HOW WE DON’T CARE – PART 1

Posted on April 12, 2010 by Judy

I was ten in this picture. I have learned so much about friendship since then!

Story behind HOW WE DON’T CARE-PART 2

Click the blue links to play audio:

How We Don’t Care Acoustic 5-6-18 Copyright 2018 by Unger

How We Don’t Care Home Recording 6/24/16 Copyright 2016 by Unger

HOW WE DON’T CARE INSTRUMENTAL–

As I was driving to my appointment with Connie, I felt so much melancholy! I had such a heavy realization that my memory simplified something that was not that simple.

Friendship and relationships are complicated!

I have often wondered why it was that certain songs felt so much a part of me.

One of my favorite songs was entitled, “How We Don’t Care.” It actually wasn’t written about my high school friend, Elena – but it could have been. It was written a few years later. I was struggling with the same feelings of being hurt with a later “best friend” named Cheryl.

When my session with Connie began, I told her there was a lot going on in my life for me to talk about. I really wanted to discuss my revelation about past hurt in my life.

I had noticed that I had moved beyond my childrens’ issues and the stress of caregiving for my parents. My recovery now included my own, personal realizations, which I’d shoved to my psychic “back burner” for the last thirty years.

I mentioned that I felt like my writing had become my reality and my daily household tasks were rather unreal.

I explained to Connie that since my family wasn’t really aware of what I had written, that I felt remote from them in a way. Writing my feelings on the Internet felt like disrobing.

There were two ways that I viewed people I ran into. There were those that had read my writing, and those that had not.

Those that had read what I’d written could really see me. When they said hello and hugged me, I felt totally comfortable and open. I’d never felt that way before, and it was very different from how I used to feel.

I always appreciate any readers, and the time they devote to reading what I’ve written.

The other people had no idea what “lurked within.”

The young girl in my diary was a version of me that seemed familiar. I was hurt and carried it for a very, long time. I spent a lot of energy trying to deny my hurt, and I pretended I didn’t care as much as I really did. How sad it was that my friend and I both suffered from pride and such a severe lack of communication!

This pattern repeated itself many more times in my life.

For so many years, I’d felt emotionally deadened. I remembered the excitement of my deep friendships and especially of first love! I’d just thought that was part of growing up, and accepted that it was over.

The sadness was that with the “smoothness” or lack of highs and lows, there was numbness. Without pain, there could be no joy. The period of bereavement actually allowed for me to appreciate joy again in my life – when I accepted every tear as my penance. Holding those tears in was what caused me to feel like a zombie.

Perhaps with maturity I had far less lows and highs with all the challenges I had faced. Instead of creating my own emotional tumult, I was thrown onto the tumult of trying to stay afloat amid responsibilities and circumstances!

After I shared many of those insights with Connie I was drained. It was interesting for me that I could verbalize so much. Lately, I’d felt I could only write my feelings, not articulate them.

Her response was, “How do you want me to help you?”

I told her, “I have no idea. I guess I understand that I’ve been married a long time. I am not really looking to have a joyous friendship like I had with Elena so long ago. Right now, I barely have time for friends in my life!”

While I was under hypnosis, Connie asked me, “Do you have some area of your body that is hurting – where you feel your stress?”

I did. I felt my stomach was churning. It seemed that area was my weak link with stress. I developed colitis when my mother first became ill several years ago. It resolved when my stress diminished. I could feel the calmness radiating throughout my body. I didn’t want to think too much, but I was searching to understand what my hurt was actually about.

I decided to see if I could find any word to describe it. The word that came to my mind was “lonely.”

“Life is basically lonely,” I explained. “Even sharing through my writing is a solitary venture. Perhaps I am so passionate about it because I’ve finally found a way to connect with people!”

Suddenly, a realization came to me.

When I left her guesthouse, I felt lighter again. It had finally dawned on me.

I had found my new best friend.

I had found myself.


HOW WE DON’T CARE

Copyright 2018 by Judy Unger

 

What’s new with you?

It’s been awhile since you’ve told me

I have nothing left to say

It might be too late to give it a try

For now you can’t look me in the eye

 

I’m doing fine

Although I’m smiling

Inside it isn’t quite the same

I can’t take much more of fighting these tears

it seems my disguise is not what it appears

 

We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we don’t share

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time

to say I love you

 

Sometimes I feel

like this time it’s over

Will this be just a passing storm?

Somehow I wonder if after the rain

can our love survive this pain?

 

So what’s on your mind?

Will you cry when you leave me?

Or is it that I’m just crying alone?

I thought that our love I could always count on

Did we wake up to find that love has gone?

 

We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we’re not there

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time

to say I love you

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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DIARY OF A SENSITIVE HEART

Posted on April 12, 2010 by Judy

Judy and Elena.

