LOVERBOY
Growing up, I had a second cousin who was not really my second cousin. You see, some relative of mine married one of his, making our mothers cousins. This boy, Loverboy, was eight and a half when yours truly was born. His first memory of me lies in Spain, where I was raised. I was three years old when I kicked him in the groin. He pushed me to the floor prompting his best friend, my older brother, to fight him...
Loverboy was raised in Iran while I floated between Spain and Denmark. Our paths crossed yet again in Denmark, when I was 5 years old and Loverboy was 13. Back then, I only had eyes for LovaSista II. Loverboy who?
At the age of 17, to escape the Iran-Iraq war, Loverboy left Iran for good and headed for Spain. Grandma BoheMia was supposed to help him find his way but 2 months after his arrival she arranged for a friend to drop Loverboy off at a local hostal, without any prior notice. She did this just because. My grandmother is known for delighting in creating havoc and misery and Loverboy was a fair target. He spoke no Spanish. He spoke no English.
My mother helped Loverboy whenever she could. Loverboy grew close to me and my siblings yet I was a tough nut to crack. I delighted in defying him and getting under his skin any chance I got.
By the age of 19, Loverboy was fluent in Spanish and English and moved to the US. He had family in the US but rather than help, they took blatant advantage of him and he endured many a hardship. Through sheer perseverance and hard work Loverboy received a BA in Cinematography and later became a doctor of Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine.
At the age of 14, I moved with my family to Orange County, Southern California. Mine had always been a life on the move and my move to the US did not seem to put a stop to this lifestyle. My mother, the head of our single parent household, has a habit of running away from her demons and there were many around us. In the six years that I lived with her in the US, we moved five times.
My life was not easy with my mother. It was one of constant emotional abuse. I was a full time college student, always had a 4.0 GPA, worked 30 hours a week, cleaned the house, cooked the food and took care of my two younger siblings who got away with murder and that was acceptable. My sister, eight years my junior, would tell me to fuck off and called me a bitch and this behavior was acceptable as well. My brother never lifted a finger to help and in order to escape the reality of our dysfunction he retreated into a refuge of friends.
Asshole, shithead, I shit on the day I gave birth to you were all things I was used to hearing from my mother. Being a very emotional individual, I had no outlet for those overpowering emotions as my laughter and my tears would otherwise fall under strict scrutiny. At the age of 19, my greatest wish was for death but I did not have it in me to commit suicide because I loved life too much, just not mine.
My true moments of peace, quiet and happiness came at the hands of Loverboy. He would surprise me and my family with sporadic visits, driving down from San Francisco to see us, and then the abuse would vanish and I could breathe again. His presence was a grounding one, his mind a sane and beautiful one and his smile contagious. I loved him dearly but as the cousin that he wasn't and our age difference, my mother and my prevalent silence kept us from truly growing close. His visits were rare but I cherished them. Oh how I cherished them!
Loverboy's visits kept his tie to my older brother alive for him. My brother died in a car accident when I was 12 and he 21... another reason for my mother to stay on the run...
Guilt was an overpowering emotion in my life. Guilt kept me from rebelling. Guilt did not allow me to have an adolescence. Guilt kept from me the interest of boys, a first kiss, even a date. Guilt kept me home, being a maid to people who did not care for my presence. Guilt kept me away from Berkeley, back then the University of my dreams. Guilt kept from me self-love, self-confidence and hounded me with insecurities.
I was lost. I was filled with rage and despair yet they were to remain bottled up inside because guilt told me I was not worthy of feeling, of love, of breath. Repression is toxic to the sytem and can hurt you. A virgin, I once did not menstruate for 7 months straight. I fell ill to a kidney infection. My mother and sister had moved to Spain then and I lived with my cousin and my brother. Lying sick in bed, too weak to move, I asked them to please buy some water as we were out of it and my kidneys were in dire need of it. They laughed at me and left.
I was blessed with an older friend, an Iranian woman, who made me food and brought me water in her spare time. United by the misfortune of being born into the wrong families, we had a special bond. We shared a common path for a brief time but karma was stingy and we lost touch. I will love her forever. Azita, I miss you...
