My Own Bully

Every performer has the side of them the world sees when they step on the stage. Then they also have the dark side. Yes, we beat ourselves up. Many are called, few are chosen. We all want to be the prettiest, the brightest, and the best. There are only so many spots at the top. We all want them. So we bust our asses, show up for ourselves, and then more often than not beat ourselves with the metaphorical crow bar. This is why so many careers are destroyed by drugs, alcohol, and generalized nuttiness. It's not because the person just has issues, they want to quiet that voice that reminds them that there is always someone funnier, prettier, and better for the spot. Translated, we all have our own bully.

I was nineteen when I started performing in the city, and twenty when I took it seriously. My days were spent in class, and my nights were spent doing either multiple open mics or comedy spots. When I did well it was a stroke to my ego. So many people from my hometown, family members included, told me to throw in the towel. According to them I would never make it in show business. Some insisted I hadn't been born into it, and started too late because you have to be rockin out of the cradle. Others said I had no talent. So every time I killed I deterred my haters. I also felt closer to the goal of being on TV, something that seemed out of reach in those days. I also felt closer to the greater goal of being a good comedian.

When I tanked that was a different story. I ate asphalt sometimes because I was green, but also because of the nature of my act. I was also quite young and was trying to find my voice onstage let alone in real life. Navigating the world of adulthood and standup proved to be a challenge. When I died onstage I always felt that maybe the people back home were right. I was making a wrong decision. I would never make it. I was wasting my parents money going to NYU. The voices always grew stronger. Of course then there was the ever gnawing doubt that ate me alive continually.

At first I was rational. I just had to keep getting stage time, learning and growing. I am the product of two educators. I believe in process and craft. Deep down I know you need to fall before you can walk. However, a mentor of mine in college said, "You know what your problem is, you want what you want and you want it now." Oh God she was right. As I became more entrenched into standup, I really became invested in being good. That is when I traded in the rational and loving feather for the crow bar and baseball bat to beat myself with. Translated, I began feeding my inner bully.

In the beginning, I went over a bad set in my head until I got dizzy. Then I asked those around me for input, secretly hoping they would act as my protective parents giving me the bullshit line that it was just the crowd. Sometimes they did, and sometimes I got feedback I could use. Soon that stopped. I started leaving after bad sets. Usually it would be to some establishment that sold food that was horrible for me let alone any living, breathing person. I would stuff my face and put myself at risk for Type 2 Diabetes. Other times I would drink until I fell down. Sometimes someone would put me in a cab. Other times they would carry me out of the establishment threatening never to have me back again. Soon, this became the norm after bad sets. Instead of taking what I needed and leaving the rest, I was giving my inner bully what it wanted and was stunting myself.

I remember at the time I had a friend named Barry Lawrence who by all means should be a big star. He was always armed and dangerous with a hug after a bad set. We became friends because during a laugh off he beat me coming in first, me second. I lost fair and square. Anyway, once after tanking badly he was ready with a hug and helpful words. I still remember how the light of reason touched me and my inner bully recoiled. It also educated me to the importance of friends in this process, friends who would tell you the truth and support you either way. Friends who understood. Unfortunately, Barry too was feeding his inner bully. When he drank his Mr. Hyde came out and he ultimately destroyed a very promising comedy career. I always thought he shepherded me like a big brother because he had two baby sisters. But looking back, I think he saw a lot of himself in me. He knew full well I was probably on my way to feed my inner bully and he was correct. I know in my heart he didn't like being beaten up by this force within, and knew how painful it was, especially when it was winning.

I wish I could say it helped, but it didn't. Soon I came to depend on alcohol and bad food completely, before and after sets to shut the inner bully up before it even started. I found myself in trouble because I was drinking too much. I lost time because I was hung over. I did every terrible thing you could imagine to control my weight. My inner bully was quick to remind me someone was always thinner, prettier, funnier, and whatever. While we are all we have, my inner bully always was there to inform me I wasn't enough. Suddenly my drinking was getting me in trouble. I was sick because I was abusing food. Comedy also ceased to be fun. My sets were hit and miss. It's not because I lacked talent. It was because I was so hard on myself that it became more of a chore.

