I am woman hear me roar!!! Helen Reddy look out.

Well, I did it now. I had sex. This wasn’t something that I could take back or do over. It was a done deal. Once again I chose to follow rather than lead. This would be a pattern that I would repeat long after my days of childhood were a mere memory.

Did you know that there is a law on the books somewhere that says once you say yes to having sex with your boy friend, it is going to be assumed that you loved it, want it as much as he does, and will always be available to have it. This is true; I haven’t been able to find this law, but judging by what I experienced, it's a fact.

After a while I got used to it; not that I remember much about it now. That was a long time ago. I do remember that it wasn’t anything like I had thought it would be; it wasn’t great or bad for that matter. It just was.

What I do remember is that it proved he loved me. You just didn't have sex unless you loved your partner.

I have been told by many people that the phrase "There's a fool born every minute" applies to me. Naive doesn't even come close at times.

I do believe in my heart of hearts that you need maturity and a love that is not of the puppy variety to experience love making in it truest and most beautifully form, I didn't know that then.

Oh good Lord I sound old.

I thought about what I was doing and I knew it was wrong. I just couldn’t bring myself to say no.

Shit, he might leave me.

You know, I'm not sure what I thought would happen to me if he did leave me? Would I really die, would I live out my life in misery never to find love again? I just could not see past this relationship.

I did think about it and it brought to mind a thought. I had to wonder where the hell did my childhood go?

It just didn’t’ seem that long past when I was riding my bike behind the mosquito truck, playing with our super balls in the street or just being silly with our friends in the front yard before it was time to go in for the night.

Catching fire flies and waiting for the ice cream man were what was important to us then, and it hadn't been that long before.

Time has a way of getting away from us. It seemed like just yesterday that I got my period for the first time; scared to death in the sixth grade firehouse classroom. You see, there wasn’t enough room in the middle school for all the classes, so two teachers had rooms in the firehouse.

I loved it there. Mr. Hagopian was awesome; we were lucky to be there with him as our teacher. It was really cool; but not that day.

I was mortified. We didn’t have a nurse in the building and no machines in our bathrooms with supplies so I had to just sit there for the rest of the day, absolutely convinced that everyone knew my little secret. I was sure that I was going to bleed to death right then and there at my desk.

It didn’t matter that it was nothing more than a stain that wasn’t even on my pants, but it was there and I knew that my face told the story. By the end of the day, that would be the news of the day.

It seemed like forever till I got home and was able to tell my mother what had happened to me. Ready as she always was, mom took me upstairs, and in my bottom drawer hidden beneath my winter sweaters was my starter kit.
This was beyond anything I had expected. It all came so neat in a little box. Sanitary napkin; check. Belt, check. Booklet to show you how to use it lest you forgot the movie; check. I was ready to roll.

I was big shit now boy. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends, which I wasted no time in doing. We meet as usual at the end of the street where the old trolley track used to be. It was there, around the old water tower that I told them of my journey into womanhood.

I had to prove it, of course, something that big had to verified. I reached in the side of my pants and pulled up the “belt”. To say the least, my friends were very impressed. I’m not sure what we were all impressed about, but impressed we were.
This was a huge deal.

Times were very different back then. There wasn’t the sex on TV like today, nor video games or the like. We really were innocent. The most I had ever seen in regard to sex was my grandmother’s detective magazines. You know the ones; the drawings were all of women with huge breasts, tiny waists and large lips, always in need of a detective, and the only ads in them were for pumps to make your breasts a cup size larger.

We were naive and innocent, and that was a good thing.

We didn’t worry about getting pregnant, caught with drugs or stealing. We worried about coming home late for dinner, not doing our homework or talking back to our parents or another adult. Those were the things that got us in trouble. Well, I did worry about the Jersey Devil. Honestly. I was sure he existed and knew where I lived. But, that’s for another day….

Now, for those of you too young to remember the “belt”, let me explain it to you.. It was a thin elastic belt that you pulled up over your hips. In the front and back of this “belt” was a metal eyelet as well as in the back. You placed the flag of the napkin and looped it around each hook, thus keeping it in place.

Well, it tried to keep it in place, which it never did. This sanitary belt was nothing more than a torture device conceived by a man who would never have to wear it. Probably the same man who invented the mammogram machine. Try doing that to a guy’s balls or penis to check for a hernia or other ailment. I don’t think so.
Anyway, although I had developed in most areas by the sixth grade, I was still sporting the Brazilian wax look if you know what I mean so I had no worries, for now.