My Sweet 16 Party – Elena is behind me.

In my recent odyssey of reconnecting, I would love to see Elena again. I really want to know what she has done in the last thirty years. Her admission of frailty and pain in her letter (at the end of this post) was heartbreaking. She was only about twenty years old when she wrote to me, because I remember her birthday was one day different than mine. That was so young to have suffered so much!

BELOW ARE DIARY EXCERPTS:

Dec. 15, 1976

You know I’ve always wanted to keep a diary. But I guess the thought of it scares me away, so this lined paper will just have to do. I really think that it’s neat to look back at the things you write, like you’re doing now. I really like writing, but I wish that I had the time.

Gosh, I feel like crying. I think I’ll take a shower, but I need to type some music. I love guitar! So much!! And I love harmony and especially Elena and life. It’s just so damn beautiful. It probably wouldn’t be that way if I weren’t so lucky. Look at Joni. She reeks of cigarette smoke and sadness. I feel so sad for her.

You know, I should do this more often. Even if I write only a paragraph! I regret not doing this before. So much has happened to me. Already I feel better, and it will be neat reading this again.

Jan. 9, 1976

Well, I think it’s over (I had broken up with a boyfriend). So what? I’m just so sick of it all that I don’t want to think about it. I’ll change the subject to my great friend, Elena. Today, she was very upset about life, isn’t everybody? Joni and her – I could be upset with it now, but you can’t be upset at life. It’s not to blame – I love it. No, I don’t love my boyfriend, I love life and that is more important to me. I wouldn’t love life as much if I was only with one boyfriend! Tonight I’ll just go out with my friends and probably enjoy myself more.

Mar. 30, 1976

I guess I’ve been avoiding it. Either it doesn’t bother me or else it hurts so much I’m trying not to think about it. It’s as if I didn’t even know Elena. You know I can almost forget things, but no – because if anyone asks me to play I’ll just say, “OK” but it sounds so much better with violin and harmony and Elena but I don’t know Elena anymore or she doesn’t know me. I’m the same but I’ll try to forget what she’s like now. You see, even if she comes to her senses, I could never be friends with her because she has a cruel streak and if some guy came along or she had lots of friends she’d dump me for a while.

You’ll meet other friends. And I’ll try to find ones that aren’t as snobbish, mean, and selfish as she was. No, I don’t feel sorry for her. At least this shows that I had a good girlfriend for a while and I’ll find another one.

I think I miss the music more than her really. I guess that’s all we really had in common. But so what? We enjoyed each other’s company. How much more can I say? There really are more important things. Please, Judy, don’t get too friendly. It will hurt. It’s 10:01 and my parents aren’t home yet. I wish I could love a guy like that. Eventually, I will.

Apr. 16, 1976

It’s sort of late, but when I’m in the mood to write, I should. I’m listening to some mellow music and that makes me feel like writing something sad. I think I’m getting over Elena. The only time it hurts is when I think of old times and when I figure out something musically to show her. But I can’t. Last week I sent her a long, long letter. I don’t know why. I have to see her on Tuesday in P.E. She’s going to have to move out of the locker.

May 21, 1976

The field trip on Wednesday sure was dull. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t have to look at her. She was sitting near me yesterday. Why did I cry last night? I guess it’s hard to lose something and not ever get it back. All I’ve got are memories and when I think of them it gets to me. But, enough of a paragraph to her.

Please, get over her already.

Jun. 11, 1976

When my boyfriend called yesterday, I think that I talked too much about Her. I don’t think I’ll capitalize her anymore because that makes it like a God. Anyway, I picked up the yearbook yesterday. It’s fun to get signatures. I got hers. Sometimes, I think I’m a masochist. One day, I’ll find a friend who can laugh with me like she did and be happy inside.

Aug. 20, 1976

I’m looking forward to the vacation with Joni. That way I won’t have as much solitude where I dwell on depressing thoughts. Gosh, I feel so hollow and empty right now. You know, I feel just like my song . . .

Sep. 7, 1976

Right now I feel weird. Maybe it’s better to have one thing take the place of another in the mind. I’m worried that I’ve opened myself up to hurt again. Today was registration. I saw Her – Elena. It isn’t good not to talk to someone. Well, I said “Hi” and before you know it, it was like old times. We discussed old times and our mistakes. Have I forgotten the hurt so soon? Or was it necessary that I get hurt before so I could grow and learn? But I opened up too much again! Damn!! Well, we made plans to see each other before school. We couldn’t have made up with it fresh in our heads. But she’s a fun person to be with. Singing is okay and it’s not even that important. I like to sing by myself and I’ve learned to do without her. I guess it’s just good to start off school with someone on friendly terms.

