Another Night (Aretha Franklin)

A little over a year ago I ended a relationship with someone I was working on building a life with. It ended suddenly, horrifically actually. It’s hard to talk about what happened, because the words even after all this time can barely form. However, it was due in a large part to my former partner being mentally ill.

After living with a mentally ill partner, you look at life very differently. For starters you get sick when people equate mental illness to cancer. People with cancer don’t lie. People with cancer seldom refuse to comply with treatment. You don’t see untreated cancer patients in prison or on the street. Cancer patients don’t self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. There is not a fucking stigma against cancer. 

People know cancer isn’t a choice, but they feel you are making a choice to be mentally ill. And when a celeb who’s spoken about cancer comes on the screen everyone is all misty eyed. When it’s someone who spoke about combating mental illness, ohh look at the crazy bitch or bastard.

If you have ever dealt with someone who’s mentally ill, you know they lie and act out in ways that are insulting, baffling, and outright immature. When things ended, my ex did a lot of that. I told myself he was sick a million times a day. I had to. It kept me from going crazy. It kept me from breaking something. It kept me from being sucked back into his shit which was what he wanted. Eventually I ran out of fucks to give and moved on with myself.

A year later, I was out of my unsafe living situation and away from my unstable former partner. Instead, I found myself marching with STAT, Donald J. Tramp as spokespuppet, heading the largest Anti-Trump protest at the RNC that year. We were number 8 on twitter, trending that day. People asked me if I was scared. I remember thinking, “I had bed bugs eating me alive, couldn’t breathe, and had an unstable Iraq War vet boyfriend looking for Isis in the windows. All and all, this is perhaps the safest situation I have been a part of in a while.”

In 2015, my birthday was spent scheduling free legal help at my local neighborhood legal. It was also picking up the pieces after my ex’s devastating departure. This past year it was spent at Hofstra, protesting/street performing outside the debates with Donald J. Tramp. I didn’t need a party. Being a part of American history was a better present than I could have ever dreamed of.

One year prior to the debates, my ex’s sister had called to threaten me. A year later, I was credentialed press in Las Vegas with puppet journalist Donald J. Tramp. I was in the spin room when Donald Trump uttered “bad hombres” and “nasty, nasty woman.” I watched it all unfold, and for as much as his idiot sister or any other woman he manipulated could and would say, they weren’t there with me. Nor would they ever be.

This time last year, I was rebuilding my life after a devastating defeat. Now I am getting ready to return to Restaurant Row with a one woman show. I just showcased at APAP. I am a correspondent for a blog. I am getting ready to teach a ventriloquism class.

The lessons were hard. One was that love isn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex get help. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex stop lying. Love wasn’t enough to justify the fact his rages coupled with black outs were getting worse and worse, and that it was getting to the point where my safety was in jeopardy. In my heart, I know he was kind and giving. I know he would have never intentionally hurt me. But people who are mentally ill flip and kill people all the time, especially if they have mood swings and aren’t medicated. My ex claimed meds failed him and refused a medication regimen.

When my sister got married this summer, her priest alluded to the fact that a married couple lives for each other. The truth is, that’s codependency. You don’t live for anyone. The other person is a part of your life not your whole life. All relationships come to an end whether one partner leaves or dies or whatever. And guess what, you have to move on.

You also realize that a person is just a person. They have their faults. They will fuck up. They will disappoint you. And at the end of the day, good and bad, my ex was just a guy. Yeah, I cried when he left but then they handed me eviction papers. I had to pick my ass up off the ground and go to court to fight my landlord who was turning off my water because I called the city on him. My ex wasn’t there to support me. My family was far away. Really and truly, I was on my own.

No man was there to support me and none was going to materialize. At times like this, you see whether or not you are really and truly a feminist. Most women yell and scream about it, but when the time comes to step up to the plate they don’t. I had to step up to the plate. I had to deal with their demeaning bully boy male lawyers. I didn’t have time to cry.

As I was deciding to get the on with it all, it became easier to get rid of all the shit of his I accumulated. It became easier to block him on social media. It became easier to block his number. It became easier to block his sisters and female friends who are all horrific harpies who enable him. It became easier to date other guys. It became easier to grow into my new life It became easier to be define by my own self-worth, not that of a relationship.