It wouldn’t be long though before I realized what pain really was.

Try walking down the hall in school, acting very nonchalant as to not let on to the boys that you had your period and have the hair of your neither region get caught up in the metal hook. The pain of child birth does not compare to this. It was agony.

I was quite a sight walking down the hall, eyes bulging and legs squirming, hips gyrating, and looking like I had just dismounted a Budweiser Clydesdale, trying to untangle myself from this belt from hell, without letting on what was wrong.
It was becoming very clear to me that growing up and maturing came with drawbacks.

Ahhhhhhh, the joys of being a woman.

So, here I am, back in Illinois all grown up and hating it and loving it all at the same time, with not a clue how to handle it.

We were in love, so what could be the problem?

Time would tell.

As it turns out, John would be first for many things. He was the lucky guy to take my virginity, the first to cheat on me, and the first to propose marriage to me, ring and all...... All this before I entered the tenth grade.

If only do-overs were possible.

Freshman year; the start of life in high school; new beginnings, friends and hopefully, a man; I mean after all, we were adults now.

It wouldn’t take long for things to happen for me; I had a new boy friend. I felt a sense of maturity now that I was a freshman. I didn’t realize that it had nothing to do with what school you were in or how old you were; it had everything to do with who you were on the inside and how you handled yourself.

I proved that point with crystal clarity without even knowing it by how I behaved.

I made out with my new love in the hall ways between classes, hugged and held hands whenever possible; showing affection was what you did when you were mature. Didn’t all high-school girls act like sluts? Very tacky.

The next step I took to confirm how grown up I had become was to go to school sans a bra. I have always had large breasts, and in my red and blue stripped tee shirt, I strolled into the school feeling free, independent and oh so cool.

It seems the principal didn’t seem to think so, nor did he like the fact that I was partaking in very un-lady like behavior all over the school. I got called into his office along with a female guidance counselor to advise me that it was not something that nice girls should be doing with a boy, especially in school, and my attire was not appropriate for, period.

For someone as independent as I thought I was, I was mortified, and to add insult to injury, not wearing a bra hurt. Those girls swung and swayed all day, I practically needed to put them in a sling when I got home.

My days of showing such affection in school were over, and so were my dressing like a liberated lesbian.

It wouldn’t be long though, before John decided that we needed to take our relationship to the next level; isn’t that what couples did to show their love for each other? So it seemed.

After one of our dates John professed his love for me and asked me if I felt the same. Oh my God I was so happy. I was in love with someone who loved me too. Nothing could have damped that moment for me, nothing. Wrong just once again!!!!!!!!!!!

It was his thought that when two people loved each other as much as we did, there was no reason not to show it the way grown-up couples did; going all the way. I bought that line hook, line and sinker. He loved me and wanted more than anything to show me just how much.

There was only one problem with his idea, I did not want to do this, at all. What part of my brain was so defective that I couldn’t just say NO?

I told him I had to think about it. I did have a condition of my own; I would not let him say “having sex” I made him say “making love”. Good Lord in heaven did that make it all ok?

Who would have thought that my decision on whether or not to have sex would be discussed with my girl friends over fish sticks and milk in the school cafeteria? It was a logical course of action for me.
So, we had a meeting of the minds during lunch to discuss my sex life. It is somewhat comical if you think about it; half the table was dead set against my doing it and the other half shocked that I wasn’t ready, willing and able to forge ahead. All the while I sat there and listened while this personal, life changing decision was made for me.

The final decision, sex it would be. I felt like I should break into I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR.

I mean after all, I didn’t want him to break up with me if I said no.

I broke the good news to John that afternoon and plans were set in motion as to the where and the when.

Back then, you didn’t just check into a hotel so as luck would have it, John had a friend, an older friend who owned his own home. Perfect.

The date was set!

Now, answer this, how do you prepare for a night of love making when all you want to do is stay home. You cry and try not to look directly into your parent’s eyes, lest they can read it on your face. That’s what I did anyway.

I really did love this guy, as much as 14 year old could, but I didn’t want to get naked and I didn’t want to do this; but I did.

Well, John picked me up and away we went.

Having never had sex before, I didn’t know what to expect. But I did know what I wanted to happen. I wanted it to be like in the movies. I wanted the romance, tenderness and I wanted the passion. I’m not sure that I knew what passion was at that age, but I knew I would know it when it happened.

I cannot describe to you how frightened I was. But, I forged ahead, ready to show him that I was all he needed. What I didn’t realize was that his friend was going to be home the entire time. He was a much older guy, and very strange. I think his name was Ray.