My rage was overpowering and debilitating. My dear friend, teacher and brother from a previous life, Lama Chonam, was a calming influence in my life and guided me towards health through the intervention of his friend and student, a Chinese herbalist in the heart of LA's Chinatown.
Loverboy called to tell me he was engaged and I announced that I was Buddhist. That was the only time in my life where I actually disliked Loverboy. He was an idiot and rather than move to Berkeley, I moved away. Promises of financial aid to the American University in Paris fell through and I was forced to move back to Spain.
My stint there lasted a year and seven months and I moved seven times. Unlike my mother, I was not running from my problems, I was simply searching for my niche in life and was driven by inertia. I had, after all, always been on the move and it was hard to stop. Old habits die hard.
My mother was in close proximity to me again and my rage resurfaced as did the emotional abuse. I lost myself in a world of flamenco and gypsies, of song and dance, of alcohol and clubs, yet maintained my guard and no one could touch me.
Perception... I lost the weight that my sadness had given me and was quite the social butterfly. If friends were looking for fun, it was me they called. Men found me attractive, some claimed stunning... women initially were put off by me but felt safe once they knew me and so my smile kept me busy. Perception...
I tried to let go of my guard once and kissed a boy, for the first time, at 21. He wanted to use me, this I knew, and I wanted to use him. Only I discovered that I was too sensitive for this. My body did not respond to my mind's command and I bit his tongue. I was nauseous for three days. No, repression is not a good thing.
Writhing bodies on dance floors, flashing lights, alcohol, noise, sweat drenched bodies, fast moving cars... they all engulfed me as I ran, ran my worries away. Every morning at 6am sharp I got high off the adrenaline rush of a good jog. The noise in my head was overpowering and the darkness was all-consuming.
Perception... stunning, hottie, attractive, call me, kiss me, don't go... floating words of the outside world were empty of meaning... My mother's voice resided in my head and so I ran. I tried to outrun the noise, I tried to outrun the demons but I was never fast enough.
Yes, a decision. I remember wanting to lose weight. It was a healthy interest in exercise that took a conscious and dangerous turn into the arms of anorexia. I could no longer outrun my rage, the voices overpowered me, and with nowhere left to turn, standing at the cliff's edge, I jumped. What a rush! Nothing gave me greater pleasure than my self-inflicted suffering. The hungrier I became the stronger the rush, the high. The little bit of me left alive behind the voices was horrified by the bones in the mirror but all in all they were a beautiful sight to behold...
It was during my sixth move that I received a letter from Loverboy. I had written him intermittently and the words I had never spoken out loud flowed easily from my pen. He could see me and loved me for it. He wrote me this and pierced my darkness with his beautiful light.
He had never married. It was a mistake of youth. It was never love, rather, a longing for it. A close call but not his path to take, he had walked away and found my words.
At the age of eleven we moved to Denmark where we lived for a year. I did not speak the language and my mother forced a neighbor's child unto me. She spoke in tongues and I could not understand the sounds that flew at me from her mouth. I learned fast and spoke fluent Danish within a month. What had been strange sounds became crisp and coherent words and all the grunts of my first days in Denmark rushed back into my mind from deep within the confines of my memory and I could finally understand the words that were initially a mystery.
And so it was with my love for Loverboy. When I was 22, he was close to turning 30, and my life's path and suffering had matured me beyond my years so that I could understand the language that had once been unavailable and out of reach to me. I loved him. I loved him dearly and I told him so in October of 1997.
I had planned a two week visit in December. 16 days before my departure, Loverboy called me. He could not live without me, he said. He would not let me go. He wanted to marry me. He had not seen me in two years. We were only friends then but he would not let me go, he said.
I packed up my life and two weeks before my departure informed my family that I was leaving, that I was in love and that this was goodbye.
The darkness and the light were in a neck to neck race. On December 21, 1997, I ran into the arms of Loverboy, in what was to become my true home, San Francisco. My mind and my body were in sync and our lips locked for what was our first contact ever as lovers. My seventh move in a year and seven months was finally my move home. The struggle out of anorexia was hard, the road was long, but suffice it to say that the light won the race...
