When I ride shotgun in a car, I have to physically stop myself from opening the door of the car and jumping out while it's moving.

I feel compelled to jump. I know that if I did it, I would get hurt, maybe even killed. I want to do it, just once. But I don't. I hold myself back. Everytime.

When I first learned how to drive, I wondered what it would be like to hit something. I rear-ended a dumpster and I thought, "Hmmm...so that's it?"

But then I thought, I wonder what it's like to really get hit? And I did get hit. Two cars slamming into each other, one car hitting the other at high speed. As I sat in the driver's seat, covered in glass, shards in my eyes and my mouth, steering column in my lap, and the engine pressing down on my legs, I thoughtlessly tried to put the totaled car into drive and leave the scene, but all I was thinking at the time was, "It's exactly what I thought it would feel like." The seconds before impact make your heart race, impact is as hard and rough as you imagined, and then there is this remarkable calm that comes over you - even when you realize you are trapped in the collapsed car and you cannot feel your legs.

My father and I were once standing on the roof top of a 30 story building. I knew he was afraid of heights but I begged him to come up with me to see the view. I asked him, when we got up there, if he was scared.

My father answered, "I'm not scared. I'm not afraid. What scares me is that when I look down, I feel myself being pulled down. I don't like heights, because they compell me to feel like I should jump."

When I approach a bridge, I hate to drive across it because I feel like my car is going to be the one, the ONLY ONE, that hits a chasm in the bridge and goes propelling in the water. I used to drive across bridges with my eyes shut.

When I pass a bridge, I feel a strong desire to jump from the bridge, wearing a harness. Suspended, dangling above cold, dangerous waters, by a wire.

When I fly on a plane and I think the worst, I feel, from the depths of my soul, that the plane could blow up, but I, Partygirl, will be the lone survivor.

I want to jump out of a plane.

I want to ride in a hot air balloon.

I hiked the Grand Canyon when I was about 12. You reach a point, where you can stop, or, with a guide, you can go further. People with health problems are not encouraged to go further. My father, brother and I went. I started to get tired as we approached our final site. I slipped, off of the path, red clay crumbling under my feet, my knees gave out and I succombed to the canyon that called for me. I saw myself sliding into that incredibly colored abyss as the sunset and I heard nothing around me, I gave in and went with it. Suddenly I felt a strong jerk and felt myself being pulled up. My father had instinctively reached out and grabbed a fistful of my shirt before I was lost, and pulled me back up to the trail.

I have wondered, what it would feel like to be hung. Wrapping a cord around my neck and simply stepping off of a chair. Leaving everyone and everything behind.

I have gone into the ocean, after the beaches were shut down and forbade swimming. I wanted to fight mother nature and win. I submitted to the waves, and soon realized that I had passed submission and then lost control. I panicked at first, and wailed around trying to surface for air, and then I swallowed ocean water and felt that sweet peace come over me, until I realized I needed to keep fighting - this isn't how it should go down! And surfaced, gasping for air, only to be knocked on my ass by another enormous wave.

When I was, maybe 10 years old, I saw one girl cut off another girls finger with a knife. I saw the finger go flying through the air and I watched the girl's face as she realized what happened, and then started crying in pain.

I have stood, and watched a girl getting beaten by her cracked out boyfriend. I watched black hand backslap white face. I saw white face reel sideways from the blow, and a stream of the darkest red blood I've ever seen in my life, spew out of her nose and splatter against the white walls like a Jackson Pollack.

I later saw the look of an angry addict who was capable of killing his own children, after he was hit by a 2x4 plank, right across hit mid-back. His soul was no longer his own, I saw powder where his soul once was, and I ran for my life and never looked back.

I've seen the fear that sets in the eyes of those who've been beaten. I have stared down that fear. I have taken their hand, and loaned them my energy, and led them into their chaos, in order to get them out.

I have stared into the eyes of men who have stared into the eyes of the enemy.

I have walked away from unconditional love.

I have looked into eyes of people who are rich and famous and seen more sadness than I could even comprehend.

I have watched a friend die. Slowly. First his body, and then his spirit.

I have acted out of spite, and intentionally hurt people.

I have been unintentionally hurt by spiteful people.

I have been stuck in an elevator and silently laughed and watched as people that you think have it all together, break down and cry.

I arranged for my friends to ride on the back of an elephant.

I used to think that Charles Manson was going to get out jail and that when he did, he was going to come and find me. My "BIG* plan to avoid this, was to write him a letter and ask to be a part of the family so he would like me and not kill me, until someone pointed out that if I wrote to him - he's have my name and address.

*~*

These are some of the things that make me who I am. We are the product of our experiences. We are also strong enough to overcome our bad times and our bad experiences and become something greater than our environment or our families.

One more thing. One time, I was making an excuse for a friend's behavior. I said, well, she came from an abusive home. My father was quiet for a while and then he said to me, "Partygirl, do you really believe that? Do you really believe that people are the product of their environment?" I confidently said yes. Then he told me that he thinks that's a load of bullshit. "For as long as I can remember, my father came home drunk and instilled the fear of God in us. We crossed our fingers that we could all eat fast enough to beat his temper, at which time my father would grab the tablecloth and yank it, dishes and all, off the table because his food was cold. Usually because it took so long to drag him out of the bar and home for dinner."

"But I've never done that. I've never come home drunk and raising a hand to anyone. Because regardless of the environment you are raised in, you know the inherent difference between right and wrong. Whether you learn it in school or from neighbors or your family. You choose how you are going to live your life. You choose to fall into a pattern of abuse."

Choose well, diarylanders.

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