Sep. 9, 1976

I sure wish I wasn’t such an open person. I say stupid personal things. Oh, well. Jude, are you foolish? My boyfriend called and made me feel like I’m a lesbian or something. Am I abnormal? I’m just scared right now and it makes me want to cry. When I talk to Elena, my mother glares at me. That upsets me, because she’s right. I went through HELL last year. Right into the depths of the most damnable, depression in my life. I cried a lot didn’t I? Why do people forget? No, why do I? Did I deserve to suffer as I did? I caused it, didn’t I – or was it the only thing I could do? I wish I could remember. Shit! Will you stop crying, Judy? It’s not so bad. How can one person be so painful?

I think I’m making something out of nothing. She cannot be a lifetime friend. Or one I can trust in. She’s just funny. I almost wish I could hurt her back.

I’m not going to confide in my mother anymore. I should just write down to you – “paper.” My mother can be right, but she can also be insensitive and very, very narrow-minded. Right now I’m crying just because I needed to talk to someone. Well she’ll feel privileged next time I confide in her! But why say that when I forget by morning?

I still have so much to tell Elena tomorrow night. But what can she understand about my hurt? I suppose if I wasn’t bitter in that letter – she might have come back as friends. But she knows of hurt – I’m sure she can understand what it is like to lose someone.

You know I say I’m not going to let myself get hurt again. But I’m hurting right now with apprehension. What can I do? I’m so vulnerable and I won’t stop myself from having the fun of a girlfriend like her. I guess the future will happen. And I will meet someone to take her place. But that will only be done with effort and time on my part – and I will devote to it. Judy, are you a fool? A lesbian, I’m not, but I feel strange. I sure wish she moved away or died . . .

Sep. 20, 1976

Oh, things have cleared with Elena. We know that any friendship would be impossible, so it’s somehow just casual. It’s the best way, and it’s good when you have a class together. She made me feel that I deserved what I felt. Maybe I did to some extent. But her only remorse was that she should have told me sooner. Well – that’s me. Anyway, I’ve been depressed.

Nov. 23, 1976

Oh! I had the best time at the choir party. I performed and did really well, even though I was nervous. I must have played guitar for hours – and sung my heart out. I was surprised that Elena showed up. Amélie was so happy after she performed (I accompanied). She told me she loved me. I love singing!!

Jan. 19, 1977

Well I found time to write. My problem is that most of the time I don’t, and when I do, I have so much to say that I can’t really put my intimate feelings down.

My choir love is still around. It’s hard to learn all the new music that is being assigned, but somehow I’m managing. I have decided not to invite Elena to the banquet. Sure, my performance suffers, but I have a feeling inside, that it’s time I stop catering and worrying about her. If she were so interested in choir, she would sign up. Anyway, next semester I really won’t even see her.

Mar.12, 1977

For almost the first time, a new friend has placed me on a pedestal, just as I did with Elena.

But . . .what is happening to my personality? Where is the spark and enthusiasm? Why do these things not make me happy anymore – I mean getting notes like that should make me cry. Why am I not rejoicing in the fact that for the first time in my life I can count my friends off both fingers on both hands? And I do go out with guys – I don’t even remember their names anymore. What do I want?

May 12, 1977

I love my music – so, so, much! Why must good things end? I have too much to look forward to, it will all hit me at once – and then it will all be over. I cry when I realize that what I’m living now is very soon to be only memory. Memories that fade slowly of choir, performing, and friendship.

And yet, don’t get me wrong, I still find time to get depressed. But, when you know that you can talk to someone who makes you feel really good, that helps. I know I’m normal (I have boyfriends) but I think I find more girls to love than guys.

Oct. 24, 1977

My life is a dream where I hope I never wake up.

Jan. 18, 1978

I love painting with watercolors. I would like to write a song – but I need some good lyrics. My life is happy and all my lyrics to my songs are sad. Most happy songs are about falling in love and not about going out with lots of guys.

Feb. 7, 1978

Anyway, life is busy. Is it real? I feel detached sometimes, like a wandering entity put to the test all the time. It’s kind of lonely, too, esp. when I spend my time cheering and pleasing other people all around me – who really have no idea what I’m really like. Very few people have ever come close. Parents can come to a certain point – where they know certain parts perfectly and never know others.

But, in the midst of my state, which I act upon well during the course of the day – I wonder if I’m feeling. Am I happy? I guess, if I’m smiling. Am I sad? I’m not crying, and smiling is my favorite habit next to eating and biting my nails.

Of course, in writing I never touch upon certain things. But I feel like I will tonight.

What really continues to keep me going like a light bulb, is my feelings about me. I’m satisfied (although I sometimes complain) very much with my looks and I love when I’m creative and much more. I love to think – I wish I could remember everything because I am so fortunate that my life is filled with so much. Let’s face it – I love myself enough where I don’t think about it. I’m just plain happy.

