Back To Becoming 'Stevie', My Dancer Self

I had a really great, older, landlady, named Louella Gardner, who had, wisely, suggested that I store my personal belongings and furnishings (at no cost, to me!) in the large storage room of the apartment building that I lived in when I left Omaha to become a nanny in Miami. She told me, before I left, that this new venture might not go as I expected, and that I was always more than welcome to come back there, if it didn't go well. As I returned to Omaha, only 6 weeks or so after I had left for the nanny job in Florida, I was very grateful for her foresight, which came from her many years of life experience, that I did not yet have, in my late twenties. I had been renting a very small, one room, efficiency apartment from her, in the building, which was not a size that was in high demand as a popular place for most people to want to live. (I had initially moved there when I was still a Certified Nursing Assistant working at the hospital a few blocks away, when I had not been making much above minimium wage, in that job, so, this tiny place had fit that budget, then.) My old apartment was still vacant, when I returned, so I moved right back into it, bringing my belongings up from the first floor storage room, and settling back in. I felt very uneasy about how I was going to be able to pay my rent going forward, though, since I'd returned home out of work. I definitely didn't want to cause Mrs. Gardner to feel her faith in me was ungrounded. She believed in me, more than I believed in myself, at this point! I knew that I didn't want to ever give her any reason to regret her absolutely unconditional faith in me.

I had not made very much money in the nanny job, either, so by the time I paid her the rent to move back in, I had almost no money left. I was right back, to that same dilemma, I had been in, when I had let my friend Debbie finally convince me to take a job as a Go Go dancer, prior to my trying the nanny career field. >Sigh!< I didn't feel that I had any, really good, options, at the moment, and I needed some way to survive. To do that, I had to make some money, right away; enough, to be able to pay my bills on time. They would be due again soon. Faster than regular jobs would even pay me once I could find, and get hired for, such a job, after applying and interviewing, which took time that I didn't have for this right now. So that wasn't a solution for me. I couldn't afford the luxury of my pride in this present situation. I had to try to get hired as a dancer, again! I did not see any other way. I had tried, working as a waitress, which pays some immediate income in tips, and sometimes a weekly paycheck, as well, but it just wasn't something that I could do. I had the lower back issue, from my injury due to lifting the patients when I was a Nurse's Aide. While it was not a constant problem, for me, now that I was out of that career field, it did act up when I tried to do heavy lifting such as carrying big trays of food to tables in restaurants. I also wasn't good at keeping up with all of the scattered demands, of waiting tables. Juggling everything, that I had to, often at a hectic pace, such as trying to take an order, while another customer was waiting, impatiently, for their bill, and remembering who needed ketchup, who changed their mind about dessert, and refilling water and tea glasses in a timely manner, confused me, left me feeling very agitated, and lowered my self-esteem, due to my feeling so inept, in that line of work. Needless to say, since I could not seem to keep up, with all the demands on me doing that job, I also didn't make good tips, and the base pay was below the minimum wage. So, I got up my nerve, and went back to the Razzle Dazzle to try to smooth things over with Dick, the manager there, who had fired me just a couple of months or so before. I was surprised when I was told that he no longer worked there, and relieved, when they offered me my job back, as a dancer. Starting right away. A quick hire! With good money!

The other girls, that worked there, were, generally, a great group, and I liked them. They were nice to me, with some of the moodier, more sullen, ones as least acting acceptingly tolerant of me. I watched them, closely, as they did their dances on stage, learning alot from them, about how to move my own body in these sexy, suggestive, ways that brought in the better tips from the club customers. I had alot to learn, about this type of dancing, so I was very grateful to my teachers-in-thong-bikinis. It took me awhile, to become completely comfortable with doing this exhibitionism. Because I am usually quite friendly to people, and even talkative, they naturally assume that I'm a very outgoing person and not shy at all. They may have also believed that I felt comfortable in my own skin (most of which was now showing, due to the skimpy costumes that I had to wear as a dancer) doing this type of thing. However, I am, at my core---  or, in my heart of hearts, as my Catholic friends like to say---  actually a deeply spiritual person, a loner, and even an introvert, as well as being rather shy---  or perhaps just uncomfortable---  around other people. Largely because I grew up in an emotionally non-supportive family which taught me to feel unsafe exposing myself, in any way, to other people, because of the harm that had been inflicted on me, from them, and could be further inflicted, on me, by others, in some way. So, it took me quite a while to really fully, and truly, become 'Stevie', my dancer alter ego, and to be competent, comfortable, and confident, being 'her'--- that side of me, that I had to create and cultivate, into a fully functioning persona, for being my, actual, self. It did happen, though!

For me to finally get to that point I had to wrestle with all kinds of stereotypes; some that I had, and some that others had, in order for me to break through the bondage and the barriers, that were holding me back, from that. I had to try to reconcile my deep, Christian, faith, with what I was doing now, to make a living, and make decisions about boundaries I would set, to protect myself from some of the temptations, and pressures on me, that came along with this job. For starters, I chose not to drink alcohol at all, in this job. It was nice to know that I was not forced to do it, since I was working in a bar, after all. The club owners didn't care, if I drank cranberry or some other juice, a soft drink, or even coffee, because the customers were required to buy me costly drinks regardless of what I was having, if they wanted me to be allowed by the club to sit with them. [However, these clubs, in this area of the country, didn't have a cover charge; they only required that the customer order themselves a drink, and buy one for any dancer(s) they asked to join them.] There were disgruntled customers, who came into these clubs more focused on trying to get laid than enjoying the live stage entertainment, who would ask what I was drinking, and then complain when they realized it was nothing that could get me drunk to possibly make me vulnerable, to their sexual advances toward me. Whenever that happened, we parted ways, because I stuck to my guns about that for most (though not all) of my career as a dancer. I had discovered, when I met and fell in love with my second husband, Jim, who patiently and persistently got me past the psychological barrier from my being raped (making him my own personal sex therapist, setting me free sexually for the first time in my life), that I actually have an intense, almost insatiable, sexuality under the right conditions which causes me to, basically, be a nymphomaniac! Because of my having learned this about myself, I was not about to do anything that could encourage that to be unleashed on anything less than my loving someone (as deeply as I had loved Jim) and I had seen that drinking alcohol had been  a tremendous trigger for that happening with me, when Jim used it to get me past the trauma.

As I was becoming 'Stevie', my dancer alter ego, the problem with (and for) me trying to make this transition, into something, and someone, which was now stereotypically branded as being a 'whore' or a 'hooker' was that, at this point in my life, I still believed, deeply, and desperately, in love; in believing that it simply had to really happen, for me, in my life! I had thought with all of my being that Jim was that person, for me. But he was gone now. Married to someone else. Raising our son---  his, and mine---  with her. Still, I stubbornly clung to my faith that someday, somehow, with someone, I would finally have MY 'Happily Ever After'! I still accepted Disney's lie as the truth. I would soon find out, though (and even so, still have to be taught this again in more hard, and hurtful, ways), that love was not something being sought from me, by the men that I would meet in these nightclubs, or, actually, men that I met anywhere else, either. It was not what they were really after, with me. Although whatever it was, that they were after, varied, depending on the individual man, it was always something other than love for which they tried to get into my life. Or, my body. That fact was, eventually, going to pound itself, so deeply, into my heart, that it would lead to the death of my dream--- to truly love and be loved--- and even, almost, to the death OF ME! But, I get ahead of myself, here; about that. Right now, I was still trusting. I was still naive. I was still a decent human being. Because of all that I, still, believed, that if someone knew me, they would love me. In my character, values, and personality I was, still, much more 'Deborah', than I was 'Stevie', on the spectrum between these two seemingly opposite parts of me. I was such a good person! The trouble was, I needed love, in my life, to anchor me, there, now. I'd been deprived of it for far too long in my life, and I was becoming a badly damaged soul, because of that. I'd tried, as hard as I could, to hang on to my belief that love was real, and that its healing power would find me, touch me, and transform me, through that intimate unity, with some other soul; even though, when I thought I had found it, or, it had found me, it turned out to only be teasing me. It was cruel, that men were willing, to break my heart and shatter my soul into pieces to use me, and use me up, the ways that they had, and would, do. There is a Bob Marley quote which resonates with the deepest pain in me that has been caused by men: The biggest coward of a man is to awaken the love of a woman without the intention of loving her. I was already devastated by my son's father, Jim, having done that. The last thing I needed was for that to ever happen to me again; but it would. I blamed myself by then, though, for allowing it, because I had kept my heart open, to love. I learned, not to do that anymore, before it was all said and done, which is what led to my doing prostitution, near the very end of my dancer career. For now, though, I was, still, both a dancer and an innocent.

