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.

Holy Crap! Bush Block!

Ok...I may need to thank Mr. President and the lovely Governor Palin for creating the worst grid-lock in New York City history and maybe for curing me. What am I talking about...you maybe asking your pretty self. Well, of course I'll tell ya.... I am never shy of a good rant...or clear personal drama. After-all it all revolves around me. (smirk)
OK....sigh...ok (still a bit worked up). If you are one of my 5 lovely blog followers (thank you repeat customers - I do love ya) you know that I have major panic issues with walking the streets or taking the subway. Slight problem if you live in NYC. Well, on this lovely fall morning I got a cab to work - like any other day (oh my poor broke ass!). BUT, ugh...BUT (ok,getting worked up again)The UN General Assembly is in session (let's hear it for world peace...never mind that Bipolar lady in Gramercy Park who is trying to get to mid-town and fast!). This session includes world leaders like President Bush, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Sara Palin (wait...what? I said WORLD leaders...yikes!) - so security is SUPER tight all over the city. The city shut down so many streets that there was/is insane grid-lock like no other I tell ya. I have never EVER seen traffic like this. 14 dollars and 30 minutes later - we were NOWHERE - an actual circle! 5 blocks from my house. I was running late for work, the big boss lady is in town and I had no choice...but (wait for it)...but (here it comes)to TAKE A SUBWAY! A what? A who? I started to cry in the back of the cab (such a poor dear). I kept telling myself that this would be good for me and to push forward. So I did.

The last time I was on a subway was early July with my Exposure Therapy Doctor (trust me...I have a friggen team!). It was about 96 degrees that day and we stupidly got in the only car with no air-conditioning (Manic Blogger internal dialogue alert) "Gee...I wonder why that car is empty -let's get in that one - so we have lots of room - that will keep me calm" (sucker). I kind of flipped out...I couldn't breath....I had too many layers on that I would not take off - suffer or show my fat arms...I will always choose to suffer. There was this woman just sitting there reading her paperback novel and I wanted to yell "Lady, what the fuck? It is 102 degrees in here...there's no air....get out! RUN!". All the while my doctor is smiling at me and telling me to breath with my abdomen. In through the nose, and out through the mouth and repeat. I was pissed at my doctor when we got out at the next stop (panting - looking quite attractive may I add)...I told him that he blew it (nicely of course)....I would never take a subway again. OK...a bit dramatic...but what was he thinking pushing me on such a hot day? Feh. Before that day I had not been on the subway in about a year.

So, back to today. I was OK. A touch stressed...but really OK. What? Who said that? The funny thing is (as if this was not all ridiculous to start with)...my subway ride is only 6 minutes! I'm such a dork. My chemicals are clearly WAY more balanced now (god bless Trileptal). This could be the big breakthrough me and my doctor have been waiting for (maybe all will be forgiven). Such drama...but a good tale.

So, you maybe asking yourself..."Oh Manic Blogger, how did you get home tonight?" - well my dear friend(s) - I TOOK THE SUBWAY HOME! TADA!

End Scene.

Serotonin Syndrome

BACKSTORY again - If you read my last entry (which you should because I somehow managed to be a bit funny) - I shared a panic story from hell (or Times Square - same thing). I forgot to mention how I got better (ish)! It turns out that I was suffering from Serotonin Syndrome. Serotonin syndrome - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia - My Doctor is a bit of a genius and figured it out in about 10 minutes. I was on 3 meds that had Serotonin in them - even just trace amounts. A beta-blocker, Trazodone, and Wellbutrim (I think...I am trying to remember). Just a reminder of how much this can be chemical - forgive yourself (please). I really saw the other side of sanity that bitter night. I hope to never see it again. It took about 2 weeks from me to get the maddening Serotonin levels out of my system. I was suffering for about 2 months without knowing it. I had to have an intern or an assistant walk me out of the building every night (can you imagine working for such a nutty boss - I told them I had health issues...which is not really a lie - I terrified them...I think they thought I was dying). I could no longer take the escalator - so they had to bring my down to street level through the freight elevator, which was also the secret celebrity entrance. They would hold my arm - and watch me shake and have to take mini steps to the lobby. Then one of them would stay behind to hail a cab for me. On the below evening - they were both not in the office...so I had to go it alone (I hid all of this from my boss!). I did call a dear friend to come get me...but she was confused and went to my apartment downtown. I felt too bad to have her come up to mid-town so I lied and told her I was fine. I had to lie about many things during that time.