No More Masquerade ...

Originally uploaded by Charlotte Rutherford
There is nothing more revealing about one's past than spending time with people who have known you through multiple life transitions.

I had dinner with two old friends last night -- one who knew me before I got sober, approximately 23 years, and the other who met me when I was newly sober and hired to work at the same company as she, almost 20 years ago.

As they stepped into my apartment before we headed out for dinner, my oldest friend remarked on how the "feel" of my current place was vaguely reminiscent of my first apartment when I got sober , like original fixtures and unique features; interestingly enough, the two apartments are less than a mile apart. The significant difference, however, is in the one who occupied each space.

The "who was" that moved into the first sober apartment wore make-up. YES, wore make-up! Just a little and not frequently, like eyeliner and maybe some blush in the winter. It was the egging on of other very feminine friends and succumbing to the peer pressure. In truth, I looked like a damn clown! My friend concurred completely last night when this memory surfaced. It was the most unnatural thing for me. And I would only put it on when I was to go to a social event and these so-called friends were going to be there. As I developed my slightly-thicker dyke skin, the make-up was discarded along with that particular costume.

My friend also reminded me that I wore long, dangling earrings that made me look like a decorated Christmas tree !!! Oh, did we laugh at that ! I have such a foggy memory for some of the specifics of these phases of my life and I actually had blocked out the fact that I had quite a collection of this kind of jewelry. Today, there is nothing appealing about those types of earrings for me, yet I can appreciate them on others and even pick out lovely ones for others. I can feel, as I recall that time period, how much I was struggling to find and adopt some kind of identity. I kept "trying on" things, external and material things and people, and often missed the mark. I wasn't in touch with my interior back then. I would hear the "Psssst. Wadda ya doin?" voice and quickly shoosh it away.

There were several women who were part of a circle that my friends from last night and I were part of, back in the late '80's into the early '90's. None of us have remained friends with those other women. The influence of one person, in particular, was toxic. For both me and my oldest friend. She was, to some extent, the ring leader of the circus that I dressed up and performed in. The power that each of us gave her is startling, as I glance back in time. I would go shopping with her and she would pick out outfits for me and even if I had an inkling that they were "not right", I would get them anyway in order to have approval. I fashioned myself after her in every way imaginable, including my drinking and drugging habits which were beyond my means. I am aware that she was probably my first true "crush" and it got so twisted up in my interalized homophobia, that it came out sideways in the form of being a brain-washed cult member, relinquishing any sense of identity, and instead, immersing myself in the doctrine of the leader. My friend remarked about how she fell into this same trap, as we spoke last night. She, even more so, as she became sexually involved with our revered dictatoress, and it was the big secret that drove a wedge into our tightly bound circle. Everything blew apart around that time, including my alcoholism and then my pretend heterosexualism. The cult disbanded and my friend and I survived the blast, our relationship still amazingly in tact amid the wreckage.

As we talked further over our dinner, I could see the ways in which my friends were incredibly still exactly the same and also how they had changed as a result of being partnered and living under the same roof. My oldest friend is still a story-teller and has a fabulous sense of humor. Her partner is still stubborn and set in her ways and doesn't like straying from meat and potatoes. But now, they share a love of traveling -- something neither of them did when I knew them separately or when they first got together. And they are lovingly raising two dogs and are learning the fine art of "parenting" -- something that both of them were vehemently against previously. It has endeared me to them even more to see how they've each evolved and taken shape 2 decades later.

Their feedback to me was that I never lost my exhuberance and my zest for life. That my heart and my expression of love have always been big as life. I would have to agree with that only in part; some of that display in the past, I am well aware, was a mask to keep you from knowing how deeply in pain I was. Today, my expression of love is from a place of realness and moving out from within, connecting from my own truth and how I feel for the other and not as a smokescreen to hide parts of me.

My friend loves how my hair is growing and that I am letting the silvery highlights shimmer, not covering them with streaks or dyes. No one ever knew my real hair color for the longest time because I changed it constantly. The state of my hair is actually an incredible truth-teller about the state of my interior. The more I changed its shape and color, the more chaos that was going on inside of me. The more outrageous the style, the more turbulent I was within. When I maintained a style that "didn't fit me", I was struggling with how to fit and belong in relationship to others. When I buzzed and chopped it off, I was cutting out parts of who I am. To let my hair get longer and to allow for the natural grays/silvers to have their place, is a sign of accepting myself, just as I am.

How truly freeing to be in life with no more masquerade ...