The Strange Story of My Surfacing...or, How I came up with this name ;)

Did you all catch that? I referenced "Surfacing," by Sarah McLaughlin, yet my name is Raisin Girl...interestinK! ;)

I am a Raisin Girl. I never was a Corkflake Girl, though I tried. I tried so hard to be One of Many, to blend in, be a part of things, but I had some interesting complications along the way. Like a Montessori education, like parents that were philosophers and sociologists and critical thinkers, like hippies for parents in a VERY conservative, closed-minded area of Virginia. Like a mother that didn't wear make up - or a bra - and a dad that had long hair. Like, we ate "natural" foods. We wore seat belts. Always. Like, my parents drank wine, not liquor. Like, my dad cooked. In the early to mid 1970s, this was weird. *I* was weird. And, *I* was bullied. I learned that being different from the mainstream was a risk to your health. Until...

Until, that is, I moved to southern California in the early 1980s and after a few misses with other social groups, I found...the Punks. I found others that didn't fit into a mold. I found creative writing, I found music (in large part, due to my dad who had Simon and Garfunkle and the Sex Pistols  in his large collection of records...and that was just the "S" section), I found a niche.

  The bullying had settled in around my heart and soul, however, so this new good stuff wasn't like an inoculation from harm or hurt, it wasn't at all. But it was, in many ways, a soft place to fall. And it's where I return when I'm needing comfort, love and care. I fall into the open arms of the outcasts, the artists, the musicians, the poets, the radical unschoolers...into the arms of the We Don't Judge You and We Love You group(s). I have spent years away from those like this, yet my return has been welcomed by all. Except maybe my husband, but that is a different story, for a different time, a different blog, perhaps. I spent years inside myself, hurting, attacking myself, lonely, isolated...yet having amazing children and a relationship...or five...

Reclaiming one's very Self is quite a project. People in the midst and on the sidelines can become confused, hurt, joyful, intimidated, happy, concerned, thrilled...scared. Hell, so have I. I am all of those things and more.

For so long, Dave Matthew's song, "Too Much," has been "mine."

I am challenging myself to refute that, find a better song that aptly describes my real self. I am NOT "Too Much," in fact, I never was. I am, and always was, just right. Just Right. 

Today I have spent a few hours looking up local galleries and emailing folks about more modeling possibilities. I realize that I NEED artists, I NEED to be near creative people that think, that feel, that express. My body and soul have been trapped. It's not just the Stalker's fault, it was before that too that I closed up, closed in and attempted to die on the inside. The Stalker just fed off of my pain and tears and fed me more bullshit. By the spoonful by massive spoonful...vats of the shit. I didn't know this at the time. I was too sick. Now? I'm healing. I am getting my, I hate this phrase, but I don't know what else to call it, my "authentic self" back (oh, god, I think I just vomited a bit in my mouth...!). But I am, is the thing. I'm reclaiming so much, my Others, my Life, my passions, my artistry.

Modeling felt like dancing again. It felt like I was a part of creating beauty - and I was. That was MY body they drew and sketched. It was my choice, me allowing, offering my body - no one took a damned thing from me for once. This was my choice. Mine. I own it - the choice and my body - and I can't allow anyone to hurt me or to take from me ever, ever again.

Never was a Cornflake Girl...thought it was a good solution, hangin' with the Raisin Girls (and boys)...

Let's hope there are some openings for me soon...feeling whole is amazing and addictive. And I fucking deserve every moment of feeling whole, beautiful and valued.