The Notebook

Dear Diary,

Last night I watched The Notebook for the first time in my life. It made me cry about 10 times. I thought it was very tastefully done. I wanted to hate it. It’s obvious why it’s still such a popular movie.

I saw a lot of parallels between my life and the movie. Michael is very much like the main character Noah, played by Ryan Gosling. He’s so devoted and his love is true and trusting. When we first got together I was in a horrible head space. My view on reality was so… gone and warped and messed up. I remember when he used to surprise me with a frozen matcha and an egg wrap every single morning for an entire year. I kept thinking, it’s only a matter of time before this shit stops. But it hasn’t. He still orders something for me every time he orders something. And if I don’t eat it, he doesn’t get mad. He really doesn’t. I expected him to shout and say, “But I got this for you! And you’re not going to eat it??” But he never did. He never does. He just hands me something with a smile and says, “I thought you might want this.” I couldn’t understand it. I thought he was fucking with me. I thought it was going to get thrown in my face during an argument. “You better do this for me because after all, don’t I always get you something in the morning?” But he never did.

There’s a part in the movie where the female role, Allie, says, “I used to paint.”

I’ve said those exact words to Michael.

I was so broken and so beat down, I had stopped creating anything at all unless it was for someone else. My whole life was worthless unless I existed in servitude to someone or something, be it my job or my husband or my friends. No one ever asked me what I wanted. No one ever cared. I thought I had to earn love, so I worked hard at it. But it never came…

In the movie, Noah always thinks ahead with Allie in mind. Michael does that for me. In the movie, he dedicated a whole room to Allie just in case she might ever want it. Michael did that for me. He made a whole room just for me where I could do my makeup and my art, and I just let it sit there. I didn’t even know how to use it. I’ve never had my own space like that before. I genuinely didn’t understand it.

Lindsey used to get furious at me for doing things for myself because it took time away from her. She would feign support, but if I did the thing for too long, all hell would break loose. If I took a bath too long or if I played video games too long. She took it very personal. I was always in trouble. I could never really relax. I was always thinking, “Oh shit, I better get out of this bath soon. Have I already been in here too long?” This felt natural to me because that’s how it was at home. I carried this with me for years. I was constantly asking Michael for permission to do things. I remember one of the first times I took a really, really long bath. I expected him to make fun of me like Doug or get mad like Lindsey. But he didn’t. He just smiled and said, “I’m so glad you did that. You should take a bath like that every day.”

“What?” It almost made me angry because I really thought he was playing with me.

My sisters hated when I did things for myself. I’m not sure why exactly. Jealousy? Why would they be jealous, though? My sisters never supported me. They never shared my art or came to my shows. Literally never. Never complimented me. I felt ashamed about my art. I felt that being proud of it was a shameful thing, unhumble and arrogant. So I kept my art a secret except to those I felt safe with. That’s why I failed.

It’s taken me almost half a decade to regain myself. I know now that it’s okay to do things for myself, and it’s okay to be proud. And also, it’s okay to mess up, and it’s okay if other people don’t like it. It’s freeing to know this, because I know myself and I know my heart and that’s all that matters.

I’ve started doing all kinds of things. I stream. I make videos. I’m working on my podcast. I’m painting. I’m making stamp carvings. I’m writing. I’m working on my body again, as well. I’ve started corset training and working out. I’ve been doing my makeup and finding new ways to do my hair.

I’m thinking about two times with Doug that really stand out to me when I tried to do what I wanted and I got in big trouble. One time Doug and I were on vacation with the family in Florida. We had been there about 3 days and hadn’t been to the beach yet. That morning after breakfast, I said, “I’m going to go to the beach. Do you want to come with me?”

“But we’re going on the boat.”

“Yeah, I know but I’m tired of the boat. I want to go to the beach. We’ve been here several days now and that’s what I’d like to do.”

“But we’re going on the boat. That’s what the family is doing today.”

This turned into a huge argument. Doug just couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just go on the fucking boat because that’s what we’re doing, he kept saying.

I went to the beach, but I paid the price. Douglas was furious and treated me like shit for weeks.

Another time we were at a festival and I had gone every single place that Doug wanted to go. Finally, a local band was playing and I wanted to support so I said, “I’m going to go see Jaan play. I’ll catch up with you in an hour.”

