Writing the memoir I feel so compelled to write is a very strange process. It is full of vulnerability and vigilance. At this point, extremely early in the life of this project, what is written seems stiff and stilted and very boring to me. That in itself is a revelation, and an interesting one as well.
I have moved past the self-pity that used to well up in me as I reviewed or retold the rough passages in my life. This bodes well for a product worth reading at some point down the road. It also shows me that I have indeed grown as a person, and that I will be able to meet my own purpose in embarking on this project in the first place, even as I can see myself taking time out to write advice columns for my kids!
The Judys who are helping me are:
My mother, Judy the First, who ... as I encounter her now ... is a fascinating young woman who in some ways strikes true reverence and awe in me. She was a holy terror during her short life, and during the extremely brief time I had any contact with her at all, but she was also indomitable and fierce in her own extremely unique and individual way. It is a strange experience writing about what I knew of her and the effects she had on me as a small child; not an easy time to remember at all. I found forgiveness for her fairly early on in my recovery, but now find even more: respect and affection and many other feelings that weren't able to exist before.
Then there is Judy Garland. I recently was handed yet another biography of her to read. I can't even bother to finish reading it. She was an alcoholic and addict, and as one myself I can easily identify with certain aspects of her story; as one myself, I can also see the BS she was unfortunately and fatally enabled to surround herself with more clearly than ever at this point, with 23 years of sober life and meetings and working on my crazy self in my life. I know how her story ends; it's how mine would have ended if I hadn't been blessed with being a nonfunctional sort of drunk and addict in whom no one had any vested interest in flattering or feeding my ego, which was every bit as sick as hers. I stopped reading when it dawned on me that she was as addicted to her self-pity and victim role as she was to the substances she ingested; which, of course, makes perfect sense, as those are classic forms of fuel for raging addiction. Hers was a great talent, and the story of her life is indeed a tragedy. There but for the grace of God go I, but it is of major importance to the end result of my current project that the grace of God was there to make of me an anonymous falling-down wreck of a drunk who, at the age of 26, had nowhere to go but into detox, rehab, and AA.
Judy the Third is Judy Carne. She was a happy part of my childhood, one of the cast members of "Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In." I loved that show and its cast; they were zany and talented and a lot of fun. Of course, my favorite then and now was and always will be Lily Tomlin, but I definitely have a nostalgic soft spot for the entire cast of that show. At some point some years ago, I picked up a book by Judy Carne, which was meant to be autobiographical; and, well, I suppose it was. I was profoundly disappointed in it, though. I couldn't then nor could I now know much about the facts and events of which she wrote; what struck me most, though, and made me rather sick at the time, was how she rationalized everything; and how she blamed other people for all sorts of "bad luck" that had befallen her. It was a dishonest book.
Writing in depth and keeping honest with myself and in my story: if this project of mine is to be of any value at all, whether personally or, in the future, as something I share with others, I must demand of myself these things. I thank all of the above Judys for helping me, each in her own way, to know how I need to proceed.
I thank every angel met along the way that I am alive, reasonably well, and able to embark on this project with a (reasonably) clear head.