All the while, I was learning more, about how, to be a dancer, I was also performing, on stage, and vice versa, as I continued becoming 'Stevie', my dancer self. I am a very cerebral person, who typically leads much more with my brain than my body, so this did not come naturally, for me. I was encouraged, by the fact that I saw myself (slowly) improve, including learning more about how to converse with the customers. I had initially been pretty clueless about what they liked to talk about, and to hear, from me, in those verbal exchanges; so, I was mostly missing the mark in conversations with them. These men were mainly strangers to me and I didn't yet know how to jump right into some intimate-sounding conversation, with them, which was well peppered with innuendo, and served up with a sexier, sultry, tone, to my voice. I learned that, though. I still didn't have any 'regulars', yet; customers that came there strictly to see me, like some of the other dancers did. The guys I sat with in the beginning, which were willing to buy me drinks (which most of the Go Go bars in this area required us to sell, each shift, as drinks tallied toward our quota; at the minimum), seemed to me, to be doing it more out of a tolerant politeness than, really, wanting my company, for themselves specifically. My thick eyeglasses and fairly flat chest might have been part of what was off-putting to them back then, but I also kept myself well covered up, wearing a short, and silky, but very baggy, kimono robe over my costume, when I wasn't up on the stage. It took me awhile to shed my layers, both of clothing and self-consciousness. The sheer pantyhose had been legally required under my costumes, when I was first a dancer, in Iowa. I liked, their silky sleekness on my legs, their extra warmth, since I had little clothing on my body, otherwise, and, their protection, from grabby guys, who, especially while tipping me, would, sometimes, try to take that opportunity to try to 'cop a feel'. So, I was the only dancer, I ever saw, in any Go Go bar where pantyhose weren't required, to continue, wearing those, pinned in, underneath my costumes; and I did that my entire career!

As my dancer persona, and stage skills, evolved, my tips improved. I was able to afford to buy more, and nicer, costumes. No more hand-me-downs, from other dancers, 'Plain Jane'-looking ones, or ill-fitting ones that unintentionally revealed parts of my body that they shouldn't be. My body, which was always a slender size 6, began to become toned, more like I had looked after Air Force Basic Training, which was sleeker and sexier. It was simply a byproduct of dancing 6 nights a week being alot of exercise. While I am not well-endowed, in the chest area (but wore padded push-up bras, to compensate for that, some, on stage), I have shapely legs and a nice butt. As my cute, full, rounded, 'bubble butt'* tightened, from the dance moves, it sat up higher, and perkier, and looked luscious enough that men wanted to grab it (only there were bouncers in the bar, preventing that; for the most part). Another benefit I noticed from dancing was that it greatly improved my back, to the point that I had virtually no pain left, from that persistent back injury I had gotten due to doing patient lifting, when I was a Nursing Assistant. That was a nice, and unexpected, bonus, to this new career I was pursuing now. Because my stomach muscles tightened, especially, from doing a move called a 'body roll'**, my back issue greatly improved! Even wearing stiletto heels, to dance in, which are considered notoriously bad, for women with bad backs, was not a problem, because my back felt so much better and stronger, now. Also, I was starting to feel a little more comfortable, in this environment, and like I was fitting in, more, even though, my being starved for love, and wanting to make meaningful connections with the employees, and the customers, in the nightclub, put me at odds, both emotionally, and socially, with the mindset of the people around me. The other dancers were all much more enthusiastic about how good their tips were, for the night, and while they seemed cynical, to me, that way, I seemed foolish, to them, by believing, that there, might, be love, in this world; that was worth it.

Occasionally one of the girls would be asked to go to some guy's home to do a Bachelor Party or to go dance for them there for some other, less specific, reason. Sometimes, judging by the conversations I overheard, it was also going to include something other than just dancing, this girl was willing to do, with this guy, or a group of guys. According to them, it was well worth the risk to their personal safety, because the money was really good. Some, went all alone, but at least one, that I knew, insisted that she bring her own bodyguard with her, or, No Deal. I was a rape survivor, already, so that was not something I could see myself doing. I also have always, at my core, been someone who believes that sexuality is something special, even sacred, and therefore, that mine is ideally to be shared only with someone that I love, that loves me. As we were all in the dressing room, one night, getting ready, to start the show at the club, Tammy, a bold, brash, black, dancer, I worked with there, asked me, as the 'new girl', in a friendly way, if  I wanted to go along with her, to learn the ropes, for doing a Bachelor Party, after work. All the other dancers glanced up, at me, from applying their eyeliner, teasing their hair out, or putting on their costumes, to hear my answer, because they were always curious, about 'newbies', to see who they really were, then adjust their own comfort level, with the girl, accordingly. [If you were too tame, in their opinion, they could get a little paranoid, around you, as they started to wonder if you could even be an undercover cop, for example. There was a good deal of drug use, among some--- but not all--- of the dancers, and a few, that were prostitutes, on the side.  I didn't smoke, didn't drink (back then), and didn't do drugs; so, not doing sex, for money--- or even sleeping around--- raised suspicion about me from others in the bar, throughout most of my career, causing some of the girls to distrust me, to some extent.] Seeing every girl, in that dressing room, stop, to hear what my response was, to Tammy, about her invitation to me, to join her, at the Bachelor gig, I felt really corny, as I replied, "No thanks. I don't want to do that stuff. I'm waiting for love! I want that guy to know, when he finds me, that, I may be a dancer, but it's only my job; not my lifestyle." Some of the girls looked shocked by that answer, some looked a little wistful, for their own innocence lost, somewhere along the way. Tammy, and at least one other girl, laughed out loud at that, though, as Tammy said, "GIRL! You better learn how to SHAKE THAT 'MONEY MAKER', while YOU STILL HAVE IT, because, that thing ain't always gonna be somethin' men will PAY to SEE, an' there ain't NO SUCH FUCKING THING as 'LOVE'! You betta get REAL, girl!" I didn't believe that; then. Although, sadly, I would, later.

To be sure, every single one of us, having had men that we had loved, in our personal lives, in our past, had lived to seriously regret allowing them in, to our lives, and, our bodies, due to the absolute heartbreak they had caused us, as an unfair exchange, for that risk, we took, on their behalf. Being a caregiver, as a Nurse's Aide, and, a nanny, had emphasized my nurturing side, and had thankfully been well reciprocated by those that I had cared for---  the patients, and the children---  developing real, and caring, bonds, with one another. Even the nursing staff, at the hospital, had enveloped me with their caring and concern, for all involved, which included their nurture and support of me. In a sense, we dancers competed with one another; for tips; for the customers to buy us the club-required-quota, of drinks, each night; and, for status. I was at the very bottom of that ladder to dancer success, in the beginning, of course, but I was on my way. I realized that, while I was learning, from the other dancers, and was grateful, to them, for that, and even became closer, in a sense, to some of the girls I worked with, more than others, that the cohesiveness I had so cherished, with the entire medical staff I had previously been a part of, was just not something that the bar atmosphere was going to foster, for me. It was more of a sense of my belonging to the scene, itself, than with one another, relationally, and was much more superficial in almost every way. For the drinkers, or drug users, in the bar, getting a buzz on together was the closest they came to bonding. They were feeling good together, but really apart. In contrast, the nursing staff at the hospital where I had worked, had been joined closely together, in a noble, common cause. Our hearts had been open and our minds had been clear.

Over time, though, when, and as, love didn't happen, for me, I began to let go of believing in it, little, by little, yet steadily, until I began to drift, farther, and farther, away, from any hope, losing my moral compass, in the process. Studies have been done, documenting the effect of lack of love, even on animals. This deep, unmet, need can cause a failure to thrive, in way(s), among other negative effects caused by the deprivation. There is clearly a reason that God's greatest commandments are to love Him and to love others, which indicate how necessary it is! Yet the world has far too little, of it; and, the consequences, of that, whether in one individual's life, or, in all lives, is incalculable. There is an article on what I'm describing here about myself which I recommend that you read:  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/201711/6-things-daughters-unloving-parents-need-unlearn.  It was written by Peg Streep***.  These are excerpts from her article: "Many women it seems, hang on to what our culture preaches in the hopes that they catch the brass ring, although research shows that children who grow up with a secure style of attachment-- whose emotional needs were met, in childhood, who felt loved, and supported  and grew to have confidence in their thoughts  and  feelings--  are  more likely to dodge the someday - my - prince - will - sweep - me - off - my - feet vision [that] our culture encourages and find a relationship that is both durable and nurturing. . . . Infants . . . deprived of face-to-face interaction and touch fail to thrive and can, in fact, die.  That gives you a pretty clear sense of how important . . . love and caring —   are to our species. . . .   We learn about love by the love we are shown  and by love’s absence or presence  in our family of origin. . . .  the  coping  mechanisms  the unloved daughter develops . . . operate  largely  unconsciously.  That  is . . . part  of  the  problem  because,  unseen,  they influence  and  shape  the unloved daughter’s behaviors. . . . The unloved daughter  lacks  a sense of belonging  in her  family of origin,  and  if  she  doesn’t  belong  there, where will she ever belong? . . . That daughter has already internalized that love hurts . . . . What  we  learned  about  love  in  childhood  can  be unlearned  . . . .  Recognizing that we were  starved  for  affection  is an important first step." I agree with my counselors over the years who having heard my life story say that it is amazing that I survived all that I have been through, even as well as I have!  I give God all the glory for that, because of His Grace and Mercy, toward me, and His becoming my 'Love Anchor' in life. He had always wanted, to be that to me, and tried, to do that for me, but because we humans are given Free Will, by Him, I had to allow, even invite, Him to, before He could. Although I've survived everything I have gone through, I am also damaged, as a result, of all of it. Scars on my body, my soul, and my spirit, easily identify me, as one, of the walking wounded. As much as I would like for that to not be the case, for me, and I continue working on myself, in various ways, to try to improve on the condition, I am in, it is simply the reality of the consequences of my accumulated life experiences; of the effect of sin in my life. The sins of others and my own.

