The Imperfect DeMia Harlow

By DeMia Harlow

This book will keep you on edge with all of its crises and ups and downs, and how well the heroine's feelings are masterfully communicated! This manuscript of one person's life changes and experiences is very emotionally and psychologically oriented, and there are numerous character studies of family members and friends. Action, change, excitement, and movement dominate the narrative, and the characters are open and easy to relate to for most everyone. This tome reeks of thrilling moments that will keep you turning page after page! This is an autobiographical story of a girl/women who, despite severe obstacles, lives a pleasing life with two marriages and two wonderful children. Growing up in New Mexico, she has a close-knit family and a number of female friends and one special boyfriend, whom she marries. Sadly, she develops a chronic illness, but manages to live a mostly normal life despite being on heavy medication and experiencing many recurrences of her disease. Her first husband is in the Navy, and they move often to keep up with his changing posts. However, he becomes both abusive with her and her kids, and eventually divorces him. What a perfect mess. She has a number of jobs, among them being a stripper and entertainer. She adores her children and becomes very close to them; eventually, as they get older, they help and support her through her bouts with illness, which are described in graphic detail. Finally, in an attempt to prove herself worthy, she becomes the first person in her family to graduate from college, where she studies electrical engineering. She is very bright and proves her abilities in a series of jobs, finds and marries her second husband, and finally finds happiness. A must read!!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543955224

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Copyright © 2018 by DeMia Harlow

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-54395-521-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54395-522-4

Dedication

I want to dedicate this book to my ever-loving husband Chris, to my outstanding sons, Roman and Rayce, to my beautiful daughter-in-love, Kamara for reading my work so promptly during the initial and final phase of my manuscript, to Elizabeth Weil M.D., the best psychiatrist, to Timindra Pratico my favorite sister, to Erika Pratico my other favorite sister, for being so supportive about my first book, and to my mother and father for bringing me into this world. Thank you all for your understanding and encouragement.

A special thank you to The University of New Mexico Psychiatric Hospital; you have helped me become and stay well for over 20 years. Bless all of the doctors, nurses, medical techs, clerks, and other employees of this fine facility. Thank you for being on my support team!

* All names have been changed to provide privacy.

** This book may feature potent language and themes.

Introduction

In all reality, this book is about me and my life my coming of age in time so to speak.

My stories are daunting and damning. The companies involved are insulting and reflect the culture of silence and denial. They include so many belittling remarks and uncomfortable physical situations that I can’t remember them all.

Being traumatized can do that to you, you know. There are many memorable contributions and professional bullshit in my writing. They are disturbing and exhilarating. Look at me -- I sound like Tolstoy -- it was the best of times; it was the worst of times or something like that.

My book contains a lot of moments of reckoning as I talk about the body’s dysfunction. My clothes are too tight, my clothes are too loose. My heels are too high, and my shoes are too flat. I’m both too childlike and too mature. And I’m too willing and too trusting. Maybe there is too much sex about me?

I am writing this book to say what I think. To tell my story my way. This is a tell-all autobiography. I’m letting it all out because we all know that everybody knows more about me than I do.

I am The Imperfect DeMia Harlow and this is my story.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Life Is Not About Being Perfect,

