Dear Rick Guerra,
Yes, you heard right. You are receiving this letter from me because you are responsible for all of this mess with my family and myself. As much as my dad thinks I’m distorting facts, that isn’t true. You don’t want to believe, Rick, that you’re responsible for all the crap that went down. I’ll never forget, as much as anyone wants to forget, the time I stood in the entrance of the master bedroom and heard the dreadful words, “We’re going to get guardianship so we can take care of you.” Thanks to you, sir, I don’t have my right to get married to Blake and other men in my life for whom my heart was pleased. My parents do not like any of the decisions I’ve made, and wrongfully accused me of writing about rape so often on the Internet, and accuse me of “spreading rumors” about “rape.” Guess what? I write often about disability rights issues, including the right to marry, raise a family, be yourself. I was only treated as a savantish Diva. I’m no bella diva, so I’ll say this much: my parents are being stingy because they claim they spent all that money on lessons and singing lessons, and it just doesn’t get any worse. Rick, my parents also wasted their time and energy and money on the filing fees, and there is an obvious problem with this. They don’t like it when I write about them on the Internet, but that’s what they get for accusations of distorting facts. Blake would never be manipulated from me or taken by them, but it’s you who’s going to lose out on this, Mr. Guerra.
For everybody’s info, Rick Guerra was a guy that lived in West Palm Beach, on some island in the middle of the Palm Beaches in Florida. West Palm would’ve been my home had it not been for the fact that I was seventeen and a girl at the time. Well, Rick, seventeen is too young for me to be leaving the house. So what if you were raised in orphanages? I don’t care! You still had a responsibility for your daughter and ex. I don’t want to ever call Blake an ex husband, and ever have to face that Blake gets sole “custody” of “daughters” or sons. I will not allow it. I want to have a happier life, and I don’t want the daily reminder of you and your stupidity. I’m going to have to say this much: I wasn’t sure I found you on Facebook, but there was some girl called Angie listed as your sister. Could this be the same Angie that I saw at Red Hot and Boom? Could this be the very same Angie I knew before? I’m stuffed here in a little apartment in Denver with memories about me. I’m sitting here, Colorado bound, with memories of you all over me. Because of the haunting memories, I gave away your stupid perfume. I even threw out your down comforter. Yes, I threw out your stuff, everything about you I didn’t want to remember, and yet Shakira and Rihanna say that I can’t remember to forget you. Gosh, Rico, you really don’t get it. I was only 17, and there was an accusation of grooming at the time. Well, the proof would’ve come with a cost, and my parents went way too far. Too far.
I can’t be alone in the house anymore, and I want nobody else, no bad staffers in some shoddy group home, I want my Blake, and that’s it. I’d rather be with Blake, and I’d rather be checked on so often, every so much or whatever. Blake and I would work out a plan so that I can meet him for lunch and so on. Also, we would have to work out a plan so that I”m not just in a place without transportation and stuff. That’s hard. I want to be able to take my children out for play dates, things with other parents and kids, etc. I would like to for once be seen as a first class citizen of the United States of America, and no, I have not said I was raped or whatever. See, Dad? Wrongo on that one.
What I’m saying is that I want to be a first class person with a first class existence. I’m not distorting anything, I fuzzily recall things, but those things have affected me big time. I fuzzily recall the comparisons frequently made of me to Britney and Christina, and both of those women, Britney especially, have gone out and wasted their lives. Except that Christina got the judging part in The Voice, then she left. Damn. I’m sorry, but I do think that being accused of distorting facts is the worst thing you could do to me.
Rick Guerra, if you are a pervert, admit to it now. If not, fine, maybe my family has taken it too far. We were just friends, perhaps. But remember, I’m not 28 years old and confronting my parents was not an easy task. I can’t exactly recall all of conversations because it is clouded with the after effects. So here’s what I recall, a timeline if you will, of what happened since I have been home and out of your influence, sir.
1. I recall expectations from early on that I’m going to sit there and let boys come to me and crawl all over me like I’m a piece of bread on the grass, and the boys are flies ready to eat the bread. Guess what? Even recently in a phone conversation I had with Dad, he still thinks I need to have Blake propose. Well, no man will do this to a girl knowing a guardianship is in place, whether he personally knows that or not. Blake may have to call my parents and so on, but I don’t think he’s in the mood. HE accuses me of manipulating Blake and so I decided the only way to get Dad off my back for the moment was to say, “Blake proposed.” Dad lives in a warped little traditional world where men propose to their women with diamonds and pearls down on one knee, which can’t happen. As romantic as it sounds, Blake isn’t ready to do this to someone who has guardianship, and he’s not the only one. I want to be proposed to, but that will never happen. I’ve had to accept that men simply do not propose to women like myself, and it sounds defeatist, but I’m sorry, when you’ve been told that you don’t make the cut, you don’t have what it takes, you’re going to live in a “paper sack pearl”, you don’t really have a choice.
