Being Brave

Living in New York City was exhilarating when I was 18. And 25. And 30.

By the time I was 47, I was done. 9/11 really fucked me up beyond my average state of nuts (as some of you who still love me know) and I tried to make it work but by the summer of 2003, I was done. 

There was nothing in my "Go Bag".

I couldn't leave my apartment without fear. There wasn't a thing that made me feel good - not even performance opportunities. I had to leave or become one of those agoraphobic people who lived on delivery and lost everything because of credit card debt. I was living in my only asset and I had to let it go.

Look at that view above...my wiggling toes on my own deck with a lake in my backyard.

Look at this photo of lips pressed against my cheek and the joy of being loved by a man I never would have met if I hadn't taken the terrifying leap of faith I did in moving to a place I'd never been.

I did not do any of this without help. I asked for help.

People I knew and loved back in the city are struggling in all sorts of ways. I wish I could help them. 

Sometimes I do in teeny tiny superficial ways.

I find joy in the minutiae if that's all I can accomplish.

Asking for help is the most mortifying thing a responsible person can do.

And the bravest.

Independence Day - a plea to Facebook to set me free.

It's now my new game to look up RIDICULOUS WORDS AND CHARACTERS to see how many Facebook profiles sport them.

Today? Mxyzptlk - a character from the old Superman comic books of my youth, which as you know from my DRIVERS LICENSE was a long time ago.

MXYZPTLK - Really?  A real name that someone is using?  NO.  NO.  NO.

Close them down while you mull my request to reinstate my NAME as ANNIE EQUALITY HUGHES.

Let me recap:

Mail in that name.

Gym membership in that name.

Paypal account in that name.

Instagram account in that name.

Twitter account in that name.

Google account in that name.

Domains in that name - TWO.  Two domains in that name (.com and .org) that point to my WEBSITE displaying that name.

MY WEBSITE.

FACEBOOK GAVE BIRTH TO MY IDENTITY as Annie Equality Hughes.

Why aren't you proud of that?  Why won't you let me use what you helped me find?  I AM the person you helped me define.  Why are you not on board?

How can you say you can't confirm my identity when you have my address on my drivers license (which, when you requested proof of who I am you neglected to tell me I DIDN'T NEED TO GIVE YOU MY PHYSICAL ADDRESS?)

Facebook, I am frustrated.  But I am NOT TIRED.  I'm old.  BUT I AM NOT TIRED.

GIVE ME BACK MY IDENTITY - GIVE ME BACK MY NAME.

PLEASE.

Annie Equality Hughes.

#AnnieEqualityHughes  #FacebookGiveMeBACKMyName
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UPDATE:  Facebook has given me back my name.

A Pretty Little Life

I'm 60.  Sixty years old.  LX.

I should be completely settled in my persona by now.  Exactly who I am.

I should know.

I should know by now.

Any rational person would assume I know who I am by NOW.

Who would question my experiential certainty of who I am now?

Because REALLY.

I should know.

What is in a name?

Yep.  Age OLD question.  A rose.

Okay - I'm a rose.  What's my name?

Is my name the one that was given me at birth?  Gender specific, family heritage, etcetera etcetera, etcetera.

Is that what defines me?  Anne E. Hughes.

In my childhood I went to Catholic school.  My name was ANNE.  Or HUGHES in fifth grade as the nun decided I would be the only one in the class not to be called by my "christian" name.  "Anne" was the sneering sound I heard when called upon by the abusive nuns of St. Peter's Grammar School.

"Aaaaaayyyyyyyaaannne".  That name still makes my skin crawl.

I was also never a fan of the distortions:  Ann, An,  Anus, Huges, Huge, Use....

Well, you get the picture.

My name became "Annie" when I made friends with a southern girl who was my coworker at the NY Playboy Club.  I was lucky to get my actual name as my "bunny" moniker - Anne - and the plastic rosette I wore on my right hip was engraved as such.  Joycie, however, called me Annie from the jump.  And not any proper flat "A" mind you - she said it with all the nasal, sexy drawl of an Alabama woman.  I loved her beyond words.  Her way of saying "Annie" made me own it.  Because that inspiring reinvention of my name was what made me force myself to become the person I am today.

I BECAME Annie.  I did my best to shed the oppressive mechanisms of my childhood and I pushed myself to be another person....a better person.

I was not completely successful as evidenced by what I was dragging with me...all the emotional baggage that could not be left behind.  I took one step forward some days.  Two steps back others.

The most telling remark was when a major casting director actually told me I would "never work in this town again" and being informed that an actor said he "would rather eat glass than work with her again".

Yes.  I am challenging.  To say the least.

But I am who I am.

I became Annie Equality Hughes when I joined Facebook.  I took that name as a gesture of support for the LBGTQ community and their struggle for equal rights under the law - more specifically, marriage equality.  Over the next 6 years the name became my own, adding to my identity.

I identify with that name as completely as anyone who has found their identity through experience and self-awareness.

Who am I?

Fiercely devoted and supportive of my friends.

Fiercely confident that religion - all religion - is bullshit.

Fiercely opposed to Republican obstructionism.

Fiercely committed to protecting animals against abuse and murder by "trophy" hunters.

Fiercely and actively campaigning for women's rights and LGBTQ rights.  FIERCELY.

My name is Annie Equality Hughes.  It is my identity.  It is my public persona.  It is my NAME.

#EqualityISMyMiddleName  #FacebookGiveMeBackMyName