Brain Drops. Jeannie Tyrrell
to the roof, and I remember that the elevator was ancient. I sat up on the roof often and wrote in my journal.
Los Angeles was rough, but I enjoyed it. I literally had to dress like a man just to avoid interactions that continued to occur. My incognito attire consisted of a bulky sweater and a hat. My walk was altered, and I actually pretended to be a man when I walked home from the bus at night.
I had to work two jobs when I lived out in that area. I worked at a pizza shop for half a shift, and then I’d commute to work another half a shift at a sandwich shop. It sucked, and I burned my arm on the pizza oven. I became heavily invested in my online persona in order to feel better. I pretended to be a rock star in an online forum, so I started to emulate that in real life.
I considered myself to be a “free radical.” Sandwich maker by day; heavy metal rock star by night. The duality between me in my pizza jersey to my street attire was pretty comical. My hair was always a crazy color, and I wore multicolored contact lenses. I basically paraded the clubs and streets in emo freak wear.
My living situation did not get better. I was technically homeless throughout most of my time in the Los Angeles area. The friends I made while I lived out there basically spoon-fed me the encouragement to continue that image. As I couch surfed, I met a woman who actually brought musicians to America from other countries. She was housing a musician from Japan, and he was as sweet as one could be. He told me that I reminded him of Nikki Sixx from Mötley Crüe. I agreed with that.
I had no home, but I was surviving. I was actually connecting with the people around me and really getting to know the area. I have so many beautiful memories from that crazy time. But my memories of Los Angeles have really been put into a blender. I remember sports bars, fashion shows, a white tie, and my first introduction to music created by someone named “Lady Gaga.”
Later on down the road, I will return to Miss Gaga. Just put a pin on her for now and understand that I was living in a bubbly bliss. I stopped living the fantasy in an online setting. No one was bullying me, tormenting me, or wearing me down with those things called responsibilities. I became the fantasy out in the real world. I became the characters in my notebooks.
Those amazing characters I created or portrayed in my head were being executed all the time. You don’t know how exciting that is for someone who was picked apart all their life. It was liberating and addictive. I never wanted it to end.
At no point, while I was out there, did I ask the question, Are you being yourself? I felt like myself. I was being myself as far as I knew. My friends and I were having fun, and we felt free. I wasn’t technically doing anything, but I was free. I inhaled so much of that area. Memory sends me to all the graffiti and art on the walls as I roamed around, and I stormed the streets with actual friends.
I forgot all about my online life. I didn’t have a computer or cell phone. I didn’t need anything like that, and I didn’t have a care in the world. Gravitationally speaking, what goes up must come down. The bottom fell out when I completely ran out of money. I couldn’t support my bliss any longer. I lost all my belongings in a cold storage unit, and I had to return home with nothing.
Leaving home was the highlight of my life, but returning home was a nightmare. When I parted ways with Los Angeles and returned to that evil diabolical troll town, I wanted to die inside. I felt physically ill when I grasped the fact that I had to return.
It wasn’t my family’s fault either. They had no idea how happy being out there made me feel. Everyone in my family also had no idea that I was returning to a place that caused me so much inner grief. I was emotionally and physically scarred for life, but I absolutely refused to show it.
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