I was born Victoria Lee Stewart in January
In a small retirement community a full week into the new year
Yet I was the New Years baby
I once asked my mother who I was named for
A queen perhaps, or a far away city?
"No" she said, "I just thought the name is beautiful- you are beautiful"
But she didn't call me that beautiful name, instead she called me Vickie
She spelled it in a different way then most
with the "ie" on the end instead of a "y"
Nobody ever got it right
It rhymed with all manner of unpleasant names
Which I suffered throughout elementary school
Vickie, Dickie, Sicky, lickie, Mickie, picky... icky
Finally I had the chance to re-brand myself
A move to a new state when I was nearly 12
Now I was Tori...
No longer gangly, and awkward, with buck teeth, and stick out ears
I was tan and tall and pretty and I was "The girl from California"
And Tori didn't rhyme with anything gross
The move was no good for a girl with no self-esteem however, instead it proved to be a disaster that set me on a path of self loathing and self destruction
Suddenly attractive to boys and with out compass or sanctuary
I became victim to the whim and desires of others
Mississippi holds no fond memories for me
I cringe at the thought of meeting someone who knew me then
Leaving Mississippi behind did not remove its shadow from my heart
The shadow cold and lonely followed me thru Arkansas, Okinawa, New York, Connecticut and back to Arkansas again and Wisconsin and Florida and Arkansas again, and again to Arkansas
The dark times were dismal with this shadow overhead, no light could penetrate. Anguished nights spent screaming into the dark,
Cicadas roar covered the sound with no purchase found in those days
Years passed until I finally made another move
To a new place inside myself.
I decided to grow into me
I know it sounds too simple but that was just what I did
I left behind the old shadow, the shame and solitude
I changed from the inside out, my food, my outlook
I nourished myself in ways that have nothing to do with my address
I am Victoria now and forever
I am beautiful and free
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Friday, November 13, 2015
The Purple Cigarette Case
As I walked into the cabin up on the Missouri mountain that first time, my ears still buzzing from the shock of learning about Ramona, the very first thing I laid eyes on was a purple cigarette case lying on the rustic wood coffee table. I took in the wood paneled walls, the striped earthtone olefin sofa set and briefly noticed the scent of the place. Musty, stale smoke, some kind of sour whiskey or beer... but my eyes kept going back to that cigarette case. I hadn't seen that case in a few years but I recognized it immediately. It was Ramona's case. I had this hysterical thought that they were wrong, they had to be wrong! Ramona was obviously just in the other room... there was her cigarette case right there on the coffee table after all. Oh and look here is her purse on the floor beside the couch.
I got up and wandered around a bit. Not my house but it didn't seem to matter. Ramona's mom, Nan and her cousin I had never met; CJ and... Ashley! Oh my god little Ashley... with those big round eyes just like her mother...were there too, they were talking, everyone seemed excited and lost all at the same time and I just couldn't focus on them no matter how hard I tried. The house was small. Only 2 bedrooms. It was furnished like it had always been there. The furnishings and decorations placed by some elders in the family years ago and left to be attended by whomever happened to currently possess the house. But there... and there. A cigarette case, a purse, a calendar on the wall. A doll on the floor of the bedroom, a sweater... my god that was my sweater! I had forgotten she had taken it so long ago. Notes scrawled and stuck to the refrigerator under a magnet. Little pieces of Ramona all around me. Somehow I knew they were her things even if I hadn't seen them in years or ever before. I could feel Ramona in every room. They weren't her rooms she had only been there what a month? Two? But she was there now big as life just the same. Any second she would walk through the door and laugh at all of us being so silly; crying and carrying on.
I sat on the couch and tried to focus on Ashley. Six years old, an orphan so young! My mind drifted again to a letter Ramona had written to me just a few years ago. Ashley must have been a baby then. She reminded me of her health. She had become a diabetic so young, at the cusp of her years of teen angst. She rebelled against her disease as hard as any teen ever did against parental rule. She had smoked cigarettes and weed and popped pills, drank and partied like she was fulfilling her destiny to die. They had told her she would not live to see 21 years old. But she was 21 when Ashley was born. The years of self abuse had taken their toll but there she was pregnant and hopeful for the future. She had written to me and begged me to take Ashley if she should die.