Life has so much to offer. To me, everything, everyday goes by as homogenous happiness. Friends, family, dates, everything comes my way, usually. But, I’m waiting for something that will make certain things more special – and I don’t mean only boyfriend love – it could be a deep friendship. You see, getting hurt is worth it.

Feb. 20, 1978

Yay! The audience clapped in unison with their vibrancy exuding upon the stage . . . the clapping continued . . .I nervously grinned and acted real cutesy. Then there was a hushed murmur as I played a romantic classical guitar piece that transported everyone in the room to that time . . .

And then it was over. As the last note of mellow vibrato faded from my instrument – the thunder arose. Not the thunder of noise – but of love and enthusiasm for my very soul pouring from my guitar . . . And I played more. I was devoured eagerly. The feelings were tremendous. Those same feelings accompanied me in the darkness. I continued playing songs that never end, only because everyone wanted me to continue . . .

These are memories I cherish dearly.

Apr. 3, 1978

Elena and I went out to Westwood on a double date. I’m glad that I cleared things up with Elena, though. A single statement eased my annoyance with her considerably. “I’m sorry that I ever hurt you, Judy” – it was her acknowledgment I had never really felt before. It’s okay, now.

May 16, 1978

Such wonderful things in my life! I have the opportunity to sing as if in the past – those feelings again – ebbing into my body – the warm breezes of summer, of old friends, old lovers, and old times. I have so much to look forward to! Concerts, love, new friendships, dances, parties – and so much! School will soon end – and with it, the beginning of experiences that will fill my life with many memories.

Jun. 25, 1980

Now for a final and last shock: I received a letter from Elena – yes, Elena if you can believe it. And now, strangely, four years later I receive an apology from her. Can you believe it? When I think of all the pain I went through – she was my world. And she was everything to me. I thought she didn’t care. And now I find out – she felt horrible without our friendship. She had cared all along without ever letting me know. How can I forgive her for that? If she had only let me know – maybe, even with my stubborn sensitivity we could have worked things out.

Crazily, sometimes I can even see myself . . . playing my own music emotionally on an outdoor stage – with people all gathered and sharing it with me – there’s harmony and beautiful background arrangements and when I sing out it’s correct just like the way I do it at my voice lessons.

Actually, the future that I really envision is one of holding Mike sleeping next to me, being together always, entertaining others in our apartment and going away for the weekend. Of being together, sharing silent looks of love most of the time, going for long walks at night under the stars and kissing passionately.

“HER LETTER” –  I never heard from her again

Dear Judy,

You cannot know how much I have longed for you. For a person whom is truly creative, who loves partnership – creating with other people. You are the original. There is no one like you. I have tried and tried to find a friendship that is as fun, creative, and productive as the one we used to share, but in vain! Not that we don’t share it anymore, but it is hard living so far apart from another person – we can’t do the things together we used to do. Certainly, my feelings for you have only grown. I have tried and tried to find a person that is as fun as you are that likes having fun as much as you do, but it is in vain. Or, perhaps, in fairness to the other people, they just don’t consider the same things fun. But remember the pita pizzas? How fun they were? And we both liked them to eat them and to make them (but especially to eat them!) And remember the artwork? How great it was that we created together and that we inspired each other?

You certainly inspired me in my artwork; you said that I inspired you in your music. What a special friendship! I have thought this so many times and was going to write it back in that long letter that I never wrote to your long letter. And it was so incredible that we could write together!

Even when I began to write, when I first became aware that I had a talent for writing, I used to yearn to write with the English teacher that sparked me, I used to wish we could create something together. Even as special as he was to me, or that relationship was to me, it lacked the creating together – we never created something together (instead I went home and sweated and worked for hours until I came out with something right) He was kind of my mentor, like your art teacher yours.

But it was never like it was between you and me. I’ve wanted to go home and see you so many times but I was kind of scared, because I thought perhaps you wouldn’t like me after mentioning all those special people in your letter, I thought maybe I wasn’t special to you in that you didn’t need me – something like that and then I thought that I might be cruelly hurt by the fact that you were getting married.

I broke up with my boyfriend and had a terrible, huge, terrible break-up and was sensitive for a long time about marriage. That’s what made me write to you the fact that I knew what you had gone through, and what I could do to put it right since I knew what I wanted my boyfriend to do! I also felt scared and guilty, because I hadn’t written back to you after you wrote that long letter.

It was a matter of health. Indeed, I barely got that first one to you, short as it was, because I was in such poor health that every little thing was an enormous effort for me. Even now that I am in better health, I seldom write back to the people I am close to here because it is so difficult to work my hand. My system is dreadfully fouled up. But I’m going to be O.K. I think, because God is going to restore me. I was given it as a promise, so I believe it!

