Journal Journal: Dear Paris, 3
Its Saturday night, and here I am at home, thinking I must be the loneliest person on the planet. Then my thoughts turned to the cruel paparazzi frenzy of earlier this morning and the articles describing your return to a jail cell. You are most certainly the more social of the two of us, so I guess I can't be the most lonely person on Earth tonight.
We come from two entirely different worlds. When I get up in the morning my fashion is based on the most comfortable clothing that hides as much skin as possible, because I'm a total prude. I think the most I've spent on a fashion accessory is a $350 purse, some $200 Esprit boots that didn't hurt my feet and a ~$25k 1997 Jeep Wrangler (if that last one counts). All those were paid for with my own money, not my parents, who were most ardent in teaching me the responsibilities of budgeting and debt. The most famous Hollywood guy I've ever known was in diapers when I knew him, so I suppose it was before the fact he was famous, and we never dated, just threw baby food. I don't carry a Blackberry, let alone one with numbers of celebrities. I'm assuming, perhaps unfairly, that we have little in common. The media doesn't talk much about you enjoying the kinds of things I do. All, this aside though, I've managed to find that tiny thing we have in common, beyond both of us being human. Well being human has a lot to do with it, but it gets deeper than that.
Paris, there are prison cells without literal bars and cement walls. They exist inside the minds of the severely treatment resistant depressed with PTSD, like me. I live in a home surrounded by plenty of creature comforts, but my broken brain fails to let me enjoy them the majority of the time. No food tastes good, the fanciest of home theaters can't distract me enough to watch a movie and even a $500 massage in Santa Fe fails to relax me. I can scream for my loved ones while they hug me tight, and still not feel their arms holding me--there is no comfort in a horrific mental illness. No amount of my wanting and fighting to get well or seeing doctors, therapists, reading self-help books, taking meds, etc has helped with this problem for 13 years. To put it plainly there is an emptiness that material items and even non-material items can't fill.
Sound a bit familiar? I think it must hit home to you a bit--for as we watched today no amount of your money can keep you from the loneliness, scariness and isolation of the cell you're stuck in now that separates you from your own creature comforts. I'm not rich, but I bet many of those comforts exist in an effort to fill a void in your heart that you may not even realize. If so, you're hardly alone, that describes a huge demographic in the US alone.
We are both human, even if we don't agree on anything at all. To be human is to make mistakes. Humanity, which there is still a lot of in this world, Paris, will grant you forgiveness for mistakes if you are sincere, accountable, make the best effort you can to learn from those mistakes and ask for that forgiveness. Sometimes you even get more than one chance. Its the hard path though, not the easy one that you've been taught all your life. Accountability is normally something taught to us as we grow up, but in your case that did not happen. I choose to be an optimist and hope that you can still learn it through time and patience and friends that aren't shallow and see beyond your money and celebrity.
Back to how we are both human and the tiny thing that connects us. As different as we are, tonight, locked up in our cells, we have a few things in common. We are both scared and lonely. I realize tough love is sometimes the only way, but the first few nights alone in a frightening place during a transition period are agonizing on any human spirit. So I am praying you angels, to give you courage, enlightenment and allow you to rest. You may dress them up however your imagination suits them. I certainly do, and they do not mind. Their goal is that you will find rest, peace and comfort, to be strong enough to make the most of what you will have to face when the sun comes up. And Paris, the sun will come up. My dad is not as rich or famous as yours, but he once offered me some wisdom I can't help but keep close to my heart. On nights I was afraid of whatever, he would tell me, "Kiddo, try to get some rest, things will look brighter in the morning." Many times that along with my faith in humanity have gotten me through nights I never imagined were survivable.
Finally, I am also praying and wishing that you will emerge from this encounter with the system, from your past mistakes, and your misguided youth a survivor, not a victim. Thats very important. As a victim you may find more sympathy in life from others, but not from within. A survivor, the hardest thing to be, will help you grow into a strong courageous beautiful person inside and out that won't be as afraid next time she does something human.
Even though I know that in 45 days, 22 days, 24 hours, whenever this fiasco of your "judicial punishment" runs its course, it will be harder for me to see that tiny bit of you that reminded me that you are indeed a bit like me. You are human, you went through a scary, lonely time---and more importantly-- it reminded me to be humanitarian. I think I owe you thanks for that, Paris. God be with you, my prayers are.
