Monday, May 26, 2014

Thoughts on Memorial Day

So many options to write about on Memorial Day. And despite my better judgement, despite the idea of letting shit roll off my back (which I’ve gotten very, very good at), I decided to spin Memorial Day this way. 

I thought about where to start. Plenty of options. Death. Life. Gratuity. Perspective. Where to begin? What to write about?

I decided to make it personal. I decided to respond. I might regret. I might feel relief. Who the fuck knows. I know writing is like cutting to some people. You feel SO much. And then you do this and you release it into the world. You give a little piece to others to help you deal with it. So I decided to take that route. To discuss that idea. To be thankful in that way.

On Memorial Day - a day so many utilize to remember their loved ones who aren’t - I’m grateful to be alive. 

Sounds weird right? I’m 28 (ugh, 28). I’m healthy for the most part. I have no reason to think I’d be NOT alive otherwise today. Yet here I am and on the train ride back from Long Island today, I thought about two things. Suicide, and happiness.

There’s been this person who has been twitter stalking me. They create accounts like @StefsDeadDad and @StefsDadNoMore to try to embarrass me. This week it was something like @SWTruthSquad where they wrote some 1000 word hate essay about my family and I. And I read it when I got back from Maryland las night and i was a little shaken up. I can’t lie. This same person has been harassing me through various twitter handles, meh, I kind of know who it is, kind of don’t. Long story short, they have nothing right on me and it’s been bugging me because hey, if you’re gonna rag on me, don’t fucking lie. There’s enough truth there to work with. If you’re gonna mock me, do two things - own up and use your name, and tell the truth. You’ve been doing neither, so I felt compelled to respond.

Two years ago, I tried to hang myself from the pipe in my UES apartment bedroom. I was going through depression and it was the worst moment of my life. I didn’t do it. I was scared. Good or bad, I didn’t die. And I did a lot of shit in that two year time span. Wrote a script, got an agent, pitched a show, pitching another show, met some boys and fell in love. Shit if you asked me two years ago if I’d ever accomplish, I’d have said no. No fucking way. 

My family is not perfect. My dad was a shitty father. But no, he didn’t fuck anyone out of housing in Seaford (HE WAS A MARITIME LAWYER!) nor is my sister stupid (owns a million dollar business) and my mom isn’t blonde and bumbling (self employed and amazing). I am not a coat check girl (I bartend, hostess and cocktail waitress. Coatcheck on the occasion whens someone feels inclined to check their coat and no one’s there to do it?) and yes, BVs for life until I find a better one. But until then? Yes, I work in a bar in midtown and I enjoy it and I feel like it’s family and I make amazing money that allows me to write, travel and pursue my dreams. I will never be embarrassed or scared of admitting that. I found a job that allows me to afford an amazing life and do what I love. It’s honest work with honest pay. God, let me feel embarrassed that I have a job that pays me well, lets me live on my own and travel. SHIT I SHOULD BE EMBARRASSED. Seriously? I have a job. I pay pills. I'm pretty fucking pumped come to think of it....

I grew up in Garden City, New York. A wealthy, upper middle class town on Long Island in a home with an estimated worth of 2.7 million in a good market. Not that that matters. Where I grew up, where anyone grows up, doesn’t determine their success in life. But give my parents their due, I did not grow up white trash. I grew up with every opportunity afforded to me and came out of college without debt because my mother was amazing. I lived at Abercrombie (and still do ha), had a car at 17 and never wanted for anything. There are trashy towns on long island, but where I grew up was not one of them. And trust me, I HATE long island. But I loved my hometown and would feel it a disservice to my parents who worked so hard to move from brooklyn to GC to ever allow anyone to make it seem like I grew up in a white trash town. I am a Garden City girl and always will be. No, I didn’t grow up in NYC or the UES and I’m happy about it! I grew up with a backyard and a hose and a public pool and everything. And I live in NYC now, but the Long Island and the north shore drives I take, Garden City staples like GC deli and DC3 deli, they’ll never die or get old in my heart. I am a Long Island girl through and through, with or without the accent. 

Next? I had one boyfriend throughout high school whom d stayed with til college. So clearly you didn’t know me then and don’t know me now - I was pretty non-sexual in high school. Sexually active in high school with other high school athletes? HA! Friends Academy was my only go to and it was one boy til I was in College Park my friend. My breakout years were in college and yeah, the the lax team who til this day are my big brothers - men you STALKED (yep C, I know it’s you) and harassed and are trying to act as though didn’t care about me. This weekend proved you wrong and if you think anything you write will outweigh my personal experiences well, hey, good luck losing weight you chubby fuck.

All of what you wrote is a lie. You aren’t my friend, you’re a twitter stalker with no life who has created seven twitter accounts to stalk and harrass me because you’re sad. You hate your own life, hate my life, and hate yourself. And making fun of me - even if it’s through bullshit lies- makes you feel better about yourself. I don’t know how shitty if must be to look at yourself in the mirror and admit you created twitter accounts about someone’s dead father. Or worse, lies about someone’s dead father. I don’t know how you live with yourself. But good for you. I live with myself because I know I almost wasn’t here. I suffer with depression. I’ve been through the ringer. I am scared that I might get there again. Sometimes I feel like I might be there. Sometimes I feel so far away from depression I can’t remember what it’s like. But I know that i can sit here and say without a doubt that nothing you can say or tweet will change the fact that I struggle every day and win every day. I pitched shows to some of the biggest networks in TV, repped by one of the best agencies in the country and I have great moments that I hold on to vehemently. Your bullshit won’t ever take it away. Keep trying though, since you clearly are doing nothing with your own life. 

