Adventures of Art Girl- The Beginning

Hello! This has been a whirlwind adventure. I think the best place to start would naturally be the beginning but there’s just so much to say! So let’s do some bullet points so I can remember everything. 

• ·     Applying for the job
• ·     Interviews
• ·     Training
• ·     Ship assignment
• ·     Flying to the ship

Alright! Just a warning the post will most likely be my longest post because there are so many details and fine points I want to mention. Most, if not all posts after this will be brief updates with loads of pictures. 

Applying for the job!

How did this start? Why a cruise ship? Why art? Well honestly, I was bored. I uprooted my life and went to go live with my mother after my rape. And it was super helpful but I didn’t do anything to improve myself. I ate, slept, drank, and watched TV. I occasionally cooked cleaned and went to the gym. It got old after a while. 

After living with my mom for months and not accomplishing anything or furthering myself, I began to think, what’s next? I wrote down a list of things I would like to do and things to accomplish. I made a sort of bucket list if you will and one reoccurring theme was travel. The next was to work on a cruise ship. 

So let me start off by saying I love cruise ships! Always have and always will. And working on a cruise ship? Man that was the dream! I have always loved the staff and crew on all the ships I’ve been on. I even have a lot of them as Facebook friends still. I noticed that they all loved their job. What an amazing concept that you could truly do what you love and make money. 

So I wrote my list and I decided to look up cruise ship jobs. I knew what I didn’t want to do and I knew what was unattainable so I looked for a happy medium. I use to dance in high school but It’s been a while and I can’t sing. I briefly played the saxophone and quit after a year so band was out. I barely clean my own room, so no housekeeping. And just as I was giving up I happened across a website with the taglines: Want to travel the world? Love art? Um. Yes please. Sign me up. 

I applied on a whim. I looked up the job and the reviews for it showed lots of haters but the reviews on their sites were glowing reviews. I was conflicted but I went for it anyways. 

Interviews. 

The night I applied was pretty memorable. I was on a high after being asked by 3 airlines to interview for their flight attendant program. I wanted to travel and I wanted to get paid for it. But this little nagging thought came into my mind again. What about cruise ships? So I poured a glass of wine and filled out in application and submitted it within the hour. I was buzzing! 

The next day, I checked my email and I had an invitation to interview over skype. I freaked. Not going to lie, I didn’t think I stood a chance in …. Well you know the saying. So I went to my mother’s closet and “borrowed” her most professional looking dress that fit my style. ;) 

I looked up interview questions and practiced for two days and then the interview came. I thought I failed it. I was so nervous and I kept talking and oversharing and I thought all was lost. But I’m a Texas girl. We pull up our big girl pants, keep calm and carry on. So I wrote the best thank you email I could manage to finagle and sent it. 

After that came interview number 2. Artist presentation. Haha. Let’s start this by saying my art knowledge was bare minimum at this point. The artistic people in my family were my mother and her father, as far as I know. So I had two choices Pino or Peter Max. I ran to tell my mother and ask her which I should present on, and before I could even ask, she replied “Oh man Peter Max! I liked him.” I felt so stupid. I didn’t even know who he was. So my mother told me and a little about him and I ran to do more research. 

I think that was the moment I knew. I knew I would get this job and that art had quickly become my passion. I was hooked and I couldn’t wait to get started. 

Training 

Oh my Lanta. What a refiner’s fire. I didn’t know the true meaning of that phrase until I was literally thrown in the deep end also known as Southfield, Michigan. Training started April 2 in Michigan at the Park West Art Gallery. It was a beautiful building that looked like it was plucked from Grecian painting. 

10 days. I learned so much in only 10 days. I made friends that I hope will last a lifetime and memories that will stay with me forever. I learned artistic movements, artists biographies and accolades, public speaking, and how to spot a good bottle of wine! ;) 

I had an absolute blast! We spent 2 days in Detroit getting familiar with the museum and the legacy that we hold being one the biggest art dealers in the world. It is an honor to work for a company that has your best interests at heart. 