But anyway, I felt bad and I knew how easily hurt you were. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t want to talk to me. But then I thought of you, and thought of you, and I couldn’t stop thinking of you and our friendship. I missed it, missed it so dreadfully. In the joyless days that seemed so endless to me, you would appear to me. You are the embodiment of fun, of enjoyment, of a zest for life, and I admire it so much. Not that I don’t have it. I do, otherwise we could not have shared so much. But sometimes I am so hard on myself that I block myself from doing things that I want to do. I end up enjoying myself less than most people.

But anyway, do you know what I miss? You, and your gigantic studio, filled with drawings. My eye is starved for beautiful things. You are so creative! I admire it so much. I’m so sorry I never wrote back after your letter, I cannot apologize enough! (And I’m sorry for how late this letter is.) But I have never run into problems of this sort before, of not being able to move my hand (Can you tell by my writing?) of my eyes burning and watering, of weakness throughout my body)

I would not be writing you this letter, if it not for the fact that I had an unusually good day, emotionally – lots of good people, good experiences, and a high after talking to God, (praying). So the inner joy in me can overcome the outer obstacles. My good feelings have given me enough energy to fortify me and to enable me to stand the discomfort of writing. But I am not used to feeling so bad physically!

Elena has burning eyes, and Elena has been perhaps permanently maimed by sorrow. Elena has a hard time dealing with not feeling physically great. God will restore me; I have only to wait. Sorry about my writing. I am so glad we are friends again; I was so glad to hear you happy on the phone. Well, I’d better go.

Love, Elena

Page 1 of 6 – Elena’s letter to me. Clicking on it makes it larger.

Page 1 of 4 – My letter returned to me (Undeliverable).

I am adding this part on to my post about Elena.

My story about my high school friend was simply about one of those adolescent experiences that forever shape you.

I discovered my love for the guitar and music around the time that I met Elena. She taught me how to harmonize and we spent many hours together creating harmonies for popular songs from that time. We both especially loved the harmonies by Simon and Garfunkel.

One day, I decided to write my own song. The name of my first song was entitled, “You’re Not the One.”

Elena, Anita, and me with my classical guitar.

Elena created a nice harmony for it, and we practiced it often. We were able to perform together for some volunteer events. The other girl in the picture above was in my high school choir; her name was Anita.

I wrote three more, original songs where Elena harmonized with me. I have the lyrics, but since I didn’t make any recordings, I cannot remember the melodies to those songs. After my friendship with Elena ended, I continued writing more songs.

One day, I hope I will find my friend who sang my very first song with me.

I shared my story about Elena with some of my other high school friends. I received this message, which was very sad.

Judy,

It is nice to hear from you.  I read some of your blog entries, and I was especially moved by your pieces about Elena, who I remember as being a wonderful friend, extremely bright (perhaps a genius), immensely talented with a wicked sense of humor. She was also quite complex — a lot of brilliant people are — and she had every reason to be (which you alluded to in your writing). The last time I saw here was in the winter of 1983, in a small hotel in New Hampshire, in a snowstorm. We were both looking at East Coast graduate schools, and checking into the same motel at the same time. An amazing coincidence! A few hours later, I went down to her room and we talked very openly for quite a while. She confided in me that especially after her mother passed away (I remember when that happened), her father was physically abusive to her and her brothers. As successfully as she hid the bruises and marks as a child/ teenager, her wounds were ever so evident in her mannerisms, her speech, and her aura as a woman. This was truly sad. I often think of Elena…she is certainly one person I would love to track down. Have you ever heard from her?

Thank you for sharing your writing — yourself — with me.

A still taken from my sweet 16 birthday party – Elena is behind me.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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MUSIC, WRITING AND FRIENDSHIP

Posted on April 12, 2010 by Judy

Classical Guitar Charcoal – 1979 by Judy

When I first began my writing, I thought it would just be a few pages about things I was interested in writing about. I began with some “summary” paragraphs. Each paragraph has now turned into a chapter. I didn’t realize how much there was inside of me that I wanted to express!

Life for me lately, has been a time warp. My rediscovery of old friends and memories has definitely been therapeutic. I have been amazed at how many things I still remember. I need to focus on that sometimes, because when I forget little things it has become very unsettling. I joke about turning fifty, but it isn’t always funny.

Such a fairytale life I’ve had! My parents adored me. I had two older brothers, but since there was a six-year gap between them and myself, I was almost like an only child. I was the precious little girl my mother always wanted. My middle brother wasn’t too happy with me when I was born; I had taken away his standing as the “baby” in our family. It wasn’t a “fairytale” when we were together. There was a lot of sibling rivalry between us.