“But we’re going to see Spoon,” he said.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna go do this. I want to support Jaan. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just see you in an hour.”

“But… We’re going to see Spoon.”

“Doug, baby, I understand that. But I’ve done every single thing you wanted up to this point and now I want to go see the band I want to see.”

“Okay!” he said throwing up his hands and just walking away.

For months he just kept talking about how amazing it was and how I really missed out. He tried to make me so jealous. Doug was always trying to give me severe FOMO. It was like that Spoon show was the coolest thing that had ever happened, but I missed it because I was selfish. He made me feel so bad about it for so long. He often called me selfish.

This put us in a strange cycle where sometimes I just couldn’t take it anymore and I would run away. I would just disappear. And when I came back, Doug always punished me. I basically lived in The Doghouse, I called it. “When can I get out of The Doghouse? I’ve been in the Doghouse for years.”

“You’ll be in there as long as I feel like it.”

He dangled this idea that one day I might be out of the doghouse, but he liked me in there. He liked it when I was in trouble because he didn’t have to be nice to me or considerate. He didn’t have to do the work. Afterall, I didn’t deserve it.

That’s why it fell apart. I had uprooted my whole life and moved with him to Florida and he acted like I didn’t exist. I had to beg him for attention. Literally beg.

“I’m not here to entertain you,” he would say all the time.

“Entertain me? I just want to spend time with you. I’m trying to connect.”

Ugh I remember this feeling so vividly. What a horrible way to live. I just knew it was wrong. I didn’t know what was wrong exactly or how it was wrong, but I knew life wasn’t meant to feel that way. So I just left. He didn’t even notice I was packing for days.

With Lindsey, it was much more… I don’t know. Live. The feeling of terror was right around the corner all the time. The tiniest thing would set her off. Like if I didn’t compliment her dinner or her outfit. She would punish me. She wouldn’t tell me why. She was ruthless. She was the master of the love bomb, but none of it was real. I learned later that she wasn’t even interested in a lot of the stuff we did together. She just acted like she was because she knew it would make me happy. This seems kind on the surface, but it’s actually very manipulative.

Anyway, back to the movie. I wondered to myself, how did I do it? How did I find love? Who taught me to love? I realized it was a combination of two things. One, my father loved me. He wasn’t perfect, but he never made me feel bad, ever. He always was concerned with how I was feeling. He was always there if I really needed it. He was himself around me. I was myself around him. He made me feel special. One time I saw a Drag King at work for the first time in my life. I was barely 19 years old. I was astonished and intrigued by such an interesting sight. What would make a young girl draw a mustache and a beard on, I wondered? So naturally, I asked my father about it. He was well versed in all things strange and unique. Finally I asked, “What would you do if I did something like that, Papa?”

He just laughed and said, “Well honey I would love you no matter what you do.” And that’s all he said. I was so shocked because I hadn’t been asking truly from a place where I would ever actually dress like a drag king, but … maybe? Who knows. The thing is, he was tender. He wasn’t sure if I was testing the waters, so he responded with pure love and support. I have not yet dressed in drag lol, but I have loved and supported many Kings since then. (I absolutely love drag in all forms.)

Next, there was an epic romance in my family. Uncle Norm and Aunt Mary. They were married for over 50 years. My mother revered them. At their 50th wedding anniversary, Uncle Norm so gently wheeled Aunt Mary up to the table and tenderly asked if she needed anything else, dear. She beamed up at him and said “No, darling.” My mother leaned in and said, “You see that? That’s true love.” She then began to tell me their story. Uncle Norm loved Aunt Mary from the time he met her. She rejected him several times. Then years later, he was about to get married and sent her one last letter saying, “If you’ll have me, I’ll love you and take care of you for the rest of your life, otherwise, I must now move on with my life. I love you, Mary.” Mary accepted his final plea, and he just adored her until his death.

At the funeral, Mary let out a cry that I have never heard before or since that day. As they lowered Norm into the ground she threw her body forward and let out something feral and deep.

So, I knew true love existed. I’d seen it with my own eyes, not just in movies.

This is why I treasure my husband, for all his strange quirks and flaws, he is an incredible man. And he loves me very much. The kind of love that you only hear about or see across the table once in your life when you were 12 years old.