It Is About Being Imperfect And Happy

Chapter 2: Love Your Imperfect-ness

Chapter 3: Your Not Broken Your Just Imperfect

Chapter 4: Take A Hit And Forget The Shit

Chapter 5: Embrace Imperfection

Chapter 6: Take A Puff And Forget

About The Crappy Stuff

Chapter 7: Perfection: The Message of Craziness

Chapter 1

LIFE IS NOT ABOUT BEING PERFECT,

IT IS ABOUT BEING IMPERFECT

AND HAPPY

DeMia Harlow

I attended Hope Christian Academy for my sophomore year of high school. It was yet another awful religious school that I have had the un-pleasure of attending in my life. I met a really sweet girl named Cindy, along with her best friend, Betts at school. To this day, I don’t know Betts’ real name. Hell, for all I know it IS her real first name. We have several classes together and talk about many things. I tell her about how much I hate being so chubby. She told me it wasn’t that bad, and who cares anyway? I cared! I wear a size 16 and I am only 5’4." I want to wear a perfect size 5, like my big sister. Lucky bitch that sister of mine, I was obsessed with this weight thing big time. The bell rang, and class was over. I don’t even remember what the lecture was about other than it sounded the same as the one from yesterday. School is easy. I never study. I have a 4.0 GPA. This school didn’t have Honors (AP) Classes like public school, so no 5.0 scale for grades; another reason why this school just plain sucked.

Super awesome! It’s Friday, and that was my last class. This weekend Cindy is coming over to my house. I can’t wait to show her my room and all the things in it. She mentioned that her boyfriend lives near me. I know she wants to see him. I am bummed out that her trip isn’t just to see me. But, I blew it off and stuffed some chocolate cake in my mouth. I feel guilt and more guilt with each bite I eat. God, this cake is good. Yummy, so yummy, I think to myself. The frosting is real buttercream. I know this because I whipped up this delicious cake myself. I love to cook and bake. Mom called me from the stairs.

I placed my plate and fork on the countertop. I then walked toward her. Are you going to continue on the Cambridge Diet or not? I just want to know, Honey, asks Mom. I have the taste of sweet chocolate frosting with a side of milk in my mouth, and I want to vomit on her. Nevertheless, I know her question is out of concern, or that’s what I thought then. I finally answered her question with a simple no. I got the hint. I felt the guilt train ride right through me. Bad and not perfect, I whispered to myself. Mom continued by asking when Cindy would arrive tomorrow. I told her 11 a.m. I put the cake away and cleaned up the crumbs from the countertop. I got the hell out of the kitchen after that.

It is almost 11 a.m. and Cindy will be here soon. Her dad’s car drove around our half-moon driveway with a roar. He had a burgundy colored Jaguar. I liked our convertible Alpha Romero Spider better, but their car was plush too. The doorbell rang. I answered the door, and Cindy came tumbling in. She was spending the night. Mom and her dad were talking. I brought her to my room. We were chatting about the Science Fair coming up at school and then I heard Mom’s voice calling me. Cindy’s dad was ready to leave and wanted to hug and kiss his daughter. He seemed nice, I thought. He would be back at 3 p.m. the next day, Sunday.

We went to the backyard to look at the pool. I did not want to go in because I did not want anyone, including me, to see how fat I was in a bathing suit. Cindy didn’t say she wanted to swim, but she mentioned that she wanted to play basketball. We have a half-court in the backyard. Cool! I kick ass at throwing hoops. Hell, I do have a half basketball court in my backyard. I should be good for God’s sake. I am a bit overzealous. I got a ball, and the game of H.O.R.S.E. began. Four games in and I won every one. I could see Cindy was getting bored by the way she was bouncing the ball. I asked her if she wanted some cake. She said, Oh yes.

We raced to the kitchen. I got the cake out and the rest of the supplies…plates, knife, napkins, etc. My mom was nowhere around: excellent. I told her about baking the cake by hand. She said it was the best cake she ever had. We finished after enjoying a laugh or ten about some of the teachers at school.

Sunday and the visit with John is upon us. I wondered how Cindy would act. She was Asian, but had been adopted by a white American family. She is the first Asian and the first adopted friend I ever had. Cindy only looks Asian. In almost every other way, she is just another typical American. However, she did have a manner about her that was typical of other Asian girls and woman I have encountered. That very reserved way. I wonder if she was born with it, or if she learned it from her environment. On the other hand, is it a combination of the two? I then wondered how she would act with John, her boyfriend. I had not had a boyfriend since middle school, and I was curious. I am jealous of Cindy’s having a boyfriend.