My mother used to say she “lived through me,” and enjoyed my experiences. I have a lot of interest in watching my own children, but have not expectation of living through their life with them. I would like them to be more independent, for sure!

My mother told me that my talents were apparent in preschool. I grew up being told by my mother that I’d become an artist. Throughout my childhood, she encouraged my art. I had tremendous patience for paint by numbers. I remembered enjoying them, especially because I had trouble “loosening up.” My mother also told me, “When you have children, being an artist is the perfect career to be at home with them!”

In grammar school, I found that I enjoyed writing in addition to art. In the sixth grade I experienced an explosion of writing creativity. After elementary school, my writing was put into a diary that I started in high school. I didn’t take it seriously and stopped keeping a diary a year or two after I was married.

I began learning the guitar when I was 15 years old. I became passionate about music, and I began writing songs when I was sixteen. I guess I discovered that songwriting was a tremendous outlet. Creating a song, by combining words with music was an amazing process. I was not musically trained, but had an excellent ear and created lovely chord progressions on my guitar. I wanted the melody and lyrics for my songs to seamlessly blend. It was important that each and every song of mine be unique. Sometimes I wrote songs about things I had not experienced yet in my life. The last song that I wrote was the one I played at my wedding to Michael.

My first experience living away from home was when I got married. I never even experienced moving before then. Our family lived in a small apartment. I often have amazement thinking there was only one bathroom for five people; that wasn’t easy as a teenager! My parents were devoted to their children, and I was very cherished and loved. I was such a good girl, too.

I never experienced any trauma growing up. It was all so normal. I had childhood friends, I fought with my brother, I loved bugs and lizards, and I was a tomboy. Our family never had much money; I didn’t know any different. My father was a teacher, and later a school district administrator. My mother was a “stay at home” mom. As far as vacations went, we didn’t go anywhere too far. It was a big deal when we drove to see the Grand Canyon – that was my farthest vacation growing up. My first airplane ride was with Michael when I was 20 years old.

Although, I didn’t think I experienced any traumatic events in childhood, I knew I was very sensitive.

I had some special, childhood friends. I’ve talked about my first playmate, Steven. Steven and I lost touch after he moved away, but our mothers stayed in touch. I have also mentioned Joni. Joni will always be a part of my life. Because we used to play board games, I’ve always envisioned us playing monopoly when we’re in our eighties. I see her and I together in the same nursing home. How weird? Where did our husbands go?

I always longed for Joni’s friendship as a young child, but she was required to work in her parents dry-cleaning shop. Because she worked after school, she attended a different school than mine. It was closer to the dry cleaning store and she had to work after school every day. She was never available to play. Our family did take her along on several vacations. We were just like siblings, actually. We would squabble and make up. Joni suffered a lot growing up. Her mother had a nervous breakdown when she was a teenager. Recently, I have found out more about what she went through.

By high school, even though we attended the same school, we were not close. She was dealing with some great stressors in her life, of which I was not aware. It wasn’t until college, that Joni really discovered her path and she was always very grateful for the influence from my family.

Joni loves my mother and continues to visit her. I appreciate it more than I can even write here.

Joni and I at our high school graduation.

However, when I was in the tenth grade, I met a friend that gripped my soul. Her name was Elena. Because I’ve never had a sister, there was always a longing to find a best friend. Elena was extremely musically gifted. She was a talented violinist. It was with her that a learned about harmony and the beauty of songwriting. She sang with me my very first song that I wrote. She also helped inspire me with the confidence to continue songwriting.

She once shared a story with me; I have never forgotten her poignant story after all these years. It was about grief. Her story made me appreciate my own mother more.

Elena’s mother died of cancer when she was in middle school. She shared with me her sadness of waking up in the morning sometimes. She would smell something cooking in the kitchen. It reminded her of when her mother was in the kitchen cooking her breakfast. Of course, she would get out of bed to face the fact that her mother was dead, and she would never see her again. There was a lot of distance between her and her father. He seemed so sad when I met him. Elena carried a lot of sadness.

I would say my very first “trauma” was the hurt I experienced with Elena. I hesitate to use the word trauma, however, it was extremely painful for me. I often use the word “sensitive heart,” but that was how it felt. I had no “scar tissue” or protection to deal with the very first pain and disappointment of my life. It seems so trite now, but it wasn’t back then. I can easily conjure up the hurt.

It was one of those moments during a gym class. Teams were being picked. She and her “boyfriend” were one of the captains that were choosing. I was not picked at all until I was the last one left. She averted her gaze from me. I was devastated that she had ignored me and didn’t know how upset I was. I felt discarded, since she was obviously more interested in her boyfriend than my feelings!