So, we get to his house, say our hellos and off we go into the bedroom. We locked the door to the boudoir, got comfortable, and proceeded to get ready to do it. Oh, sorry, make love. I made him turn the lights off, the TV off and shut the blinds so absolutely no light could get in. I might have agreed to have sex but I did not agree to him seeing me naked. That was going just too far.

Ladies, all I can say is that it hurt, and when I say that there was no pleasure, I mean NO PLEASURE, and as far as foreplay was concerned, it didn’t exist. He’s lucky I didn’t know there was such a thing.

I didn’t see sky rockets, and I didn’t lay there in the after glow. I did not feel the passion. And as far as an orgasm goes, didn’t have one, and it’s a good thing to; I had never even heard that word before in my life. Jesus Christ if I had experienced one, I would have thought I was about to die You know that moment when your eyes roll back in your head and your back arches so much you could almost do a backbend; it’s at that point I would have been sure that I was about to meet my maker.

Instead, I laid there in bloody sheets, embarrassed and sore, just wanting to go home. I was so ashamed of myself.

When he had finished, five minutes later, my lover went to get us something cold to drink and, when he came back to the bedroom, he looked very odd. All I could think of was that I was awful in bed. Well, I was; I don’t think I moved during the entire time. In an instant I was embarrassed all over again. What did he expect? I had been a virgin and didn’t have the slightest idea what to do; and who was he to talk; I thought to myself. It was awful. I didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like, but I was sure that wasn’t it.

Well, he sat on the bed next to me and in his sweetest voice said. “My friend wants to sleep with you too. I told him I would ask you.”

Can you believe it? He was too afraid of this guy to say no and get me the hell out of there? I can honestly say that at least then, I had the strength to say, “NO”.

Needless to say, we left with this strange guy staring at me with one eye going one way and the other going the other way. He literally reminded me of what an escaped killer might look like.

John brought me home, telling me how much he loved me and that he was so glad we had proved our love to each other.

I, on the other hand, went home and cried for a very long time.

Oral what????????????????????????

You would think that after my introduction into a man’s anatomy by King Kong, the last thing that I would want would be another boyfriend. I’m sorry to say that’s not the case. I wanted a boyfriend more than almost anything; more specifically, I wanted to have his ring wrapped with a rubber band so it fit, sitting nicely on my finger.

Now, that would make me a somebody.

I guess I thought it would make me better, more complete; and boy would that ring look nice on my finger.

Growing from a girl to a young woman in a small-sleepy Illinois town was not anything like I had anticipated. Casual days waking down country roads along with friends and, of course, a dog; lemon aid and BBQs with family were not the norm. I was grouped in the community pool by boys who hadn’t noticed my figure in clothes, started smoking cigarettes and discovered the nectar of the Gods….Boones Farm Strawberry Hill wine.

Our days were spent hanging out at friend’s homes whose parents were at work or down in the woods off the main road; there was a creek down there and it was very private. We smoked, talked about our lives, hopes and dreams; and of course, boys and what we would or wouldn’t do with them if we ever had the chance.

When talking about boys, we didn’t just talk about sex mind you, I was still just a kid after all. My bedroom walls had posters of David Soul and Bobby Sherman all over them. I watched faithfully HERE COME THE BRIDES; I was in love with the Bolt brothers and I wanted that life. My God all I wanted was to marry David Soul and live on that mountain. Once again, fantasy was the key ingredient in my mind and thoughts.

I think, if memory serves me correctly, David Soul was arrested years later for beating his wife. Fantastic, even my fantasy men have serious issues.
When God made me, he broke the mold.

It was during one of these long days that Jan, our most experienced and mature friend, brought us into the world of gown-up sex. The days of wondering what older couples did would only be a memory after the lesson we were about to get. Nothing could have prepared me for what she shared with us.

She had been on a date down by the library when her boyfriend attempted to pleasure her. As she was speaking, the rest of us were just staring, looking at her, and not quite understanding what she was trying to tell us. It was like, ok and you mean what exactly?????????????????

This was the first time we ever heard of, dare I say it, oral sex. What the hell is that?

I almost threw up. I mean, it wasn’t a year ago that I thought I was physically deformed and now I find out that someone would actually go down there, on purpose. What would possess anyone from venturing there with their mouth; and to do what exactly, I didn’t want to know?