Around the time my inner bully was dragging me down to a rock bottom where I was being kicked by this evil force, I did a feature gig. My headliner, Pat O'Donnell, was one of the most wonderful people I have worked for to date. After being killed in front of a rough Jersey crowd, Pat took the stage and killed it. I remember how he was happy, glowing. On the other hand, I looked and felt beat. I remember Pat was funny and it was effortless. How was he doing this? Afterwards we talked. Pat told me his secret was he had fun when he got onstage. For me, comedy had became such serious business that beating myself up became the rule, not the exception. I had been so busy working myself like a slave I forgot how much fun it was making people laugh.

Soon after I did a show at what was once Joe Franklins. At the time, I was regimented and married to my set list. My inner bully told me my job was to do my jokes and be solid. I was studying my set when Maddog Mattern, who was emceeing, took it and ripped it up. He told me to go up and riff, have fun, that it was going to be okay. I was surprised. Could I do it? Sure enough, for as scary as it was, I did it. I was always thankful for that act of comedic love. For several more months I struggled until the inner bully began to drag me down completely. I had to make a choice, continue to feed the dark side or say goodbye. I chose to say goodbye.

I stopped drinking, joined a gym, and memorized the serenity prayer. While the inner bully still existed, it wasn't as strong. I enjoyed performing again. I hosted mics and shows wherever they would let me. Every weekend was spent traveling to make others laugh. I felt free onstage. I thought my fight was over. During this period I featured, headlined, got on TV, and wrote what was the first draft of my book. I also got a job as a talking head on an internet station. More and more, I began to take notes without judgement and looked at my job a fun gift instead of a dreaded chore. But as I said it still existed. Now it took a new form.

With some success I saw snarky comments from others. Male headliners asserted that I had slept my way to certain jobs. Women ripped on me for being "lippy." So called friends from back in the day stopped speaking to me or dissed me online. In turn I isolated myself and performed at less mics. Now I was letting my inner bully be the boss in a whole new way. I basically stopped eating, walked everywhere, and began dropping the ball in my life in a whole new way. I screwed up with money because I wasn't focused and was sad. When I went to places I was snappy because I was tired. To boot my inner bully insisted I had to be perfect and couldn't be seen trying new things. So it was back and more evil than ever.

That is when I hit one mic in Queens where I didn't know anyone. The comics there loved comedy. One dude came up afterwards and gave me the ending to a joke I was struggling on. For the first time in forever it felt okay. I felt strong, not letting the inner bully win. A few days later, I spoke to a veteran comedian who I look up to and poured my heart out. He told me the only way to deal with negativity is to tune it out. And he told me that the best part about the gig he did, and he typed this is caps, was he HAD FUN. That is when it hit me, I had to kill this inner bully and quick. I didn't need haters. I had myself to thwart my own plans.

While I got sidetracked with my book and such, I am now grudgingly returning to mics. It's because I need a network friendly set for an opportunity that has come my way. At first I felt like slitting my wrists. I have been on TV. I don't do such things, right? Then the same old character defects came out. I wasn't funny. I would never get where I needed to go. No one wanted to watch me. Fuck these people. Saturday when things didn't go my way I had a complete meltdown. The bully was back and bigger than ever. Translated: I was face to face with the same told demons.

I found myself being comforted by comedy friends, old and new. They reminded me that even pros still did batting practice. Also, they told me I was there to run a set and not to worry about the judgement. While they reminded me it was going to get worse before it got better, it was worth it.

Last night I did a set where the show was strong. There was not one weak link. When I left the stage I thought this could be stronger, that could be stronger, ended weak. I was back to beating myself up again. However afterwards people told me I did well. Everyone on the show was good, and that makes a difference. My inner bully wants to tell me I will never be worthy of the company of quality comedians. On the other hand, I know that's not true because I am in the company of quality comedians. I also know it's okay to evaluate myself, and that is different than beating myself up. Audience members told me I did well. The old friend who came liked my set. The producer liked me. Calm down killa.

