When you are a glutton for experience and novel dalliances, catharsis has to be a violently aborted baby so malnourished and deformed that its death would be the only kindness after the first breath.
And so it was.
Having my history of sexual abuse show up in my bedroom as a cheap reenactment staged as a cruel drunken revenge is comical on this side of a year. The panic attack was an epic mess of tears, triggers, and me desperately trying to seek solace within Cohen’s Hallelujah.
He left me unable to drive on the side of the road puking up all semblance of dignity. He drove away because it really didn't matter that he violated me at all. I was too embarrassed to call my husband and ask for help. In obedient stupidity and a fair amount of stubborn, I still showed up to Journey. I very publically dumped him and walked away from an abusive shell of a leather club who found my ex’s cool sociopathy a benchmark of brotherhood. Surprise misogyny is the secret sauce in a Salt Lake City-based BDSM organization.
Happy Birthday to me!
Two days later I met my friend for oysters. Introducing me to the flavorful mignonette and horseradish. Start this year with new experiences. Drag yourself out of bed and stop feeling sorry for something that was so broken no amount of Kintsugi was going to make it whole. I was free now and what would I do when I wasn't weighed down.
She introduced me to a man who so lit her up we had to escape to the bathroom to indulge girlish giggles. That’s what it’s supposed to be like.
I deleted social media and spent 30 days not talking about it. I cleaned everything and started applying for art grants. Art is what I would do. And I would do anything that scared me.
A month later I was out with friends again.
Good Advice: your relationship has made you prey to predators who know your threshold for shitty behavior. Grok: Set strong boundaries for yourself.
Márnia Abramovic narrating her life of art and disastrous romances. Relationships and performance. Art and pushing through. A signed copy procured by a little Writer’s Block.
Bohemian rhapsody when done by would-be theatre kids looks a lot like a Rent flash mob. Of course, I was a lot like Mark in the midst of messy couples. Watching the world spin without engagement. That is until our Mark, third one by this point, swept me into his world of immersive theater.
A road trip into the spiritual southwestern city of Santa Fe. Prodigal son’s and all for I always found magic in this city. A sense of color amid the muddy adobe. This an Eternal House that I had yet to experience. There, such confidence was built, in the company of really great friends and a songbook to trip to. Some mysteries needed to be solved later but it felt so good to be surrounded by the next wave of artistic engagement. Every corner was a surprise of curated space and sound time.
It marked the beginning of a summer on the road. Not the epic miles spent in Travels with Charlie more like Dharma Bum’s Buddhist pacific trek through the wilds of desolation.
Hours on the road alone finding myself. Interludes of reconnecting with good friends on redwood trails littered with ladybugs. Climbing with mentors who are preparing for Kilimanjaro. Hunter S Thompson dreams of “Vegas Experience”. Is my weird going pro? Tupperware parties replete with tea and pie. Some recipes really change trajectories. Agents and L.A friends. An eclipse and a man burns.
The other side of a year finds me extraordinary. A birthday where I am on an adventure with a man who loves me in ways that I assumed were relegated to fiction. In the world of ideas, poetry, love, writing, and deep connections. Turned on to what seems like endless possibility. Inspired to contribute to the balance of good created by a heart that was gifted the ability to feel deeply.