It’s a new year! And it’s time to say goodbye to the old one.  A terrible year.  A year filled with more trials than a person should ever know.  A year of birth, death, growth, and a lot of tears.

The year opened with a phone call.  The worst phone call a person can receive.  A phone call from a hospital

On Thursday, January 6th, 2011, my dad was in a serious accident.  My mom and I were in Oklahoma at the time, driving back to Los Angeles. My brother was in New York. My sister at home alone.  The hospital called my mom and told her that it was nothing serious and to keep driving.

What they didn’t tell us was that he was thrown from the side of a truck into a brick wall.  The side of his face was fractured in several places.  He had a bleed in his left frontal lobe, and he was being prepped for an immediate surgery the next morning.  He had lost a lot of blood and his t12 vertebra was fractures.  His nose was broken, and he wasn’t walking.  He wasn’t talking clearly.  He couldn’t see because of the swelling in his face.

On January 6th, 2011 I was faced with the realization that my dad was going to die.

I knew it, immediately, when the hospital called.  I felt it before it happened.  I knew something was wrong before I ever left.  We called the hospital back when we got to Amarillo, Texas, to find out his status.  That was when they told my mom the truth.  We pulled over, so I could drive.  We turned around and drove back.  And for an hour, I listened to my mom scream.  My mom is a crier.  But she was wailing.  I’ve never seen my mom like that before.  I’ll never forget it.  I called my brother to tell him the situation.  I called my sister.  I called my grandparents, and my aunts, and my uncles.  I called the church and they sent two pastors down to pray for him.  And we drove all night.

My brother’s flight arrived at 1 pm.  My grandpa picked him up and took him to the hospital.  I dropped my mom off at the hospital and went home to get my sister, who had seen my dad the night before.  I called my friend Ethan and asked him to drive me and Katie to the hospital because I was too tired to make it (we live an hour away.)  He did.  At 3 pm, I finally got to the intensive care unit.  Everyone else had already seen my dad.  I was about to go in and see him for first time – the last person in my family to get to do so – when they closed off visitation to changeover nurse.  I was told to wait until 7.  So I did.  Everyone else left to go get some coffee.  I waited.  I waited and waited and waited.  But I could not leave the waiting room.  I couldn’t.  Because I knew that I might never see him again and I just could not force myself to walk away.  I didn’t cry.  Never once did I cry.  Not on the drive back.  Not at the hospital waiting.  I was as solid as a rock.  I made all the calls.  I made the arrangements.  I kept in touch with the hospital and with my grandparents.  I did everything.  And now I was waiting to see him.  And I didn’t cry.

It’s funny how when I look back I don’t see it through my own eyes in my memory.  I see it as if I was watching myself experience it.

At 7 pm,I stood up to go into the room and a nurse brushed past me. “You’ll have to wait,” I was told.  “They’re fitting the brace on him now.”  My mom and brother and sister had just returned.  “She needs to see him,” my brother said.  “Can she go in?”

“Sure,” the nurse commented.  “Someone needs to learn how to put the brace on him anyway.”

I was allowed in.  It was horrible.  My mom will tell you that he looked better than she imagined.  I won’t go so far.  To me… it was horrible.  Heartwrenching.  His eye was swollen shut, his face swollen.  Tubes inserted into his nose.  His skin was pale.  Cuts and bruises.  He was lying strapped to a table connected to a million different machines and gadgets.  He smelled like stale blood.  His eye, the one that wasn’t swollen shut, was blood red from burst vessels.  His nose was purple.  His hair matted and dirty. The nurse had him rolled onto his side so she could slide the back brace under his body.  She had him turn over a few times, ad showed me how to get him into it.

“Is someone there?” My dad asked.

“Hi daddy.”

He turned toward me and tried to smile but he couldn’t because of the pain.  But I noticed his hand.  He couldn’t move much because of the spinal fracture and bruising but he was reaching for me.

“Heidi?”

I took his hand, and held it in mine, and sat down next to him.  I couldn’t hug him because he was too delicate.  So I pulled his hand close to me and put my forehead against it.

