I Walked With Her Read online

  I Walked With Her

  Lisa Barrington

  Prologue

  I have realized one true undeniable fact throughout my forty years; life is twisted, truly twisted. I will not be the one to sit, bitch and moan. I was raised, despite all that life has handed me, all that I have seen and been through, the truth is there is someone who is worse off. Now I've seen more than my eyes wish. I have suffered more emotionally and physically than I feel I deserve. However, right this moment there is another human being who is suffering or more ill than I am. Isn't that a dreadful thought? I have never found solace in the reality of this notion. Honestly, it only makes me feel sadder. Sadness, that I am quite versed in. How does one find peace in the fact that another human soul is suffering worse than they are? My God! Isn't that twisted? I believe so.

  I believe in many things. The trouble is they change often. They also depend heavily on my mood, the amount of sleep I manage, my medications, who is or isn't paying attention to me, who loves me and who does not. Hell, what the mirror shows me on any particular day. My mirror is a tricky, sneaky character at that. Have I been creative enough? Have I gotten enough done? Was staying in bed with the covers over my head the best agenda for the day? A song may have struck me and I can't shake it.

  Oh God, music! Lyrics! Melodies! Happiness. Dark. Lustful. Playful. Intense. Musicians are amazing creatures! A song, that alone can change my demeanor for a day! Yes! Sia, “Breathe Me”. Oh yes, please, please have a listen! Shit will change your world in less than three and a half minutes. Right now, my new Sia obsession is on repeat. She has seduced me with her dark poetic composition, “Chandelier”. I am consumed. I am engulfed in the beauty of its depth. Let us not get me started on Alanis Morissette, “That I Would Be Good”, it is my own personal anthem. Have you taken a listen to Sara Bareilles, “Gravity”? My friends! Who has not had that person in their life? I still can't decipher if my tears are happy or sad from the delicacy in her voice. Beauty.

  Yes, music affects me! Moves me! Inspires me! Transcends me to another world, another place. Like zero gravity, it pulls me into an orbit I spin endlessly. I am a product of the music I submerge myself in. I drown in the melodies; wish the lyrics were but my own. I can write for hours. Dance. Sing without care. Release. Go for a long drive alone, (perhaps exceeding the speed limit slightly). A single song can make you want to do that. The Cult, “Fire Woman”. I am telling you go ahead and try it. Thirty Seconds to Mars, “A Beautiful Lie”, Linkin Park, “One Step Closer”. Go ahead I challenge you! It has been said many a time; I should never be permitted near a manual Audi R8, especially not one with an upgraded Olufsen sound system. Oh, I get chills thinking of it! Well, something we all simply must have in the end. Have I mentioned I grew up in New York? Aggressive driving and defensive driving walk a very fine line together.

  You are making my mind wander. A desire is stirring to get in the car right now. I was speaking about my writing and music. Stay with me here. Most of all I write. I lose myself. I place my headphones on, choose an appropriate playlist and I begin. I never truly know where it will take me. I transform, fingers moving with eyes closed. I know no other way. It is the most exhilarating experience ever. Yes, it is better than sex. Let’s get this straight sex is a great thing! Well, fucking is, I prefer fucking over sex. What is sex? I mean if it isn't hardcore, God willing multiple orgasms, what is the point exactly? That is fucking essentially. Why call it something less than it is? Do not approach me regarding the ridiculous notions of making love. I am not buying that bullshit. That is funny. Yeah, no. God Bless with that. Well, maybe, maybe there is some truth. A truth I avoided its existence. One maybe I have trouble admitting. How cliché that old expression, "you can run but you can't hide". I hid. Well I tried to hide for as long as I could. Then one day I was found.

  So anyway, I need to introduce myself before we go any further. My name is Mackenzie Manale. I know Mackenzie it is not very Sicilian. Now follow me here because this story is good. I am the third born, two older brothers and I have three male first cousins. Well you see, not one was named after my grandfather. Five boys and not one is named after the paternal grandfather! I am well aware. It was not the five wisest choices considering our Sicilian heritage, especially if you are seeking some of that inheritance that is stashed under the mattress. The one that has been denied its existence your entire life.