One night, as I was sitting at a table, in the bar, waiting for my turn to go on stage to dance, a waitress there, at the Razzle Dazzle, told me that there was a brand new Go Go bar opening, over in Omaha, and they needed dancers. The Razzle was directly across the Missouri River from there, in Council Bluffs, Iowa, but since I lived in Omaha what she was saying to me got my interest. I like things in my life to be as simple as possible, as often as possible! Probably because I am so weary, from all the things, and all the times, that have not been that way, for me. I was not sure why she told me that, or what other dancers she may have also told there. Part of me wondered whether it was a nice way to get rid of me, although, I had been rehired on the spot. Mickey owned this bar, though, and I had no doubt, that he well remembered my telling him, not to ever touch me, again, after he had grabbed my butt cheek, when I had first started working there, and I had not known he was my boss when I told him off for doing that. Still, he had never been hostile toward me, even when that happened, and he did not appear to be holding a grudge, against me, for it. I was never sure of the waitress's motive for telling me, but it didn't look like it would be anything I would be able to pursue anyway, after I asked her who was managing this new nightclub, and, she told me that Dick McGinnis was. He had been the manager here at the Razzle Dazzle, who had hired me the first time I worked there. Since Dick had also fired me, from the Razzle, I felt sure that he would have no interest at all  in having me working for him again, so I let it go at that, after explaining to the waitress that it was the reason, that I would not be looking into the possibility of my working at this new club.

About a week later, she brought it up to me again, though, saying that she had talked to Dick, about it, and that, he remembered me, and was, offering me the job, if I wanted to work there. When she told me the location of the other Go Go bar in Omaha it was walking distance from where I lived! That was a tremendous selling point for me. I didn't like being on the streets for very long, or very far, after my shifts ended at the Razzle at 2 AM, 6 nights a week, because I was getting off work when all the bars in the area were closing, and that unfortunately meant alot of drunks were driving on those streets at that time. It felt too risky, to me, to be out there among them as I was trying to get home from work. The bars in Omaha, Nebraska closed an hour earlier, too; at 1 AM (when I was a dancer), which meant that I wouldn't have to work as late, and could get home, eat, unwind some, and still get to bed before dawn. Since Dick had apparently already hired me, so, if I wanted the job, it was mine, I went to work for him, at the Backdoor Lounge. It was a fairly small bar, in the back room of the Smoke Pit, a very popular BBQ Restaurant. That was another plus, for me, too! I was always really hungry after burning lots of calories, dancing all night, and the restaurant stayed open later than the bar, giving me time to either eat there, or get Take-Out, before I headed home. Often, club customers would even offer to buy me the meal over in the restaurant, at the end of the night. All in all, it was a much better situation for me. Easy hires. Better money. Music. Dancing. Meals being paid for.  I could get used to this! Everything has good and bad, to it, in this world, it seems; but for me, for the first time in a long time, life was starting to feel more sweet, and less bitter. I liked that!

The Smoke Pit BBQ Restaurant and The Backdoor Lounge, in Omaha, Nebraska 

                                                                                                                                                           
Just as I had done at the Razzle, I also closely watched the other dancers up on stage here at the Backdoor Lounge, as I continued to learn more about how to dance, in this way, in a thong bikini, this up-close to club customers, without being uncomfortably self-conscious while doing so. I was impressed, even amazed, at times, by how sensuously and enticingly some of these girls could move on that stage. I still couldn't make eye contact with these men when I was up there. In fact, although I had gotten my first contact lenses, while I was in Miami, working as a nanny, I preferred, to wear my eyeglasses, and take them off, when I went up to dance. Being quite nearsighted, with astigmatism, my vision was reduced to the point that I could really only see those men sitting at the tables that were right next to the stage. The rest were only a blur! As I slowly but steadily improved in my Go Go dance moves, during my turns up on stage, my tips from the customers began to increase. Sometimes, though, dancing on stage fairly blindly went against me. Other dancers would occasionally tell me that a customer had been holding up folded money, as a tip, for me, of some denomination, but that they had withdrawn it after I appeared to them to be ignoring that, or refusing it, when I had simply not seen them! >sigh!< Even though I, occasionally, lost tip money, this way, I was, still, making the best money that I had ever made, in any job, or career field, in my life. By far! This was the 80s. The music was perfect, for dancing to! Things generally seemed more lighthearted, and fun. It kind of felt like  it was a never-ending party, in a way; until, it wasn't, anymore. I MISS that decade in so many ways and for so many reasons. Those had felt like the best years of my life! After barely being able to make ends meet financially for years, before I started dancing, this was alot more fun!

This environment was definitely an escape from reality, for the most part, for everyone, there, in some way or other. If the sexy music or the drinks, or both, didn't carry you somewhere far away, from your everyday existence, in your thoughts and emotions, then the 'Live On Stage' entertainment, surrounded by blinking light bulbs, while, the rest of the room was under cover of darkness, beckoned bar goers, through sheer titillation. The undercurrent of sexual energy and frustration in that room was electric! A thick cloud of cigarette smoke that hung heavily in the air (for many years, in those nightclubs, before the law was finally changed, prohibiting it) caused it to look like some hazy netherworld for lost souls, adding to a sense of unreality that was either delightfully or frightfully drawing us all in, keen to explore ourselves and the others in some way. We, all, craved, being in these bars. Each in our own way; for our own reasons. We were seduced, by something, about it, that drew us, there, and then, held us, in its grasp, long after it began to make us miserable, instead, and we, finally, had to recognize and admit that it was not good for us. I hadn't comprehended any of this, that I'm describing to you now, about it, when I was new to it, though. I only knew that, it compelled me, to be a part of it, and  it motivated me, to learn so much, about so many things, that were so foreign, to me, and my life. The nightly circus, that it was, also distracted me--- quite well, actually--- from that, deep, heartache, that had come to continually plague my consciousness, without relief--- except for here. Maybe it is the most blasphemous way, to say this, but, it was a Godsend, for me! I am not sure that I would have survived without it, in my life, to change me, and to strengthen me; teach me 'street smarts', that I came to value so much more than the 'book smarts' that I had before that which had seemed to serve little of any practical purpose as I tried to navigate my way through all that life had dealt me. If I had to choose a song as background music, to also convey the atmosphere and the environment, that I am describing here, as far as what it was like to be in, and a part of, these Go Go bars it would be 'Hotel California'. Here is the link for the Eagles, performing, this, hit song, live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=niIX0QcYRzE.

Hotel California

Eagles

On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinkin' to myself
'This could be heaven or this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (any time of year)
You can find it here
Her mind is Tiffany-twisted
She got the Mercedes Benz, uh
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys
That she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard
Sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember
Some dance to forget
So I called up the Captain
"Please bring me my wine"
He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969"
And still those voices are calling from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis
Mirrors on the ceiling
The pink champagne on ice
And she said, "We are all just prisoners here of our own device"
And in the master's chambers
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax", said the night man
"We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave"

Songwriters: Glenn Lewis Frey / Don Felder / Donald Hugh Henley

So much was an illusion in these dark clubs with the flashing lights and loud, pulsating, music, with dancers wearing thick masks, of makeup, and using, fake, stage names, not only for their own protection, and privacy, but to seem like even more of a fantasy figure, in the minds of the male customers, who had left their real world, everyday lives, behind, and escaped them here, to encounter that. Dancer aliases were very often sexually suggestive. A large-boobed girl that I worked with went by the--- fairly obvious--- dancer name of 'Peaches' after getting the breast implants, to live up to that. Her real name was Peggy; and her real body had been less chesty. [I explained how I came to have my dancer name, of 'Stevie', in a previous post. The short of it was that I took it from the name of a very prominent doctor, that I knew, from the hospital that I had worked in, after he ended our relationship. But, I made it my own! Here, is the link, for that post:   https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/10/from-my-giving-all-i-had-to-my-showing.html.]  Almost every Go Go bar, I ever worked in, seemed to have dancers going by 'Angel' and 'Diamond'. There was also usually a 'Chastity' who was anything but that. Even when I got to know someone in the bar that I worked in, whether it was a co-worker, or a customer, it didn't really seem like it was truly them I was interacting with. It was often more of a superficial posturing, that they put forth, or even just some type of, outrageous, over-the-top attitude, that made them seem much more plastic, than real, to me; and, when that fell shorter still of their apparent aim, to reinvent themselves, even left them looking downright cartoonish! There were times this turned into some hilarious sideshow, and People Watching in there was one of my favorite pastimes, in between, doing my dances, up on stage (though, sometimes, I even caught myself doing that from up there!). From Bachelor Parties, coming in, to bouncers jumping on jerks to kick them out of the bar for getting too far out of line, it was clear that all of the live entertainment, on any given night, in the Go Go bars, was not, just from their dancers!