As for the in-law countdown, day 20 here... 11 more to go...
Loverboy was raised in Iran while I floated between Spain and Denmark. Our paths crossed yet again in Denmark, when I was 5 years old and Loverboy was 13. Back then, I only had eyes for LovaSista II. Loverboy who?
At the age of 17, to escape the Iran-Iraq war, Loverboy left Iran for good and headed for Spain. Grandma BoheMia was supposed to help him find his way but 2 months after his arrival she arranged for a friend to drop Loverboy off at a local hostal, without any prior notice. She did this just because. My grandmother is known for delighting in creating havoc and misery and Loverboy was a fair target. He spoke no Spanish. He spoke no English.
My mother helped Loverboy whenever she could. Loverboy grew close to me and my siblings yet I was a tough nut to crack. I delighted in defying him and getting under his skin any chance I got.
By the age of 19, Loverboy was fluent in Spanish and English and moved to the US. He had family in the US but rather than help, they took blatant advantage of him and he endured many a hardship. Through sheer perseverance and hard work Loverboy received a BA in Cinematography and later became a doctor of Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine.
At the age of 14, I moved with my family to Orange County, Southern California. Mine had always been a life on the move and my move to the US did not seem to put a stop to this lifestyle. My mother, the head of our single parent household, has a habit of running away from her demons and there were many around us. In the six years that I lived with her in the US, we moved five times.
My life was not easy with my mother. It was one of constant emotional abuse. I was a full time college student, always had a 4.0 GPA, worked 30 hours a week, cleaned the house, cooked the food and took care of my two younger siblings who got away with murder and that was acceptable. My sister, eight years my junior, would tell me to fuck off and called me a bitch and this behavior was acceptable as well. My brother never lifted a finger to help and in order to escape the reality of our dysfunction he retreated into a refuge of friends.
Asshole, shithead, I shit on the day I gave birth to you were all things I was used to hearing from my mother. Being a very emotional individual, I had no outlet for those overpowering emotions as my laughter and my tears would otherwise fall under strict scrutiny. At the age of 19, my greatest wish was for death but I did not have it in me to commit suicide because I loved life too much, just not mine.
My true moments of peace, quiet and happiness came at the hands of Loverboy. He would surprise me and my family with sporadic visits, driving down from San Francisco to see us, and then the abuse would vanish and I could breathe again. His presence was a grounding one, his mind a sane and beautiful one and his smile contagious. I loved him dearly but as the cousin that he wasn't and our age difference, my mother and my prevalent silence kept us from truly growing close. His visits were rare but I cherished them. Oh how I cherished them!
Loverboy's visits kept his tie to my older brother alive for him. My brother died in a car accident when I was 12 and he 21... another reason for my mother to stay on the run...
Guilt was an overpowering emotion in my life. Guilt kept me from rebelling. Guilt did not allow me to have an adolescence. Guilt kept from me the interest of boys, a first kiss, even a date. Guilt kept me home, being a maid to people who did not care for my presence. Guilt kept me away from Berkeley, back then the University of my dreams. Guilt kept from me self-love, self-confidence and hounded me with insecurities.
I was lost. I was filled with rage and despair yet they were to remain bottled up inside because guilt told me I was not worthy of feeling, of love, of breath. Repression is toxic to the sytem and can hurt you. A virgin, I once did not menstruate for 7 months straight. I fell ill to a kidney infection. My mother and sister had moved to Spain then and I lived with my cousin and my brother. Lying sick in bed, too weak to move, I asked them to please buy some water as we were out of it and my kidneys were in dire need of it. They laughed at me and left.
I was blessed with an older friend, an Iranian woman, who made me food and brought me water in her spare time. United by the misfortune of being born into the wrong families, we had a special bond. We shared a common path for a brief time but karma was stingy and we lost touch. I will love her forever. Azita, I miss you...