And we thought that French kissing was bad. I just could not come to terms with this, and when the flip side of this was explained, I almost fainted dead away on the floor. It was all so clear to me now, what my furry boyfriend had wanted me to do when he exposed himself to me in the back seat of his car. That would have killed me for sure. Talk about a hair ball……

So many things I would change if I could do it all over again. Can you imagine where you would be today if you could go back – knowing what you know now…….. The possibilities are endless; but again, I digress.

So, my quest for a man continued; once again to where I didn’t belong.
Scott was the next “love of my life”. He was big, blonde, beautiful, and he had absolutely no neck. I was in heaven. It was the summer before I entered the ninth grade; he had just graduated high school and was headed off to college in September on a football scholarship. I was now invincible; I had myself a college man!
After only one date, my mind raced into the future. He would come home on winter break, march into the high school (during class mind you), pick me up, literally, and carry me out of the school , off to live happily ever after.

Reality isn’t always present in my mind. Fantasy is so much more fun.
My first; and I mean very first make out session happened at a stop sign, right in the road, on our way home from the movies. He didn’t even pull over. I guess I was so hot he couldn’t wait.

You would have thought that such a good looking-football stud would have been a great first-time make out partner. Not even close. This moment in time will be stuck in my memory forever. Not only did my blonde stud kiss with his mouth wide open, but in the middle of all of this he burped; yup right in my mouth. Can you guess what I did? NOT A DAMN THING. He didn’t pull away and apologize so I kept right on trying to find his lips with mine, nearly suffocating as my nose was partially in his mouth as well.

I had never French kissed before, but I knew that this could not be the proper way to do it.

His kissing never improved, but thank God he never tried anything other than tonsil hockey. I guess I can count my blessings for that. If he kissed that bad, can you imagine how his loving making would have been. Had that happened I most likely would have been scared for life, never to experience what true lovemaking was all about.

I would have given anything to be a fly on the wall when he tried to kiss a college girl with that mouth. When I say wide open, you have to understand, he could have been mounted on any wall as a prize Big Mouth Bass.

When the time came for him to go off to college, regardless of his shortcomings in regards to making out, I was hoping that our love affair would continue. That wasn’t to be the case. I received a letter shortly after he left stating that he needed to be with a women more his own age; he couldn’t live the lie any longer. You see, my parents had no idea how old he was; I had told them that he was 16. He didn’t look it, but they believed me never the less.

Very dramatic, and of course, I was devastated, yet again.

Fate!

I was convinced that all this happened so I would meet the new “love of my life”, or so I thought.

My soon to be new relationship, and the path that we chose to take, would prove; without a shadow of a doubt that I had absolutely no will of my own.

Dating....the beginning of the end of my innocence

Having failed miserably at finding fault in my parent’s child rearing skills, I forged ahead in my quest, still determined to pinpoint that one moment when my mind took that wrong turn towards obscurity.

1969 brought a great many changes to our family. We were moving…It was to be my last year in Point Pleasant before our two-year trek to Illinois and what I like to call the great penis sighting, or lack there of; but that’s for later.

That summer brought with it for me friends, boys and my body. My waist went in, my hips went out and so did my breasts. I was one of the few girls leaving the seventh grade with a body I had no business having.

When young girls have what young boys want, and no clue as to what to do with it, it’s not good.

I can remember walking the boardwalk with one of my older cousins one warm July evening when a man approached and asked us if we would like to go on the beach with him; sweetening the offer by pulling out his wallet and showing us money. I was ready to go; eager and all smiles. Thankfully, my cousin brought her brain with her that night and pulled me away and off we went, back home.

It did not cross my mind not to go. I had no idea what he wanted, but I thought he seemed nice, just lonely. That pretty much says it all doesn’t it. Brain damaged at birth I would assume.

It would become crystal clear to me how a woman’s mammary glands transform normal, healthy teen boys into maniacs. I was literally chased out into the briny deep by a group of male classmates, friends, just so they could take my bathing suit top off.

After swimming out farther than my normal comfort level allows, unless of course I was trying to make my way to the shipping lanes, they caught me, took my top off and swam back to shore.

By the time I made it back to shore, I was exhausted, embarrassed, but not angry. It simply never occurred to me to get angry, offended or enraged. To be honest, I was flattered that they paid attention to me. I had no idea at the time, but this was the beginning of my journey into self-invisibility and the belief that my feelings or wants held no worth.

Can you believe I had the nerve to reproduce?

It wasn’t long after that scene of seduction on the beach that we made the move to the Land of Lincoln. I was prepared for farms, hicks and hay bales. What I got instead was a first-hand introduction into sex education, complete with props; but again, that comes later.