We were kids, she and I; 19 and 21 years old. What did we know about wills, lawyers and custody agreements? Yet there was Ashley before me. An orphan.
Reflecting on the events of the day, I thought about how crazy that I should be sitting here at all right now. That Ramona should be gone and I am here. We had planned the trip haphazardly as we usually did things. My marriage crumbling, Ramona had run from hers and was now hiding in the mountain cabin with her cousin.
We had spoken on the phone several times since she had left Orville. She kept telling me, "These people have MONEY!" She had told me all about impromptu helicopter flights to the gulf for shrimp, and obscene money spent on booze and barbecue and everything under the sun.
"They work in oil, you know, THAT'S where the money is," she had said.
Looking around it didn't seem like they had money. Land yes, they had land. The cabin sat on I don't even know how many hundred acres. She had wanted to buy me a plane ticket to visit; hash it all out. Somehow I was sure that my visit would result in my divorce.
I had rushed to the airport in Hartford, Connecticut this morning; an hour drive from Groton where I lived with my husband, Aaron and three kids. unable to find my address book with the new phone number at the cabin. I wasn't able to call to verify our plans for several days before the trip. I was worried but ultimately I trusted her to know my flight information. She had bought the ticket afterall. In retrospect it seemed odd to me that she hadn't called me... but then I was under so much stress at home myself, and really Ramona was like that. How many times had we gone 6 months or more without talking at all only to have the phone ring at 3 am and there she'd be,
"Girl, I know you have a good margarita recipe, right?"
We never skipped a beat, every conversation left off was picked up months or years down the road as easy as if we were never apart.
When I had stepped off the plane into the terminal I was only slightly surprised not to see her at the gate. As I waited for my baggage at the carousel I wasn't really even concerned. I carried my bags to the payphone in the center of the airport and fussed around in my purse for a phone card or cash, I don't remember anymore in the end I think I just dialled collect.
When Aaron answered the phone I asked him if he'd finally found my address book. Ramona wasn't here.
"Are you sitting down?" He asked me ignoring my inquiry.
"Uh... no, Aaron I'm standing at a payphone in the middle of the airport," I retorted in annoyance.
Then came the back and forth... god he could be like a dog with a bone! Telling me over and over to sit down because he has bad news.,. I was becoming more and more irritated with him as a sneaking dread began to come over me and I was suddenly positive that he was going to tell me that my mother was dead
when suddenly I noticed that Nan... Ramona's mom? Nan was walking toward me.
"Why is Nan here? Nan lives in Arkansas, this is Missouri..." my thoughts were swirling as I vaguely heard Aaron finally say,
"Ramona passed away last night."
"What did you say? Why did you say that?" I was suddenly furious! If he had been standing in front of me I would have punched him right in the face.
Then I saw Ashley trailing behind Nan and I knew it was true.
I dropped the phone and we hugged each other so tight right in the middle of the airport and I was screaming and crying. I think she was too. Ashley clutched at our legs. All the years that she had felt like enemy mom, vanished and she was holding me up. My legs quivered under me and I don't know how I didn't fall. I don't remember how we got to the car. I don't know how we did it without losing my luggage. All I really remember now is the long drive in the backseat, with Ashley leaning over on my lap and then walking into the cabin and seeing that purple cigarette case.
That afternoon we drove back to Jacksonville, Arkansas to Nan's home and the place where Ramona and I had become friends in high school. I spent my two week vacation helping to plan my best friend's funeral. I was grateful to be there, if she hadn't bought me that ticket I wouldn't have been able to get there. That was in 1995. I miss Ramona. Everyday.
I got up and wandered around a bit. Not my house but it didn't seem to matter. Ramona's mom, Nan and her cousin I had never met; CJ and... Ashley! Oh my god little Ashley... with those big round eyes just like her mother...were there too, they were talking, everyone seemed excited and lost all at the same time and I just couldn't focus on them no matter how hard I tried. The house was small. Only 2 bedrooms. It was furnished like it had always been there. The furnishings and decorations placed by some elders in the family years ago and left to be attended by whomever happened to currently possess the house. But there... and there. A cigarette case, a purse, a calendar on the wall. A doll on the floor of the bedroom, a sweater... my god that was my sweater! I had forgotten she had taken it so long ago. Notes scrawled and stuck to the refrigerator under a magnet. Little pieces of Ramona all around me. Somehow I knew they were her things even if I hadn't seen them in years or ever before. I could feel Ramona in every room. They weren't her rooms she had only been there what a month? Two? But she was there now big as life just the same. Any second she would walk through the door and laugh at all of us being so silly; crying and carrying on.
