From Stacey In Brooklyn

DO I TALK FROM MY HEART OR MY HEAD….BOTH WELL, SIMUTANEOUSLY TENDS
TO OVERWHELM ME. TOO MANY THOUGHTS CAN TEND TO HURT MY HEART, SELF
DESTRUCT OR BE TERRIBLY DISAPPOINTED WITH WHO I AM ALL TOGETHER.

I LIKE TO CALL THIS ALL MY BEAUTIFUL “COMPARTMENTS”

I THINK SOMEWHERE I GOT LOST. I MEAN I THINK I RAN AWAY AS A LITTLE
GIRL AND POSSIBLY STILL WANDERING, DESPERATELY TRYING TO LOSE MY SHADOW
BUT KINDA TRYING TO FOLLOW IT TO LEARN THE REAL ME. I STARTED THIS
BOOK AFTER COLLEGE CALLED “WHAT SHE REALLY THINKS” IT’S A SPOKEN
WORD, NOT DIARY, OF WHAT GOES ON..IN THE HEAD AT TIMES SURFACELY OR THE
HEART, WHEN ITS REALLY RAW.

AS AN ARTIST I WONDERED WHAT MY PLACE IN THIS WORLD WOULD BE. I WAS
NEVER THE BEST IN MY CLASS, OR THE SMARTEST, OR MOST TALENTED. I
CERTAINLY DIDN’T BELIEVE IN MY ARTISTIC ABILITY. I WAS THE DAUGHTER
THAT PARENTS DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH, WELL I DIDN’T GET HIGH
SCORES ON MY SAT’S WE CAN SAY. I STRUGGLED A LOT, AND SOOOOO
INSECURE. SO “THEY” DECIDED TO SEND ME TO ART SCHOOL. I DID LIKE
TAKING ART CLASSES CAUSE IT WASN’T MATH OR SCIENCE AND I COULD BE
ME…COLOR AND DESIGN I THOGUHT EXPRESSED MY THOUGHTS. BUT TO SAY I
WAS GOOD, WELL….THATS A DIFFERENT STORY. I TRIED TO RIG THE
HIGHSCHOOL MOST TALENTED FOR ARTIST ABILITY. SHHHH, NO ONE KNOWS THAT,
CAUSE I KNEW I WOULDN’T WIN.

I MEAN THE ANXIETY I HAD BEFORE A PORTFOLIO REVIEW OR CRITIQUE, I WOULD
CRY FOR HOURS THINKING OF THE WAYS I WOULDN’T HAVE TO PRESENT. COULD
I B LAST, GO TO THE BATHROOM AT THE PERFECT TIME, MAYBE TEAR UP SO MY
PROFESSOR WOULD C I WAS DYING INSIDE. I WAS NEVER GOOD ENOUGH.

TIME SKIPPED:

I WAS GRADUATIING COLLEGE AND HAD NO CLUE WHAT TO DO OR WHERE TO GO. I
DID KNOW I WASN’T GOING TO LIVE IN MY PARENTS BASEMENT. THAT WOULD
BE THE DEATH OF ME. I APPLIED TO GRADUATE SCHOOL IN NYC. I COULD
LIVE WITH MY SISTER AND EXPERIENCE NYC. LITTLE DID I KNOW I WAS GOING
TO SHARE, LITERALLY, A BED WITH MY SISTER FOR 3 YEARS, WORK PART TIME
STOCKIN SOCKS IN MACYS AND STRUGGLING WITH MY INSECURITY WITH NEW
AMAZING NYU ARTISTS. WHY WOULD I EVER THINK I COULD FIT IN AT NYU ART
SCHOOL…I MUST HAVE BEEN CRAZY. I THOUGHT I WAS GROWING UP BUT I
WASN’T. I WAS EVEN MORE TRAPPED CASUE I WAS STARTING OVER AT THE AGE
OF 22. THIS IS WHEN I STARTED WRITING. IT WAS SOMETHING I KNEW I WAS
GOOD AT. I COULD EXPRESS MYSELF AND NO ONE HAD TO CRITIQUE IT. I
COULD BE ME WITH NO BOUNDRIES, JUST THOUGHTS PAPER AND INK. HOW COULD
THAT BE BAD? WELL, MY WORDS BECAME DISTURBING I WOULD NOTICE. I WAS
SUCH A SAD GIRL. WAITING TO BE LIFTED, FOUND, NURTURED…WHO WOULD DO
THIS FOR ME? WELL TIME CAME AND WENT, EXCEPT FOR ONE DAY I REMEMBER
EVER SO CLEAR THAT LOOKING BACK NOW WAS THE MOMENT THAT CHANGED ME.