Ironically several weeks ago I told some high school students to be kind to themselves when they wrote, advice I wish someone would have given me as a young woman. Advice I should probably take myself. Yes, there will be plenty of skinning my face as May Wilson and I get this set ready. The secret though is to keep growing, training, and getting stronger. It's not to succumb to that voice that tells you to turn around and punch yourself in the face. The  line it feeds you is that it makes you a better comic. No, that's bullshit. It only stunts you and holds you back.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

How Not To Get A Man

I was nineteen years old when this happened and knew nothing about guys. Hell, I had never even had a boyfriend. I was blissfully struggling through my first year at NYU. It seemed nothing was working. In studio I struggled to find my place amongst the untalented big mouths who were told their entire lives they should be actors when really they were empty cans making lots of noise. And then there were the goody girls who I kind of bonded with, but they were so squeaky clean they lacked dimension. Lest we not forget the sluts who were actually not that good looking, but guys like the easy test, right? Oh and then there were the favorites who ironically don't have careers now. And of course the weed heads. I couldn't get into weed. Didn't like the smell, and while I have always liked Scooby Doo, only in small doses.

It seemed guys didn't like me. My first week in school I went on a date with a guy who sickened me by telling me of all of his sexual adventures. I began to understand the protagonist Esther Greenwood from The Bell Jar even more. If this was what dating would be like I wanted to overdose on sleeping pills and never be found. And then I made out with one guy my second week of school. I had never made out with anyone before so this was big. But he didn't brush his teeth which made me want to never make out again. Of course in there I kissed Ben, a visitor from England who is still a huge fan and speaks to me. But Ben had to return home. So for the rest of the semester I was left with either guys telling me they would call me and never did, or a lot of gay men who just wanted to chill. 

That screwed up semester I ended up with a crush on my gay RA who was nice enough to speak to me after I was having a bad week. I just wanted a hot guy to pay attention to me. After all, at nineteen I was struggling to find my place and losing my footing fast. I looked at some of the girls who I went to school with. They were from rich families. While my dad was a lawyer we were not Astors by any means. Hell, a kid on my floor had a maid. Some were just really outgoing when it came to men and I wasn't. Talking to guys scared me. The few times I had kissed a guy made me want to use mouth wash. Some were really experienced and I really wasn't. And of course some were so talented and I was just strange. 

So as I struggled to find my place I developed several strange habits. One was chain smoking. I thought being a bad girl would attract men and it did for a minute. Chain smoking alleviated the anxiety attacks I felt as I went up against my bitter wench of a scene study teacher that semester. However I was a jogger too. The smoking began to kill my cardio and the habit was expensive. Needless to say that did not last long. While Mae West chain smoked in all of her movies, she was a clean liver in real life. Smoking is an awesome prop and looks sexy on film, but in real life it is merely the tool of a nineteen year old moron trying to look cool. Tool being the operative word cause I certainly was one in those days.

That semester I discovered how brave booze makes a person. I had started drinking on Friday nights with my friends. Usually the gatherings were segregated to beer which I detested the taste of. However one week someone brought whiskey and I realized I loved whiskey. I loved how Jack Daniels took my anxiety away and it suddenly became easy when it talked to men. I was no longer April Brucker who was socially awkward and wore fake hair. I was no longer the weird girl with puppets. I was no longer that lost soul trying to find her place among the NYU frosh class. I was brave.

One day I met a hot transfer student at the library. I was living on coffee that day. Part of it was a failed bid to lose weight. Part of it was because my mind was so tired from being dizzy all the damn time because it was just going. His name was Tom. I remember he was from Rhode Island where my brother Wendell was living. We spoke for a half hour and exchanged numbers. I really liked Tom and wanted him to be my boyfriend very badly. Looking back, he was probably just a guy who wanted easy ass and he thought, "This chick is crazy. She will probably give it to me."