I sat on the couch and tried to focus on Ashley. Six years old, an orphan so young! My mind drifted again to a letter Ramona had written to me just a few years ago. Ashley must have been a baby then. She reminded me of her health. She had become a diabetic so young, at the cusp of her years of teen angst. She rebelled against her disease as hard as any teen ever did against parental rule. She had smoked cigarettes and weed and popped pills, drank and partied like she was fulfilling her destiny to die. They had told her she would not live to see 21 years old. But she was 21 when Ashley was born. The years of self abuse had taken their toll but there she was pregnant and hopeful for the future. She had written to me and begged me to take Ashley if she should die.
We were kids, she and I; 19 and 21 years old. What did we know about wills, lawyers and custody agreements? Yet there was Ashley before me. An orphan.
Reflecting on the events of the day, I thought about how crazy that I should be sitting here at all right now. That Ramona should be gone and I am here. We had planned the trip haphazardly as we usually did things. My marriage crumbling, Ramona had run from hers and was now hiding in the mountain cabin with her cousin.
We had spoken on the phone several times since she had left Orville. She kept telling me, "These people have MONEY!" She had told me all about impromptu helicopter flights to the gulf for shrimp, and obscene money spent on booze and barbecue and everything under the sun.
"They work in oil, you know, THAT'S where the money is," she had said.
Looking around it didn't seem like they had money. Land yes, they had land. The cabin sat on I don't even know how many hundred acres. She had wanted to buy me a plane ticket to visit; hash it all out. Somehow I was sure that my visit would result in my divorce.
I had rushed to the airport in Hartford, Connecticut this morning; an hour drive from Groton where I lived with my husband, Aaron and three kids. unable to find my address book with the new phone number at the cabin. I wasn't able to call to verify our plans for several days before the trip. I was worried but ultimately I trusted her to know my flight information. She had bought the ticket afterall. In retrospect it seemed odd to me that she hadn't called me... but then I was under so much stress at home myself, and really Ramona was like that. How many times had we gone 6 months or more without talking at all only to have the phone ring at 3 am and there she'd be,
"Girl, I know you have a good margarita recipe, right?"
We never skipped a beat, every conversation left off was picked up months or years down the road as easy as if we were never apart.
When I had stepped off the plane into the terminal I was only slightly surprised not to see her at the gate. As I waited for my baggage at the carousel I wasn't really even concerned. I carried my bags to the payphone in the center of the airport and fussed around in my purse for a phone card or cash, I don't remember anymore in the end I think I just dialled collect.
When Aaron answered the phone I asked him if he'd finally found my address book. Ramona wasn't here.
"Are you sitting down?" He asked me ignoring my inquiry.
"Uh... no, Aaron I'm standing at a payphone in the middle of the airport," I retorted in annoyance.
Then came the back and forth... god he could be like a dog with a bone! Telling me over and over to sit down because he has bad news.,. I was becoming more and more irritated with him as a sneaking dread began to come over me and I was suddenly positive that he was going to tell me that my mother was dead
when suddenly I noticed that Nan... Ramona's mom? Nan was walking toward me.
"Why is Nan here? Nan lives in Arkansas, this is Missouri..." my thoughts were swirling as I vaguely heard Aaron finally say,
"Ramona passed away last night."
"What did you say? Why did you say that?" I was suddenly furious! If he had been standing in front of me I would have punched him right in the face.
Then I saw Ashley trailing behind Nan and I knew it was true.
I dropped the phone and we hugged each other so tight right in the middle of the airport and I was screaming and crying. I think she was too. Ashley clutched at our legs. All the years that she had felt like enemy mom, vanished and she was holding me up. My legs quivered under me and I don't know how I didn't fall. I don't remember how we got to the car. I don't know how we did it without losing my luggage. All I really remember now is the long drive in the backseat, with Ashley leaning over on my lap and then walking into the cabin and seeing that purple cigarette case.