Cindy awoke around 9 a.m. I had been up since 6 a.m. I have never needed that much sleep. Besides when are we meeting this boyfriend after all? I wish that I wasn’t so fat; come on deal with it, I fuss to myself. I have a skinny girl in me and I know it. One day I am going to figure this weight thing out.

I accepted my blind eye, but not my big ass.

DeMia Harlow

Dear Butt,

So you think you are pretty amazing, don’t you, tailing me around the way you do.

Well, you are definitely part of the Big B club. You are one major tush, that’s for sure. You are reliable; I’ll say that for you. You definitely tag along after me. You think you are hot in the dressing room; well I want to let you in on my world a little bit. You’ve made me stare red-faced in the mirror quite a lot. I’m just being honest. I don’t like going in the dressing room with you. Okay, calm down. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t know, maybe we can work something out. You’re not that bad. But you have made me dramatically run into my bedroom in tears for a good part of my life when I look at you in the mirror. But maybe we can work together and get through this. Let’s both think.

Um…want to learn the Roger Rabbit?

Okay, Cindy is dressed. I tell my mom that we are going to the park. I use that line over 50% of the time just to get out of that loud ass house. Yes, my house, that is. There is continuous talking and noise at high volumes going on most of the time. I kept Cindy away from my family as much as possible, except for my baby sister, Timindra. I love my baby sister so very much and she loves me back no matter what. Out the door we go.

You could see John’s house from some of the windows from my bedroom. So one street up and across Comanche Blvd and then one house north is John’s house. What a trip to meet this chick with this boyfriend here in North East Heights; he is practically my next-door neighbor, and she lives in Albuquerque’s suburb Rio Rancho. But here comes the real wild shit. The whole time that we spend with John, Cindy doesn’t hold his hand, hug, or kiss him -- nothing. I realize how different I am. Cindy acts correctly. Hey, wait a minute! Why do I have to be the one with incorrect behaviors? I would have been kissing the hell out of that John dude, hugging him, joking with him; he was so hot! I could not figure out Cindy at all. So, I asked her why. She blushed and looked to the floor, moving her body weight from left to right. She cleared her throat and said she was scared to death to do any of those things. I further queried, So you have never kissed a boy? In a low voice she said, No, not yet.

I said nothing. I have had many kisses from different boys. Hell, we are in high school. However, I felt guilt, then more guilt. I haven’t had sex yet, but I have been close. I like boys to like me. I think if I were skinny, I would have more attention from boys. I continued to be silent. What really sucks is she went silent too. You could hear a pin drop; the air was stale with no movement. Time sloooowwed. Suddenly, it was 3 p.m. and the Jaguar pulled into the driveway. Cindy was gone. Interesting, is what I am thinking.

Cindy and I did the Science Fair together. That was long after she and John had split up. We drifted apart after that school year ended. I finally found better diets to go on and lost all the weight I wanted to. Currently, I am skinny, wearing a size 5. I wore my bathing suit top and some jean shorts to do yard work out front. I got to it, pulling weeds and all. My back felt cramped, so I stood up in the direction of John’s house and fully stretched. Holy hell, who would have guessed who was on his way to pay me a visit, ‘ole John himself. I haven’t seen him since early spring last year. It’s the beginning of August now. I was so excited for him to see me look like this! Wow, he said, you are sexy! I laughed and told him he was funny. We ended up talking until almost 11 p.m. that evening. This reinforced the idea that perfect means skinny. Most of what he said to me had to do with how I looked. I loved it! I had worked my ass off exercising and starving to look like this. I love it that some hot guy is going on about me; it’s beyond divine.

He wants to come over to go swimming tomorrow. I tell him I’ll ask my parents and to come by at noon. I knew that whenever I ask my parents stuff they say yes 99% of the time. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I can barely fall asleep. Moreover, I am not thinking about food at all. Oh, I love this feeling…I have a crush.