2. There’s this thing about the Backstreet Boys and N. Sync thing. I say to my dad that the family took it and turned it into a mental health concern. Well, they sure did. I had diaries, which can no longer be read, but I don’t want the Backstreet Boys and N. Sync involved in such a thing. Everybody was obsessed with boy bands of this nature throughout recorded musical history, and for crying out loud, it wasn’t just BSB or N. Sync. It was elvis Presley, the Beatles, opera castrato singers, etc. I could go back and back and back. Greek men had obsessions with their lovers back then, and some little boys had obsessions with Socrates. Let’s go further back in recorded time. It just is something you can’t shake off historically. So there you have it. I don’t see why my brothers were even allowed to fantasize that Squirtel the Pokemon character made it rain. That is totally not true. God makes the rain, and God is infinite and transcends shapes, colors, time. HE can come in fire, light, heat, etc. He can come in the mists, the rains, the earthquakes in Nepal, elsewhere in California here, and so on. What’s next? Is Pikachu going to make lightning fall from the sky? Squirtel and Pikachu in some people’s minds make the lightning storms. Right? I have proof that cannot be made true. Such anime inspired legend does not exist and should never be written down for the world to believe. Genesis, the first book in the Bible, is as true as one can get towards a step by step instruction manual on how to create the world. God made rain, God made thunder and lightning. So why should Pikachu and Squirtel get credit for something God does? And the Backstreet Boys were gifted by … God. Bryan Littrell sang Christian music, and still does today. I’d like to see some of his stuff, thank you. He doesn’t get his gift from any thing but God. God gave the ancients gifts to use for his gain and glory, and we know the stories of Moses and Aaron, the sons of Aaron, etc. It goes further. Noah and Jesus and all the prophets and messengers that my ex talked about were all gifted by God. When the Ancient Egyptians were plagued ten times, it was because they felt their Ra or Aman or Atten were stronger than any one God. That is not true. Nobody is greater than God the Father, and that’s final. Jesus’s heavenly existence is thanks to God. And the rain is to be credited with God, not some cartoonish existence of a turtle in the sky.
3. My dad says I’m not getting “companionship.” He actually owns up to one statement and one statement alone. I would benefit from a group home. Guess what? My friend Jennifer got pissed when I told her. Jennifer and Katie and Nick are all group home recipients past and present. They can say that the group homes either punish too much, corroborate with guardianship papers to force me to do things, or I would be starved or given bad food that I may not like or want at one time or another. Group homes have no benefit, and while the Attalissa story is more than that, it shows that forcing young men with developmental disabilities into group care with less qualified individuals is not the best way to put up with disabled folks. Ok, so why is Dad reading my blog? And what makes him think I’d benefit from a home? Guess what? I’m never going to a group home, and I made a promise. I’d be willing to talk to the boys about a possible in home independent solution other than skilled nursing care for both parents if they are too old to take care of themselves, or if Mom or Dad gets a stroke. Strokes are prevalent in Dad’s family, but he’s not biologically related to me, so maybe I won’t have a stroke. I don’t know for sure. But strokes suck, and the aftermath of a stroke can be devastating. If my elderly mother, for instance, had a stroke, I’d be happy to make sure she and Dad both get in home care, I don’t care how much. Granny Nannies, anyone?
4. As of this time, I’m living in Denver, with no one here, but for good reasons. I will not allow anyone else to go neglecting or abusing me. Absolutely not. So there you go. Rick, you need to own up to the possibility you could’ve had an illicit relationship with me. I also want you to own up to being too secretive and too weird with me and Jessica. I’m not friends with Jessica, and she went back and forth, back and forth, and it’s amazing how she did that. Jessica M. really needs to get her butt in gear and apologize for accusations of infidelity on Blake’s part. I don’t want Blake to be involved in such a weird scandal. If all I’m good for is scandal and plausible incompetence, then I guess I should not have written this blog. IF I were truly incompetent, then care should not be an option here. Rick, if not for you, I would be as crazy as Jeff from this mental place I went to. That is crazy, I am not. The whole weirdness of “Oh, it’s a dream. Hillary Duff is going to show up when it rains. Oh, oh …” That drove me insane, and I knew that I wanted to be nice to him, but all he heard coming through his stupid CD player was that Hillary Duff song, Come Clean. I won’t have that in my life any longer. I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell. I’m not in a good mood at this time, and I’m trying to have a civilized conversation with Dad, but I’m not sure how to approach this mess with civility. For one, my parents need to meet Blake, and they will not force a proposal. Blake will propose when he is good and ready, or I will when I am good and ready. Rick, you would never have made a good husband for me, and I’m so damn glad that’s over. I really need a soldier, a really better soldier. Blake sure knows how to take care of me, and he don’t just come over.
Elizabeth Taurasi, your weird nightmare