This is not to say that it was easy, it was so freaking hard. I wanted to quit multiple times. I arrived ill prepared and defeated. I saw others who had memorized things that looked like gibberish to me. So I did what I do best. I prayed. I got down on my knees and I asked for help. I knew this was the job for me I just needed to get over this hurdle. I would not be defeated. 

The next day after my prayer things changed. I got a new senior trainer and things just started clicking. I had a lot of help. I did NOT do this alone. But I started feeling and acting more confident. Just the act of believing in yourself can make you excel in ways you didn’t know possible. 

I graduated. I made it through training intact and without quitting. Major win. 

Ship Assignment

Ya’ll graduation lasted basically 3 days. We celebrated not only making through a difficult training but also we celebrated the friendships made and most importantly our ship assignments. Park West Gallery operates on over 90 cruise ships around the world. This is why we are one of the largest art dealers in the world. We are a massive company dedicated to making art available for everyone. 

Anyways I’m not going to get into my spiel, I just want you to understand to magnitude of what I am about to embark on. I was assigned to the Royal Caribbean’s Radiance of the Seas. We start off in Australia and then swing around to Alaska.  I was ecstatic.

And also a little bummed. I was being separated from my new friends and I had only packed for summer. I need a coat and jeans and boots. Yikes. 

But it’s an adventure yeah?

And some of the friends I’ve made at training will dock with me in Alaska so I’ll know some people. I’m just excited to get started and compare experiences. We are all doing the same thing but I can’t wait to hear the crazy stories and big sales. It’s going to be everything. 

Flying to the ship

And now I’m in the airport. I have 2 connecting flights to get to Australia. And I’m ready! I’m chugging iced coffees so I can be on Australia time when I arrive because I only have 2 hours to get to the ship and get to work. 

It’s a lot. I’m completely overwhelmed. I’ve cried like 5 times in the last two days and I’m not sure I’m done yet. But I know this is the right choice. Nothing but good things are coming to me. 

I have to go now. It’s time to board my flight. I love you all and I can’t wait to keep you updated on my adventures. 

It has to get better

It has to get better

I am numb. I am slowly dying on the inside and no matter how loud I scream, nothing changes. It has been 5 months and still I am an empty shell. 

It takes time. 

You can’t speed recovery. 

I’ve tried therapy. I committed myself to a psychiatric hospital. And still nothing. 

Six. 

That’s the number of times I’ve attempted to end my life since November. 

Six. 

That’s also the number of of people who would be intimately affected if I ended my life. 

Zero. 

That’s the number of cares I give. 

It’s selfish. 

My choice to end my life is completely selfish and yet I couldn’t stop myself even if I tried. 

I know what the mental health professionals say. 

I know how it would affect my family and friends. 

However, there is this out of body experience that I am having. 

I know I am in the throes of depression. 

I feel emptiness. Darkness. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Regret. Apathy. 

And the worst part? 

I can’t fix it. 

I can’t snap out of it. 

I have flashbacks, panic attacks, nightmares, anxiety and depression. 

No amount of mediation, good thoughts, or mindfulness can fix this.

I was raped. 

I was brutally held down and raped by two men. 

It was dark and cold. It was either very late or very early depending on perspective. 

I lay in bed tossing and turning. I was anxious. 

Now that seems like a joke. I never knew anxiety until now. 

I remember getting the bright idea to go for a drive. 

Without a second thought, I threw on some flip flops grabbed a coat and my keys. 

I was new to the area. I only knew my way to work and back home without my GPS. 

So I drove to work. 

30 minutes. 

15 minutes each direction. 

I made it to the exit where my job was located. 

Something on the dash caught my eye. 

Check engine light. 

I remember pulling off the highway confused. 

When did I change the oil last?

Had it always been on? 

Should I ignore it? 

I should have. 

1 minute. 

That’s how fast my life changed. 

I popped the hood. 

I got out of the car. 

I looked at the various parts of the car and laughed. 

I’m no mechanic. What the heck am I doing? 

Then I heard them. 

The crunch of the leaves under their feet. 

I turned to look and saw two men coming towards me. 

Where were my fight or flight responses? Was I freezing? 