Virtually everyone, in these places, had an angle; some agenda, they wanted to succeed with to make it "a good night!" Even, at times, regardless of the cost, or consequence, in their lives once this 'party' was over. "LAST CALL, FOR ALCOHOL!" the waitress told the customers, as they tried to make their final tip for the night. At closing time, as the buzzed crowd nursed that last drink, the, harsh, glaring, overhead lights abruptly switch on, making the magic disappear in a split-second 'POOF!', as this very same room, that had felt like such a Fantasy Land, just moments before, suddenly appears dilapidated and dingy. Stale, gray, cigarette smoke hangs in the air, like a haze. Insecurities had battled against ambitions, within each soul, all evening, as people played their head, and heart, games, with one another; hedging their bets, by each showing the other, only, what they wanted them to see, and to think, that they were. Now, this moment of reckoning had arrived for them to, finally, find out which of the two opposing forces had won, based on what the goal was, that one had in mind. Of course, it was sad, to me, but no surprise, that married men, that came in, often, told the dancers that they were single, and even those that actually admitted, they were married (and, some, even happily married; or so they claimed), still, wanted to get the dancer, of their dreams, to have sex with them. Dancers who happened to be confirmed Man-Haters had, acted, available and even interested, during the evening, as long as the money kept coming, to them, out of the guy's wallet, and into their bikini bottom, as tips. But, NOW? . . . they tell this sucker that, stupidly, thought he could play, use, or take advantage of, them--- after they already had that happen, to them, earlier in their lives, by some jerk, that they had actually loved and trusted NOT to do that, to them: "Oh my! The sitter told me, when I called home, just now, that they can't stay longer, tonight, so I have to hurry home." (They have no kids.)  After adding, they're 'OH SO SORRY, they can't be with the guy; not TONIGHT, anyway, . . . .' (to try, to keep him on their hook, for future tips, until he finally figures it out) they vanish into the night after giving him their (fake; non-working) phone number, that he asked for. This is what I saw, working at these bars; and, I eventually learned.

To be honest, and transparent, here, I have to admit that I, also, eventually did things like this after a few too many men tried to pull their crap with me. It is one of my, hardest, confessions, to make, in my life! Worse, it was not always done--- by any, of us, doing it--- strictly, tit for tat, only on whom had perpetrated it on us, and may have, therefore, 'deserved' it, being done, to them. At some point, people that hadn't done it, to anyone, and didn't have it coming, to them, had it done, to them, anyway; for whatever reason, or motivation, the perpetrator had, to do it. There is that expression 'Hurt people hurt people'. There are not alot of things I am actually ashamed of, in my life, but my choice, to, disgracefully, hustle, some, undeserving, people, in my dancer career is definitely on the list of things that I would like to think that I would change or undo, if only, I could go back, in time. I once gave a guy, named Robin, that I actually even really liked, a fake phone number--- to the animal spay-neuter clinic (LOL)--- because he had come into this club as an assistant manager and had started to try to sleep with every dancer there, one after another, causing jealousy, arguments, and distrust between the dancers, who thought he was worth it. Hating myself, for still liking him, as a person, despite, something this despicable, to me, I gave him the wrong phone number, to try to make a point about his penis. It all sounds pathetic, I know; but I do think that there's some justice in gamers getting gamed.

In the dressing rooms, at the end of the night, some of the girls, whose feet hurt, or who didn't make enough tips, to be happy, that night, were now being bitchy, as they shed their sexiness and sequins, and put on their snarkiness and sweatpants. Others, too tired, to talk, to anyone, anymore, at all, still showed their own signs, of wear and tear, from the flakes of mascara that had fallen onto their faces, to the teased-out hairdos that had somehow deflated in spite of all the hairspray coating them. I listened to the comments, back and forth, between the girls, as I quickly pulled on my jeans over my costume, to go home; sometimes adding my own, into the mix, but mostly, just trying to get out of there, get something to eat, and put my feet up awhile. The comments between the dancers, often sounded something like this: "Oh! Honey! I LIKED your new costume you wore tonight! That REALLY HID those STRETCHMARKS, across your stomach."; "Oh my God! My FUCKING FEET HURT!  . . . Geez; they STINK, too! I'm going to throw these shoes out!"; "Wait! What SIZE, are they!?"; "Babygirl! Trust me! YOU don't WANT these SMELLY OLD SHOES!"; "Ladies, I, had a GOOD night, tonight!  I made money, off that one guy, I sat with! I think he's going to be my new 'regular'! He said, he'd be back."; "You can get us CLOSED DOWN, doin' the kind of lap dance that you were giving that guy tonight, and we'll ALL be OUT of MONEY! I saw, what you were rubbin', on him, and the undercover cops, that we get in here, coulda seen that too. You're messing with MY money, if you get us SHUT DOWN!"; "Can you . . . pass me that trashcan? I think, I'm going to throw up."; "You shouldn't be doing those shots. That's some strong shit!"; "Man! She PUKED, in it; and, it STINKS!  I'M GONE!"; "I don't know why you have to drink that much. I quit drinking, last year, and I get up, on that stage, stone-sober. Every night! Why don't you quit drinking, so much, like that? It will make you OLD BEFORE YOUR TIME! Do you wanna LOOK OLD? . . . I can smell that vomit in here. Why didn't you go to the restroom, to do that?"; "She's naked. I can't find her clothes! She's SO fucked up!"; "Well, I'm outta here! See you bitches, tomorrow.  I'm headed to TACO BELL DRIVE THRU!"; "Did YOU tell that one guy I WAS MARRIED, so he'd sit with YOU and NOT ME? FUCK YOU, Bitch! Don't even lie, about it!" The show we put on every night was--- almost all--- a masquerade . . . both intriguing, and empty, all at the same time; and when the masks came off, after the lights came up, it was really just a group of regular girls, whose feet hurt, and hearts were broken, that were trying, their best--- DAMN IT!--- in spite of everything, crappy, about being a woman in THIS world--- to, just SURVIVE, it; and, keep on, keeping on.

The Eagles are my all-time favorite band and I especially love their expressive, emotive, lyrics.
There is another one, of their songs, that sums up what a night at the Go Go bar was like. The following, is the, audio, link, for them performing this song, 'Heartache Tonight', and, the lyrics:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feduLprAAig

Heartache Tonight
Eagles

Somebody's gonna hurt someone before the night is through.
Somebody's gonna come undone; there's nothin' we can do
Everybody wants to touch somebody, if it takes all night
Everybody wants to take a little chance, make it come out right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Lord, I know.
Some people like to stay out late
Some folks can't hold out that long
But nobody wants to go home now; there's too much goin' on
This night is gonna last forever. Last all, last all summer long
Some time before the sun comes up the radio is gonna play that song
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Lord, I know.
There's gonna be a heartache tonight
The moon's shinin' bright, so turn out the light, and we'll get it right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache to night, I know
Somebody's gonna hurt someone (somebody) before the night is through
Somebody's gonna come undone; there's nothin' we can do (everybody)
Everybody wants to touch somebody, if it takes all night
Everybody wants to take a little chance, make it come out right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Let's go.
We can beat around the bushes; we can get down to the bone
We can leave it in the parkin' lot, but either way
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There'll be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know

Songwriters: Glenn Frey / Don Henley / Bob Seger / John David Souther


* [Urban Dictionay] "Bubble Butt - Contrary to popular belief Bubble Butts are ~not~ big asses. Bubble Butts are round like a globe, usually complement a slender/slim body, they are very tight and firm . . . . 'she is skinny but - damn - she has a bubble-li-cious bubble butt ass.'"