“You’re supposed to be in LA. What are you doing here?”

I shook my head.  “No daddy.  I came back.”

“No. You have other plans. You’re not supposed to be here.”

Again, I shook my head.  “Don’t you do that.  I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

When the nurse left my dad squeezed my hand.  “Heidi,” he whispered.  “Can you make me a roast duck when I get out of here?”

The nurse came back in and told me that visiting hours were over.  So I squeezed my dad’s hand and told him, “Daddy.  I love you so much.  I don’t tell you that enough.  I’m glad you’re okay.  I’ll be back tomorrow okay?”

Again, he tried to smile, and whispered, “I’m glad you came back.”

I left the room, and met my brother in the waiting room.  And I cried.  I broke down and I cried, hysterically, for what seemed like hours.  Wailed even.  And he just hugged me.

The surgery  is our miracle.  And my dad recovered.  I finally went home and resumed school, which had been put on hiatus, in March.  It was around the same time that I acquired a new roommate.  Her name was Rachel and she was semi psychotic.  From hiding raw food in her suitcase to throwing temper tantrums in which she would set things on fire, she had every kind of psychosis one could imagine.  Three fights and five police phone calls later she was finally out of my apartment.  But she was not out of my life.  She returned to the apartment to attempt to pry the knob off the door.  And she joined my local church. At least I didn’t have to wake up with her in my bed anymore.  (Oh yes, this really happened.)

In April I was rear ended o the way to the bank to deposit a financial aid check that I had to finagle away from the school to pay my rent.  They had decided to suspend my financial aid due to my leave of absence to take care of my dad.  Wonderful.  But after some arguing and begging and pleading they released the money so I could pay my rent.

The only thing I remember is looking in the rear view mirror and seeing no driver in the car behind me.  She came up from under the dashboard AFTER she introduces her bumper to my fender.  A match I didn’t quite agree was made in heaven.  Frustrated, I got her information and headed to the bank.  Of course they insisted that a hold be placed on the check due to the amount.  I asked to speak with a personal banker.  Once again, after some fenagling he released the hold.

And then waited until I left to call security and report the check under a fraud investigation.  Six hours later, I received a phone call from my father explaining to me that my assets had all been frozen and I was now under investigation for depositing a fraudulent check.

The only thing I remember is banging my head against the kitchen table and saying, “God you think you’re reallyyyy clever with this year don’t you?”

Lots of phone calls.  Calls to the school.  Calls to the bank.  Calls to an attorney.

It is amazing to me how compliant certain people will become when you drop the word “lawyer.”  It’s sort of like pulling out the paddle stick on a screaming 3 year old.  They shut right up.

That was the end of my relationship with wells fargo.

That same week, I dropped my damaged car off at the repair shop.  The insurance company had agreed to pay for a rental car.  It was a beautiful brand new 2011 Toyota Camry.  Leather seats.  Fantastic stereo.  Power everything.

I didn’t see the towtruck coming around the corner as I backed out of the awkward driveway, downhill, at an angle.  After the collision I sat in the car and cried for at least ten minutes before I got out of the car and cussed out the towtruck driver. The towtruck driver that was neither licensed or insured.  Totalling a rental does NOT look good on YOUR insurance record.

In June I started my externship.  I had been offered 40 hours a week, with pay, at a little restaurant called “Tart”.  One week in, I mentioned the pay.

“Well, that’s negotiable, see, we’d like to have you work for awhile then we’ll start paying you based on your work ethic.”

Working 40 hours a week without pay was NOT what I had agreed to.  Yet I continued to do it because I was already on contract with the school to finish the externship.  I just wanted to graduate. (Mind you, I was working another 20 hours at the store on top).  So I was working 60 hours a week and getting paid for 20 of it.  And in the kitchen I was the only person who spoke English, no one could tell me what they wanted, and the guys laughed at the idea of a girl working in a restaurant.  That was, once they quit asking me if I had a boyfriend and if I was available Friday night.