It’s noon and the doorbell rings. I jump up alert and rush to the front door. I let him in and escort him to the back door by the pool. The day couldn’t be more beautiful. Beams of sunlight shimmy off the cement and the pool water is beautiful. I give him another towel. We got in the water. We splashed each other, chased each other, and even played some barefoot H.O.R.S.E. The cement was so hot that I had to stand in the little shady spot. John was teasing me; it was so much fun. I was looking down at my feet at the little patch of shade, when suddenly the whole front my body was covered with hot young man. I could feel his hard dick. He kissed my neck. I whispered, Don’t leave any marks. I won’t, he said. We hear a door open; someone is coming into the backyard. John and I move apart swiftly. Holy fuck, I am horny! He’s one fabulous kisser, yummy! His lips are so soft. He has my tongue wrapped around his. It doesn’t feel awkward -- it feels blissful. I went back in the pool. My dad was out doing something with the BBQ. My heart was beating so fast. I swam a couple of laps. John joined me. We splashed around a bit more and then made a beeline to our towels. While we were drying off, John asked me if we could go somewhere alone. I said sure, we can go to my room. I asked John if he wants some cherry Kool-Aid. He said great.

I go to the kitchen to get him Kool-Aid and Crystal Light for me. John follows me. I hang the wet towels over the back fence. With drinks in hand, we proceed to my room. My room was immaculate and full of what I think are amazing treasures that all have wonderful stories. I had some dolls and stuffed animals in my room on my bed. He sat on my bed right next to them. I closed the door and wished he was not sitting so close to my dolls. I still had my wet bathing suit on. I did not want to plop right down next to him, so I sat across from him on the floor. He started this line, come on baby scoot that fine ass over here. Okay, I say. I slithered across the carpet to reach him. I could hear my heart in my head. I was not going to lose my virginity on this guy, but I did want to play with him. That’s why I told him that he was not going to put his dick in my pussy. He said that was not a problem, pulled me up, and started kissing me. Some time went by, and then John took my hand and put it on his dick. He asked me if I knew how badly it would hurt if he did not get some kind of release. I just wanted to stare into his deep blue eyes and want to hear more of his funny stories; he is quite clever. I answered, No. He told me the pain gets so bad that he can’t walk. I knew from health class that he was feeding me a saucer full of bullshit.

Then he asked me for the kind of help that I had never heard of: to put his pecker in my mouth. I had to think fast. What does the skinny girl do? She does it all! No fear because the fat is gone, I resolve. I decided that this skinny girl is going to put this pretty boy’s penis straight up in her mouth. It was like a flash; as soon as I said yes, John maneuvered everything. I had the feeling he had done this several times before. For the first time of having chicken neck, I think I did a good job. He did not tell me he was coming and so I ended up with a mouthful of the stuff. I ran to the bathroom to spit it out. That part is gross. I was fuming that he put that nasty shit in my mouth. I asked him, What the fuck was that? and told him how pissed I was. He said nothing. I raised my voice at him. He pulled up his trunks and picked up his towel and high-tailed it out of my room and out of my house. I never saw John again not once. I was mean as hell to him, but I was suckered in more ways than one.

High school is over and I am looking forward to college, not for the studies but for the parties and the boys. I am not thrilled with my weight. This fucking battle of the bulge, I will beat it one day! I am wearing a size 9 now. My ass still looks so huge. I don’t dare think of my size 16 ass. I cringe.

Change is best when the ass shrinks

DeMia Harlow

Dear Butt,

I have changed your size. How do you feel? I expect you must feel much comfort. I forget that I lead you around; I feel some relief in toting you along instead of having to be escorted by you. On the other hand, I hate to have people behind me seeing you in all your glory as you bounce along to keep up with me.

Forgive me, but you wear my shame. The shame that shows I have an inability to control how much food I put in my mouth. I am in awe of your smaller size oh sweet ass of mine. Although you are not small enough to suit yourself and me yet, bless you my dear ass! I have starved us and worked out every muscle possible for months to have you look like this. Do you miss the jiggle?