  My father, and from what I understand everyone else, was convinced I was going to be a boy. Seems it was the way; Manale men made Manale sons. They destined to carry on the family name.

  To this day I am told how radiant my mother looked as she carried me. A girl is supposed to steal a woman's beauty. Photos of my mother at the time are simply stunning. I was a perfect little ball resting beneath her breasts. No clue she was pregnant from the rear. In fact, she tells me herself, her ass never even spread! God Bless Mom. Really? No one saw me coming, remarkably even when I arrived six weeks early. I arrived, vagina and all! What were they going to do with a girl? Beautiful, blue-eyed little four pound, four-ounce baby girl. What else? They began a debate! My parents could not name me Maximo! The idea of Max as a nickname they did love. Now hello, this being almost forty years ago it was unheard of to give a girl a boy’s name! Times they had not quite changed! They tried to come up with a girl's name that they could still call me Max as a nickname. In doing so, finally giving my grandfather the "respect" he so deserved. Five possibilities, all males and somehow he was never given before and this all now came down to me? However, all would be right for my Grandfather's legacy. Finally, they set out to do what should have been done before.

  The debate began. Well the obvious, Maxine. Maximo to Maxine, damn close. From what I was told, that was thrown out the hospital window quickly. See my father unlike my virginal mother when she wed, had dated a girl named Maxine. Seems she was quite the whore. Well superstition by association, if I were given that name, I too would have the same destiny. I do not understand this thinking. A name could create a destiny? If only they really knew. They underestimated that given any name I may still be a whore. Though, whore is such a harsh uncivilized label. Degrading. A woman can make her own choices. I like to consider myself sexually independent. I find this is more politically correct. Assume what you will, I have had my reasons.

  Damn! Where was I again? My name! Ah yes, seems only other name that popped in their heads was Mackenzie. Mack to Max? I guess it worked for them. I certainly could not argue at that point in life. Again, not very Sicilian, but here I am. Okay, so maybe this tale was not as climactic as perhaps I led you to believe. Consider this truth, who do you think saw that inheritance stashed under my grandfather's mattress? Alright, it was not under his mattress, it was in the bank. (You have to admit that did sound funnier.) Anyway, it was not the first five male grandsons. I am simply laying that out there.

  So, as my parents do wish and I myself prefer, please call me Max. In honor of my, God rest his soul, beloved grandfather. Did I mention I am, no I have Bipolar Disorder? I am currently manic, rapid cycling to be exact. Not familiar? Feel free to Google, we still have much to discuss. You will simply need to forgive me if I rant. This has nothing to do with too much caffeine.

  Mania is a beast all its own. The thrill, the danger and energy are outstanding. I adore this high. That is what mania is. It is a high. The perfect drug. It's a nonstop flow of motion, energy and thoughts. However, like most drugs, what goes up will crash down. I personally do not like to think about that time. I deal with the crash when it happens, which it will. Clock is ticking as I type. It can happen anytime. Rapid cycling? Hell, I may be up and down in an hour's time, a week or even a day. You never can be certain. This moment I am going to enjoy the rush.

&nb
sp; For the love of God! Do me a favor? Do not associate Bipolar with what you may have seen on television drama or worse entertainment tabloids! That shit, for example with Britney Spears shaving her head and the baseball bat. No. I am not buying it for a second. A meltdown? The young woman is under tremendous stress for God’s sake. Bipolar, no. I am simply not buying it. The past five years or so, Bipolar is like the new "it" thing. It is has become an immediate diagnosis or better yet, excuse for some. The "why" people behave badly. Why some have gone a bit mad. There are still such realities of a plain old-fashioned nervous breakdown!

  I am old school Bipolar. Let us get that straight. This demon has been on my back long before anyone in Hollywood caught wind of it. It has been hanging over me my entire life. My monkey has a name. "Unpredictable".