“Hey, how are you doing tonight” 

I remember debating whether or not to respond. 

Southern hospitality took over. 

I responded with a curt, “fine” 

I turned on my heel and made to get back in my car. I’d figure out the problem later. 

“Where are you going?”

I remember calling them stupid in my mind. 

“home.” I said reaching for the handle. 

I felt a tug on my arm. 

“No. You’re not.”

They dragged me from my car into a grassy area. 

The ground was damp. 

There were leaves and sticks and mud. 

I was terrified. 

Did I scream? 

I can’t remember. 

I got one good hit. 

Then one held my hands down, while the other pulled off my shorts. 

3 hours. 

I laid in the grassy patch for 3 hours while they took turns raping me. 

It felt like 30 minutes. 

Crazy how time passes. 

They got progressively worst as time passed. 

More aggressive I should say. 

They started slowing down and that’s when the threats came. 

During a particularly vicious act, he said he would stop if I said “Thank you Daddy” 

I wanted to throw up. 

But I couldn’t move. I was still being held down. 

I was in pain. 

I was scared. 

I was cold. 

I withheld saying it. 

So he hurt me more. 

Finally, he broke me. 

I said it. 

He laughed and spit on me. 

Then him and his friend got up zipped their pants and ran away. 

I laid there. Staring at the branches on the tree above my head. 

I felt water in my ears. 

I realized I was crying. 

An episode of Law and Order SUV flashed through my head. 

I remember Olivia Benson talking to a rape victim. The best thing to do after an assault is to run as fast as you can away from them and get yourself some help. 

I don’t know where I got my strength. 

I crawled to my car sobbing. 

I climbed in the driver’s seat and locked the doors. 

I banged on the steering wheel cursing the car. 

I felt something wet running down my thighs. 

Blood and semen. 

I started hyperventilating. 

The keys were still in the ignition. 

I twisted the key and took off like a bat out of hell. 

I made it a couple blocks before my tears blurred my vision.

I pulled over and sat in my sorrow. 

Then I remembered. 

My phone on the passenger seat. 

I lunged for it. 

3%. 

I reached for the charger I normally kept in my car. 

Gone. 

It had broken earlier that week and I threw it out. 

I prayed. 

1 phone call. 

That’s all I needed. 

But who should I call? 

I was in a new state, new town.

 I had friends but who could I tell what had just happened to me? 

All I knew was that I needed help. 

Police. 

That’s what they are there for right? 

I remember thinking, am I dead? No. Dying? No.. 

Then not an emergency. 

Stupid I know. 

So with my lousy 3% I googled the non-emergent police number.

I dialed. 

1%

A man answered. 

“Salt Lake County Police Department.”

All at once everything hit me. 

It can only be described as a wail. 

A deep sorrowful wail came out of my mouth. 

It was so hard to form words. 

Nevertheless, the actual words I needed to say. 

Rape. 

What a stigma comes attached to that word. 

“Just breathe” 

“Calm down”

“I need you to talk to me”

The officer was trying to communicate with me and I knew I had to pull myself together. 

I still had 1% of battery life left. 

In between sobs I got out, 

“Help. They raped me. Help me.”

“Where are you?”

New state. New Town. 

I couldn’t tell him even if I tried. 

More tears. 

“I don’t know” 

I heard him whisper in the background before asking,

“What do you see” 

I called off the intersecting streets that I saw. 

He transferred me to the correct precinct. 

A woman answered. 

“I’m going to help you. I’ve sent cars to your ---“

DEAD. 

My phone literally died in the middle of my saving grace. 

I was bleeding. 

I was cold. 

And I wanted, no needed someone. Anyone. 

I prayed again. 

I can’t remember what I asked for. 

I do know that was the last time I spoke to God. 

I remembered a hospital across the street from my job. 

I raced there. 

I knew the area well enough to navigate my way back to the highway and then onto my job and subsequently the hospital. 

I still remember the look on the hospital guards face. 

Shock. 

Complete and utter shock. 

I had sticks in my hair.

Mud on my clothes. 

I was basically crawling inside the hospital. 