Have you noticed the new clothes? I know you have. You’re welcome.

My parents are selling the house. We are moving to Lake in the Hills, Illinois. They are renting an apartment here in Albuquerque to use when coming out to manage the formal wear business. My parents have two more formal wear businesses, one in Schaumburg, Illinois and one in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; hence, the move to Illinois. I am now 17 years old and have a steady boyfriend. He is in the Navy. His name is Jim. He is three years older than I am. I still talk to other boys though. I write to him almost every day. I love writing letters.

I had a pen pal from Pakistan while I was in middle school. I could not tell his first name from his last name. In my salutation in my first letter to him, I addressed him by his last name. I was so embarrassed when he wrote me back telling me of my mistake and asking me for a photo. He sent me one. He did not have a smile on his face in the picture. I wrote him back with a photo enclosed, along with an apology. We wrote for a couple of years, until high school began. Then it just stopped. I wonder how he is doing. My mom is calling me. I find her in the kitchen.

Please help me with the kitchen, she says. I wanted to finish packing my room, but I said a cheery, Okay and started to help her. Perfect little me. Station 93.3 KOB was filling the room with music. I love music so very much! Mom and I were chatting. It was starting to be fun to hang out with mom. I have so much love for my mom. That’s why I let her hurt my feelings, because I am afraid to hurt hers. I feel like she makes everything a drama. All of my three sisters act the same way, always drama. And yes, I too fight with exploiting a nothing into something that turns into a big mess of drama. It’s all an amazing trail of guilt, shame, and denial. Acceptance of imperfection relieves all of these horrible feelings. I haven’t learned that priceless gem of understanding yet; I am not old enough apparently.

The movers take off with all of our belongings, driving the road to Lake in the Hills. Dad checked the oil in the van. He has a Dodge Maxi-Van. It was like a mini-RV. It is packed to the hilt with what we need to have before the movers arrive. It has a fridge and the back couch that pulls out into a bed. I am stoked to get on with this trip. I smoked my last joint just before we left out by the basketball court. I also said goodbye to this house on Pickard Ave. I will miss it here. I love this house. I knew I would meet new friends when I got in school or a job. That way I will be able to find a new weed dealer. I love how weed stops the anxiety I have. It is indeed a gift from the gods of logical tranquility.

We load up in the van, and off we go to another new life. I made an Illinois or Bust sign for the van. I placed it in the window next to my seat. It was a good sun block too. Okay, my high is wearing off, and I have the munchies. I am not going to eat though. I am dying because of all the cookies, chips, and nuts are in the cabinet above the sink, right behind my chair. I am perfect and eat none of it. I fall asleep, sort of like a baby. I was staring out the window and I slowly became limp. My focus faded. And BINGO! I was out.

I wake up to being stopped in the van at a gas station. Seamless timing, I had to pee. I had my headset on still blasting Dio while I entered the gas station. I took care of business and went back outside by my family. I asked my dad if I could get a coffee. He gave me a couple of bucks and I went back into the gas station. I came out with my large black coffee. I shut my music off. My sister Erika asked dad if she could get a coke. He said yes and gave her some cash. She went into the store. Timindra was being such a good girl. None of her little I’m spoiled fits. When Erika got back, I talked back and forth to my family about anything and everything about the drive. We were all ready to get there. We are driving straight through. I might have to drive. I didn’t want to. The van is a bitch to drive, for me anyway. I said nothing about it in the hope it would not happen.

My sister Shauna and her boyfriend are following us in Shauna’s Firebird. They have an apartment they are going to live in. This is the best news ever! Shauna and I have not had a real sister conversation since elementary school. She and Brian had an apartment in Albuquerque before we moved, but this is different. I will get the biggest room first, which in this case is the whole partially finished basement. Shauna is mostly unknown to me. I wonder if I will ever have a relationship with her. Part of the answer to that lies in a tale that happened not long after I met up with John.