  I was diagnosed in my twenties. I have suffered depression since adolescence, rapid thinking as long as I can remember. Now please do not mistake, I behave badly. However, it is not because I suffer from Bipolar disorder. It is not my excuse. I behave badly because I do not listen. I give into my feelings and emotions. I have extreme issues with control. You will understand later. My feelings and emotions are yes, more extreme than others are. It is an unruly and ruthless illness. I will say it and yes I will be persecuted for doing so. I will take the risk because it is the truth. My truth. The days or nights, I lay in the fetal position begging God to take this suffering from me. The nights I beg for sleep. I pray to seek the rest that does not come because my brain will not shut off. Calm. Ease. Breathe. Everything shuts down but my mind. I desperately wish for stillness, silence and peace. I desire so badly for people who I do love to understand me. Hell, to understand myself for that matter. To be happy, not because I have not gotten the rest I needed or my stress levels are so high, or I have once again grown immunity to the current medication it spiked a euphoric manic episode. I would like to understand happy or contentment for that matter. Contentment is a whole other theory I think everyone takes for granted. Actually, it is not my theory it is my therapist’s. It is a theory I am willing to explore.

  There is no "understanding" in mental illness. I mean people try to be sympathetic. Therapists are phenomenal at listening and coaching when you find the right one. Here is where the problem arises. I have yet to meet one person who does not believe that there is not some way I can will myself out of the depths of depression and despair. The power of positive thinking. Namaste my ass people! Oh, go exercise more, try yoga, take this natural herb or meditate. Really? You step in my shoes. Let me direct. I'll shove them all where the sun doesn't shine. When depression hits, it hurts. It hurts like hell and it is not self-pity. I am not seeking attention. Who wants to feel sadness when life is happening, living, growing around them? I can do every suggestion presented to me and it will all be motions. I will be going through the motions. I will be hiding what I truly feel. Hope. Love. Love one’s self is a fleeting emotion in my world.

  We all ride this roller coaster called, life. I am not so different from anyone else. I will never negate someone else's stress or life because it is different from mine. Their lives may seem less chaotic in some cases. However; one we can all define chaos differently. Two, everyone's lives have the same significance because it is that person's world. Each person has an entitlement to his or her own life. There is balance in this world! This particular roller coaster, this happens to be mine.

  Me. I get up every single morning and start fresh. Yes, sometimes it is more like groundhog's day, but others I do feel a new light appear. Hope. I close my eyes for a few moments and I let it rest on my face. I take in its warmth and I make a choice to get up. I am a survivor of life, same as so many other people. I am no better. I am simply different.

  I used to adore sunsets. They made me feel all warm inside. (Oh Lord did I just write that? It sounds ridiculous and corny.) Anyway. My sunsets. I overcame another day and it is now being put to rest. As I've grow older I realize sunrises have much more relevance. Think about it. A human being looks another day in the face; with no sight of how it will end and yet they still find strength in its beauty. I see the colors now which grace the sky and their magnificence. That is most significant! That is the blessing.

  I do want off this particular roller coaster. I would prefer something along the lines of a Space Mountain at Disney World. People spend time and money to get on that! I would like to be normal. What does normal mean? Look, here is the bottom line in my life and it is summed up in one simple word; survival. That proves something! That will prove I was never broken. Well maybe I am a little. Okay fine, not a little! I simply keep the glue close.

  How did this all begin again? Oh yes! I was going to begin to explain how life is twisted. How my life has been twisted for so many years. For as long back as I can remember. Before I go any further, let me regroup and slow down. Prince Xanax is calling my name. Yes, it is a prescription. It is part of my daily cocktail. An addict I am not. Well...look only maybe to the medications I refuse to stop taking because of the horrific withdrawal. Okay, I am an addict, but not by choice! Damn it, you did it again. I need coffee and to go meet my prince then share with you a part of my life. I hope that maybe you will see parts of yourself or someone you may love in me. Perhaps you will relate with me in one way or another. See in me something that you never saw before in yourself or someone you care for.