** body roll: (a video, showing this move) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jd1nuA61mc                         (a GIF, showing this move) https://images.app.goo.gl/cJv5aj8Ri5r5PozPA
                   (a GIF, of Rihanna body roll) https://images.app.goo.gl/Ms9dU3af9ohhKRaq6

*** Peg Streep is the author of the book Daughter Detox: Recovering from an Unloving Mother      and Reclaiming Your Life, and has written or co-authored 12 books. Online: pegstreep.com.

I Was Left Burned Out And Brokenhearted

[Note: In my previous post published 9-11-19 titled "My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone" there is the background information on how I came to be a CNA, and the primary back injury I suffered while I was in that job, which was caused by a specific patient, is also detailed there.]

My doing constant patient lifting, as a Nurse's Aide (with my slender frame, at 128 pounds, and 5'9" height), began to cause more and more lower back problems for me resulting in increasing anxiety, as I started to see 'the end of the road', then, for being able to continue working in this medical career field. I had loved doing this type of work because it felt very rewarding to me as I gave the very best skills and effort that I had to offer in my caring so conscientiously for these patients. I was also respected, by the nursing staff, and doctors, and treated like a very valued member of the hospital staff, by them, as well. I especially enjoyed doing new patients' intakes upon their admission to the hospital floor that I worked on. During those initial assessments, I focused on gathering and charting all of the information that could help the doctors and nurses with their diagnosis and treatment, of these people arriving for our care. I prayed with patients, comforted patients, and sometimes cried with patients. I laughed with them, rejoiced with them and shared special moments with them, as well. I was the very last person with them, at times, before they went downstairs, for their surgery or other procedures that they were having done, which some of them, occasionally, did not survive and return from. Because of all these things there was an underlying sense of purpose, even drama, in the career field. There was tragedy, comedy, and everything in between in helping these people who were admitted to the hospital to receive our care, while they were in a vulnerable state, in some way or another, while there. The one constant thing, about it, was that I knew that everything, that I did, made a difference.

Because I gave everything in me to this job and these patients that I directly cared for, one of the doctors, Steve, who was Head of the ER Department, sternly warned me, that I would be headed for burnout, if I approached my job, and these people, with such an open heart. I felt that of course he had to feel that way, to protect himself in that medical career field, because he saw the very worst of what there was to see in this hospital, down there, in the ER, as the ambulances brought in people, needing care from hapless, to horrifying, reasons, to be dealt with, directly; often by him. As for me, performing my daily duties, up on the medical surgical floor (https://www.nursingjobs.com/explore-travel-nursing/things-to-know/content/med-surg-floor-nursing) away from the terrors and tragedies, that he saw, in the ER, it was not always pleasant to do some of the patient care involved but I strove to make it a positive experience for them. Because this work was so personally rewarding, to me, I became despondent as I realized with each new back ache from it, now (which I limped and winced from, sometimes being unable to perform my duties), this career field was quickly coming to a close, for me. I was given rounds of physical therapy, and medications which I didn't want to have to take to begin with, for my back problem, now. Despite all this I had no reassurance that I would ever completely heal, or be able to continue doing this type of job, which was clearly beginning to wear out my lower back. In fact, I was being told that I was risking permanent damage to my back, if I continued on, doing what I was doing. So many people working in this nursing field end up losing their career, in it, as I did, due to it stressing, straining, and ultimately causing, what can often be, lasting damage to their back. Now, it was happening to me. I did not feel ready to let go of something which had meant so much to me, when the recurring back pain became increasingly frequent, even more problematic and just too much to ignore anymore; but It was forcing my decision. I would have to let go, of this work, in nursing, and move on.

So, with a very heavy heart, but still wanting to stay at this hospital, where it felt so much like a family to me with my co-workers, I took a clerical job in the Admissions and Billing Office. I had thought that I would find this same camaraderie between the staff, that had caused all of us on the nursing floor to be so close to one another, emotionally. I saw, almost immediately, that this was not at all the case, in this jarringly different atmosphere that I was in, there. The women in the office were as walled off, from one another, personally, as the separate cubicles and desks portrayed. I easily, and continually, overheard rude, demoralizing comments being made about one, to another, and even face-to-face, from one, to another, with no remorse, or apology, ever coming after such shocking snarkiness. To me, it felt like I had just left a warm bath, only to be plunged into icy waters, socially speaking, as I tried to comfort myself, in my own dismay, after realizing that I was no longer in a team spirit environment, now, but a bitchy, unsupportive one. I did not even feel welcomed, or wanted, in that office. There was a plant, on someone's desk, that she said smelled bad, that she therefore brought over and sat right under my nose, on my desk, as a very telling 'Welcome' present, to me, which she smirked about, as she returned to her own desk, leaving me looking down at this thing, wondering what I should do with it since I wouldn't give it to anyone else in there, like she had to me. Also, watching patients which I had just been caring for up on the nursing floor, and had only been concerned with doing all I could to help them to feel better, coming down to this business office, upon being discharged, getting relentlessly hounded, by these office women, for immediate payment, on the spot, in cold, and callous, ways (and seeing their distress from that) took my breath away! Clearly, those working in this office in no way saw their job description as having anything, at all, to do with caregiving of these patients. It was a HUGE culture shock, for me! It was very difficult to even reconcile in my mind that this was actually a part of the hospital that I had so loved working in, where I had both given and received so much caring, between my heart and others there; from the doctors, and the nursing staff, to the patients, we had all cared for. It didn't take me long to see that this was not going to work, for me, which meant that I would also have to move on, in my life, now, from not just my nursing career, but this place, that had been so fulfilling and nurturing, for me.

While feeling the deep loss of these, very meaningful things, in my life, I was still, emotionally, dealing with the custody transfer of my son, too! I had moved to a (somewhat) better, but very small, efficiency apartment, during my time as a Nurse's Aide, at the hospital, and Linnea had brought Jay to visit me, there, just as she, and Jim, had also done at the previous place I had lived in, after I had given them custody of Jay, to give him a better life than I could give him all alone. My little boy was still so young, and all of that was still so hard, for me! Now, with these other losses happening with my career, significantly affecting my life as well, it just felt like too much heartbreak for me to deal with, all at one time. I had already been brought to the ER, by ambulance, when I mixed my medications for my back with alcohol one night, in some foolish attempt to numb all of this physical, and personal, pain. (This is also described in my post, on 5-8-19, "More Of My Memories Of My Mother".) Now, I felt both my morale and my motivation slipping away, from me, and I knew that I needed to talk to my supervisor, in this office, about how I was feeling, from all this. I dreaded coming to work, anymore. It was adding to my grief, and my distress. I was miserable, now, at a time in my life when I had still really needed to be in a positive atmosphere to motivate and to encourage me, like the nursing field had been for me once I began to work at the hospital. The two nursing homes I had worked in, prior to that, had felt significantly less uplifting, to me, perhaps because staff, there, were taking care of the same patients day in and day out for extended periods and those patients were not improving alot, if any, in their health conditions, or normally being discharged, to return home to a happy life. They were basically there to be cared for until they died, at some point, which made even getting too attached, to them, painful, for me, on top of all the other relational heartache I had.

When I went in to talk to my office supervisor, he was very affirming, and wanted to be helpful. He seemed to feel that I could, or would, adjust to this new environment I was now working in, over time, but I felt so turned off toward it, virtually from the beginning, that I could not see that happening. I NEEDED SOMETHING, AND SOMEWHERE, WITH HEART to it, FOR ME to be able to thrive and be happy, as I had been while working on the nursing floor. I deeply needed something in my life that felt optimistic, pouring its positivity into me, since I still felt so drained, and depleted, emotionally, from my heartache in the Air Force, followed by my heartbreak with my son's father, Jim, the divorce from him, and my struggles as a single mother with a baby to care for, all alone, 24/7, and then my transferring custody of our baby, Jay, to Jim and his new wife, Linnea, after helping my son to transfer his attachment, especially to this new mother, so that he would not be traumatized by my eventual absence, from his upbringing and life. These things gave all of them a brighter, happier, future, as they each either got what they wanted or needed, but I felt like it had left me with nothing, for myself, in my own life now. I did what was best in the situation, but it was hardest on me. Jim got a loving, new, wife. Linnea got the man that I was still in love with, who did not love me, and my son, as her own baby, now. Jay got a two-parent home, with his father, and a wonderful step-mother, giving him a greatly improved opportunity to have the fullest and happiest life, possible, for himself, as compared to what he would have been exposed to and affected by in what my life was and would end up being like. (All of the subjects listed in this paragraph were each described in detail, in previous posts, in this Blog. Please refer to those, for alot of background information, on each of these issues.)