One of my first traumatic experiences came, not with boys, but with a gym teacher from hell. Uniforms were worn by all the girls who participated in gym. It was a one-piece cotton atrocity; absolutely hideous. Now, most of the girls I was in school with were thin, under developed and gawky. I, on the other hand was stacked, complete with full thighs and hips.

Our gym teacher despised our uniforms. So, to make a point to the principal as to why we needed a new style uniform, she brought me down to his office to show him how a well-built young girl could not modestly wear such a uniform. JESUS CHRIST JUST SHOOT ME NOW.

If that wasn’t bad enough, this same gym teacher insisted that you shower after gym class. The shower room was a small, square room with nozzles protruding out of the wall at intervals of about ten inches. There were two doors in this room. You walked in one side, showered, then walked out the other side where the teacher was sitting with a clip board and what appeared to be towels no larger than a dish rag. Once your name was checked off, you got your towel,not before….. Very creepy!

There was no way I was going to get naked in front of my classmates, let alone prance around for a gym teacher who apparently loved her job way too much. Thus, my mother was called in. Guess what, I showered, but not before explaining to the girls in my class that I had been in a biking accident and that’s why my neither region looked different.

Can you fucking believe I didn’t realize a woman changed appearance down there; I thought I was deformed. And no, I still don’t like to use the clinical terms… I hate them and they make me blush.

Who comes up with these technical terms anyway, vagina; they make your most private areas sound like a disease; but I digress….

With the exception of my time with the gym teacher from hell, the eighth grade was good; I made great friends and even landed me a man.

As luck would have it, my boyfriend was a very cute, popular boy and I was amazed that he wanted to go out with me. Alarm bells should have gone off; I couldn’t be that lucky. Sure enough, I was right. It seems all he wanted to do was take me behind the library in the woods to get my shirt off. What is it about breasts that make boys/men nuts. I just don’t get it. If my "girls" could pick the winning lottery number I might understand, but nothing…they do nothing.

Ninth grade would turn out to be the catalyst in my life that would forever change the way I looked at myself as a sexual being. My thoughts and dreams of what I wanted were put away, not to be brought out again for a long time.

It wouldn’t be long before I had a new boyfriend; an older man. He was Junior.
I was amongst the big boys now; I was very impressed with myself. I actually don’t recall this guy’s name, but he was a twin. Now, of course, there was a good twin and a bad twin. Can you take a guess as to which twin I liked? Of course, I liked the bad twin. He was a huge guy, tall, beefy and strong. He even had facial hair for Christ’s sakes. Looking back, he kind of resembled Paul Bunyan. My parents did not know about this guy. It was bad enough that my sister Susan saw us walking down the hall holding hands. She was not happy. She pulled me aside and asked me what the hell was I doing with him; her friends had warned her about this beast and to make sure I wasn’t seeing him. Being a mature woman of 14, I knew what was right for me and I didn’t listen; I told her to mind her own business, I assumed she was jealous. Wrong!!!!!!

My friend Jill and I were in town one day; mind you, the town of Oswego at that time was maybe three blocks long, not what you would call a booming metropolis. Anyway, we were just walking around and my boyfriend pulled up in his car and asked me if I wanted to go for a little ride. Jill didn’t seem to mind so I, of course, said sure. This guy and I had never even gone on a date; we just held hands in school while going from class to class.

So, off we go, my first time in a car with a boy; I was in heaven. I hoped all my friends would see me and be so envious. That wouldn’t happen either, he drove us to a park that I had never been to before. We meandered around the shrubbery until we were in the most secluded spot you could find. On his advice, we got into the back seat so we would be more comfortable. Bells should have going off at this point; why the back seat, I was perfectly comfortable in the front. It was day time for Christ's sakes.

I was like a pet dog, wagging my tail, wanting to please my master, so into the back seat we went. To do what, I had no idea, but I was soon to find out. Before I knew it, he placed my hand on his penis; his bare, naked, exposed penis. I hadn't even noticed that he unzipped his pants; Jesus Christ this guy was smooth.

Had I had a lobotomy and no one told me?

Regardless, it was huge, hairy and the scariest thing I had ever felt in my life. Now, up to that point I had never seen, let alone touched a penis. I decided right then and there that it was not something that I wanted to see. I never looked down. It could have had teeth for all I knew. I did what any normal girl in the ninth grade would do. I cried. I did not have the slightest idea what he wanted me to do with it either. My mind went blank and I just panicked. It was just awful.
It’s a good thing that I didn’t know what oral sex was back then, because if I had, and he thought for one minute that I would have put that gorilla’s arm in my mouth he was sadly mistaken.

