The Inner Sanctum (It's Not as Dramatic as it Sounds)
Going back in time - 1999 - I was living in Brooklyn. Sort of dying. My mind was imploding in the worst way. I had fallen in love and was ceremoniously dumped by a charming, creative rich guy from Brentwood, California who I met in a 12 Step Meeting at the 14th Street Workshop in NYC, the sign on the door said - Adult Children of Holocaust Survivors - Second Generation. I was third, I figured I qualified. Pogroms, shooting and Hitler all figured in to my childhood. I belonged. He had it all - in my book at least. Dysfunction - major player. Bearded? Put down 2 points for that. Smart and creative - oh my gosh - let's just get married!! And the whirlwind of how low can I go and how much can I take and how far will this expand to and what is the nearest suicide hotline number ensued. And it was a perfect reinstating of that original cut, smack and hiss to my soul when my father left my mother and me - I was 3 or 4 when Daddy finally physically left. But essentially he made his exit...