So now, dear diary, I've found myself in a new predicament, that only you would really understand. And the only way I ever find my way out of predicaments is to write, write until I find my way out.

This - in front of me - is the hardest decision maybe I will every have to make in my life. To go back to Honolulu, to stay, to try again, to give it my all and make a life there - or - to stay in DC. The pro and con lists are something I might as well throw out the window. Every "pro" leads me to stay in DC, aside from the weather. The only pro on Hawaii's list is JR. I don't know what to do.

People say, and I mean dozens of people have said, a happy mother makes for a happy baby. My happiness is here, on the mainland, or so it seems. JR calls, of corse, in the eleventh hour, to say he loves me and misses me, but he wants me to be happy. If I come back I'm welcomed. But if I stay he won't fight me. It's like a dream come true only it's not - it's my worst nightmare. I have absolutely no idea what to do.

I try to lean to one side - for just the commitment of a day - think of life as if you've made a decision, to go back, or to stay here. I can't! My emotions tell me to go back to Hawaii, try things with JR again, I love him, and it's his daughter. Doesn't that trump most other things? My practical side tells me no, stay here. If you go back to Hawaii you're just delaying the inevitable - that one day you will break up, one day, you will returns. I wasn't mean to live in Honolulu. I don't fit in there. Why would I want to spend the rest of my life not fitting in... not that I've ever quite fit in - anywhere, for that matter.

I can't think. I've drank too much. And still, I wanted to go to an after-party, not to drink more, but just to spend time with friends who would drink more. Look at me, my whole life so excited to be independent, to be with out a curfew, to get to be free and do whatever I wanted. I'm 16 again. I can't. My mom doesn't want to babysit. Even when she gives me till 2am, it's still not enough for my friends. I'm the only 25 year old with a curfew, a babysitter, and I did it to myself. My daughter is the best thing in the world, the most beautiful amazing life on this planet. And look at me! A mother who has no clue, no idea, what to do. Your diaper is changed, you're well fed, you're loved, you have toys to stimulate you, and a mother that bathes you, loves you, adores you, plays with you. But your poor mother has no idea how to make a decision. No idea whatsoever and what ever you poor mother chooses will affect the rest of your life.

If only he would move back here, but he won't. If only I would be happy there, but I'm not. I dear god, help me! I've prayed forever for you to get me out of this situation, to get me out of Hawaii, off that island, back on to a continent, put my feet in solid ground, nice firm solid ground that stretches on forever. Not an island, where in 45 minutes you can go from one side to the next, but the continent, the USA - America... a different America than the America on the islands, hated. 

Dear god, show me a sign, I know I've asked again and again for a sign and every time you tell me to stay in DC, don't go back to Hawaii. And yet my heart tells me to go back, my stupid heart that has hurt and betrayed me. Perhaps that's not the right word. My heart, that has led me on this path of what the hell, over and over again. It's been a tragic life I've led. My poor parents, over and over again, their poor daughter, her decisions and her love and her devotion always dragging me into heartache. Never a normal heartache either... always the worst kind. Dear god, help me make this decision, because I am clueless, and it's time for life to get back on track.  Dear god, help me. I know I've prayed before, a scattered unfaithful prayer I've been. What am I? Catholic? Christian? Buddhist? Hindu? I don't know and I don't care, and I hope you don't either. But help me figure out the right thing to do because I'm running out of time.

Yours Truly,

Mary

So, I called him. I couldn't help myself. Look at me, I can't even write about temptation with out being tempted. Thank god alcohol and cocaine have never appealed to me beyond average recreation (and coke pretty much not at all). Apparently those aren't my drugs, because I definitely have an addictive personality.

I told my dad that I needed to figure out a living situation before I went back there. I said I have to contact people about rentals that don't require a year lease, just live in while I file for custody and go through court. I told him I can't go back and live with JR. If I did this whole separation would be pointless, everything would be undone. If I went back and ended up having to chose between a hotel and our old home I would chose our home. Maybe I'd spend a night in a hotel and then I'd just be full of guilt. My baby in a hotel. My baby needs routine, she needs stability, she needs to eat her meals at a regular time and take her nap before 2, and go to sleep by this hour and have her toys to stimulate her and play with, she needs routine. What kind of mother am I if I can't provide her with stability? A hotel is not stability. If I go back to Hawaii with out an alternate place to stay I'm going to end up back with him.

My dad said it scares him to hear me say that, he said I'm showing a weakness.

I said, "You're right, I'm telling you right now with no uncertainty that it is my weakness,"

I guess that's one thing I don't get about my family... all this pretending that normal people don't have weaknesses. If I go back, I'll feel guilt, I said. I'll feel guilt no matter what, my dad said, which is true.

We haven't talked in weeks, that's the only thing making me strong in sure.

I went to what used to be the Old Laughing Lizard Lounge tonight, the place where JR and I met. The place where we were a team, the place where I fell in love with him. It was a terrible decision, even though I loved being back in that place, that place that was my home for some of the best years of my life. I couldn't help it. There I was, looking at this place and that, the men's room, the women's room, the unisex sink in the middle. The big mirror behind it, in the hallway, between the bar and the extra pool tables in the back. They had a new high tech jukebox, but I played all the old songs anyway.

