My favorite will always be the cartoon from the late 60s and early 70s. It is always brought me joy and the feeling that justice is possible despite all of the crazy characters in the world, despite terrible bosses, and despite the feeling of being – originally – helpless, weak, and completely unempowered. The theme song has echoed in my head all these many years and brought me great joy The theme song has echoed in my head all these many years and brought me great joy. And while this may sound silly, it gives me courage. It felt like each victory first Spider-Man against injustice, and evil was a victory for me, and for the world, and something that could inspire me to believe that the world could be fair and balanced with the right actions. Peters mask with something I have a dental fight with greatly hiding behind an external view that the world saw me hours, while inside, being an awkward and sometimes clueless teenager. I had a crush on Mary Jane, and then each episode she was in urged Peter to just make that move to do something, as if his agency could somehow affect mine. This shows writing and humor on multiple levels made me enjoy it all the more over the years as I got older, and understood jokes, but I never even saw when I was younger and contexts that made no sense to me at the time. I love, have loved, and always will love the original animated series. The movies are great. The actors have all done a fine job, though my favorite will always be Tobey Maguire. but I think the highest movie award has to go out to Willem Dafoe as the Green Goblin. "Don't tell Harry."

My song: THE GRUDGE. While this song is clearly about a romantic relationship, to me it rings true to me about the extreme childhood abuse I suffered from my mother until I left home, even a few years after until I was able to further separate from her, and the reflections of it I lived in my life that plagued me for many years. My waking life was a nightmare, no break from the nightmares I had while sleeping. I was exhausted. I woke up and cried in the shower every morning before I could start my day. I cried at lunch. I wanted to cry forever. My trust was betrayed, everything was taken from me, I felt crushed between my mother’s finger – who to this day has no idea that anything she did was wrong despite constant emotional, sexual, and physical abuse. She believes she was a “great mother” and that I am making this all up because I was angry at my father and have fantasies about her, or that somehow my therapists made me believe all this. Insane, right? For so long, I held on to every detail as if my life depended on it, the truth of who I am, the truth of why I was the way I was, and what I needed to do to heal. I was terrified to let go of any of it as it was the only identity that I had. I was enraged with her for what seemed like forever, it consumed me, an “undying grudge,” and not surprisingly, I hear her voice still, every time I think I’m not enough. I have learned to hide it, to “be tough,” but I was screaming inside, trapped in wondering how anybody could do the things she did so easily. I couldn’t let it go, I tried for so long, but have mostly been able to with years of therapy and treatment and psych meds. I have spent thousands of hours arguing with her in my head, screaming at her, fantasizing different outcomes in which I win, dreaming about a time when she’s “a little fuckin’ sorry,” which will never come, of course. I tried for so long to understand why she would do all this to me, and it’s true, she is a narcissist, insecure and unhappy, abused herself, and has no idea why; she is a livid victim to everything. Of course, people hurt people, and more than ever, we realize that child abuse, sadly, is and has been widespread. But those of us on the path of healing and breaking the cycle are changing the world, each one of us at a time, and with each child we raise with dignity and respect and kindness I couldn’t draw blood from her as a child, though I wished with all my heart that I could … but once I was an adult and not scared of her, you better believe I did. But the childhood cuts, the scars left, each a memory, the psychic damage — the power was never equal. Which is what abuse is all about. Power. Control. Insecurity. Retraumatizing ourselves and everyone around us.