That afternoon we drove back to Jacksonville, Arkansas to Nan's home and the place where Ramona and I had become friends in high school. I spent my two week vacation helping to plan my best friend's funeral. I was grateful to be there, if she hadn't bought me that ticket I wouldn't have been able to get there. That was in 1995. I miss Ramona. Everyday.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
The Self-Fulfilling Party Planner by Victoria Meyers (15 of 30)
I have thrown a lot of parties and get togethers of many different sizes and magnitudes throughout my life. When I was a teen in therapy this fact came out that when I throw a party; no one shows up. So my therapist took this as a challenge. Whether to prove to me that I must be exaggerating- which admittedly depressed souls will do- or to give me a happy successful party experience to reset my counter - well... I'm not sure.
In any event he required me to plan and throw not just one but two successful parties. That was a stipulation in the assignment - YES - they were to be successful.
So with mixed emotions and some guarded fear I set about to plan the first of the two.
My guests, who were all from an enclosed circle of influence, got wind of the assignment. So as kids tend to like to be mean and against all odds and even threat of punishment they plotted against me. All of my guests purposely refused to show up. Not only that but even my therapist forgot to come! And yes, he had been given an invitation; hand-written and hand-delivered like all the rest.
So my life has seemed to continue to follow this path. No matter where in the world my nomadic life has led me, no matter the circle of friends of which I was a member, whenever I have summoned the courage to throw another shindig- with very few exceptions- no one shows up.
But I keep doing it. At one point in my life I even made parties my JOB. Go figure. What could have possessed me? Somehow deep down am I actually doing this to myself? Or am I still trying to utilize the therapeutic direction of my past?
My party career never took off. Self fulfilling prophecies not withstanding- I still throw parties that no one attends.
Today I attended a gathering that was thrown together in less then three days. Almost no one received any reminder to attend, much less an invitation at all. Yet there were hundreds in attendance. Family members, old friends, new friends, colleagues, business acquaintances and even dastardly teenagers. Their were spouses and guests who may never even have met the honoree at all.
How could this be? This gathering put together in less then three days for a man who felt so alone and hopeless that he had even taken his own life? The irony is not lost on my. It strikes a cold fear in my heart.
It makes me ask questions that are none of my business, but I wonder...
De he throw parties?
And if he did did he have good attendance?
Maybe he never did throw parties and didn't know how dearly he was loved.
Maybe he did but he forgot?
Maybe its normal for people to ignore you until your dead?
It's a conundrum to me.
But I wonder, will this party failure that I am haunt me even into death?
I wish that he had been able to see how much he was loved. Maybe he would still be with us.
In any event he required me to plan and throw not just one but two successful parties. That was a stipulation in the assignment - YES - they were to be successful.
So with mixed emotions and some guarded fear I set about to plan the first of the two.
My guests, who were all from an enclosed circle of influence, got wind of the assignment. So as kids tend to like to be mean and against all odds and even threat of punishment they plotted against me. All of my guests purposely refused to show up. Not only that but even my therapist forgot to come! And yes, he had been given an invitation; hand-written and hand-delivered like all the rest.
So my life has seemed to continue to follow this path. No matter where in the world my nomadic life has led me, no matter the circle of friends of which I was a member, whenever I have summoned the courage to throw another shindig- with very few exceptions- no one shows up.
But I keep doing it. At one point in my life I even made parties my JOB. Go figure. What could have possessed me? Somehow deep down am I actually doing this to myself? Or am I still trying to utilize the therapeutic direction of my past?
My party career never took off. Self fulfilling prophecies not withstanding- I still throw parties that no one attends.
Today I attended a gathering that was thrown together in less then three days. Almost no one received any reminder to attend, much less an invitation at all. Yet there were hundreds in attendance. Family members, old friends, new friends, colleagues, business acquaintances and even dastardly teenagers. Their were spouses and guests who may never even have met the honoree at all.
How could this be? This gathering put together in less then three days for a man who felt so alone and hopeless that he had even taken his own life? The irony is not lost on my. It strikes a cold fear in my heart.
It makes me ask questions that are none of my business, but I wonder...