The week my sister got married one of her friends was sad that she was the last one who was single in the group. Feeling the feelings weddings bring up, she asked me if I was upset my sister was getting married and I wasn’t. The answer was a huge NO. I love my brother in law like the baby brother I never had, and think he’s perfect for my sister. But I know how it feels to be with someone who’s toxic and bad for me. I know it’s better to be alone then to be with that, and it’s alright to be alone.

I know a relationship does not define me, and am reminded that good friends are better than a partner any day. I have two wonderful housemates, one obsessed with UFOs and the other a happier Van Gough who are characters that were there for me last year when I had a cancer scare. (Yes, what wasn’t happening). I have an awesome job where I get paid to make people happy, and an even more awesome boss who puts me front and center whenever I can. I have an awesome mentor in Las Vegas, and his people are awesome. I have an awesome friend who’s a mentalist that awesomely predicted the Super Bowl. I have an awesome friend who was my puppet wrangler and has been front and center through all my madness. I have an awesome family.

So this Valentine’s Day, I wont be getting flowers or candy and that’s alright. My life is full of people who love and support me, and someone people don’t even have one person who loves and supports them……and those people are in committed relationships!

Bottom line, if you are in a rough time, you can rock your way out. If the Pats can win the Super Bowl, you can climb out of your pit of despair. And being alone is better than being with someone who’s unhealthy for you. At the end of the day you can have all the love in the world but you really gotta love yourself. Just saying kids. This is as deep as this bitch gets for now. 

Come see The Lady and President Tramp

February 20, 2017 7PM

Dont Tell Mama

343 W. 46 Street

That Woman

Recently an old wound was reopened. They say when someone does this, it isn’t always intentional. Rather, that person is a messenger telling you to work on a part of yourself that is not yet healed. When the bandage is ripped off, the wound is reopened. The pain returns almost as if it were yesterday, oozing out of your every pour. Then you realize maybe you were not okay after all.

Monday night I had a giant reminder of my past. Yes, I am a domestic violence and stalking survivor. I have spoken openly in interviews and written about it. Heck, I even talk about it onstage in my comedy. Performance gave me an outlet to live through one of the darkest, most horrific times of my life. I maintain if it weren’t for comedy I would be dead. If my ex didn’t kill me, the pain that went with the situation would have. It’s amazing how the ability to laugh keeps people from losing their damn minds sometimes. Laughter isn’t just the best medicine sometimes, it’s the freaking miracle cure.

I had a friend read me the riot act. Mike’s like a brother. It’s not that he did it to be mean. I needed my ass handed to me. Since the relationship that left me invested in a separate mailing address, I have been very slow to trust men. I had a guy several years ago and it ended badly. Very badly. He still hates me, and I have earned his hate. His wife also has my face on a dartboard. I am not being dramatic, she does. I was a terrible partner. I know that much, and I admit it not to puff myself up but because I was. It’s the damn truth. Yeah this guy had his issues but when you’re the one with your former lover stalking you, there is no room to judge. Just saying.

I never set out to be “that woman”, but I was. Then again, no girl ever dreams of growing up and having Prince Charming turn completely psychotic when the relationship ends. No girl plays Barbies and sees Ken trying to kill himself when Barbie has had enough. It’s not the way it’s supposed to go. Cinderella and Barbie don’t have the real life ending where the dolls are damaged goods. If only Disney and Mattel lived in reality.

“It’s me or the puppets.” My ex said. I still remember the conversation like it was yesterday. He was already controlling my wardrobe and telling me who I could and couldn’t speak to. I thought he was kidding. My children were my blood, my life. I wanted to leave, but remembered when I had done so he broke a Vodka bottle, tried to dive on it, and missed. Then he took the remaining pieces of the broken glass and slit his wrists. I was terrified so I stayed.

For months I was dying inside. My friends saw the lifeblood drain out of me and begged me to get rid of him. Yet I continued to sell him like a used car. A shell of my former self, I turned into a zombie who either simply went through the motions, or when I could feel I was angry all the time. Then it was him or my family. The irony of the whole situation is that he wanted me to put away my puppets so I could become his puppet.