What I got was a divorce, from the man that I had loved more than anyone else, in my life, that I did because Jim made it so completely, and continually, clear that he did not love me, or want me, as his wife. I got an amazing step-mother for my son, who would lovingly raise him, as her very own, that he would someday tell me (earlier this year, as an almost-38-year-old man now) is the mother that he remembers, knows, and loves (which is as he should feel, toward Linnea, given the situation of his upbringing). What I got was the peace of mind, from knowing that Jay would have much better of EVERYTHING, with the two of them, than I could EVER have given him, with me, and my limited resources, which I wanted for him, because I loved my son, and I wanted the best for him that I could get for him; even if that wasn't going to be ME. All that was what I had to show for the situation. It was lonely, and loveless; hurtful, and hard; and now, my ability to make a living to simply care for myself, since I was all that I had left, was sliding down a slippery slope, and just like it had been with so many things in my life that I so deeply wished had been different, than what they were, I had no way to stop it. I was so despondent, about it, that the office manager, who I had talked to about this new job at the hospital not being a good fit, for who I am as a person, set up a session, for me to go and speak with one of the hospital psychiatrists on staff. This man, hearing all my pain, and my difficulty in dealing with it, took no chances, especially since it was in my employee-patient record that I had been brought, by an ambulance, to the ER at our hospital, recently, from mixing pills with alcohol. When I made the statement to him, actually referring to the office job that I now had, at the hospital, that "I don't want to be here!", he had me committed to a mental hospital, for the first time in my life. Given no choice in the matter, I was taken by a female associate, who was present during our talk, to the Nebraska Psychiatric Institute, by that evening, where I was given supper, after I arrived. I sat alone, and ate, having no idea what to expect. Although I thought this was rather ridiculous, I was in alot of emotional pain, from how things had gone for me, in my life, especially recently, so I understood why he went to such an extreme, with me, in this situation. It was what it was.

That first night, I was sharing a room with another female who did not have much to say to me and was discharged soon after this. On a subsequent night, as I slept alone in that room, now, I was roused by a bright light, and thought that perhaps it was morning. Instead, as I wakened, I saw a male attendant, holding a flashlight, which he was shining in my eyes, in the otherwise dark room. Smiling at him wanly, in my sleepy state, I asked him why he was doing that. As he smiled back at me, with a compassionate expression, on his face, he replied he was checking to see if I was asleep, so that he could chart, about that, on me. Waking me up, to see if I was asleep, seemed a little crazy, to me, so I said, as I gave him an amused grin then, "Would you please state, on my chart, that I was sleeping just fine until someone woke me up by shining a flashlight in my face?" Chuckling a bit, he answered that he would do that, and I turned over in bed, and went back to sleep. I was here. This had happened. I knew that the intent, excessive or not, was to help me, and I was just going to be myself and let this thing unfold. I knew that I wasn't crazy. I also knew that I was very damaged, by so much mistreatment by people, in my life, that my heart was broken, as a result of all that, and that I was very, very, very sad. If any of these people could help, mend my completely broken heart, then that was something that I certainly needed someone to help me with. God knows, I had not ever found a way to do that.

Since I liked to learn new things, and I was also a trained medical person, myself, this was an interesting opportunity, for me to see what this type of patient care environment was like. I felt like I had given other people, from my son, Jay, to Jim and Linnea, to the patients I had cared for, all that I had to give, and I was worn out from the emotional toll it all took on me and worn down from not having nearly as much poured into me, from others, as I had been pouring out for them. I had given all that I had to give and, out of my self-discipline, even more, and being taken care of, by others, even if it was in a mental hospital, felt like I was finally being carried, and cared for, in other people's arms, for a little while, now. I was not there very long, but I do recall walking to a nearby store on a patient field trip, while I was admitted to NPI, and feeling strange somehow during that, to be back out in the traffic, noise, and indifference of the world at large, again, then, after experiencing the comforting cocoon, of being kept away from all of that, in NPI, for that brief time. The sins, of this world, in myself, and in others, had so sucked the life out of me that, when I felt the harsh reality of that with my tender heart, again that day, there was a part of me that actually was not sure that I COULD handle that again, on my own, since I was about to be discharged. I was not sure that I was up to such a daunting task, now, based on the Return On Investment, I had experienced, from my loving, and caring for, others which ended up leaving me not only with nothing, in my own everyday life, but worse off, than before I had opened my heart up to these people who had caused me so much hurt and harm.

Feeling more than a little like Alice in Wonderland while I was there at NPI, I interacted with the other patients there very circumspectly, when socializing was required of us. Everything, about our behavior, including our interactions with others there, was charted on. What we did and we didn't do; said and didn't say; ate and didn't eat; et cetera. I was good with people, which is the height of irony given that my personal relationships were so fraught with failure. So, interacting with the staff and the other patients came easily, to me, even with the self-consciousness I felt about being there because I had been Committed, which is a scary sounding situation, in itself. It was a fascinating place. I had taken care of all ages and types of patients, except for mental patients, of which I was now one, so seeing this type of medical practice, up close, was a new and interesting thing, to me. Especially when the peer votes were cast. Patients were required to come together, as part of the treatment, for group sessions. During that time each one of us was discussed, with the others, openly, in this setting, as facilitated by a staff doctor, as to how these others each thought we were doing, socially, behaviorally, or attitudinally, based on their individual interactions with and observations of us. Then, each of the patients is asked to cast their vote on whether they each felt that so and so was ready to be discharged, based on their own interactions with and observations of so and so, in this setting. I am smiling a bit, as I type about this memory, because it was so charmingly bizarre! In a group, of perhaps 6 - 8 patients, with one or two staff members, facilitating these sessions, there was the full spectrum of every kind of mental malady that could be imagined. There were the antisocial types, paranoid types, even delusional types of patients all in this group, among others. I felt sane, at least, whatever else was wrong with me, just from comparing myself to some of what I was seeing in the other patients, as well as from feeling that this was a crazy way to be evaluated, as a mental patient! To sit in such a group session, as this, as I did, and listen to each one, casting their vote, as to whether they personally thought that each one of these others was sane enough, to rejoin and reengage with society, now, outside of the hospital walls, had seemed to me to be a bit bizarre.

In my case, somehow these people all assessed me as being more than ready, to go back out there, which at that point demonstrated more faith in my ability to handle it than I felt like I had, at that time. One of the patients was convinced that he was literally Jesus Christ, reincarnated, and he even voted that I was ready, to go back out, in this fallen world, which had crucified the actual Jesus Christ, after He gave all that He had, to it, as its response to Him, for that. I didn't have any illusions left now, that this often irrational, selfish, and destructive world was going to treat me any better than it had Him. The Bible assured me that it would not. I was not a person who was in any way out of touch with reality. I was never medicated, for any mental conditions, and there is no worldly treatment for a broken heart, which is what I had, and have, to this day. The closest thing it offers, as a healing factor, is love, shared between us and other people, or pets, et cetera, which is very effective, when it is real, and reciprocated, and righteous. I never really experienced that love growing up in my family, or in my romantic or marital relationships, though, leaving me having no earthly idea what that looked like, or how to find, and engage in, such love with other people. Besides my relationship with the Lord, the deepest, truest mutual love, that I have ever experienced, on this planet, was with my Cockatiel, CeeBee, which is a precious and miraculous story that I plan to share with you here, in some upcoming Blog post.

The fact that the other patients at NPI were polled about one another's ability to interact and to cope out in the world was both bemusing and fascinating to me. In no way does my saying this imply that I was in any way disrespectful toward any of these other people. I interacted with the guy who believed that he was Jesus Christ, there, as respectfully as I did with everyone else. I have a very empathetic heart, toward those who act decently and those who are doing the best that they can, in this life. Those who do not think that I am this way, or that do not see that side of me, are those who have earned my scorn, or, outrage, for how they have mistreated me, or others, in some way that is grievous to me. So, to my thinking, that is on them, not on me, and it is certainly their loss, with me! I cannot recall exactly how long I was at NPI, now. It seems to me it may have been a week. When I was about to be discharged, I asked that male attendant, when he awakened me once again with the flashlight in my face at night, what was wrong with me exactly; at least, as far as any official diagnosis. He said that I had "an adjustment disorder, with depressed mood". Not sure, of the meaning, of psychological terms, then, I replied, "So, I have Depression?"  He answered, "No. Depression is an actual illness, all on its own, and you do not have that diagnosis."  "I don't understand, what my diagnosis means, then."  Looking at me, with that wonderfully, and all too rare, compassionate look, of his, he responded,  "What it means, in simple terms, is that you are  'feeling blue',  now, but, over time, you will get over it".

