Secrets No More

About 30 minutes ago I sat down to watch some TV (Channel O - South Africa's answer to MTV) and knit a few rows on the scarf I'm currently making. As I knit, my mind kept centering on an idea, insisting that I put words to it, that I share with the world a few of the secret things that make up Ali la Loca.

Acceptance. It's been in the air lately, swirling amongst the members of my blog community, be it through mirror meditation or encouraging comments. Perhaps its these first few days alone that have brought up the urge to disclose a few things about myself that I'd normally prefer to shroud in layers and lock up. I've been meditating, evaluating and observing my life here, wondering how it is that I got to this place (literally and figuratively) and where it is that I want to go tomorrow, next year, 10 years from now.

In the name of acceptance I'd like to share a few things about myself, my past, my fears and hopes.

1. I used to lie a lot. It was hard for me to say anything I feared would upset anyone else. I also had a tremendously difficult time telling people "no." This all has changed, and now I'm on the opposite extreme. I say exactly what I think and say "no" when I don't feel like doing something or going somewhere. I try to still act with kindess and respect, but I no longer sugarcoat or beat around the bush. I know that I come off as a bitch a lot of the time, but I'm a lot happier this way - and that's what matters in the end (to me, at least).

2. When I was in middle school, around 13 years old, my mousy brown hair "mysteriously" turned blonde. Contrary to what I told everyone and what they all ended up believing, especially my mother, my beautiful blonde streaks weren't due to hormones or blessed genetics. It all came from a bottle of hydrogen peroxide hidden at the back of my medicine cabinet. I'd wet a cotton ball and randomly dab it on my roots, creating blonde highlights. I did this for almost 10 years and never admitted to my hair being anything but natural. I felt like pretty, unique hair made me special. I felt beautiful, but always like a fraud.

One day, however, I realized that the blonde was way too brassy and not really a flattering tone for my cool, olive skin. So I dyed my hair dark, tried to get it back to my natural color. I had let my hair completely grow out last year for the first time in my adult life. Then, at a low point here in Maputo, I went to a hairdresser and had her put in highlights. I hated them and, kicking myself, am now growing out my natural color again. Nature knows best, and now I know not to fool with her. In about 6 months I'll be back to what she intened for me in the first place.

3. When I lived in Brasil as an exchange student I gained some weight in the first few months I was in the country. People started calling me chubby, so I stopped eating. 9 months later, I was anorexic and had stopped getting my period. My hair was falling out and I was pale as hell. But I was skinny, and to me that was all that mattered.

When I started college a year later, I started to eat again. And, of course, I gained back some of the weight. I also freaked out about it and started throwing up my food to keep thin. I also toyed with taking laxatives, but that never was really my thing. I hid my bulimia from everyone for almost a year until the depression and obsessiveness became unbearable. With the help of my friend Kyle, I went to a psychologist. She wasn't wonderful, and I ended up stopping therapy, but I told my parents about my eating disorder(s) and managed to stop purging my food.

Then, about a year later, I swung to the opposite extreme. I'd still binge eat like a bulimic, but I was too lazy and depressed to do anything to "make up for it." Not surprisingly, I gained weight. In my head, I was too fat to go out of the house. I was so ashamed of the way I looked and saw no way out of the cycle. All I could think was how desperately I wanted to go back to being anorexic but didn't have the willpower.

A total of 7 years after cultivating an eating disorder in Brasil, I finally got my life back together. I decided it was too painful, required too much effort, was too much to continue on the path I'd been following thus far. I tried to dedicate my negative energy into art instead of food. I started creating and painting and writing more than I ever have in my life. It didn't happen overnight, but I made it through to the other side.

Now my eating is pretty normal, but I still have serious body issues and am aware that food is the first thing I turn to when I feel stressed. I also believe strongly that, as with any other addiction, it is a disease that you must deal with for life. How do I know this? Because if I am honest with myself, I have to admit that part of me still wants to go back to being anorexic. Thankfully I'm wise enough to know that it's not worth it, but it sure does seem like a fabulous solution when times get tough...

4. I played the piano for 15 years, from the time I was 3 to when I was 18. Sometimes I miss piano now, but not because I love the music and the process of playing an instrument. Rather, I miss the thrill of impressing people and feeling the satisfaction of getting first place in a regional competition. I was really, really good at playing the piano and I loved it when people recognized my talent.

5. I struggle not to feel ashamed for being American.

6. When I lived in Austin, one day I found 2 enormous Ziploc baggies full of marijuana by the pool of my apartment complex. It was really high quality stuff, and an uneducated guess would put its street value at over $1,000. Instead of calling the cops like a good citizen, I took a quick look around to make sure the FBI or the owner of the drugs weren't lurking in the bushes, then took both baggies into my apartment. To even out my karma, I gave away about half of the pot to friends of mine that I knew smoked weed and would appreciate a free score. The other half I kept and, against all sound judgement, smoked for the next year anytime I felt like getting high.