De he throw parties?
And if he did did he have good attendance?
Maybe he never did throw parties and didn't know how dearly he was loved.
Maybe he did but he forgot?
Maybe its normal for people to ignore you until your dead?
It's a conundrum to me.
But I wonder, will this party failure that I am haunt me even into death?
I wish that he had been able to see how much he was loved. Maybe he would still be with us.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Letter to my Little Self by Victoria Meyers (14 of 30)
Hey little girl,
I remember when you were sitting in your room at your flower table
Coloring with crayons while you sang Elvis, and Eagles and Shawn Cassidy songs
You believed you sounded just like the singers and you sang loud enough to drown them out
Hey little girl,
I remember when you used to spend hours choreographing dances and skits to go along with those same songs
When you would get the other kids to to join in and put on a show for your moms' party friends
I remember how you gave the party goers all tickets and directed them to come to come see the "show" at the designated time.
You had it all figured out and you put on three shows a night- so that no one had to miss out
Hey little girl,
Don't stop dreaming
Life will get hard, and so many, many years will go by that you will forget
You will even forget yourself and who you would have been - before - if they hadn't done all those things to you to knock you off your trajectory
So many years will go by that you will want to give up
In fact you will give up entirely three times before you get back on your path
Hey little girl,
Remember all those things that happen to you not only the good and happy things- but also the ugly nasty and a sad things too
Are the same things that will make you amazing
They will color you music and your poetry and your parenting and your love
With all the empathy that you need to touch the hearts of those who will listen
And little girl,
I'm telling you they will listen one day
And you will smile
I remember when you were sitting in your room at your flower table
Coloring with crayons while you sang Elvis, and Eagles and Shawn Cassidy songs
You believed you sounded just like the singers and you sang loud enough to drown them out
Hey little girl,
I remember when you used to spend hours choreographing dances and skits to go along with those same songs
When you would get the other kids to to join in and put on a show for your moms' party friends
I remember how you gave the party goers all tickets and directed them to come to come see the "show" at the designated time.
You had it all figured out and you put on three shows a night- so that no one had to miss out
Hey little girl,
Don't stop dreaming
Life will get hard, and so many, many years will go by that you will forget
You will even forget yourself and who you would have been - before - if they hadn't done all those things to you to knock you off your trajectory
So many years will go by that you will want to give up
In fact you will give up entirely three times before you get back on your path
Hey little girl,
Remember all those things that happen to you not only the good and happy things- but also the ugly nasty and a sad things too
Are the same things that will make you amazing
They will color you music and your poetry and your parenting and your love
With all the empathy that you need to touch the hearts of those who will listen
And little girl,
I'm telling you they will listen one day
And you will smile
Monday, April 13, 2015
Lost Words by Victoria Meyers (13 of 30)
Sunday morning came early
A new day to wash the tears away
I travel down pathways in my memory
Searching for song lyrics long lost
The lilt of my song haunts me
But my damaged brain keeps holding out
These old purged words that are lost to me now
Ghosts of the past in my today
I remember the times when I wrote them
Black bird flies away
To a door on the far side of the sky
Woe to you who don't take a serious view
To the art of your words today
Because tomorrow they could be gone
And believe me when I tell you
You will ache for their loss
Thoughts flit in and out as I write
My brain is a sponge that is drying
The moisture my thoughts, my words my poems, my songs
Drying out
This final repetition of a faded glory.
Falls flat as I rest my boots
While little birds and blackbirds
Both fly away and when they go
They take your heart and soul with them
A new day to wash the tears away
I travel down pathways in my memory
Searching for song lyrics long lost
The lilt of my song haunts me
But my damaged brain keeps holding out
These old purged words that are lost to me now
Ghosts of the past in my today
I remember the times when I wrote them
Black bird flies away
To a door on the far side of the sky
Woe to you who don't take a serious view
To the art of your words today
Because tomorrow they could be gone
And believe me when I tell you
You will ache for their loss
Thoughts flit in and out as I write
My brain is a sponge that is drying
The moisture my thoughts, my words my poems, my songs
Drying out
This final repetition of a faded glory.
Falls flat as I rest my boots
While little birds and blackbirds
Both fly away and when they go
They take your heart and soul with them
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