As for the guy you mentioned. I loved him for who he was, not what he played, what he won. If you knew me - which you don’t, despite the fact hat you like to pretend you do - you’d know that. And for all the other shit you said? Yah, I was on a bad reality show lol, I was the first kicked off and it’s hilarious now. I’ve done shit in life I’m not thrilled about. I don’t try to make my name off of one reality show. I don’t tell people I’m a “CMT television personality”. I have talents I like to use and try to work on those. But keep knocking me for anything you can find. It makes me laugh. 

You clearly have never suffered from depression. Never been an inch away from death like I was. Never had those feelings of worthlessness that you try desperately to inflict on others. If you think anything you write could ever make me hurt, you need to live in my world for a day and know what I’ve been through to realize the stupidity you wrote means nothing in the grand scheme of knowing where I’ve been and where I’m going. I am happy to be alive. And anyone who can say that? The don’t care if some random, anonymous, chicken shit person says they look ugly or aren’t smart or has a shitty job. It took to much more to make me tie a noose. And so much more for me to untie it. And you will never comprehend that. But keep trying you pathetic, chicken shit internet bully. You will never. Fucking. Win. 

So keep creating accounts. Keep spending all your free time writing thousand word essays about who you think I am, who you think my family is, everything you don’t know because you are mad, jealous and envious of what Ive done with my life which, hilariously, is pretty minimal. I still have a ways to go. And I’m happy getting there. But for the love of fucking God, stop lying to me and yourself and everyone aging like you know me. You don’t. And if you did, you’d put your name to the shit you’re writing you fucking pussy. You won’t because you know what you’re writing is a.) untrue and libelous and b.) your obsessions with me makes yo look batshit. I’d be embarrassed too. You should be. You should be embarrassed and I hope every fucking day you wake up knowing you’re harassing a chick who lost her dad at 16 and almost committed suicide for no reason other than you’re bored and sad about your own fucking life. Id take a bad CMT show over your reality any day of the week. 

I'm flawed. Imperfect. I've fucked up, failed, lost, hurt, cried, suffered made countless mistakes and gotten rejected more times than I ever want to think about. Do you think I lack self awareness? Do you think I'm not informed about my own life's issues? I know far better than you who I am, what I'm capable of, where I come from and I certainly know better than you what the fuck my family does. You want to keep talking shit? Go for it you fucking psychopath. But don't think for one second I am afraid of anything you have to say. You will meet no more honest person in regards to what she lacks and what she's capable of than me. And I will never cow down to the idea that some random anonymous twitter shit stirrer thinks they have the ability to make me afraid. Afraid is knowing if you take one more step off your fucking window ledge you'll chooke to death. Not someone I don't know calling me ugly or making fun of the job I have. Grow the fuck up and figure out real issues go far beyond the petty, childish, bullshit things you've stoked in the fire the last year or so. 

Congrats dude. I thought hitting that point where you want to hang yourself was like, that LOWEST of low points. But you take the cake. I don't have to wake up every day knowing i created a twitter account called "StefsDeadDad". How fucking proud you must be. 

Happy Memorial Day. I’m alive. And nothing you say will change it. 

PS - below, one of the countless "long tweets" i get on a monthly basis from this fucking nut job. Just so you all know what I'm bitching about. Think I'm embarrassed/ Please. 






6 comments:

  1. Bra fucking vo. I wish more young people were willing to speak up about depression and suicide. I don't think many people would look at you and think you'd be the person who suffered from both. Knowing all kinds of people suffer from such things helps others know it's okay to reach out for help. Thank you for sharing your story. yOu are beautiful. You are strong. You'll survive. And I guarantee you just helped someone else do the same Much love.

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  2. Report this person. Twitter should save the ISP info. Even if nothing is done, you will have a trail established if this person ever goes way off the rails and stalks you in person or something.

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  3. Speak the truth girl!!!

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  4. You're a good soul, Steph. Some people are afraid of being honest. People who embrace their lives, their whole lives, good and and parts, are more equipped to handle it. Keep embracing your life, all the parts of it.

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  5. I can honestly say that you were mistaken when you decided not to hang from that pipe: the world certainly would be a better place if you killed yourself. Its never too late! Do it before you're just another fat middle aged woman that nobody wants.

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  6. Aw hey.... I don't think I'll ever really be fat, so I guess I'll just have to stick to being middle aged and a woman no one wants. Two outta three ain't bad? Congrats, you just told someone to go hang themselves. I've always wondered how people who say shit like that and then the person ends up doing it, feels. You'd be surprised the power of words. And how many tragic cases of suicide are results of actions and words from chicken shit anonymous commenters like yourself. Consider yourself lucky that you said what you said to someone who is in a much better place than she was two years ago. You might think telling someone to die is funny, but I guarantee you'd feel a whole lot different if you said it to someone who pulled the trigger the next day. I suspect encouraging people to kill themselves is a tough thing to live with.

    Be careful buddy

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