Well being nineteen and out of my mind Tom became the perfect man. I liked the fact he was a great listener. At the time I was on a kick with Cancer men and he was a water sign. He would be sensitive to my needs. I began planning the wedding in my mind and naming our children because as I said, at nineteen women are insane. Meanwhile these are the things that scare men forever. Looking back, these thoughts are not only cukoo for coca puffs but scary as hell. As in restraining order scary but I was a stupid kid. I was harmless. I was infatuated. And I had his number. Tom had told me when he took a girl out he brought her flowers and treated her well. I wanted flowers, I wanted to be treated well. The summer before I had worked as a lifeguard with dirty old men all wanting me. They wanted a mistress. None of them offered to bring me flowers! This was the most I had ever spoken to a guy. Gad zooks!

Friday night arrived and so did the whiskey. A girl in my dorm brought it along with the guy she was dating who had just gotten out of jail. I know, great decisions, right? She later flunked out that semester because she just didn't show up for a midterm. You really should show up for those things. I recommend it if you want to PASS. Anyway, we were getting trashed and we were talking. I brought up Tom and our convo. This girl who I will call Jen recommended that the only way to win a guy was to tell him how you felt. 

As I proceeded to get trashed I chased my whiskey with a beer. Don't mix your liquors, that is a bad idea. And then someone offered me some coke spiked with something else. Things began to blur and my phone was in reaching distance. So that is when my liquid courage did the talking. I picked up my phone, dialed Tom's number, and stated the following: "Hi Tom, this is April. You met me at the library. I just wanted to tell you that I am in love with you!" With that I hung up the phone.

 I drunk dialed several other people that evening, mostly to come and pAArty with us. Nothing drastic. After getting massively shitfaced I ended up somehow losing my shoes in Washington Square Park and puking in a trash can. The people I was partying with were nice enough to help me home. I do believe my shoes turned up somewhere the next day though which was good. 

The next morning I woke up and could not remember what happened. I just knew whatever transpired had been a massive amount of fun because I had the most unfortunate hangover. While the next before I had felt brave and sexy, today I felt like hell. Translated, Jack Daniels and I were in an abusive relationship. My roommate who was a major pot head looked at me and asked if I was alright. While I had gotten trashed, she did this all the time. I told her I felt like death and she got me a glass of water. 

I made my way to the dining hall and saw I had dialed a number of people on my phone. And I saw Tom's number. I didnt remember calling him and I had not remembered what I said. After several cups of coffee and a chat with Hunter, security guard and part time Pentecostal Preacher, I called Tom. I left him a message telling him I drunk dialed him and apologized. There was no memory of what happened, but also I just hoped I hadn't gone on a rant. 

Well Tom called me back while I was showing the vomit of the night before off of myself. He said in his message, "Hi April. It's Tom. You didn't say anything bad.......(pause).....actually, you told me you loved me. Hope you're okay." Click.

I never heard from Tom again. And whenever he saw me he avoided me. I didn't understand what I did wrong. I had simply drunk dialed the man. As Tom avoided me I spilled my guts to my straight RA who was always a listening ear as well. After finishing my tale of woe he put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. Chuck was a Queens Boy and one of the few Republicans at NYU. Cool as hell he sometimes drank with us. While it pissed off Monica the crazy Puerto Rican RA who was the beer Nazi, Chuck was the one bringing the beer. 

 This is how our exchange went:

Chuck: Seriously, you said that?

I nod

Chuck puts his hand on my shoulder

Chuck: April, you never say that to a man, especially when you just met him. That is the fastest way to lose a guy. As a matter of fact, that is a lesson in how not to get a man.

Me: Will he ever talk to me again?

Chuck looks away, looks at me, and shakes his head.

Chuck: Probably not. April, just don't do that again, okay? I like you and want to see you happy. And when a girl comes on that strong a guy wonders if after this encounter he will keep his penis. I know you aren't crazy, just a little, you know, lost in this area. So no more of that, you hear?