  Now where to begin? Hell, the whole forty years will simply be too long. I need to share the time in my life I began to learn. It is time to talk about Max's truth. My truth. A story much like the nursery rhyme, Humpty Dumpty, except I have fallen more than once. I had two exceptionally meaningful king’s men who walked with me as I put myself back together again.

  My story is filled with circumstances I never chose, lessons I learned, sex, love, hate, depression, mania, emptiness, euphoria and a whole lot of control and lack thereof. Each day has had a meaning. The trouble arises when I tried too hard to understand it, rather than solely accept it. The many moments I sought to manipulate it.

  I once saw myself as a caterpillar. Have you ever heard the English proverb? 'Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly'. Well let’s put it this way, butterflies only live on average 2 weeks. It's true. If need be...again google. Anyway, this being said, I have needed to be a butterfly more than once. I have lived many lives. The best part of this transformation whether once or a thousand times, I grow wings. I know how to fly. I am no longer afraid of the cocoon breaking open and that moment I spread my wings. This is my chance to show you how to soar through the winds. Life is twisted; truly it is. However, life is about navigating through the storms and living off its nectar. Time to tell you how I fly through mine.

  So... Buckle up Buttercup, we are about to go on a ride

  Chapter One

  Olive juice. This is Ben and I. It began so many years ago. A movie I dragged him to see during one of my visits to the west coast. It was before I chose to move out here. Technically, it was a chick flick. “The Other Sister” with Giovanni Ribisi and Juliette Lewis. Truth is, we both cried. An amazing flick. To this day, I highly recommend it. Well, aside from how we enjoyed the movie, we instantly adapted two silly words. They made the most sense in capturing how we feel for one another. "Olive juice"! Our way, our friendship, our very non-traditional approach at life and the admiration we share. You see when you mouth the words “Olive juice” from a distance it looks like, “I love you”. It perfectly suits what we have. It is a different type of love. Love. I often wonder though, what is the definition of that word?

  "Hey! Are you in my bathroom again?" I yell at Ben from behind the curtain.

  “Yes. Your problem with this?"

  "I'm trying to shower! What if I had someone in here with me?”

  "I'd still pee, wash and leave. You are the one who leaves the door open. Besides, you do not have anyone in there with you. I leave tomorrow. I know you pretty well."

  I swing the curtain open as I shut off the
water. "Oh you do, do you?"

  "Towel?" Ben has his hands out with one, ready and waiting.

  "Thank you."

  "I never grow old of the site of you naked Max."

  “Jesus, you are more insane than I am. Why can't you use your own bathroom?"

  Ben washes his hands, turning to dry them on the bottom of the towel I am drying myself. "You would be the expert on insanity. As far as your bathroom, well it smells better, it's twice the size and you have this nice hand lotion I love so much."

  "You think you’re pretty witty don't you?"

  With my body now dry, I take the towel and wrap my hair in it. It truly is such a funny look on any woman. All we need are a few fruits added to it and we could all be the next Carmen Miranda. Catching a quick glance of myself again, an Indian snake charmer is also a possibility. Either way, neither is a good look naked. Yet here I am, without a care before him. "Hand me my robe?"

  "Now which robe would you like? The one you cuddle and get lost in or the one that barely covers your ass? We know the black, barely cover your ass one, is for special gentleman callers. Considering it is the night before I leave, perhaps I qualify?"

  I immediately take the towel off my head and whip him. I am definitely not a snake charmer. This snake before me I have absolutely no chance, nor desire of ever controlling. Well, not controlling him emotionally. My Ben. He is forgiving and adapting to my physical demands. He is submissive to my desires. Submissive, such a wonderful concept. He tolerates my need for control and even plays along to almost every degree. That is his gift to me. He allows me to be exactly who I need to be. We have an unspoken understanding. I will never treat him like other lovers.

  "You’re an ass. Can I please have my robe?"

  "Ah the cuddle robe! Of course... Now can you kindly move that ass, I will not be seeing sway around our home? I need to take a shower myself."