6

Layers within layers, false identities within made-up images.

Talk about a case of arrested development.

The funny thing is, even during this whole time of vanity & pride (sorry for the lame terms but come to find out, that's what it's called) ...I created a whole NEW image, even within that one. It's the one I came up with when I quit drill team. The hippie chick. I thought I was more in-touch with myself that way. And I guess in a lot of ways, I was. I was being myself. I gave up a certain crowd and a certain image, and I relaxed. But it was also an invented identity.

My teen years were a paper-thin shell. The outside looked nice but the inside was empty and lost and hurting.

I suppose my whole hang-up with identity was a real weakness back in the day. I had no idea who I really was, seeing as how I worked so hard to cover it up and hide it.

We are always attacked in our weakest spot.

My mind was fragile and weak.

When I had the abortion in 1988, over the course of the next few months my mind began to be affected. I was shattered. I don't know exactly when it happened. All I know is, after discovering that I was pregnant, I chopped off my hair. Actually, cut it so close to my head on the left side that it appeared to be shaved. What was I doing? I was "killing" myself.

Killing my identity and my image. Why the hair meant so much I have no idea. I had to end up getting it fixed by a professional, who cut it slanted and made it look like a real haircut. But it was totally cropped over my left ear. In fact it was this haircut that drew in the hairstylist Aussie, who bought me the jacket, that was given to the Christian bikers, who came to my rescue years later, to help with a situation that almost did me in years later. Full circle. Thanks, bad haircut.

So I could make this long and drawn out, or I can keep it brief. I split. In the head. From the abortion. No I was not 2 people, it wasn't like that. But I was not myself. I separated somehow. This was different. Before, I managed to come up with new images to fit the situation at hand. This was beyond a "new image". This was a whole new personality.

I parted with my old self. And not for healthy reasons.

I got rid of all my belongings. I changed the music I listened to and the way I dressed. I threw away Amy. Or did I? Who did I throw away? Whoever it was, it was fake too.

So welcome to my world of memories. See the confusion? See the whole "who am I" thing?

I promise all of this ties together.

I just have to tell it in fragments, or else I'll get so confused and lost in it all and just give up and delete everything.

Snake puzzle.

 

Oh by the way. Did I ever tell you that I have been with 20 different guys? 15 were before I got married. 5 were after my divorce.

Just so you know.

I was a compulsive sexaholic. Yes I said that. You heard me right. And I left a trail of destruction behind me. My ex-husband calls them my "victims". None of them were one-night stands, they were all legitimate boyfriends. But as soon as I got my fix, I was done.

Understanding now why this "time out" for me has been so necessary? And I have complained. To God. As if I have a right. As if I have a right to ask Him why I'm not living happily ever after with my Prince.

He has allowed me to screw up time and time again, for my own good. I heard someone say recently that He "redeems" our mistakes and turns them into good things. Well I sure have given Him a lot to redeem.

And to think I survived in one piece. You'd think that I'd at least have a disease or two, but no. Nothing but west nile antibodies (and a positive reading for TB that I got as a kid, but no disease). I deserve the worst. I really do. If not HIV, then at least a good rash. But no. For some strange reason, I've been spared.

Yes I have been so, so shady. And bad. Should I tell you more? ...wait, no. I think that's enough. I think you get the picture.