He was frozen in his seat watching me. 

Things happened much faster after that. 

They got me in a wheelchair, took me to the back, called the police station, took my statement, called my emergency contact, and sat with me. 

Then came the rape kit. 

I won’t go into detail. 

I feel as if most of this is already too much information. 

All I’ll say is that it was painful. 

Physically and mentally. 

I squeezed my sisters hand and cursed and cried. 

They swabbed every hole and made me tell them in grave detail every single thing they did to me. 

They photographed my body and took my clothes. 

They gave me some painkillers and after a fight with the doctor they gave me plan B. 

I was on bed rest for a week. 

We worried that the damage to my vagina would result in surgery.

I had follow up appointments with an infectious disease doctor to check for STDS and HIV. 

My job fired me for missing so much work. 

I lost everything. 

My job. My sense of security. My self-image. My voice. My freewill.

I gained sorrow. Depression. Anxiety. PTSD. And medical bills. 

Good lord medical bills. 

Thankfully the state of Utah stepped up and is helping but is it enough? 

My attackers were never found. 

My rape kit sits in a lab unprocessed. 

And I am too afraid to leave my own apartment. 

Every time a man looks at me, my skin crawls. 

Or I fall into a panic attack. 

And don’t get me started on the flashbacks. 

It hits me most in the shower. 

At my most vulnerable I suppose. 

My world stops. 

I only see the past and it’s like a bad dream I can’t wake up from. 

5 months. 

You’d think it would be easier by now. 

I thought so. 

It’s not. 

It’s somehow harder…

Strange right? 

Suicidal thoughts plague me daily. 

And that’s where we are now. 

The daily battle of will she or won’t she. 

My mind changes every hour. 

I want to die so badly. 

I have been through some awful things. 

I hope by sharing them, people would understand my choice. 

Because ultimately, it is my choice. 

This isn’t a suicide note.

I’m not going to hurt myself this second. 

It’s more of a wakeup call. 

I am not ok. 

I am not going to be ok for a while. 

So if I haven’t answered your text or your phone call in a while. 

It’s simply because I don’t want to. 

I don’t have the capacity to do so. 

I need time. 

I need to find my will to survive. 

Because it has to get better right? 

Death.

Can people overcome death? Why does it seem to take over a person's life and just break them down until they can't feel anything? 
Religion is suppose to ease the feeling of death, it is suppose to give the person comfort. But what if they don't want comfort? What if they just want to wallow in the death of that person? Is that selfish? 
My religion teaches us to not be sad that someone dies, but instead to be joyous in knowing that they are now residing with Heavenly Father. But that doesn't make me feel better. You know what would make me feel better? If they came back. 

I miss her. 

I didn't even know her but i miss her so much. 

She was my grandmother. 

She was a piece of me. 

I looked like her.

I shared her mannerisms.

I shared the twinkle in her eye when she smiled a real smile. 

I miss her. 

I can't feel comfort with her death, because if i do doesn't that mean that i didn't care? But I do care. 

Sure i never spent summers with her, or even Thanksgivings or Christmases. But she had said many times she didn't care. She had said she wasn't grandmother material anyways.

So tell me this, why does it hurt so much?

I am trying to keep up this brave facade that it doesn't bother me that much, but it does. I feel immense guilt. No matter how much she said she didn't need me there i believe she did. Or i think i need to feel like i was wanted by her. 

The part that cuts deepest, is that she was gone so fast. 

The last time i talked to my grandmother was two years ago at her 70th birthday party and even then, i ignored her and talked to my cousins instead. How stupid was i? I had a chance to bond with my grandmother and get to know her, but instead i decided to catch up with my favorite cousins. Even when my mother would call her to check on her i would never talk to her, i would just tell my mother to pass on a message from me. 

I didn't get to say goodbye.

I didn't get to tell her that i loved her. 

I don't even know if she knows that i love her.

But i do. 

She died a week ago and i still cry every night. Will i cry forever? 

I miss her. 

And i love her.

RIP Grandma Dorothy


Tah Tah for now
- Little Ms. Pessimistic