My rage was overpowering and debilitating. My dear friend, teacher and brother from a previous life, Lama Chonam, was a calming influence in my life and guided me towards health through the intervention of his friend and student, a Chinese herbalist in the heart of LA's Chinatown.
Loverboy called to tell me he was engaged and I announced that I was Buddhist. That was the only time in my life where I actually disliked Loverboy. He was an idiot and rather than move to Berkeley, I moved away. Promises of financial aid to the American University in Paris fell through and I was forced to move back to Spain.
My stint there lasted a year and seven months and I moved seven times. Unlike my mother, I was not running from my problems, I was simply searching for my niche in life and was driven by inertia. I had, after all, always been on the move and it was hard to stop. Old habits die hard.
My mother was in close proximity to me again and my rage resurfaced as did the emotional abuse. I lost myself in a world of flamenco and gypsies, of song and dance, of alcohol and clubs, yet maintained my guard and no one could touch me.
Perception... I lost the weight that my sadness had given me and was quite the social butterfly. If friends were looking for fun, it was me they called. Men found me attractive, some claimed stunning... women initially were put off by me but felt safe once they knew me and so my smile kept me busy. Perception...
I tried to let go of my guard once and kissed a boy, for the first time, at 21. He wanted to use me, this I knew, and I wanted to use him. Only I discovered that I was too sensitive for this. My body did not respond to my mind's command and I bit his tongue. I was nauseous for three days. No, repression is not a good thing.
Writhing bodies on dance floors, flashing lights, alcohol, noise, sweat drenched bodies, fast moving cars... they all engulfed me as I ran, ran my worries away. Every morning at 6am sharp I got high off the adrenaline rush of a good jog. The noise in my head was overpowering and the darkness was all-consuming.
Perception... stunning, hottie, attractive, call me, kiss me, don't go... floating words of the outside world were empty of meaning... My mother's voice resided in my head and so I ran. I tried to outrun the noise, I tried to outrun the demons but I was never fast enough.
a Decision
Silent Refuge embraces her.
Dark Solitude hangs thick
on her Sorrow.
Imperfection of Flesh,
Fish of Bones.
Lovely Suffocation
Suffocating Love….
Tower of Isolation,
hid ghostly Mermaid, eyes held Death
Promise kept
perchance Fulfilled if
Once
More
Rejected Flesh
was, is
Flesh Rejected
creating Flesh, demanding Bones, employing Charon,
Mephistopheles summoning
Apollyon.
a Decision.
Yes, a decision. I remember wanting to lose weight. It was a healthy interest in exercise that took a conscious and dangerous turn into the arms of anorexia. I could no longer outrun my rage, the voices overpowered me, and with nowhere left to turn, standing at the cliff's edge, I jumped. What a rush! Nothing gave me greater pleasure than my self-inflicted suffering. The hungrier I became the stronger the rush, the high. The little bit of me left alive behind the voices was horrified by the bones in the mirror but all in all they were a beautiful sight to behold...
It was during my sixth move that I received a letter from Loverboy. I had written him intermittently and the words I had never spoken out loud flowed easily from my pen. He could see me and loved me for it. He wrote me this and pierced my darkness with his beautiful light.
He had never married. It was a mistake of youth. It was never love, rather, a longing for it. A close call but not his path to take, he had walked away and found my words.
At the age of eleven we moved to Denmark where we lived for a year. I did not speak the language and my mother forced a neighbor's child unto me. She spoke in tongues and I could not understand the sounds that flew at me from her mouth. I learned fast and spoke fluent Danish within a month. What had been strange sounds became crisp and coherent words and all the grunts of my first days in Denmark rushed back into my mind from deep within the confines of my memory and I could finally understand the words that were initially a mystery.
And so it was with my love for Loverboy. When I was 22, he was close to turning 30, and my life's path and suffering had matured me beyond my years so that I could understand the language that had once been unavailable and out of reach to me. I loved him. I loved him dearly and I told him so in October of 1997.
I had planned a two week visit in December. 16 days before my departure, Loverboy called me. He could not live without me, he said. He would not let me go. He wanted to marry me. He had not seen me in two years. We were only friends then but he would not let me go, he said.
