Sunday morning I woke up, walked to the dining room bookshelf, and retrieved our copy of Just Kids. I had no way of knowing January 19 was the 15th anniversary of its release. I just woke up and needed to read it.
I regret leaving the park that day, I always have. I blame him, but I made a choice. I know I missed something important, something paramount to my becoming, and I’ll never know what it was or if it’s coming back around for me. The regret of ignoring my intuition permeates similarly when I think about how I failed to defend my 2nd book title and I let my ex-publisher talk me out of it. The title, “Me Too,” came to me in a dream. I wrote it in Sharpie on the corner of the white folding table I worked on in the garage where I smoked and wrote, and anyway - the [now defunct and good riddance run-out-of-town] publisher told me the title was too obscure and I didn’t push back. What did I know? I released that book in March 2017.
The hashtag #MeToo went viral in October 2017 after The New York Times unveiled Harvey Weinstein’s horrendous, decades-long, open secret of being a rapist and sexual predator. On topic, that manuscript, my book Lust & Disdain, details the power imbalance, mental anguish, and emotional immaturity of my extensive relationship with an ex-partner, 17 years my senior. I’m not saying the book would’ve hit the Bestseller list, but I don’t think that kind of search engine surge could’ve hurt and I still kick myself about it.
I’m now 5 months from 40, married to my equal in all things, and I’ve undergone (am undergoing) EXTENSIVE therapy. I cannot imagine saying “Yes” to a romantic relationship with a 23 year old. I can’t even fathom a world where a child of twenty-three could be attractive, much less on my level. What’s cute about someone who learned about Camus from an out-of-context quote on TikTok, owns 3 forks, no hand towels, and doesn’t know what a sawzall is? I hurt for my younger self. I hurt for the exploitation I endured and milestones I missed out on living in a culture that dismissed its permissiveness by labeling me an “old soul,” which is just another covert term to victim-blame.
I wish I could go back and drag that 20-something out of the clutches of all those middle-age vampires and drunk losers. I wish I could shake myself by the shoulders and say I’M FROM THE FUTURE: YOU NEED TO GET SOBER. BOYS WHO WERE RAISED IN UPPER MIDDLE CLASS PRIVILEGE PRETENDING TO BE STARVING ARTISTS AREN’T YOUR EQUALS. THEY’RE LEACHING YOUR RESILIENCE. ALSO, WOMEN WITH HUSBANDS AND RETIREMENT ACCOUNTS WHO WERE SLEEPING WITH ALMOST FAMOUS MUSICIANS WHILE YOU WERE IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL SHOULD NOT BE YOUR LOVERS. RUN. DARLING. RUN RUN RUN. RUN AWAY FROM THEM AND TAKE YOUR SISTER WITH YOU. These people, this town, this culture, it’s all a setup to exploit and abuse you until you give in or give up, whichever comes first.
I was, after all, just a kid.
Until next time…
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum,
Frances
Wow!! No wonder there is so much insight and power and depth in your writing. Things that you wonder about and regret are now the compost that feeds your genius.
I LOVE this! I've been able to see Patti Smith Live on three occasions in my life. All were in Lawrence. I've read all of her books and own all of her recordings. I first really learned to love her in 1982 with her album Wave, but I actually was following her career in the 1970s as a reader of Hir Parader and Circus magazines. I also loved Gilda Radner's spoof of her playing Candy Slice. In my opinion Patti Smith is the greatest female voice of rock and roll. Check out her instagram, it is a scarp book/journal of greatness.
I love your story, your candor, your well earned wisdom.
Thank you for sharing.
Love and respect!