In July I had a nervous breakdown.  I wound up in a mental hospital for 3 days.  Now, none of this was intentional.  There was nothing wrong with me, I simply couldn’t stop crying due to stress.  I went to the hospital to get a psychiatric analysis and wound on a 72 hours suicide watch with Jesus and Rick James (And that’s another story, soon to be published in an upcoming book titled, ‘peeking duck, smoking chicken’)

When I came out of the hospital I was back at square one, having lost my externship, and much of my dignity.  But 2011 raged on.  In August I got really drunk.  Alcohol poisoning is nothing I EVER want to experience again.  Three days later, I recieved a phone call that my dad’s best friend was in the hospital and not expected to make it through the night.  I got in my car, drove to San Diego, and just as I was pulling into the parking lot he took his last breath.  Allen Collins, one of the most amazing men I have ever known and someone who was like a second father to me, died.  I went home, packed a bag, and drove back to San Diego.  And there I stayed for 5 days with the family.  We planned a funeral.  We laughed.  We cried.  We ate.  He joked.  We prayed.  We wondered.  And when the time came I went home.

In September I was kicked out of my church connect group.  It sparked a war that raged on through October.  I finally divorced myself from the church only to find myself strapped to a stretcher in an ambulance with a fever of 103 in near screaming pain.

I spent 3 days in the hospital fighting 4 different infections.  One of the infections was an unexplainable infection in my lower lymph nodes.

Try explaining to a doctor, “yes I know my pelvic lymph nodes are swollen but I am telling you, this is not an STI.  I’ve done nothing sexual with anyone in over a year.  It’s not possible.”

The doctor will tell you, “well it has to be because there is no explanation for it.”  And then he’ll awkwardly ask, “have you been really drunk lately?”

It’s a hopeless battle.  Don’t fight it.

As December rolled in a miracle happened.  A restaurant called me and asked if I would like to work for them as their head pastry chef.  And for the first time in months I smiled.

On December 31st, as the year came to a close, I put the last 3 chocolate lava cakes in the oven at the restaurant, turned to my prep guy and asked, “are you chocolate lava’s done?  I need them, now. (You see, chocolate lava was the special for the night.)  He turned to me with a rather pained look and says, “I have to start over.  I broke it.”

Try making 90 chocolate lava cakes on new years eve because the prep guy is on the phone in the corner crying and talking to his mom.  Yes, friends.  This is how 2011 came to a close.  See, the problem with chocolate lava is that it has to set in the fridge before it can go in the oven.  This I did not know.  I watched the minutes tick by on the eight lava cakes waiting to be plated, while 6 angry servers stood tapping their feet behind me.  And as the timer went off, I opened the oven door and screamed.

Chocolate… lava… nightmare.

As midnight rolled around, Luna, an Italian server at the restaurant handed me a fantastic and expensive glass of champagne.  “Here you go, darling.  Happy fucking new year.”

And as I draw this year, and this blog, to a close, I leave you with that.

Happy fucking new year.  And may 2011 forever be dead.

But in one last note, my father who is still with us and still my best friend said something to me that I can only hold onto with pride.  He said, “In 2009 you were a rebel.  In 2010 you were a victim.  But in 2011… you became a survivor.”

And so I welcome 2012.  This year… I will be a champion.

.

Like blood, gushing from a wound, a quick stab and you think you’re fine. You look down and suddenly you realize that your internal organs are lying on the ground.

Like heart failure.

I can think of a time, one time, when I felt this miserable. I was lying on my stomach over a barf bag, being held down by an entourage of nurses while a doctor drew spinal fluid out of my 4th lumbar with a needle the length of a small banana.

Of course, the lumbar puncture was followed by a morphine push and I quickly slipped into the most wonderful drug induced coma a near dying patient could endure.

The pretty colors kept me preoccupied enough that I barely noticed the ct scan ray as it took grotesque images of my insides.

and yet, here I was.  In a moment, lost.