I packed up my life and two weeks before my departure informed my family that I was leaving, that I was in love and that this was goodbye.
The darkness and the light were in a neck to neck race. On December 21, 1997, I ran into the arms of Loverboy, in what was to become my true home, San Francisco. My mind and my body were in sync and our lips locked for what was our first contact ever as lovers. My seventh move in a year and seven months was finally my move home. The struggle out of anorexia was hard, the road was long, but suffice it to say that the light won the race...
As for the in-law countdown, day 20 here... 11 more to go...
29 Comments:
My heart cries out to have been there for you in your youth. Such a life would have completely sapped the soul of many; clearly yours was strengthed by it. I celebrate your strength, your perseverance, and your joie de vivre.
Miz B,
A lovely, romantic, and tragic story befitting one of such exhuberance. It appears as though you have learned the lesson that many who go through hell on Earth do...what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Kudos for keeping your head when others around you lost theirs. And kudos for building a good life scrounged from the detritus of a bad one.
Some would say you're lucky. I would say you're tough. And I'll take toughness over luck any day.
All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
Sorry.
I've nothing to say that hasn't already been said. Fantastic story.
You made me cry!!
What a story and I'm glad Loverboy refused to let you go.
3d~ What sweet words! Thank you... this bohemian is truly touched!
Poobah~ To be called tough by an omnipotent one is a compliment indeed. Thank you!
Esoteric Wombat~ Lovin' those words. Thank you...
Jenna~ Oh no! Here's a tissue! Yeah, I'm glad he didn't let me go too! ;-P
Wow! Your life keeps unfolding as a sad/happy story. I too am happy that loverboy found you again,but I think that you had reached the point where you might have found happiness on your own
Guilt; have spent way too much of my life operating under both guilt and false perceptions. No more!
Beautiful wonderful story
I miss all the good parties. That's ok...it sounds like all the hot chicks were taken...
)+(
You've come a long way, baby! Hold on tight to Loverboy. You're in a good space now. And your spirit lives on here in San Francisco!
My God! I want to crie after reading that. I hate your mother and I don't even know her.
A so touching story - you should write a book. yu writing is very readable. There you got rescued like cinderella- a beautiful end.
Oh, I feel so sorry for all the children that don´t get what they need!
Thank you for sharing that very personal story with us! Always nice to get to know one of your favorite chicas!
Pia~ Thank you for your beautiful comments... sad/happy story... I guess that is pretty much life in a nutshell! You said it lady Pia!
Gabriel~ You definitely missed a good one! We'll alert you to the fun next time!
Freethinker~ Welcome back my friend and HAPPY NEW YEAR! I am holdin' on tight and confident that you'll take care of lady SF for me! In the meanwhile, smooches coming your way!
Capri~ You are sweet. But no, no need to hate her. The abuse was not out of malice but ignorance and that does make a difference. Since then, though I have my strict boundaries, she, in her own way has tried quite strongly to make ammends... and I have moved on..
Biene~ Thank you! Well, that means a lot coming from Monika's angel mama!
Leigh~ "One of your favorite" chicas?!?!?! Am I not "the" favorite?!?!?!? *GASP* He, he, heeee.... you said though high maintenance, the ladies are worth it... so work it girl! ;-P
miz b that was the most intense thing ive read...ever
you give jaded romantics like me hope and an education..
i dont know what to say..
its not the love story i expected but i think i needed to read this..
thank you
*hug*
hehehe ... You know you are my favorite bohemian mama! You learned first hand on my blog about watching what you say within a group of women!
kisses & hugs all the way!
I rather like them too. Courtesy of JRR Tolkein
Lady Mahi~ Glad you liked it... what were you expecting? No fairy tale romance here I guess... unique in its own way perhaps, but surrounded by reality and hardship, both of which I am thankful for because they are mainly tests that make one stronger... it is an ongoing process still but here we are...