{Its really too bad that Paris will never read this because its a journal page on a site for nerds, not some article in one of her favorite magazines or blogs. If anyone here thinks it worth linking to somewhere one of her high profile friends might read it, please do. I'm a romantic, and it would make me feel better if she knew that there were people who aren't enjoying seeing her suffer.} ~N
We come from two entirely different worlds. When I get up in the morning my fashion is based on the most comfortable clothing that hides as much skin as possible, because I'm a total prude. I think the most I've spent on a fashion accessory is a $350 purse, some $200 Esprit boots that didn't hurt my feet and a ~$25k 1997 Jeep Wrangler (if that last one counts). All those were paid for with my own money, not my parents, who were most ardent in teaching me the responsibilities of budgeting and debt. The most famous Hollywood guy I've ever known was in diapers when I knew him, so I suppose it was before the fact he was famous, and we never dated, just threw baby food. I don't carry a Blackberry, let alone one with numbers of celebrities. I'm assuming, perhaps unfairly, that we have little in common. The media doesn't talk much about you enjoying the kinds of things I do. All, this aside though, I've managed to find that tiny thing we have in common, beyond both of us being human. Well being human has a lot to do with it, but it gets deeper than that.
Paris, there are prison cells without literal bars and cement walls. They exist inside the minds of the severely treatment resistant depressed with PTSD, like me. I live in a home surrounded by plenty of creature comforts, but my broken brain fails to let me enjoy them the majority of the time. No food tastes good, the fanciest of home theaters can't distract me enough to watch a movie and even a $500 massage in Santa Fe fails to relax me. I can scream for my loved ones while they hug me tight, and still not feel their arms holding me--there is no comfort in a horrific mental illness. No amount of my wanting and fighting to get well or seeing doctors, therapists, reading self-help books, taking meds, etc has helped with this problem for 13 years. To put it plainly there is an emptiness that material items and even non-material items can't fill.
Sound a bit familiar? I think it must hit home to you a bit--for as we watched today no amount of your money can keep you from the loneliness, scariness and isolation of the cell you're stuck in now that separates you from your own creature comforts. I'm not rich, but I bet many of those comforts exist in an effort to fill a void in your heart that you may not even realize. If so, you're hardly alone, that describes a huge demographic in the US alone.
We are both human, even if we don't agree on anything at all. To be human is to make mistakes. Humanity, which there is still a lot of in this world, Paris, will grant you forgiveness for mistakes if you are sincere, accountable, make the best effort you can to learn from those mistakes and ask for that forgiveness. Sometimes you even get more than one chance. Its the hard path though, not the easy one that you've been taught all your life. Accountability is normally something taught to us as we grow up, but in your case that did not happen. I choose to be an optimist and hope that you can still learn it through time and patience and friends that aren't shallow and see beyond your money and celebrity.
Back to how we are both human and the tiny thing that connects us. As different as we are, tonight, locked up in our cells, we have a few things in common. We are both scared and lonely. I realize tough love is sometimes the only way, but the first few nights alone in a frightening place during a transition period are agonizing on any human spirit. So I am praying you angels, to give you courage, enlightenment and allow you to rest. You may dress them up however your imagination suits them. I certainly do, and they do not mind. Their goal is that you will find rest, peace and comfort, to be strong enough to make the most of what you will have to face when the sun comes up. And Paris, the sun will come up. My dad is not as rich or famous as yours, but he once offered me some wisdom I can't help but keep close to my heart. On nights I was afraid of whatever, he would tell me, "Kiddo, try to get some rest, things will look brighter in the morning." Many times that along with my faith in humanity have gotten me through nights I never imagined were survivable.
Finally, I am also praying and wishing that you will emerge from this encounter with the system, from your past mistakes, and your misguided youth a survivor, not a victim. Thats very important. As a victim you may find more sympathy in life from others, but not from within. A survivor, the hardest thing to be, will help you grow into a strong courageous beautiful person inside and out that won't be as afraid next time she does something human.
Even though I know that in 45 days, 22 days, 24 hours, whenever this fiasco of your "judicial punishment" runs its course, it will be harder for me to see that tiny bit of you that reminded me that you are indeed a bit like me. You are human, you went through a scary, lonely time---and more importantly-- it reminded me to be humanitarian. I think I owe you thanks for that, Paris. God be with you, my prayers are.
{Its really too bad that Paris will never read this because its a journal page on a site for nerds, not some article in one of her favorite magazines or blogs. If anyone here thinks it worth linking to somewhere one of her high profile friends might read it, please do. I'm a romantic, and it would make me feel better if she knew that there were people who aren't enjoying seeing her suffer.} ~N