I went to the back room, oh god, with the pool tables, where JR and I used to go during the day while Omar was downstairs. They replaced the old couches. I went downstairs. The downstairs bar was opened, even though it was a Tuesday. That sucks for that bartender, I can't imagine they make a lot of money with two bars open on a Tuesday. I went back upstairs quickly, they painted a crappy computer gray over the green that used to be on the bricks in the stairwell, a computer grey over the lizard that winded it's way up the wall. O'Shaunessey's a crappy bull shit concept. But I went there anyway, to soak up anything that was left of the Lizard in it's wall. It breaks my heart. My friend said this was the last place they'd expect me to want to go. I told them I was curious. I made light of it. I said if the bartender goes to the bathroom, they have to be look-out for me so I can steal back a log book in one of the drawers from when it was still the Lizard and the regulars would write inside jokes.

Nobody knows what that place meant to me. Nobody. The only person that could possibly know would be JR, and maybe Mike, the regular - 14 years sober! Who still plays pool there. But JR will never know because he has his own feeling about the place. And my feelings don't matter to him.

But I couldn't help it. I came home and I called him. He picked up. He said "Well, hello!" as if everything was normal. I told him Kali was asleep, I was calling to see how he was, what he was doing. He said he was on his way to work. He had to go. He said he'd be back at work in fifteen minute, I could call him if I wanted.

I'm not going to. I can't. I said "Ok" and then said good bye and hung up the phone. And I put my head in my hands and cried.

I don't care what anyone says, or understands, or what. I'm 25 years old and I've never been through a "normal" break-up. My only serious long-term relationship before this ended when my boyfriend DIED, not when we "broke-up" and now THIS break-up involves our DAUGHTER. This is new to me. And even though my parents don't get it, no matter how bad he treats me or how incompatible we are, nothing about this is easy. My god, I love this guy. And my love for him is all wrapped up in my love for this bar! The only place I ever felt at home in, a place that doesn't even exist anymore, and I love this place, I love this place like it's a living breathing person.

When I saw Mike at the bar I asked him about things, if he came into the Lizard before he got sober. JR told me he had, he told me he was a bad person before her got sober.

Mike said he didn't, even though I knew JR said he had, said he would be drunk passing out and throwing up in the gutters before he went to A.A. He said I would feel differently if I knew him before. Not that I believe it, just saying.

I asked Mike about Gabe. Everyone seems surprised when they find out I never knew him. I'm glad they're surprised, glad they think I had some connection to this man, besides being his granddaughter's mother. God knows I probably love him as much as I love JR and I've never even met him, he's just this legend to me, and the fact that he's gone just helps me idealize him even more.

Mike told me that he'll never forget when Gabe told him "As long as your sober, you're welcomed here anytime."

He also said that Gabe was a wise man, with plenty of wisdom to impart to his customers. One time told Mike, "Listen to me, I know what I'm talking about - but don't listen to my son - he's loco" Haha. I don't know when he said this or how old JR was or what he was doing (I can only imagine) but it's true. JR is loco.

And then I couldn't help it. I called JR. Because I'll always feel this pull to him, this desire to be close to him, close to this place, close to this myth, this legend from my own hometown. And I love him, besides.

Today is the day that Tim died, six years ago. I don't know if they know a time. I don't know how far forensic science has come in regard to suicides. Do they know the hour? Do they know the date? Since they found him in the morning, do they decide that's the day he died? Did they listen to my message on his answering machine from the night before, the message I left when he was home, but probably couldn't answer because it was too late? If that's the case maybe he died on the 14th. Do they care? How official do they want it to be, a date that would be printed in the paper in the obituary section about a 21-year-old young man with long hair and and brown eyes and crooked vampire teeth that I fell in love with. If he had a tombstone it would be carved in stone. But they don't even know what date it was.

I'm staying with my family for two months as something of a trial separation from my daughter's father.  On one hand being in my hometown makes me finally feel like myself again, the freedom to let my soul express itself with out restraint is slowly but surely returning. On the other hand I'm remember what it was that made me feel like I moving 5000 miles away to an island sight unseen.

The reality is more depressing than I can handle sometimes, because the truth is I don't fit in here, I don't fit in there, and maybe I don't fit in anywhere.

And that just makes this anniversary of Tim's death even harder. When I was with Tim, I fit in. The only other time I felt at home was at the Deli. The only two times I could say in full confidence with out a doubt that this where I belong, were with Tim and in a deli that no longer exists. This must be what it feels like to turn 80, but I'm only 25.

But honestly, all that aside, really people - how hard is it to be NICE? I'm trying so hard to hold on to that eternal optimist that I know still lives deep down inside me, but dear lord, help me out here. Throw me a line, catch me a break, throw someone in my path who will just be nice to me and say the right things. Don't I deserve that by now?

The last 6 years of my life have been so disappointing. Those who read this, if any, can draw whatever conclusions they want about how that statement really reveals more about ME than about life, and that's fine. But Dear God. I'm trying as hard as I can not to lose my mind. And I don't mean that as a figure of speach, I mean that really some days I'm gripping on to my sanity until my knuckles are shaking and white.