It spun me into a huge depression. I decided to write her a ten-page letter sharing how I felt. Just now I’ve realized that writing therapy was there for me at that time. Writing that letter probably released a lot of pain.

Years later, she wrote to me. She was very sorry about what had happened. I’ve thought about her often, and was unable to find her all those years ago. Her family had moved. I went to my twenty and then my thirty-year high school reunions hoping that she might be there.

I’ve decided that looking for her now would be very interesting.

“The letter”

I started writing the paragraphs above a few weeks ago. I wasn’t even planning to write about my friendship with Elena. I was just sharing my “blissful” prior to responsibility life. I started to realize though, that it wasn’t always blissful.

Elena was my very first really deep friendship. As I began to write more about that experience, I decided that it was worthy of “delving into.”

For me, delving into something meant I needed to look at more written material from the past to refresh my memory. Right now I am very shaken up. I became upset reading something I never processed thirty years ago.

There was Jason’s box, which held memories about his life and death, and then there’s the “other box.” What has shaken me up this morning was the fact that I had pulled out a bunch of old cards and letters from that other box.

Sometimes, I have wondered when I would ever actually have any time to reminisce. I have an image of myself as an old lady in a rocking chair, reading all of the old love letters and cards from my youth. I have saved a lot of cards from my mother, knowing how special those will be for me someday. Since my father never threw anything out, he gave me back all the letters I used to mail him and my mom from camp. Those letters sure look interesting. But there has never been any time or desire to look at these things until recently.

Yesterday, I pulled out a few items from my “other box.” I remembered there was a long letter from Elena. I hadn’t read it until this morning, when I thought about how relevant it would be to writing about high school. After I read it, my hands became cold and my stomach was jittery.

Had I ever read this letter from her before? When I wrote about what I had remembered, it seemed so easy to summarize:

First, I had a close friend.

Then I had hurt feelings.

Then I recovered.

Then I moved on.

It turned out there was so much more than that!

Perhaps, because I am now writing, I have more insight. The magic of appreciating my songwriting, as well as the music that has reappeared in my life is another reminder for me of where it all started.

After reading her letter, I was blown away. She totally revealed herself to me. I was never able to find her again after I received that letter. My letters all came back, and there was no phone number. I am filled with so many questions.

She sounded so anguished in her letter. That letter was thirty years ago. How I would like to speak with her now! I felt sad because I was so unreceptive at the time she wrote me that letter I was going in a different direction. I was experiencing the joy of youth. I was getting married and I was deeply in love. The world was limitless for me.

I wonder if she continued her writing. With her letter, she enclosed something else. She sent me a newspaper article. Her published writing revealed much more about her than I can ever write here. It turned out that she was an unbelievably passionate writer. I never realized that about her. Sadly, in her letter it sounded like she had gone through some challenging health issues. She was a violinist, and her hands were not working well. That sounded very concerning. I remember that she attended Stanford, but then quit after a year or two.

I’ve decided I am going to share my revelations by opening up my diary. It was helpful for me to appreciate how tender my “sensitive heart” was back then. My heart has been broken so many times, but the part that inspires me is how it has healed.

I would like to share her poignant letter.

It’s important to understand that I’ve shared only the diary excerpts related to this story and also to my songwriting. Most of my diary was filled with my escapades and experiences of youth. It was difficult not to edit these excerpts more. In order to be faithful to my ramblings, I decided to let them be.

Elena in 1976. We almost had the same birthday, by one day.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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LIFE’S TWISTS & TURNS

Posted on April 11, 2010 by Judy

This picture was taken after a month of lessons with Peaches.

Last night I enjoyed writing about the mazes I used to draw when I was in my early teens. This title I chose was reminiscent of my mazes.

I often feel like a metaphor for my life is one of being a roller coaster. There are wild ups and downs, and plenty of twists and turns. With those peaks and valleys, I just continue to have faith that at some point the ride will end, and I can catch my breath for a little while before it begins again.

“This morning”

I spoke with my mother this morning. She sounded much better than she did from the night before. I was relieved.

She said, “Honey, I’m sorry so I cried like I did yesterday. It wasn’t right!”

That became an opportunity for me to share what I have only recently learned. I replied, “Mom, crying isn’t right or wrong. It’s how you were feeling and it was important to let it out. Maybe that’s why you are actually feeling better.”

After I was off the phone with my mom, it rang. It was a phone call from the director at my mom’s nursing facility.

He said, “Mrs. Unger, I received your letter. I am going to immediately look into finding a way to reunite your parents. I certainly understand how you feel. Later on today I have a meeting. I will definitely call you back and let you know something.”

“This afternoon”

I saw my vocal coach, Peaches, when I went for my weekly lesson. She is just one of those special people in my rediscovered life.