Leigh~ Glad to hear that! I can totally sympathize after all those broken hearts (yeah right! more likely to be broken egos! ;-P) but hey, I am one of those high maintenance chicks (emotionally) so I need to remain your favorite boho chica! IT IS A MUST I SAY! ;-P Hugs and kisses right back at ya!
Mr Wombat~ I love the man! When I was pregnant with my second, I had horrible insomnia and I spent my nights alone, in the dark, with Tolkien's voice around me... I lived and breathed him to the extent that I gobbled up the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy in 9 days! 3 years later, I wish I had the time to do it again!
Thank you for sharing your story here with us. It is amazing. You are one strong bohemian. LovaMo'a is proud that you have Icelandic blood, it seems to run strong in you.....this is according to my family a typical statement from me.....everything good and strong is atributed to Iceland :) Your husband is wonderful and I am proud that I am your MIL....that ought to confuse the blog friends that have not been paying attention:O
One more aside, I am thinking about having another blog with a secret name, I think I could be more open there......what do you think?I have many stories to tell....
Wow, wow, wow.. you never cease to amaze me.
You are so strong, smart, loving.. I could go on and on. Mostly you are an inspiration to us all.
You and Loverboy must have been meant to be. Have you ever found out if you've known each other in a previous incarnation?
And DAMN, I'm mad that I missed the girl's nite out!
LovaMo'a~ Thank you, thank you! I am flattered by your beautiful words! Funny thing is my husband attributes everything good and strong to the Iranian blood we share! You two would get along! As for your blog idea, I love it! I left you a full answer over at your place! Just let me know where to go if you do it!
Laurie~ No, I haven't found out but I just feel it in my bones... he thinks I am nuts because I have said to hell with till death do us part 'cause he is stuck with me for eternity and I have even made me promise to look for me when we reincarnate and to make sure that we end up in lives of people who are meant to meet or else I'll kick his ass... either he is nuts to be with me or a saint! And yeah, where were you on girl's nite out! We sure did miss you!
"I have even made HIM promise" that is... ay! bohemians can be distracted a little too easily...
This is my second time coming here. I couldn´t leave a comment after the first read. I hope that is ok. You know I love ye te bits, don´t ye?! You never seize to amaze, whatever happened to you made you you and I am thrilled to get to know this beautiful butterfly that has emerged out of a greyish cocoon.
I am fairly certain after reading this that I suffer not enough.
I can only hope to me made into as strong aperson as you, and as many I have read in this world of cyberspace, by a fortunate default of some kind.
I wondered how someone could become a Bohemian, That was quite a ride. You sure stayed in the saddle with grace.
that's one heck of a life
xxx
That's cool that the both of you have known each other your entire lives. :)
Monika~ Thank you for your beautiful words. You can come here as much as you like, comments or no! I should be so lucky to get visits from sweet Monika!
Alice~ Thank you! Although forgive me for laughing... you do not need to suffer more, and I don't think there is such a thing as suffering enough! We all have some karmic debt to pay off and this was/is mine... not suffering too much? GREAT! Embrace that and just enjoy! There is nothing wrong with that! And thank you for your sweet words! I hope you DO NOT have any suffering coming your way! THE HORROR!
Doug~ Ever the true gentleman and sweet soul... I am humbled and flattered by your words and the purity and sincerity of the sentiment behind them... Thank you.
Karma~ Karma! You're back! Yeah, one heck of a life... send me some of that good stuff and no Kruella mojo! ;-P
Capri~ Yeah, it makes for an interesting experience. It is weird when your husband says, "you never listened to me as a kid and you don't listen to me now!"
I believe that a lot of great people come from broken homes. You have leaped over some hardship hurdles but have done it with such grace... You should be very proud of yourself in the way you have kept it together. You are lucky to have a wonderful husband and 2 wonderful children... or should I say they are lucky to have you! Miz B, I "loved" ya before this post and after this post I "love" ya even more... You are a strong woman! ;)
What a beautiful story, Miz B! I don't think I can add any more than what has been said -- I completely am in awe of what you've overcome.
Shayna, Queen, thank you for the beautiful words and glad you liked the story!
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
Back to my Rhapsodic Soul...