Me: Oh...

Needless to say I saw Tom a few more times during college. Once he was with a new girlfriend who was a chubbier but less insane version of myself. And then a few more times in passing. Each and every time he had a new and exciting excuse to bolt. The good thing is though, I learned my lesson. I have never since done that to a man and my life has been much smoother. The crazy thing is, most people want to be that young again. I say, "Nah." Nineteen is scary. You have the brain of a moron, an adult body, and yes, the state can stick a needle in your arm.

I ran into Tom recently. He is now dating an Asian woman and seems quite happy. Tom was at the corner store buying some stupid item. We exchange some small talk and I hit it off with his gal. However Tom needed a quick excuse to bolt. He said they were on their way to the theatre and pulled her arm. As they this was their exchange as I heard it. And here I will call her Daisy.

Daisy: We aren't going to the threatre. You said you were burned out on acting. We are going to dinner in an hour. I really liked talking to her.

Tom: I know, but she is completely out of her fucking mind. The less contact the better. She called me drunk one night and told me she loved me.

Daisy: Holy shit.

Tom: Yeah......

It totally hurt me to hear that but whatever. I also learned another lesson at nineteen. Men suck. And oh, their rejection is God's protection. I also learned to get to know someone before you fall in love. Oh and then while we are on the subject get to know that they aren't a total assweed before you pick out the wedding locale. 

 I have been doing well as of late. Maybe he should have stuck with me. But then again, he can choke on that shit when he sees my book on Amazon and sees my face on TV.

Ha ha ha!

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Someone Like You (Adele)

Yesterday during my surfing on facebook I found out one of two men I ever really loved has a new girlfriend. Part of me was happy he moved on and seemed to be getting sober. The other part of me was hurt as hell. Actually it was as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest and thrown on the floor.

When I ended it, letting him go, I knew in my head I was doing the right thing. This particular person had drug issues, alcohol issues, and refused to go to meetings and get sober. He also refused to take his much needed psych meds. Then there were the legal issues like the felony charge he still faced. Not to mention the back child support he owed was astronomical. Everyone told me I was doing the right thing. He was a "Loser." These people didnt know him like I do.

In my heart I always wondered if I did the right thing through. This person served as a confidante to me when I was dating someone famous and the famous dude's baby mama just harassed around the clock. Not to mention he was there as emotional support when the psychotic former fiance who suffers from borderline personality disorder tried to make a comeback when my life was going good. And the night my house was robbed, he never left my side. Oh and he was so proud of me for everything I was doing about my career, and would tell anyone who would listen. He made me laugh and he had a good spirit. Yes I made the right decision, but did I?

A drug habit is not like snoring or burping. It's much bigger than that. A felony charge plus a bench warrant is not like a love for bad movies, it is much bigger than that. Back child support and the term dead beat dad arent someone going through a bad phase. They are someone who will leave you high and dry in my experience. But there is a part of my heart that can't and never will stop loving him.

I saw a picture of the new girlfriend and she looked like a fat whore. I will not lie. If trash could be tattooed on her forehead it would be an apt adjective. There is a large part of me that hates her guts because she has the one who stole my heart. But on the other hand I don't know her. She's a single mom. She's in school. She's trying her best. Hating her is just the easy way out. But he's happy and so is she. Maybe they are a better match although I don't want them to be.

In my hubris I thought I was going to be the one who was different and maybe I was. He told me that once. I remember when he was on the run he called me and even told me so. Of course he was working as an escort and was with his assortment of hos. But I was the one he wanted to talk to. I remember the last time we chatted. He called me high as a kite, probably on meth, with some crazy story. Then he texted me and said he was six months sober. But six months is too early to talk love. You are lucky if you can walk and chew gum. Sure, I wanted to live happily ever after. But all the times I got what I wanted, well, they werent so good. I got what I wanted one too many times and now know the Serenity Prayer by heart.