I was drinking alone every night, and that’s already a bad sign. To top it off I had stopped eating and lost a ton of weight. He had hit me before. I had seen female relatives walk this path and I knew how it was going to end. It was always a slow and painful demise where the woman got burned and the man walked away unscathed. More than anything, there was a part of me, my craft, my ventriloquism, my children, missing. I knew if I stayed in the relationship he was going to kill me or I was going to kill myself.

I ended it.

Needless to say it was only the beginning of another nightmare. My ex wouldn’t accept it was over. He called me terrorizing me. Sometimes he would send his friends to terrorize me. He would wander my neighborhood looking for me. Then there were times he would casually tell me he was going to kidnap me because if he couldn’t want me, no one else could have me. In the next breath he mentioned he wanted me dead. If that wasn’t getting to me, he doctored up photos of me online and wrote nasty things on them. Sometimes, he would draw photos of a girl who looked like me and she would be gutted or beheaded. The world has changed, but in those days a restraining order was much harder to get and cyberbullying was still a new crime.

I felt alone, but there were people who came to my aid. The ex was banned from several websites, and my neighbors agreed to watch out for him. Through that I was encouraged by those around me to get onstage and talk about the pain, the fear. More than anything, I was told by those closest to me that I had to reach for my puppets again.

Being a ventriloquist and woman is not easy, especially in the chauvinistic, closed minded comedy community. I heard the sexist jibes and the snide remarks that I was a prop act. However, I also had a lot of people support me as well. I knew in order to get where I needed to go my children had to become my life and they did. At times it seems we fortify ourselves against the world but hey, it’s not the worst thing.

My dream before meeting my ex was to become a professional ventriloquist. With work and effort, that has been happening for me. I have done two good shows this week. One was where I was one of over 200 performers that helped shatter a Guinness World Record. The other was for a bunch of children as part of Little Laughs at The Jalopy Theatre in Brooklyn. On both shows, I shared the stage with amazing performers who were not only dedicated to their craft but also good at it. Although the adventure left me slightly drained because things kept coming like gangbusters, I wouldn’t trade any second of it.

I have my act together onstage and off more than I ever have in my life. This past year, I have begun doing theatres and even filmed a DVD. I also have made a career enough onscreen to earn my union card, something else that felt like writing in the clouds before. Fans will write me letters and sometimes can spot me in public and ask, “Are you that puppet girl?”

Things have changed for the better. And while I was “that woman”, a title I didn’t want, I am actually quite glad it happened. My life was going down a very bad road, and once I got out of the relationship it made me realize I had some decisions to make. I was 21 and could still change course. Maybe low self-worth and desperation had taught me a tough lesson, but I could still get back on track. I did by getting a goal. Also, because of my experience, I have had other people who have been “that woman” reach out to me. It lets them know they aren’t alone, but makes me remember I am not either. Of course, I now have a spider sense and can spot “that man” from a million miles away. I can also pick out a bully from a crowd, and have a special way of not tolerating that toxic individual. And if that bully chooses to intimidate others, I come to their defense as well.

“You’re no funny and will never amount to anything as a ventriloquist.” My ex once told me. Although my life has changed dramatically and I feel so far removed from those people and that time, the words still ring fresh every once in a while when I find myself stepping onstage to a performance where I headline, a theatre gig, or as I ready myself for a TV taping. Except now those words don’t sting, instead they motivate me whenever the doubt starts to creep in. Yes, that voice that speaks like my ex that tells me I have no talent, will go no where, and don’t deserve anything good to happen to me.

“I saw you on TV and you are very funny. Don’t let anyone make you give up your puppet children.” Another voice says. It’s the voice of a fan. They say never to believe your fans all the time, but you need to listen sometimes. While the ex’s hateful words motivate me, my fans are the ones in the race that continue to cheer me on. They let me know I need to keep running, keep fighting, keep my puppet children by my side.

Over time, I have learned to forgive my ex. For as tough as it was, he was a sick person. He had a hellacious childhood that I would not wish on my worst enemy. How could I expect him to give me a healthy relationship when he had no idea what one was in the first place? Plus he never made a secret of who he was. I chose to stay. In the end, I was just as guilty as he was. I wasn’t a victim but a willing volunteer. I heard through the grapevine he is getting help and his life is coming together. In my heart I hope this is true and only wish him the best.