7. Despite the fact that pretty much since high school I've smoked pot whenever I feel like it (although I've never actually bought any), I'm one of the most accomplished people I know. I'd go to class stoned all semester and get the highest grade out of 100 students on all the tests. I'd get high and clean the house, write a paper, organize my files, go for a jog or run errands. I even wrote a grant proposal once when I was high and ended up getting over a million dollars for the organization I was working for at the time. Even though morally I feel very guilty anytime I smoke, I can't say at this point in my life that I'm convinced that smoking weed is necessarily a bad thing in my life, as long as it's not done in excess.

8. I am not high right now, nor have I smoked pot in nearly a year, just in case you were wondering. I'm also not drunk or on any other substance other than the high that comes with shouting out your truths to the world.

9. I love my mom so much it's overwhelming. She is the one person on this earth I indentify with 110% percent. Sometimes I freak out thinking about how lonely I'll be when she's gone.

10. In 2003 I was raped by my neighbor in Brasil. I didn't resist his flirting or advances, and didn't say no when it all happened (see number 1). I had a boyfriend at the time who, unfortunately, came to Brasil to visit me exactly 2 days after I was raped. I was so ashamed, felt so guilty about what had happened, that I hid it all from my boyfriend and acted like everything was normal. Until the day my neighbor freaked out and supposedly came to the gate with a gun because he wanted to "talk to me." That was the afternoon I fled from our house and went to the hotel I wrote about in Sunday Scribblings a few weeks ago. In that hotel room I told my confused ex-boyfriend everything that had happened. In his eyes as well as mine at that moment, I hadn't been raped - I'd been a cheating whore.

It took 10 months of intensive therapy back in the US to get me to even start believing that just because I hadn't fought back or said "no" out loud, it didn't constitute a violation of my body and spirit. I still feel strange saying I was raped, as if because I enjoyed the attention of this neighbor and even flirted with him a bit before it all happened, because I didn't have a stronger reaction at the time, what happened to me doesn't "qualify." It's all still very gray, and as time passes I become more and more okay with the idea that it may just stay that way.

The relationship with my boyfriend at the time went on for a very painful year after the incident in Brasil. I don't think I've ever been so sad, yet simultaneously so relieved and happy as the day we broke up back in 2005.

11. As a result of number 10 above, I still have problems being touched (sexually or not) and many times find myself dissociating and having out of body experiences so that I don't have to deal with the uncomfortable feelings that arise when I am close to people. I'm working on it, but it's so hard to recognize that sometimes I can't deal with the person I'm totally in love with touching me, even if it's just to hug me or nuzzle my neck. Some days I even freak out if the cat walks across my chest! It's unbelivably frustrating to feel like I've worked through the bulk of the emotional baggage that came along with being raped/unfaithful, but somehow my body still lags behind in the healing process.

12. I'm terrible at parallel parking and can't ride a bike to save my life.

13. Although I'm not a smoker, sometimes I crave cigarettes. I feel especially guilty about this because smoking has very negatively affected the health of two people very close to me and Rico - my dad and his mom. I see what they have been through in terms of illness, and what Rico and I have been through in terms of watching our respective parents go through major health scares, and I don't want to do this to my kids. Ever. I don't want to be a smoker, yet I have to admit that the whole idea of cigarettes is very alluring to me.

14. I am superstitious. Every time I get on a plane/train/boat or take a road trip I go through the same ritual. I've done it for as long as I can remember. I close my eyes and make the sign of the cross 9 times in my mind. Then I say the following prayer: "Dear God please watch over me, everyone I love, and everyone that loves me. Let us arrive safely. Amen." The funny part is that I'm not even religious, much less Catholic.

15. I imagine terrible things happening to myself and to people that I love. I can't help it, these thoughts and images come into my mind no matter what I do. I think about people and animals trapped in fiery buildings, car accidents where I end up holding someone I love in my arms and helplessly watching them die. I imagine getting mugged, stabbed, shot, tortured and violently raped. I imagine the lurch of a plane right before it crashes. I imagine what it feels like to get "that phone call." I vaugely know that obsessive thoughts of bad things happening is a symptom of some psychological disorder but don't recall which one. Personally I think it's a reaction to finding happiness and having a life full of people that I love that the old negative voice inside tells me I don't deserve and will lose sooner or later anyway.

16. Despite this laundry list of secrets and tough times, and a whole slew of other things I've been through, I am an optimist. I am fundamentally happy and hopeful about what the future will bring. I love my life and wouldn't trade it for the world.

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I am going to post this and then go straight to bed to cuddle with the kittens. I know the urge to delete this list will be strong, and the only way I know for sure to overcome it is to turn off the computer. I want to share with you, get all this out, take a leap towards acceptance. I feel it is the right thing to do at this moment. Thank you all for reading with gentle hearts.