When I went home after our first lesson, I checked out her website and listened to her music; on her site she shares some of her own original songs. I’m flabbergasted that a teacher of her caliber is available through a city park program. The fact that she was so affordable made lessons possible for me.

Here is a link to her website: PEACHES WEBSITE

I found out her other name is Sienna Ray Starr. What a beautiful name! Sienna is a lovely color, as well.

Our lesson began. I think we could have blabbed the whole lesson without ever doing any singing. It was just so much fun to blab.

I sang for Peaches one of my songs. It was a very meaningful song for me. The song was named “Through My Music.” We had just done some exercises where she was encouraged that I have incorporated her technique of opening up my voice.

I loved her explanation about how our voice was truly a complicated instrument. Because we use our voice and throat muscles to speak, eat, cry, and breathe, our voice is affected so much by how we feel.

Peaches was certain that I could overcome the tightness in my throat while singing. That was something that had plagued me for a very long time.

I told her, “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for me to actually share my singing voice on the blog this morning. I can hear people saying – that lady can write, but she sure can’t sing! I know I’m not the singer I want to be, but I really wanted to share my song.”

I told her, “It will be an exciting day when I can actually sing something and share it from the year 2010, and not from a cassette tape that is 30 years old!”

She said, “Please bring your digital recorder next week!”

Before I left, Peaches told me something funny. She wanted to put a link to my site on a part of her site that was called “Single Mother Nation.” She felt my writing would resonate with single mothers! At first I thought it was funny, but changed my mind as I thought about the fact that I was married.

I was aware that I’d been the primary advocate for our children. My husband had left it all up to me. That was because he knew it was something I did well. He didn’t have much energy for anything besides going to work.

I could never have done all that I have for our family without my husband. His conscientiousness in bringing home a regular paycheck with benefits made it possible. Therefore, I have tremendous admiration for single mothers. I would have folded long ago without my husband’s support.

However, I certainly do have self-esteem issues – I have watched my successful illustration career of over twenty-eight years disintegrate. When my income dwindled to zero, my self-esteem followed.

However, those issues are gone. My art career was a challenging pursuit for me, but now I am traveling on a new adventure. I’m excited to share about my former career as an illustrator. While living through that experience, I felt like I was walking a tightrope. Considering the turmoil I was simultaneously experiencing with my children, my achievements amaze even me!

At this moment, my income may be zero, but I feel like a million dollars. It’s a wonderful feeling, wherever it may lead.

Peaches is very inspiring for me as a songwriter.

“Evening”

It was nice and quiet at my house. The phone rang, and it was the director of the nursing facility again.

“Mrs. Unger, we had our meeting. We’re going to work this weekend on quizzing residents that might be willing to do a swap of rooms. I will let you know what happens with this on Monday. It’s great that you are advocating for you parents. Please don’t tell them anything about this, until I have more information. I don’t want them to be disappointed.”

I didn’t tell my mother, but I did tell my dad. He was over when I wrote the letter; he proofread it and offered suggestions. Giving him hope was very important.

My husband went out with my older son to see a play this weekend. My husband loves plays and I do not.

My older son invited his new girlfriend. My husband was able to get her an extra ticket. How interesting to see the three of them go out!

My husband told my son’s girlfriend, “The last time I went with Judy to a play, she was snoring in the front row! I can’t take her to these things.” He’s right about that. Unless it’s a familiar musical I love, I cannot concentrate at all. I do enjoy movies. Recently, I haven’t found any that have interested me in a long time.

When they left, I was able to paint one of my illustrations for a paid assignment. I am illustrating three flavors to be used on Whey packaging. The flavors are: chocolate, vanilla, and natural (plain). For the plain illustration, a vignette of a landscape was assigned.

My recent style of illustrating is much less photo-realistic. I’ve worked hard to loosen up and create a painting that does not look photographic or computer generated. I enjoyed working quickly on this and finished it within two hours. That left me more time to write about mazes last night!

My “comp layout” showing three choices for the landscape.

For the “Plain” Flavor. I say, “WHEY to go!” (This was the finished illustration)

“Medication advice”

Today a close friend from my support group called. She sounded so beaten down and defeated. Normally she was upbeat, chipper, and funny. This morning she was simply sad and tortured.

My friend told me that she desperately needed my advice. She needed to make a decision regarding whether or not to give her recently diagnosed seven-year-old daughter narcoleptic medication to deal with her bipolar disorder.

This friend had never given medication to her high functioning autistic, older son. She did not believe medication was beneficial, and was wary of any resulting side effects. However, she now she was desperate. She told me she had a huge fight over this with her husband.

I gave her whatever words of wisdom I could. She really needed a big hug.

After that phone call, I was already feeling her pain. It was a reminder for me about how quickly we can go from innocence to being assaulted by life’s disappointments.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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