However, when the wound is open it still feels like yesterday I was wearing running shoes in case my ex would show up so I could make a quick escape. It still feels like I just spoke to my mother, and she requested his info so she could have it in case I disappeared. I am always my harshest critic with my career. Things never happen fast enough for me. Perhaps sometimes it’s good the wound is accidentally re-opened to show me that I need to stop being such a brat, and that things could have gone much worse. It’s a stick it note from the universe that I lucked out, and that I am doing better than I think.

It’s also a sign that while in some ways I have evolved, in others I haven’t. I still don’t have a guy. I can blame the career and puppets all day long, but it is because I am scared to death of being “that woman” again. There have been women who are “that woman” many times over and that terrifies me. I am petrified of him taking my puppets. It hasn’t happened but it could.

There are times when I want to jump inside the radio and bust the heads of rappers and male singers sprouting misogyny until the gold teeth jump out of their stupid heads. It doesn’t make me feel bad because they have millions of dollars and can get them replaced. Then I realize it’s the same thing as getting mad at my male comedian friends. Those are just words. Nothing more. Some of the most ruthless dudes onstage have been my biggest supporters and greatest friends off. It’s not a personal affront.

Still, maybe it’s because while I have forgiven my ex, I haven’t forgiven myself. I was 21 and made a mistake. I didn’t know everything, how could I? Yeah, I needed to walk this path to get where I was. Sure, it totally sucked. That being said, maybe it’s time to try to find that handsome prince who likes puppets. He’s out there. Maybe it’s time to close the wound for good. 

My Take on Ray Rice

I have been hearing a lot about Ray Rice lately, and I have been trying to look away. There is a part of me that doesn’t want to weigh in, but all the five minute activists on facebook make it so hard. Yes, I am talking about the mouth breathers who don’t care about relationship violence and probably snicker when they see a couple fighting in a restaurant. They utter the words, “Oh shit, she did not when the girl throws a glass of water in the dudes face.”

Or then some idiot guy who wants to be macho sees a man shaking and slapping a woman. He steps in wanting to be her knight and shining armor. Then he either gets his ass beat or better yet, the woman slaps him herself. Maybe she will even scream, “Stay out of my business!”

Then there is the scenario where her well intentioned friends stage an intervention to get her away, but she goes back. They are wondering what has possessed her to do so. They think she’s nice, he hits her. What is wrong with her? Maybe he sweet talked her again. Bad news, she wanted to be sweet talked.

When these things happen, these disturbing tableaus, one thing becomes apparent. At it’s core, most people do not understand relationship violence. Living ordinary lives with a moderate amount of drama, they like to believe they are far away from it. Or they judge their family member or friend who is in the trap. Then there is the school of thought where some women are made to believe it is all their fault, when in reality both people are in the boxing ring.

Then there is the other more painful and over simplified belief that women are victims and victims alone. Men in this situation are seen as brutes unable to keep their temper in check, and this woman waits on him hand and foot believing he will change. It is nothing like this. Trust me, I know.

Yes, I am a dating violence survivor. It is something I am quite vocal about. The experience is nothing short of hell, and it makes you trust less and look at life, from the mundane to the major in a whole different way. Before you feel too badly for me, and before you want to deck my ex, let me tell you a dirty little secret. I was just as bad as he was.

A dysfunctional, codependent relationship isn’t a friendship let alone partnership. It is two people who are jockeying for control that want to win at all times. Head games are played on both ends, usually more the woman than the man. Insults are hurled on the guys end, usually cruel and below the belt. Then the woman hurls more insults. That is just the beginning. The Miracle Grow is already being poured on everyone’s character flaws, and now they are bigger than ever. That is when the relationship gets physically violent, and all hell breaks loose. Yeah, he hit me, but I hit him back. Then I made the excuse that we were just passionate.

Afterwards,  there is a makeup period that is amazing. Love is pure like Romeo and Juliet, and nothing can tear you apart. He feels bad and promises never to do it again, and yes, I know you always believe him because I did. However, in my heart I also knew it wasn’t true. I now had the upper hand and wanted to keep it. He was also brainstorming so he could keep the upper hand. Sure, I was winning, but he couldn’t let this happen for too long.