Love is unfathomable.  I’ve loved all of about 3 people in my life.  But really… I’ve only loved one.

One man had taken full ownership of my mangled heart and I never found a way to reclaim it.

I’d tried and tried to recover from my addiction. My momentary lapses in judgment. Believed that maybe one day his feelings would change.  All my stupid mistakes would be forgotten.  He’d come back to me.  He’d realize how amazing I am and things would change… and I knew how stupid it was to think this way, to hold these thoughts in the back of my mind.  I tried, so damn hard, to let go.  I tried and tried.  Sometimes cried. Ached. Begged God to do something to change my emotions… to allow me to feel something for someone else… anyone. And nothing changed.  I emotionally married my best friend and I couldn’t fathom a divorce.

And as I stared at a change of status from nonexistent to in a relationship, something so stupid, something I shouldn’t care about at all, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to turn my life around so drastically.  And I knew.  I knew I’d wake up one day and he would be married and I would be alone.  Because I sold my heart on the blackmarket with no guarantee on the investment.

I should have bought a blender.

Take it all.  Everything I am.
Give me something new to devour
For this dinner wares me tired
And ill.

I need more.
I’m so tired of this empty life
I’m tired of the fame
Or lack thereof.
I’m tired of the dream
Or lack thereof

I’m just tired

Please.
Give me more.

Cause now… I feel like shit.

Deleted my facebook tonight, and logged onto my twitter to do the same, only to see this tweet directed at me.

“So we just cut off those that disagree with us? I guess we aren’t adults anymore. Fine. One less LIAR in my life”

I don’t understand how anyone can HATE so much what they don’t understand.

I wonder if you’ll ever know
the ache inside my chest
And how I crave what I can’t have,

Hell… I’ll explain the rest

I wonder if you know
how I much I hate shallow replies
“but you’re so young…”
Please… save me all your inconvenient tries.
And give me something real to eat
My soul it begs for more.
A crust of bread won’t satisfy
This undivided whore

“How could she use such ugly words”
Please! Save your dying breath!
For there will be no countenance
Accept this as my death

Death of life and birth of death
A crime I will commit
But hold your worried glances
Don’t take this as a hint

I’m not in any danger
There’s no need for alarm.
I’m simply sick of drowning
And faking subtle charm

I’m telling you a story, love.
Please, listen to me now.
Take this serious, I beg.
Then let me take a bow…

You see, I’ve always been too much
For anyone to take
That’s why I run
Before they see
My pile of mistakes

I’ve tasted brief insanity
I’ve learned the smell of lies
I know the pain that comes with each
And every quick goodbye

I’m just too much
So once again I find myself alone…
A bitter drum a somber song
A melancholy tone
And so I find a way to even out the broken scale
Calm my raging temperament
And still it seems I fail

For in my brink of glory
I find I’m not enough My god!
What is this madness?

So I settle to be tough
Tough to love
Tough to hold
Tough to every touch
Tough to give
And Tough to take
To tough to be too much

Because tough means hard
And hard means cold
And cold means filled with ice
And ice can numb a broken bone
You won’t even think twice

I’m damaged beyond fixing
I’m broken beyond repair
But I wonder, could you save me?
If you even know I’m there?

My mind starts to turn
As I sink into the night
And listen to the silence
And search for a light
in a misguided passage
into the journey of life

mistakes have been harnessed
And broken hearts made
And they say nothing is so strong
As a woman scorned
Well how bout the pain of a woman torn
Lost without love
Driven by pain
Scourged with a steel blade
Of bitter strong rain

How would you know
The pain in my heart?
And the wine in the blood
That pulses

within

It’s not like there’s much better.  Nobody’s grass is as green as mine. I can’t say that I’m satisfied. Three thousand miles from your kiss goodbye. I’m gonna lay back down, Hope the wind takes me around, I gotta find some courage in this town. And I promise I’m gonna calm down. Once the wind stops spinning me

Upside down, upside down

And then it hurts.

Otherwise I’m fine.

It’s just the quiet that gets me.