He brought me home, never to speak to me again.

It wouldn’t be long before I did the unthinkable; I said yes when all I wanted to do was say no…..

The Begining

Fifty years old!!!!! I have to admit it; I was really excited about approaching the half century mark. The idea of being a mature woman with her shit finally together was very enticing. I had somehow managed to convince myself that all my fears, faults and phobias would vanish once I turned that magical number.

I had made so many bad decisions and wrong choices that this particular birthday was, in my mind, going to be my shining glory, the light at the end of my long, dysfunctional tunnel. While so many people approach their fiftieth with fear and dread, I embraced it with gusto.

Knowing that just around the corner I would find the salvation of maturity was all I needed to be ready to celebrate what so many had tried to avoid.

As my big day approached, I was struck with a myriad of feelings so diverse that it caused me to pause; then reflect on my life. Who the hell was this woman that I looked at in the mirror every day and where did she come from? Could I actually be to blame for who I was, or did some strange twist of events over my past turn me into the caricature of what I was today?

When my birthday finally arrived, I was ready - it would precede like this.

THE FANTASY

I had planned out the day so many times in my dreams the preceding year that I knew how the entire day would unfold. I would rise with the sun, my husband anticipating my stirring body. We would proceed to make passionate love, music playing in the background, and bouquets of multicolored roses strewn all around us.

I would then rise, hoping to gaze upon my reflection in the mirror and behold the beautiful, mature woman who had reached this milestone with poise and elegance.

THE REALITY

I woke up this morning to the reality of my life. I am utterly amazed that I made it to this age as sane as I am. I knew it was coming, and I thought I was prepared for it. Wrong. No one is prepared for hitting the half century mark. I thought I was, I had even wished for it. Unfortunately, the stark reality of life made me cringe and want to crawl into a hole and not come out for a very long time.

What I had dreamed of and had so hoped for was not to be found.

I got up, looked in the mirror and was horrified. I don't wear make up very often, but I needed it today. The bags under my eyes must have packed for the celebration, they were huge.

The body can be a cruel thing. I seemed to develop overnight, a curved and hunched back when I walked. I looked like Quasimodo; all I needed was a bell tower and I'd be right at home.

Now, I am a full figured woman, so I am used to sagging body parts. But what I saw this morning in my reflection was beyond anything I had seen before. My breasts were rebelling. Not that I ever had perky breasts, perky was not a word in my vocabulary, but today they were down right horrible. I almost caught them in my shoe laces as I was putting on my sneakers. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was nothing less than a full-body mutiny.

So, there you have it; I am now not only in the top 1/3 on the death meter, had my hopes and dreams dashed with regard to the fiery passion that I had so anticipated AND, the silver haired vixen I had so hoped I would have transformed into over night was still the fat, frizzy-haired woman who had gone to bed the night before with an excitement usually reserved for children on Christmas Eve awaiting the arrival of Santa. Devastated does not describe to you my feelings.

I felt like the caterpillar who dreamed of turning into the beautiful butterfly....Alas, I was just a moth...Remember Mothra? The ya have it!!!!

It was right then and there that I decided to delve into that void I like to call my brain and take that journey into the unknown abyss of self-evaluation. It can be a very scary place to go when you're used to looking at life through a veil of fantasy. Reality can be harsh and cruel and I don't do well dwelling there; I never did.

What's quirky about my personality and why do I need to examine my existence? Hmmmmm, well, I'm afraid of pedicures and zombies, just to name a few. Where these came from, who the hell knows, but I am hoping to find out.

So, where to start? I knew my childhood didn't hold any unspoken horrors that could account for my slightly altered way of looking at life, or my lack of self confidence. I wasn't abused, molested, starved or hurt in any way as a child. To the contrary; I was loved and cared for.

We spent autumn days walking the beach or climbing on the rocks at the jetty, football games and home-made donuts. Summertime was filled with bike rides, sleepovers and swimming. In the winter, we played in the snow, sat in front of the fireplace and just enjoyed. Home-cooked meals, Sunday breakfasts together and Ed Sullivan was the norm.

My sisters and I never wanted or lacked any of life's necessities. If we were poor, we didn't know it. We were happy, healthy and content.

Shit, my lack of any sort of self-confidence or knowledge of my own worth certainly didn't come from my upbringing. This was going to take a lot longer than I had hoped.

So, the search continues............. See you next Sunday