I know I need to keep moving. I have two family members-both lovely women- who got mixed up with men like this. Both of them are paying dearly. One is on a bad path with alcohol, is on her last chance with her professional license, and is in debt to the IRS for the rest of her life because of the damage done by falling in love with the guy she did. The other has kids with hers and her life is miserable, and she is sticking around cause she has no where else to go. Maybe it is better I got out when I did before there were children or any other collateral damage.

On the other hand, I am sort of thankful for it. Yes, in the end he was running from the law. But for so long after my fiance I had been an abusive ice box to the men I dated. I didnt trust and hell, I was less than faithful. There was no love in my heart for any of them even if they treated me kindly. But this was the one that changed all that. For the first time I wasn't an ice box who would cheat on whatever guy I was with and accuse him of every terrible thing in the book. I didnt feel so damaged, and he didnt treat me like a broken toy. I didnt think I could ever fall in love again after the fiance but I was wrong. I didnt want to be wrong, but I was. Sure, I hide my feelings from the rest of the world under a blanket of bravado but could never hide them from this dude, even if he was what they refer to as a barely functional deadbeat.

These days I am hit or miss with men. Some of them hit, but then they miss. And I know in my heart it is because I am comparing every guy I meet to him. Yes, they have a job and dont have any children. But they dont make me laugh or treat me as kind. Yes they arent on the run from the law. But they dont tell their friends how proud they are of me. Yes they dont have a drug or alcohol problem or mental health issue. But when the chips are down, they can't handle me. This dude could handle me. He could handle me at my Lindsay Lohan moments therefore he deserved me when I was in my Beyonce moments. Rub it in that he doesnt have his shit together why don't you?

There is a part of me that relishes in the mean, anti-male, angry, feminist, poetry writing alter ego I create. All of my puppet children are mostly women who dig for gold or killed a husband or lover. It is easier. That whole existence is easier than dealing with my feelings. I will probably bury myself in some iced cream, Lifetime Movies, and work. I will tell myself how I dont need love but then I will lurk on his page like a stupid school girl. I will tell myself if I showed up on his door step he would leave the tramp he is with in a minute. Oops April, EGO- Easing God Out. I have a feeling that my lover boy has gotten to know that slogan too as well as all my favorite least favorites that keep me grounded on his ever blessed fucked up planet called Earth and the state we call reality.

I know better than to go running after him. These days I am planning a book talk at an Ivy League School where I am now a part of their collection. My audio book is almost finished. I am starting work on my musical. Not to mention I might be touring again and really need to write new jokes if I am. This is where my focus needs to be, not my perpetual broken heart over a guy many start swearing at when they hear the full story. Some of this is because my grandmother died and I grieve in a freaky way. The other is things are going so well I just want to destroy them because I am afraid of the good time ending. Some of it is because I am afraid I will never feel this way about anyone again. You can't pick who you love, end of story.

The part of me that cares for him is glad he is getting sober. I am glad he is going to meetings and getting his legal stuff straightened out, slowly but surely. I am also glad he is back on his meds in some fashion. But most importantly, I am glad he is happy. While the selfish part wishes it were with me, the part of me that cares for him is glad he is happy.

Love, you suck. You suck freezer burnt dick.


April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Finding Holden Caulfield

Lately I have felt a little heartbroken. Actually a lot. To make a long story short someone who I cared for called me not once but twice this week. When I met him we were two people who had a lot in common. We both were two broken toys who had somehow found each other in this vast world. He had been kicked out of places, married, had kids, and through all sorts of things. I had almost been married to a nightmare. That breakup almost killed me. Nothing says broken heart like getting a different mailing address so the man who was once your one and only can't find you.

Enter Holden Caulfield. He fits his name to a T. He was my confidant when I was dating Dimsdale, an aged icon. Okay Dimsdale is not the aged icon's real name and Holden is not my former lover's real name either. Both work and both apply though. Holden was there when my ex fiance made an amends to me before Thanksgiving. He saw how upset I was, he was there the night I melted down. Holden and I became especially close during the two day time span when my house was robbed. He never left my side. Things got complicated. Many of my male friends accused him of having other motives. I know he didn't. I know Holden would have never hurt me.