I'm 63, now, as I type this Blog post, and I am still waiting, for that day to come. I have learned to be as happy as possible, living with a broken heart, as I am, throughout my life; primarily by knowing and praising the Lord and the fullness of that relationship with Him including counting my blessings on a daily basis. I also seek out the things that make me laugh, as much, and as deeply, as possible. I spent most of the day, yesterday, watching a marathon airing of "Animals Unscripted" videos from The Pet Collective on the TBD TV network, because that type of thing does me so much good, in my spirit, as I laugh over and over and over, during that, and am so touched, by the antics of the animals! In addition, I eat as healthy as possible most, but not all, of the time, and try to take care of myself in a holistic way. I do good deeds for others, as I find opportunity, and have the resources needed for that, as well, so that I feel able to give that, to them, without throwing my own life completely out of balance from going overboard with that. I enjoy helping others, especially those who are appreciative, of that, and respectful toward me. Having a wide variety of hobbies and interests also helps to uplift me, in life, such as enjoying music, in several different ways, or reading a good book. Feeding and caring for animals both outdoors, in the wild, as well as when I have had pets always helps my frame of mind, too. To be completely candid about my 'What Makes Me Happier' List, I would have to include the act of pleasuring myself, but that is not limited to 'sexually'. This could be something as simple as eating dark chocolate or taking a long, lavender-scented, bubblebath whenever some form of tension builds up, in me, and is undermining my mood, or overall health, in some way. Due to my being celibate, for decades, now, and having no other sexual outlet, while being a sexual creature by nature, there has to be a release of that tension in my body, at some point. I was shocked, frankly, that aging in no way diminished my sexual urges or expressiveness! I have some physical limitations now, which I have to adapt to and work around, but the smoldering sensuality, and the sexual passion, in me at least, have remained unchanged! This is the list, of things that have helped me have a happier frame of mind most, thought not all, of the time.

After my discharge from NPI, because the work environment, in that hospital office, had felt so toxic to me, I was transferred to the Insurance and Adjustments department in another area of the medical center which was much quieter and more behind the scenes, and only had a staff of two other women in it, for me to deal with, instead of the half dozen or so that worked in the other, bustling, office area. It was better at first, but they decided to be catty and cause trouble with their gossip when Steve, the Head of the ER Department, came over, to this smaller, and more isolated, office I worked in, now, to see how I was doing, out of care and concern for me, and to wish me a happy birthday. He had done my pre-employment physical for my job hire at the hospital (reference my 9-11-19 post titled "My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone") and we had been friends ever since, which both of us needed, at that time in each of our lives, but it was never more than that, between the two of us. I appreciated and admired him, and Steve was concerned for, and very helpful to, me, in ways that sometimes made me feel that he was the closest thing I ever had in my life to the father that I never really actively had in my life, but had needed, so desperately, from my own present-but-emotionally-absent dad. Steve was the one that informed me that I could get the Laparoscopic Tubal Ligation done for free, as one of my employee health benefits, when I told him how much I wanted to be permanently sterilized after the different but heartbreaking outcomes of both my unplanned pregnancies. At that time the procedure was $1,200.00, I believe. As a Nurse's Aide, I had no way to pay for that on my small salary, so this information that Steve gave me was a real blessing to me. He knew that I had been through alot, so when I mentioned to him in conversation, one day, that my birthday was also coming up, he took note of that, and stopped in, to my new office, to be caring, and supportive. Because he was a married but separated man at that time, these two other office women tried to spin this visit to me, by him, into something that it wasn't and never had been.

As a result of that, he blamed me, for the problems their gossip caused him, since he was in the (long) process of reconciling with his wife, as the gossip spread through the hospital staff from the both, but one in particular, of the women, in this second office, that I was working in. Hurt that he turned on me over it, and devastated that now I had lost the man whom I viewed as a surrogate father to me, emotionally speaking, I became bitter over that. So, I left this job, and the hospital, altogether, soon after that, due to the relational breakdown between me and these two bitches, after that, which rendered me unable and unwilling to work with them, now, and the fact that, adding insult to injury, this prominent, and powerful, doctor was always very outwardly cold, even hostile, toward me, after that happened, although he had come there, to that office, to see me, and I couldn't control the bad behavior of these two co-workers of mine. They were determined to be troublemakers, to me, when that was the last thing that I needed or could cope with at the time. It flooded me with those all-too-familiar feelings of vulnerability, unfairness, hurt, and anger which went all the way back to my earliest childhood, and through my entire life, especially from my mother being like that, toward me. I did not need that, at all!

So when I became a Go Go dancer just after that and I was asked there what my stage name was going to be (which was highly recommended to us for our personal safety) I said "Stevie", which was from Steve, this doctor's first name. Since that situation with Steve, on my birthday, had caused the end of this deeply meaningful friendship, in my life, and led to my leaving, this hospital, that I had so loved, and now, to this huge career change, that name just seemed like the natural bridge, between these two worlds, as I made this significant transition in my career path, now. However, when I told him about my using his first name, as the basis for my dancer alias, Stevie, when I saw him at some point, later on, he actually threatened to sue me over it, which was such a stupid statement, for him to make, that I laughed, at that. I was bitter, about him ending our friendship when I was not to blame for the situation that caused him to do that, and at this point I was also cynical, about the fact that this man, who had always been such a good friend to me, and was so caring toward me was, now, being this self-protective; and that he was even threatening me, over my innocuous use of the stage name, Stevie, which no one would ever even connect, to him, at all! The music of Stevie Nicks, Stevie Wonder, and Stevie Ray Vaughan was all played, in these nightclubs, when I was a dancer, so I knew that no one would ever link this doctor to my dancer name unless I had made a point to do that, by telling someone, which I never did, for almost four decades, until I just explained that here, now. For me, it just felt like I was taking a parting shot, at an unfair situation, which had left me in more pain, when I did not need that! It was just my way of mitigating my deep hurt over it all by this type of 'thumbing my nose' at Steve, because I was indignant, due to how he had treated me. 

It pissed me off!

My accumulated anger at people, for how they had treated me, became the main energy that I drew on to fuel my ability to even become 'Stevie', on stage, and to do that job. It was the alter ego, of what I had been, as Debby; as a caregiver. My nature is to nurture, but, because I was so burned out and brokenhearted from that, it was both a much-needed relief and a surprising source of healing, for me, physically and emotionally, as I switched gears, now, in my life, and career, and focused on, and even amplified, this opposite side of me, this alter ego, this public persona, which became ME more and more as I 'grew into it' over the years that I worked as a dancer. The name became my own, early on, after I took it as my stage name, quickly ceasing to remind me of the ex-father-figure doctor, Steve, whom it came from, originally, as it became my own name, now, with new experiences and memories, attached to it, as time went on, and my own unique identity, involving it, became solidified. Over time, I even went by that name in my private life, because it was who I was, even to myself, by then, with my last two of my four husbands calling me 'Stevie', in our relationship, with one another. It was just who I was, now, who I had become, and it was a REAL RELIEF to me, to be able to NOT be identified with my childhood name, in my relationships with most people, anymore, and all of the negativity, and the pain, that name represented to me, in my thoughts about it, and my emotional responses  to it. The Bible is filled with stories about peoples' names being changed, in order to better or further define and even facilitate their destiny and to represent the significant changes in who they were (to become). One of the most redeeming accounts was of Jacob in Genesis 32:24-30 and Genesis 35:10. What I needed, at this point, was real redemption from the pain of the past. I needed a fresh start; a new life. Marelisa Fabrega has an excellent Blog post about all the aspects to this, which I recommend that you read, titled "How to Create an Alter Ego (and Why You Should Want To). The link for her Blog post is: https://daringtolivefully.com/alter-ego.

While I had not intentionally set out to become a dancer, my path had seemed destined to go there, even from the time I was a little girl. Enthralled by Gypsy Rose Lee from my seeing the movie about her when it aired on TV, I had done some of those type of routines, that she had done, when I was a teenager alone in my room. Back then our neighbor once told my mother that she had caught her brother, who was considerably older than me, watching me, from his darkened room in their house, so as not to be detected as being a voyeur, and while I initially had felt very ill at ease about that, it had also given me a strange kind of thrill; that a guy had found something, about ME, in my pubescent struggle, to express my blooming womanhood, worth watching, even captivating to him! Better still, it was an aloof form of appreciation of my femininity; from a distance. It didn't have that sweaty, sleazy, feel, like it had, to me, when my Uncle Jim had pulled me onto his and Aunt Ginny's bed, that one time, and put his hands on my body, in a lecherous way, before I fled that room, and him. The 'window-watcher' was still creepy, but it was also affirming, while not being accosting, of me, which had given me some newfound sense of female empowerment. HE was at a distance, from me; DISTANCE being the operative word. I felt empowered, ALOT, while I was a dancer; that sense of control over my own body, and sexuality, while bouncers, if nothing else, kept men away from me, where they couldn't directly touch me . . . or take me. It was a taunt, a tease, and a triumph, for me.

