Heroin, Miscarriage And Other Touchy Subjects
Anyone familiar with me or my work will tell you I am not one to shy away from personal, often painfful subjects. In a world full of sugar coated shit I am brutally honest. Open, not to be confused with trash-talking and rude, I am easy to talk to and wear my emotions like a badge of honor. I am human. I will never present myself as anything but.
One thing I have been open about over the years is my being born drug-addicted to a teenage prostitute and adopted. This ugly truth profoundly affected me in life and I did not want to bury it under the rug only to have it surface in the media, contorted and confused. And yet, somehow when I did first go public with this in the early 1990's, while attemptnig to plan a benefit for Hale House in Manhattan, I was still met by some fearfully. It was misunderstood by some that I was presently a drug user, which was not at all the case. Being born addicted I was marked early, and still suffer from the effects. However, I of my own accord have never injected, ingested or smoked any substance-with the exception of alcohol, which I gave up 13 years ago. Still people wonder, people suppose, people assume and worst of all, people judge. I didn't want pity. I wanted people to see the plight of these innocent children and help porovide for research and rehab funding to help the infants and their families. They needed a voice and my own mouth was plenty big, speaking from experience and centerstage. Some say I'm courageous. Some consider me a fool, bearing all, sometimes to the wolves. I am not afraid of the truth. I can not live with lies.
Now I am working on a song tentatively titled "Little Girl Lost", about my miscarriage earlier this year.
"You can't write about that!", a friend told me.
"Why not?" I responded. "Why should miscarriage be a dirty word?"
"It's.... too personal", she said. "It's a private matter. " Women guard it like a secret they're ashamed of, as though they feel they failed as women, as mothers. No one ever knows what to say in such situations and so they say nothing at all, pretending it never happened, which is the worst thing anyone can do. A baby died inside me. Treat it like a death becuase that is what it was. She never recieved a name. She never recieved a funeral. She was discarded like a heap of human trash, by a medical community that saw her tiny being as no more than a sample to analize but my child was not trash. It was a life, a person I will never get to hold, know or love the way I wanted to. I won't ever forget her. The experience has changed me forever.
Now, this loss is still very fresh and the mere mention of it can reduce me to tears, but don't think all of my material is so bleak and sad. Right now this just happens to be where my inspiration is coming from. If I can help, comfort or bring understanding through my work, then I will continue to tackle the tough subjects.
One thing I have been open about over the years is my being born drug-addicted to a teenage prostitute and adopted. This ugly truth profoundly affected me in life and I did not want to bury it under the rug only to have it surface in the media, contorted and confused. And yet, somehow when I did first go public with this in the early 1990's, while attemptnig to plan a benefit for Hale House in Manhattan, I was still met by some fearfully. It was misunderstood by some that I was presently a drug user, which was not at all the case. Being born addicted I was marked early, and still suffer from the effects. However, I of my own accord have never injected, ingested or smoked any substance-with the exception of alcohol, which I gave up 13 years ago. Still people wonder, people suppose, people assume and worst of all, people judge. I didn't want pity. I wanted people to see the plight of these innocent children and help porovide for research and rehab funding to help the infants and their families. They needed a voice and my own mouth was plenty big, speaking from experience and centerstage. Some say I'm courageous. Some consider me a fool, bearing all, sometimes to the wolves. I am not afraid of the truth. I can not live with lies.
Now I am working on a song tentatively titled "Little Girl Lost", about my miscarriage earlier this year.
"You can't write about that!", a friend told me.
"Why not?" I responded. "Why should miscarriage be a dirty word?"
"It's.... too personal", she said. "It's a private matter. " Women guard it like a secret they're ashamed of, as though they feel they failed as women, as mothers. No one ever knows what to say in such situations and so they say nothing at all, pretending it never happened, which is the worst thing anyone can do. A baby died inside me. Treat it like a death becuase that is what it was. She never recieved a name. She never recieved a funeral. She was discarded like a heap of human trash, by a medical community that saw her tiny being as no more than a sample to analize but my child was not trash. It was a life, a person I will never get to hold, know or love the way I wanted to. I won't ever forget her. The experience has changed me forever.
Now, this loss is still very fresh and the mere mention of it can reduce me to tears, but don't think all of my material is so bleak and sad. Right now this just happens to be where my inspiration is coming from. If I can help, comfort or bring understanding through my work, then I will continue to tackle the tough subjects.
posted by Melody at 8:12 PM
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