I’m finally reading the book that was written about me. Well, me and Creepy Tranny Cat (I am so keeping that nickname since it got such a great response. CTC. Has a ring to it.) I’m not quite bold enough to post a link or name names, so forgive the lack of specificity. Short version: back during The Crazy, CTC and I completely ruined a planned convention (and a couple other events). I was young and inexperienced, he was that plus a pathological liar who just assumed things would work out. Also: crazy. Crazy didn’t help.
Anyway. So several people hold a grudge. A not entirely unjustified grudge, though going on 9 years after the events in question, some of the grudges are a bit…extreme.
The Chief Inquisitor in all this kept (and still maintains) a long, long blog documenting every sensational bit of gossip. I’ve read every page of that. Used to huddle up in an internet cafe in San Dimas (this was what led directly to me being the Princess. Fucker of a fairy godmother), reading each new post and trying not to vomit. Really, that more than anything kept me from actively pursuing a career in the film industry. Having someone essentially stalking me (she had, as she called them, “minions” among the Hollywood Boulevard characters) really bothered me, and I figured that anyone with that kind of salacious, baffling, and surreal life would not get far.
Chief Inquisitor also self-published a book about the whole thing. Back when she was doing her “press tour” (a handful of author signings at privately owned bookstores and a few Lord of the Rings conventions), she took the trouble to come hunt us down on Hollywood Boulevard.
She waved the book around and yelled and screamed and generally made a big noise, then went away. But between that and the online stalking, I’ve been terribly intimidated. I think I would have gotten out of that fucked up situation a lot sooner if she hadn’t been so vengeful. At first, I stood by CTC because we were both falsely accused. I later realized both that he had been lying when he said he was innocent, and that I was lying to myself about how much I was guilty of. Later, it didn’t seem like I ever could leave, and even if I did the persecution would never stop.
Obviously, I did leave. It took a hell of a lot to get out, including getting stranded on the Canadian border and having my mother fly cross-country twice. It took a hell of a lot more raw, gut wrenching work to get free of it. Just like an addict; I had my moment of clarity, my family helped me get into rehab, and I worked very hard to get clean. The difference being that I don’t crave what I was addicted to. I am too repulsed. The reality I was escaping was not my enemy. The “normal” life that sounded so boring and claustrophobic started getting good…then great…then fucking awesome.
And now I’m writing again. I’ve been writing since I was about five and my mom got me a typewriter (fuck, I’m old). I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. I’m finally getting serious about it as more than a hobby, and a huge part of that is this blog. I’ve got a schedule and if I want anyone to read this, I have to maintain a consistent level of quality. And if someday it does go somewhere, then all of this humiliating, awkward crap is going to be front and center.
I debated long and hard (heh) about talking about this part of my life at all. I know that as soon as the Chief Inquisitor hears of this (and eventually, she will), she will be all over me again. Not to mention that it’s pretty fucking embarassing. I went crazy Hollywood style. I ran away and joined the circus. I went off the rails on a crazy train.
I don’t really want to tell the entire world about the stupidest shit I ever did. But it’s out there, it’s a google search away, and if I don’t own it, it’s the boogieman in the shadows, waiting to get me. If I just tell it myself, well, it’s mine then. My stupid choices, my life lessons, my fuckups. Besides, they say all publicity is good publicity, right?
So here I am. Desperately wishing I could smoke a pack of clove cigarettes and pace for an hour. Instead, I’m drinking club soda and hoping I can finish this before Edward’s nap ends. It’s time to stop hiding and worrying. Time to give in and mock the everloving shit out of my most humiliating phase, just as I make fun of every other part of my life. I will no longer edit my history. I intend to tell the whole story over time…but for today, I think this as naked as I can get.