People working in the field of psychology, like Dr. Phil, have often expressed real surprise that those working as exotic dancers have described feeling an empowerment, through this line of work, which is very gratifying to us in many ways. These mental health professionals seem to stereotype this job as actually being particularly victimizing of women. Speaking first hand, as  a female, I can say that this is not the case for many women, including myself. While we have many motivations, for becoming dancers, some positive, some negative, the empowerment is for us a very healing feeling. This is because of the one fact, the one truth, that counselors do not seem to grasp, very well, which is: Simply being born as female, on this fallen planet, and living our lives having a vagina, creates opportunity, and motive, for a great number of men to victimize us, in a whole range of ways. We don't have to become dancers, or even prostitutes, for boys and men to determinedly seek ways to satisfy their desires at our expense. From our dads leaving us emotionally starved for male affirmation, because we grew up without proper, healthy, forms of that being shown toward us, by them, while our self-esteem was developing under their roof, along with our bodies, for 18 formative years, to an uncle, touching our pure, prepubescent, bodies, because we aren't protected, by the adults in the family, that knew this man was like this, but were more concerned with the perception of family honor than keeping the daughters in their care safe, the high school boyfriend trying to get you into the back seat of his parked car, and if he does, could get you pregnant, while he just gets off, to the rapists, who just take us against our will in spite of our fighting against it, because they are physically stronger than we are, to the rest (of the long laundry list) of lustful ways males seek to satisfy themselves, at the expense of females, much of the time, we are NOT victimized, for being a helpless child, for being a divorcee, or promiscuous, or for being an exotic dancer, or being a prostitute, or for any labels, on us, despite the stereotypes that may accompany these things, that we are, or become, in our life. We are VICTIMIZED simply BECAUSE we are FEMALE! This is ALL that it takes, for THAT TO HAPPEN, to us, and IMPACT OUR LIVES, and HURT us, and HARM us, and sometimes even BREAK US, as human beings. That. is. all. it. takes. BEING FEMALE, in this life on this Earth. NOTHING ELSE! In my own life, it, long ago, quit shocking me, anymore, that so many men either victimized me or attempted to victimize me. To this day, what REALLY SURPRISES ME are the very few times that I encounter men that DO NOT try to take advantage of me in some form or fashion. That list is VERY SMALL . . . .

When I had briefly been a stripper, in Biloxi, in 1981, I never really 'danced'. I walked around the stage, and slowly took my clothes off, in what was supposed to be tantalizing teases, for the customers, while bending over and doing other suggestive posturing. (I learned watching what the other girls did there, which wasn't much, as far as the stage show went.) There was music, as background to my motions, but the emphasis was on the undressing, there; not on any real dancing, per se. I only worked there for a very short time, perhaps a week or two, at the very most, but I doubt it was even that long since I left as soon as I finally figured out that this employer pimped the girls, into prostitution. It would be many years, even decades, later, before I would do that, and even then I take full responsibility, though not all the blame, that I ever did that at all, and for reasons of my own, which weren't very good ones. That's another story for another time which I plan to cover in a future post when I write about that chapter of my life story in this Blog. Back in Biloxi, which I am speaking of, now, in referencing the short introduction to my being an exotic stage performer, black feather boa from New Orleans and all, I would never have considered doing that for one moment, because I was in my mid-20s, was completely in love with a young Air Force lieutenant whom I was staying with at the time, and I still believed in some silly guarantee, I felt Disney movies had subliminally promised, to me, that I would, absolutely, have my 'Happily Ever After' romantic relationship in my real life. That was what I believed then. That was where my focus was. That was where my heart was. (This other chapter of my life is described in much more detail, in my Blog post from 7-24-19, titled "More On The One Man That I Would Love Forever: Ending Up In Omaha, & Married".)

Because of that first experience I had, of working in that strip joint in Biloxi, Mississippi, I never wanted to work in such a place as that was, again! So how did I end up dancing, in nightclubs, as a GO GO dancer, in the Omaha, Nebraska area for much of two decades, after that? I truly think it was inevitable, as in 'Destiny', for me, though I did not realize that, at the time. Life just kind of unfolds into what it is actually going to be for each of us while we are often thinking, or hoping, or planning that it will be something else entirely. It is what it is. So, since my Certified Nursing Assistant job had left me with lower back problems which waxed and waned between improvement and pain, my back continued to simply go out at unpredictable and inconvenient times. When that happened, I couldn't do alot, and desperate to get it to correct itself, again, I took to lying flat on the floor of my apartment, when it was out, which seemed to help it, some. One day, I called a feisty, fiery-red-headed, friend of mine, on the phone, who had been in my CNA class, at school, and told her about my back injury, and employment situation, since she would be able to commiserate with me, about how this had just ended my career, in that field that we both so loved working in. I told her how I had worked in a manufacturing plant making elasticized hosiery yarns, in Hickory, North Carolina. I had joined the military, but that had not gone well for me, and ended in discharge. I had been a homemaker, twice already, in fact, as well as a mother, but I was divorced now, and had transferred custody of my toddler, to place him in a stable situation for his own sake. I had been an outstanding Nursing Assistant. Then the back injury from my doing that work made it increasingly impossible for me to perform my duties, causing my work load to have to be put onto others, on top of their own, which wasn't fair to them, leading me to decide to leave the field so they could replace me with a CNA that could do all that was required of them in that job now. My two separate attempts at desk jobs  at the hospital, after that, had not been a good fit for me. With all the interpersonal negativity, and toxic drama, that had gone on in those two different offices there, I didn't want to try that, anywhere, again, if I could help it. After telling my friend all of this, I ended with "I need a job! But I don't know what to do, now," to which she had replied, "I'll be right over, and we'll figure this thing out." Unlocking the apartment door so she could get in, I lay back down on the floor where I had just been trying to get my throbbing back to realign itself, to get some relief, now.

She brought the Help Wanted ads from the newspaper with her, for me. Back then, there was no internet for doing job searches. Most jobs were either found in these Want Ads, or through networking (word of mouth; job leads from people you knew or talked to) or simply applying in person, to places of interest, that then hired you. While I continued to lay flat, on the floor, she read the various job ads to me and we discussed the viability of each one of them. One of the main concerns was that most employers paid every two weeks and two weeks back, meaning that once I would be hired by them it would be about a month before I would ever see my first paycheck! I had been living at poverty level, as it was, although I had been working fulltime at the hospital. So, I didn't have any savings. Being alone, on my own, I had the regular monthly bills coming in for rent, utilities, food, and so on, which needed to be kept current. I had a bad back now, and when it acted up, the pain of it affected my being able to walk, stand, bend, lift, and other things. It was a real liability for me because it could affect my job performance, and my attendance at work, and most employers were very strict about those things, especially in evaluating new hires, who were usually given a probation period, to prove themselves before they were considered to be permanent hires. I wasn't at all sure how much of this I was up to now. I felt completely discouraged; but, undaunted, my friend was determined that there was definitely a job out there, for me, that I could do, so she continued reading the Job Ads to me, saying finally, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money, plus tips. No experience needed!"

As I lay there, I responded, "What kind of dancers?" She said, "It says, 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot! I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." As she looked up at me, rather matter-of-factly, from over the newspaper she was holding and reading, I raised my head up, off the floor, and reacted by saying to her, emphatically, "I could NEVER do that!" Of course, I had my reasons, for saying that, because of my experience as a Stripper at the bar in Biloxi, but I had not mentioned that, in describing my past employment to her, so she just took my response as my being too shy or shocked to even consider that so, grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me up off the floor, with a strong, quick, motion, which shockingly put my back into alignment, again. As I said to her, "You just fixed my back, when you did that!" she pulled me toward the door, with an 'I won't take no for an answer' attitude, saying to me, "WE are going to go over there, NOW, together, and JUST LOOK, and see what we think. It won't hurt, to just check it out, and see . . . . " All the way to her car, across the bridge into Iowa, and up to the door of the nightclub I kept protesting and resisting this but she was determined. She made a good point that this job hired on the spot, would pay me faster, than any 'ordinary' job, I could get, and had tips, as well, which I would have for daily expenses right away. If they hired me. She was right about all of this, but I still DID NOT WANT to GO IN there! It was still light outside as we drove over there, and as she literally pulled me, up to the entrance door, I kept trying to keep the door closed, to not go in. She finally got the door open, and was pulling me through it while I tried to grasp the outside door frame, so she couldn't, but she was stronger. We stood just inside the door, in this dark room, and as my eyes tried to adjust to it, after just being outside in the sunlight, I heard her boldly announce to somebody standing nearby us, there, "SHE wants a JOB!", meaning me.

I will continue this story, about this chapter of my life, in another post, as there is so much still to tell, about this new adventure I was suddenly starting, and this post is already quite lengthy. This post has described some, but not all, of the events that led to my leaving my employment at the hospital, and how, through and because of my feisty friend, that dragged me over to the Go Go bar, that day, literally against my will, I started a whole new career, that became a new favorite, for me. I will begin there, and go into much more detail, about it, in an upcoming post.