The fundamental story starts like this: I started buying my pot from the workers at my dad’s store. I hung out there when I wasn’t on the clock cleaning the rental shoes. I would bring friends to the back of the store to hang out with guys five and six years older than me. But, I also saw them the way my dad referred to them. The help, he called them. They stole everything from merchandise to money out of the register. Even though I knew I was doing wrong and feeling guilty about it, I continued to hang out at the back of the store. I listened to all kinds of stories from the different employees. My ears perked up when Brian (Shauna’s boyfriend), who worked for my dad, talked about the cocaine they had been doing in the back of the store. Holy fuck! My dad needs to know this. The guys went on about how they use this big screwdriver to snort it. Dammit all, why do I have to know this? Shit, shit, shit. In order to tell my folks I am going to have to confess as to why I was there listening to such stories. The right thing to do is tell them. We could lose everything if Mall Management finds out. Tell whom…Mom or Dad? I decide definitely mom. She will listen to my long story and let me get to the plot. Dad will get impatient with me and interrupt me. I will then just get pissed and mess up what I want to say. I will have saved the business and mom and dad will cherish me for fessing up. That is what I thought anyway….

I just could not hold it in anymore. I asked my mom if I could talk to her in my room. I told her about my smoking pot and where I was getting my weed from -- the guys at the store. Mom sat taller in her position on my bed. I proceeded with a huge lump in my throat. Mom, I say, there is cocaine too. I told her about the stories: The screwdriver, the eight ball they said they sold from the back of the store, the pot, and how Brian was in on it. I was suddenly flung into a world of the impossible. My mom was pissed at me, so very angry. I regretted having said a word. I thought the hardest part was over, but it was not. My mom pulled my friend and me out of school to go to the store and talk to the guys in the back of the store. She doesn’t believe me. I now feel guiltier and more imperfect than before I said a thing. Honesty is going to get the best of me.

Shauna is furious with me for accusing her boyfriend of being a cokehead. She is treating me as if I didn’t exist. Mind you, this was not much different from how she treated me before. So I just chalked it up to a big fat who gives a damn about her. Oh well bitch, you will soon find out for yourself that I told the truth. It feels like a little taste of hell when you are not believed until the truth comes crashing down on the liar’s face.

Case Subject: Brian and the Firebird payment.

Ahh, the tale of the cash payment for Shauna’s baby car in the hands of a cokehead; does the payment get to the bank? Nope. Not two months after my confession, Brian uses the money Shauna gave him to buy coke instead of making the car payment. He confesses to her. Everybody knows now. How funny, I expected some apologies. No, that did not happen. Fuck ‘em all. I am going to show them, the whole lot of them one day!

I was getting antsy during the trip. I had to go to the bathroom. Only pee, thank God. There was nothing but farmland as far as the eye could see. Shit, I hate having to tell my dad that he has to stop. I told him, and the dumb bullshit about making our time followed. Why is almost every dad in the world like this during a car trip? I was at the point of tears trying to hold in my pee when he finally stopped. Mom had to bitch at him; thank you mom.

I flew out the van door, running the best I could to a shrub-looking thing I spotted as we stopped. It felt like joy to finally pee. I didn’t care that I got pee on my sandal and foot. I can clean it with a wipes from Timindra’s stash. Erika had to pee too. She didn’t want to bug dad with his making time obsession either. I wished I could feel that it was a good thing I spoke up, but instead, I was still thinking about how irritated Dad acted. It somehow became my fault. I want a huge bowl of weed right now. I thought about smoking that last joint. I want that feeling back. My folks are bumming me out. I want to

Reviews for The Imperfect DeMia Harlow

[April · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love DeMia's 'Hollywood type' writing style and her contributions to life she has revealed in her book. She is an amazing woman! I was shocked to find out about how horrific her illness is to her. I recommend this book to everyone. There are so many stories within stories, but crafted so well all is clearly laid out. I am going to read DeMia's book again, it is that good. I want to see this book become a movie, it has all the right stuff!