Then there were times things would get so heated that yeah, I hit first. Then he hit back. We were a toxic twosome like that. When things reach that point, the relationship itself becomes like a drug. I still remember there was a high that would come from the two of us fighting, and then afterwards the pay off felt like bliss. Later on, I would find out codependency is in fact recognized as an addiction, and this bipolar makeup/breakup pattern had a name.

Like anyone with an addiction, I led a double life. My grades were still good, but as soon as I left school I entered hell. I lied so people wouldn’t know the truth about how bad my life had gotten. Whenever someone would point out this relationship was bad for me, I would either sell my ex like a used car or tell them that they didn’t know what love was. When they would insist I needed to leave him, I cut them out of my life. How dare they?

I started to change too. More often than not, I was angry. As someone who is able to get along with most people, I now found myself in constant conflict. There were times when I just felt drained and I didn’t know why. I started making stupid mistakes, and almost missed registration for classes. Then people would remark I had an acid tongue and many came to avoid me thus isolating me more. The energy created between us was vile and evil, and in return I became vile and evil.

I didn’t want to leave the relationship. Where would I go and what would I do? I knew it would be different, but I didn’t know how I would feel. So I decided to cope by any and all destructive means possible. I stopped eating and lived on diet pills, thus having my weight drop. I drank to excess. Life became hard and everything started to break open. I couldn’t do anything right because this quicksand was pulling me down.

The moment you hit rock bottom is when you get tired of digging. One day, after I felt so drained I passed out in my closet, I decided I was tired of digging. If I stayed, this was going to kill me. Yes, this. The fights were getting more violent, and it became a reality that he might kill me in the course of one because he was much bigger. Or I might accidentally kill myself because of all the stupid things I was doing to deal with him. Maybe, just maybe I might jump into traffic because my despair had become so great. I knew if I didn’t leave, I wasn’t going to. That is when I put on my big girl pants and ended it once and for all.

It was scary, but I was willing to make the plunge. Like anyone trapped in a codependent cycle I was able to get out, but it was hard. My ex didn’t want to let go, and became belligerent when I began seeing other men. For some time, I fed into him. Finally, at the urging of my support network, I blocked him on any and all social media where he continues to be blocked to this day.

Some white knight didn’t rescue me and give me a pukalicious ending. Hell to the no. Instead, I continued to tumble down the rabbit hole a tad longer, making more terrible decisions. It was tough for me to meet decent guys, because I didn’t behave like a decent person. Not to mention the level of chaos I had become used to was a ten, and my willingness to fight anytime and anywhere made most dudes run like they saw Godzilla. It wasn’t because I am a mean and nasty person, but again, you have to be a certain way in order to cope with the relationship. Now that I was back in the moving world, most decent dudes didn’t want to cope with me.

Finally after more bad decisions, I decided it was time to look at my role and my side of the street. It was time to change my behavior, and look at why I kept picking rotten tomatoes. When I did this house cleaning, and a lot of it was from working with a counselor, I became a better woman with more self esteem. These days I wouldn’t dream of repeating history.

Ray Rice was caught in a pattern, and so was his wife. Like my ex and I, they do this all the time. However, now the world knows there business, but on a larger scale, we are also educating ourselves more and more about relationship violence. Ray Rice’s wife shouldn’t have punched him, and he should have walked away. Actually, both should have walked away in separate directions never to speak again, but they can’t and won’t as they are locking horns needing to be in charge.

I am glad the Ravens suspended him. Yes, relationship violence is a serious matter and you just can’t knock someone out in a fight, especially when that person is an easy target. However she should have also behaved better. Again, it is an addictive cycle. My hope for the both of them is that they split up from each other and lead separate lives peacefully. On their own, they probably are okay people. Together, they are a power line in a lightning storm.

I feel grateful and blessed I escaped that part of my life intact. Now things are different, and in a good way. For as dark as some of my days have been, leaving that relationship was still one of the hardest things I have ever done. My hope is that everyone learns a thing or two from Ray Rice, and that everyone becomes more educated about dating violence. That way, when it touches your life you aren’t judgmental. Also, you know that the person will leave when they are ready, and unfortunately, they may never be ready. Sure, it takes two to make a thing go bad, but it only takes on adult to decide this needs to change and to walk away, breaking the cycle.

If you don’t think you can get out, you can. Does it take some work? Yeah. One thing is for sure, if you take the leap it’s frightening, but it does get better.