we were on a similar career path in the entertainment industry. Although she wanted to be a writer she had just left her job as an assistant with a Talent Manager in the New York. I had interviewed for HER job just a few weeks earlier – not realizing at that time that it was her job. I recalled the manager saying that her assistant “Audrey” was leaving to work for Howard Stern. I was offered the position, but the hours conflicted with my schedule in film school. Audrey and I chatted for about 3 hours that night. She was starting chemo the next day and just needed to talk it out. She was 25 years old, back living with her parents…and very sick. I asked her if she was going to write about her journey with cancer since she was an aspiring writer, but she said it was too painful to put down in words. That night when we hung up the phone I started a journal for her. I have no idea where that journal is now…but I remember my first entry very well, “Audrey is starting chemo tomorrow, God I am so afraid for her, I would rather die then go through something like that.” Those words would come back to smack me in the face about 4 months later....


(End of Part I - The Facebook Series)
Stay tuned to find out who in this tale I reconnect with. Does Audrey survive? Why would my words come back to haunt me? Whatever happened to the girl we bullied?....

I can bust a move!

Another good day. I seem to be the 48 hour subway queen and still riding strong baby.

Tonight's tale is brought to you by Cracker Barrel & Gallo wines.
This evening we had a rare work gathering over some cheap wine and cheese (note the not-so-witty Cracker Barrel reference). The head of our department was in New York from LA and we were in need of some serious departmental bonding. Well - she brought along a little surprise guest with her (to rattle the nerves of every intern and assistant in the room) - the President of our extremely large and public media corporation. There were about 20 people in the room - so it was quite intimate and there was nowhere to hide. I saw many 23 year olds sweating and one side of the room cleared just to make room for her. (I must note that she had the most fabulous shoes on). We were asked to go around the room and say who we are...what we do...and one thing about ourselves that people would be surprised to know. My manic brain suddenly popped up the most random thing imaginable...something my parents don't even know. I don't even know how my brain filtered this particular segment of my life and I was already laughing when I shouted out that I HAD to go first! I built up the suspension...I told them that NO ONE knows this...not my family, not my best friends....not even my shrink (you know that got a big laugh)...
(Oh Manic Blogger would you friggen tell us already?!?!). I (my dear friends) - was in a break dance crew in 1983. To know me now....well you would die. I am 230 lbs, Jewish and have the biggest tits you have ever seen. I painted the visual and talked about my signature moves...the robot and the worm. I was only upstaged by one woman who has half a sewing needle stuck in her knee and it will be there for the rest of her life. Damn needle injury will win every time. Bitch.