Unfortunately, he made some mistakes and was forced to leave NYC. He wanted to give me the world and told me he loved me. I believed him and still do. He says he misses his kids. Neither of which are in his life because he is an alcoholic, a drug addict, and has bi-polar disorder and is non-compliant with his medication. That is the reason he is several grand in the hole when it comes to child support and is in some other trouble I will not go into.

The last time we spoke he was very sick, far detached from reality. I don't know what is worse. Is it the fact some people believe his behavior is funny? No, he is destroying his life, makes his family worry, and misses his kids who by the way he is not allowed to see because of his active addiction. Is it the fact that he is so flippant about the fact he is destroying his life? Yes, there were photos of him on his facebook page, him drinking in each and every one. It wouldn't be so bad if he weren't an alcoholic. Maybe it's the fact I have seen him sober and know how sad he is about all of this. Perhaps it is because I got to know him, and know that under all that was a good person with a good heart who would never hurt anyone.

There are people around me who call him names like fuck up. Maybe he is. But on the other hand, they don't understand how very sick he is. Part of me wants to go help him, save him. Then I remember our phone call where he informed me, "I am having so much fun that not even a whole fellowship of people could save me."

When people use words like fuck up that makes me wince. Truth be told, I have buried friends because of drugs. There was Roger who died as a result of long term drug use, a kindred spirit who I quote all too frequently. There was Joe, who would smack me in the head when I was going wrong but ultimately couldn't save himself, who got me writing again. Lest we not forget John and Julissa who were murdered. Of course then there was Jorge, who's laugh I still hear sometimes. Those funerals are hard. That is why a week ago I made the decision to block Holden on facebook. It's not because I don't care. It's because I too care. Seeing someone who you love and care about destroy and kill themselves is like having your heart ripped out and kicked across the floor.

I also know it's not because he won't get it. It's because he can't get it. It's not that he doesn't love or want to take care of his kids, it's that he can't love or take care of himself. I know he really loves me and would give me the world if he could. I know what he said was real. I know he wasn't like a lot of those other guys who just wanted to use whatever lines they could in order to use me for their satisfaction. I had not experienced that in forever. While in part it made me want to run, the other part of me was blown away by something so pure and real.

Then again, wasn't Salinger's character pure, real, and innocent. Didn't Holden Caulfied want to stand by the cliffs to catch the children before they fell, losing their innocence and descending into the dark abyss of the adult world? Didnt he want to go out West and live as a deaf mute? So far my man is fitting the T.

That is why it is so hard not to pick up the phone when he calls. That is why it is hard to just turn a blind eye. Because I know his heart. Some of it was the fact that he had pictures of himself with random women, drinking and kissing them. Part of me felt jealous. On the other hand, even when he was with one woman who he was using for a place to stay, he still used her computer to message me on several occasions when she wasn't looking. Even though there are many a woman in those photos, he still put me on speaker phone calling me one of his "famous friends" from NYC and talking about all the TV shows I had been on. I suppose they are Sally Hayes.

He on the other hand, is my Holden Caulfield. I know he is true. Unfortunately, mental illness and addiction are ugly. People call it a "need for an attitude adjustment" or a "character flaw." I know it isn't. I know he is lonely, lost, unhappy, and above all things sick. I know that if he could fix himself he would.

Even though she dated Stratlatter, and even though she was out with the Joe Yales she probably smiled when his name crossed her lips. She probably knew that if the world were simple she could be with the man who loved her. But the world isn't that simple. I know he will drag me down before I ever fix him. I know that unless he decides to get help and change he is headed nowhere good. I suppose I just have to ask God to watch him, guide him, and protect him from other people but most of all himself.

Now I know how Jane Gallagher felt.

Love April