I WAS IN MY EARLY CHILDHOOD PSYCHOLOGY CLASS, PASSING IN AN
ASSIGNMENT. IT WAS TITLED “STACEY.” MY PROFESSOR TOOK ALL THE
PAPERS LEFT AND WHEN WE WENT BACK THE FOR THE FOLLOWING CLASS, HE CALLED
ME UP TO HIS DESK AT THE END OF CLASS. GIL TRACHTMAN, PROBABALY IN HIS
60’S, SHORT, THIN SOMEWHAT FRAIL, GRAY HAIR, PRETTY LONG, LONG GRAY
BEARD, JEWISH FOR SURE. HE SAYS “STACEY I CANT GRADE THIS, THIS IS A
PAPER TOO DEEPLY ROOTED IN YOU THAT ITS IMPOSSIBLE TO GIVE A NUMBER OR
LETTER TO SIGNIFY THE EMOTION IN THE WORDS.”

I STARTED CRYING. AT THAT MOMENT I THINK I SAW MY SHADOW, NOT
REFLECTION, IT WAS JUST A SHADOW. I WROTE WORDS ON THAT PAPER THAT I
HAD NEVER SHARED WITH ANYONE. SO STRANGE BUT TRUE, I SHARED WITH A
STRANGER. I WANTED SOMEONE NEW TO GUIDE ME, FIND ME, AND SOMEWHAT,
LOVE ME.

THS MAN INVITED ME TO HIS OFFICE FOR TALKS, THE DINER FOR COFFEE AND
TALKS, EMAILS TO REMIND ME TO TALK…BEGGED ME TO SEE A SHRINK. I
DENIED THE THOUGHT OF SHRINKS FOR A VERY VERY LONG TIME. I WAS
ACTUALLY ANTI SHRINK. I THINK CAUSE PEOPLE MAKE THEM SOUND SCARY, OR
WOULD THINKOF ME AS SCARY. I SUFFERED FOR A LONG TIME BEFORE I
ACTUALLY GAVE INTO THERAPY. YEARS!

I WROTE TO GIL TRACHTMAN ASKING IF I COULD COME TO HIS OFFICE, THIS TIME
I WAS OUT OF GRAD SCHOOL, I BOUGHT HIM THE BOOK TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE.
I HANDED IT TO HIM, CRIED AND THANKED HIM. HE TEARED, KINDA SMIRKED AND
A LIL CHUCKLE, SAYING “I GET THIS BOOK ALL THE TIME.” WELL, FOR
ME….I WANT TO SAY I WAS DEVASTATED, BUT I WASN’T. I WAS SO HAPPY I
FOUND MY MORRIE, AND SO MANY OTHERS DID TOOJ

TO THIS DAY, I STILL GET BIRTHDAY EMAILS EVERY YEAR, CHECK INS TO SEE
HOW IM HOLDING UP, WHAT IM DOING, HOW MY FAMILY IS…AND REPORTS ON HIM,
HIS WIFE, SONS, GRANDCHILDREN.

THIS MAN, PROFESSOR GIL TRACHTMAN BROUGHT THE COURAGE TO BEGIN MY
STRUGGLE BETWEEN MY HEAD AND MY HEART.

AND SO MY LIFE BEGAN…..

~AT THE TOUCH OF LOVE, EVERYONE BECOMES A POET~