Cherry Maggiore       “Freak of Nurture”

cherry WARNING: When reading about my midlife awakening, leave judgment at home and come along for the ride. cherry

My eyes opened to a haze of bright orange only made more vibrant by the fluorescent lights shining down.  Slowly blinking, trying desperately to figure out where the fuck I am.  My head is aching like the kind of ache that makes the mere act of blinking hurt.  My clothes still on (thank God) although very disheveled. The assault of old beer and whiskey hits my nostrils and I gag a little.

Each blink is a flash of memory…of not very good things.  Finally, realize I am still in my office.  My heart catches up and I am in sheer panic! What time is it? Why am I still here?  Where are the people I was with? How the hell did I get up here?  When did I get up here? FUCK! Did anyone see me?  Oh my God, are there cameras??? Wait! I am supposed to be HOME!  He’s gonna kill me…oh shit, EVE! Oh, wait, right, she’s with him and his parents! Oh NO, his parents are there!

And just like that my life changed in an instant, in one fell swoop.  In the slow painful blink of an eye.

Full blown breakdown.  Not like in an official, therapist, diagnosed way…but clearly, this is not where I am supposed to be when you have a 4-year-old child at home.  Drunk in your office on a Friday night at 3 am with no idea how you got there or where your friends are or what possessed you to drink that last shot of whiskey.  That damn last shot always puts me over the fucking edge.

This is it.  The moment I crossed the Border of Crazy.  Wonderful. I’ve arrived.  Its official, I am totally fucked up and totally fucked.  All it took was 10 years of marital misery and 30 other years of parental torture…but here I am, 40 years old, smack in the middle of a midlife crisis.

I wasn’t sure what to do, so I looked at my phone and there were several messages.  Apparently, I spoke to the “Chupacabra of Joy” (aka my ex-husband), and he told me to sleep it off. I do NOT remember this conversation, but the texts told me otherwise. And the subsequent texts were not kind, to say the least. Not kind at all.

That morning after is kinda like going on an archaeological dig.  You look for signs and clues to help solve the mystery.  Fingerprints, imprints, anything printed or shared via drunk dialing or texting.  It was fascinating as an outsider…as an insider, you know, realizing this is my life, I was stunned.  Dazed and confused, clearly in deep shit and so out-of-my-mind panicked that I threw up in my mouth a little.  Fucking whiskey.

Time to fess up…time to stop the madness…time to say the truth. The whole truth, so help me God!

And this is where my story begins…it will be honest, raw and unapologetic.  Believe me, I’ve apologized enough to last me a lifetime.  And I’m done with that scene, unless you know I really do something fucked up again.

Four years later, I finally decided that I will no longer apologize for who I am…I am a Freak of Nurture and so we begin…again.




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