What happened? What did I do? Where did I go wrong? Don't answer that, I can beat you to it, I guess... but I don't feel like I did much more than other teens my age. Maybe it all evens out, and I need to just suck it up and stop being so sensitive. But there's people out there like my sister who have never dealt with anything more than a crashed hard drive on her laptop. And when that happens, we all have to go out of our way to be nice to her and don't dare suggest that at least all her photos are on facebook because then you don't understand her pain. My hard drive crashed too, before facebook or myspace or any of that stuff, and I lost all my digital photos of Tim months after he died. But no one was nice to me about it. To give my dad credit, he took it to a computer geek guy to see if they could salvage any of the photos (they couldn't). But really?

Tonight my baby wouldn't sleep. Maybe she felt some of my internal melancholy about this day. My dad finds away to blame it on me as much as possible. It's not like I've been raising her to be a perfectly healthy and happy child on my own for the last year... I clearly am an idiot and my dad who never raised a child on his own, says with 100 percent certainty that she shouldn't take a nap, she wouldn't be so wired at night if I just kept her up and didn't let her nap (what he doesn't realize is that a one year old with no nap will be cranky for half the day, instead of just a few hours at night) and then he suggests (for the one hundredth time) that I try the Cry It Out method... knowing that I don't believe in the Cry It Out method. But I felt pressured to listen to him since I'm staying in his house. He said to let her cry for ten minutes and I said I would let her cry for five. At the end of the fifth minute I heard a thump. My 13-month-old daughter had managed to climb out of the her crib. I still am not quite sure how she did it. I felt awful for giving in so easily, when the end of the story is that it's my daughter.

But that's not how it works in my family. There is no respect for me, or the fact that I'm a mother, or the fact that I've been living on my own for the last five years. Nope. Finally I get the baby to bed. I tell my dad that this is the anniversary of Tim's death. He asks how long it's been, and I say six years, he points to his ice cream and says "This is good ice cream." I guess apparently six years is past the statute of limitation for any understanding.

Then my dad reaches in to the refrigerator and there's no cold lemonade left. He gets pissed. I say I'm sorry, I didn't realize I took the last one, I've been sipping the same glass all day. "Yeah, RIGHT" he says sarcastically, like I am a huge bitch that didn't put lemonade in the fridge for him, like he hasn't seen me trying to get a crying baby to bed for the last three hours, like he doesn't know that today is the day my boyfriend died six years ago. God damn, give me a break! He doesn't say good night or anything, just "Yeah, RIGHT."

But at least he lets me stay in his home. My mother, who is outwardly kind and would give the shirt off of her back to anyone, doesn't have any room for me, apparently. It's only her, in a three bedroom bungalow with a full basement. But she just invited my 23-year-old sister and my sister's 24-year-old BOYFRIEND to move in with her... RENT-FREE after she told me I had to pay her rent when I was 19 and still grieving the death of my boyfriend. They have the entire basement to themselves, and she's having her boyfriend build a wall in the basement so that she won't bother them when she doesn't laundry. But apparently the bedroom, bathroom, and den in the basement aren't enough, because my old room is filled with boxes of my sister's stuff, and my bed is covered in laundry hampers full of her shoes, purses, clothes, books, everything.

I can't talk to my parents, because they didn't even understand my grief when he died, they sure don't understand it 6 years later. I can't talk to my daughter's father (although I tried) because he's the first one to throw it back in my face in an arguement and use it against me to say I'm a crazy depressed psycho bitch. I can't talk to my sister because she never gone through anything remotely difficult in her entire life and she sits up high on her pedestal blaming everyone else for their own misfortune (and giving herself full credit for any success she has, even though my dad has paid her rent and she hasn't held a real job her entire life.)

Why the double standard for me and her? Why do I receive no empathy from my own parents or loved ones? It's not just about Tim dying six years ago, it's about losing the Laughing Lizard Lounge (just as unexpectedly), moving to Hawaii to start over, getting wrapped up in a manipulative man that doesn't treat me right, that doesn't respect me, or love me, or appreciate me like he should, and feel absolutely stuck because we have a daughter together and I can't go anywhere with out a lengthy court battle, and even if I could I HAVE NO WHERE TO GO!

So God, can you just be nice to me? Can you just be nice to me for one day? Can you just give me a break? Can you give me the benefit of the doubt? Can wipe out this picture in your head that I'm some kind of malicious person? What malicious thing have I ever done? If you can name it, I'll surely apologize, and if I have to hear one more time about how I borrowed my sister's jeans when I was 16 with out asking and it haunts her to this day I am going to SCREAM!

Dear God, what is with this world and where are all the people that think like me? Where have they gone? Do they even exist? Why have the past 6 years felt like the twilight zone? Why do I dream about disappearing to Costa Rica with my daughter and never coming back to this country again? Dear God, send me a sign or an arrow or a map or something to point me in the right direction because I can't help thinking that I've been lost on a detour for the last 6 years and I don't know my way back.