DAVINA'S STORY, PART 3. (THE SAD CONCLUSION)

(Part 3.)

Being present for my first intervention was nothing like those I had viewed on the A&E gem of the same name. On the A&E program ‘Intervention’, there was often skepticism involved with the request of rehabilitation, but this experience was far more extreme. The restraint of the cable program was nothing like Davina’s state of mind. Her eyes were still rolling into the back of her head as she erratically swung her arms around loosely. This was not going to be easy. Within a few moments, it became fairly obvious that this was not a sweet, loving intervention. This was quite the antithesis. Quickly Davina encountered a slew of angrily-toned questions: “What the hell is this all about?” “Are you doing drugs?” “Do you need to move back home?” “Why are you embarrassing us like this?” Clearly Davina was on something, looking like the possessed demon child in the exorcist. Everything happening was just short of a monster spewing bile at the whole of us, but yet there was an abrasive and demanding question followed by another on repeat.

Bertha was the firing squad and we were all there to operate as a peanut gallery without words. It was like a courtroom in that dark dreary home and Bertha was addressing the court while Davina rocked back and forth, seated on the carpet, still moving erratically. There were no calm, sweet questions like: "Are you okay?", "What's going on?", or "We're here to offer love and support." It felt much more like an ambush. All the while, I just wanted to grab Davina and pull her out of that house, but she was not in the right frame of mind and I didn't know what was right for her. I knew this wasn't a calming environment. Having recently watched an interview between Oprah and Lindsay Lohan, I couldn’t help but be reminded as I look back at this “intervention”. In the interview, they discuss Lindsay’s troublesome history with the law, drugs, and alcohol. One thing Lindsay said stuck with me: She was never ready for treatment when it felt forced or when it was actually by a judge's orders. Watching this program related me right back to years before with Davina. The entire intervention felt forced and there was a shortage of love in that room. As Bertha moved questioning into directions, it seemed as if an army sergeant was instructing orders. "You will not be leaving the country any time soon, I can tell you that. You're going to move home and we will make this all better." Something told me that moving back home would not be the solution for this manic lesbian. Perhaps she needed rehab or an assisted living, but I felt as if Bertha had no room to declare herself the best teacher.

That's when it became less about how poor the intervention was and how evil Bertha was as a mother. Blinded by her own issues, Bertha began to raise her voice: "...And what's this about you liking girls?! You are not a lesbian, but are you? It's not okay, but are you? Or, you're just confused..." And as quickly as the topic was brought up, it was immediately ignored and cast aside. I sat there dumbfounded, positioned on the floor next to Davina. So easily I could feel her heart breaking from a few feet away. My heart was breaking. Here was a girl crying out for help and love from those around her and instead she was meeting cruelty, judgment, and repression. Clearly this had something to do with Davina's sexuality, in combination with some other issues. To make a blanket statement redirecting Davina away from a life of freedom and into the closet was horrifying to watch. I lost what little respect I had for Bertha in that moment.

The "intervention" continued on for thirty minutes or so, with little said by anyone outside Bertha. I had a chill running through my body; a feeling of being filthy. Everything that came out of Bertha's mouth was vile. She kept repeating the fact that Davina could “tell us what’s really going on” while proclaiming the fate of being a lesbian as impossible. Around that thirty minute mark, Bertha decided the intervention was over. There was no agreement to treatment or real reference to drugs, past a few rough questions. Davina was like a child the whole time, screaming out random mismatched words on occasion. She wasn't in the right state of mind for an intervention. Lucky for her, this wasn't much of one. As everything concluded by Bertha's demand, my family and I left pretty quickly. There wasn't much of a conversation past goodbye pleasantries. It was strange. I felt like I just walked into an episode of 'The Twilight Zone'.

           

I could hear Rod Sterling's voice in my ear:

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground betweeen light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone."

The only part Mr. Sterling left out was that in this "zone" lived the Rosenthals...

The following morning, my mother took Bertha and Davina to her favorite Psychiatrist, Dr. Green. I personally think Dr. Green's a kook. He's a very conservative minded man who thinks in an "old school" kind of way. I see it more as his being outdated. He is of the mind that I choose to be gay. I am of the mind that Dr. Green chooses to be outdated. And, as a "psychiatrist", it probably makes more sense to be up to date with common theories with the psychiatric community. Those theories include, but are not limited to the existence of homosexuality and evolution. Call me crazy, but I'd rather someone from that pool of understanding prescribing me with life altering drugs, not the man who chooses to be ignorant of me. Given Davina's issues, which I was aware of first hand, I didn't think Dr. Green was the best choice. That being said, I didn't really have a say. My input was only requested until a certain point. That's the thing with both these mothers, mine and Davina's; they believe that they will and always know what's best. My thoughts are that if your child is rebelling against you and your environment, perhaps you be open to outside assistance. Somehow Courtney Love has become convinced she knows what’s best for her own daughter, but we’ve seen the mess that she is, so perhaps a mother is not always without blame.

Not to say they had to listen to me, but perhaps a GLBT-friendly Psych to start. Where was the harm in this? Given the intervention, I should have known.

After the initial meeting with Dr. Green, Bertha confronted my mother. She informed her that Sharona and myself were the cause of all of this. Davina had gone way out of control with drug use and it was by mine and my sister's hands. At least that is what Bertha told my mother. Then my mother called me. Oh, shit. This was going to be painful. My biggest fear reconnecting with Davina were the involvement of my parents in my personal affairs and now I was finding my initial reservations to be completely founded. I just about shit my pants. My mother has always treated me like a problem child, so it was almost automatic that the questioning be directed my way. My sister was mostly free of this. The interrogation began in a calm manner. When my mother reaches that calm a place from the get go, you fear her. She's like a perched lioness and you can hear the frustration and depletion in her voice. It's almost as if she had cried for hours and you’re the cause of it. How could I have hurt my mother this way? That was really the question at hand. Figuratively, not literally of course as she sat there across the phone asking me details about my life. “Do you do drugs?” “Are you currently using drugs?” She continued to ask, in a calm yet accusatory tone. “Did you get Davina high?” I lied and said no. Speaking truthfully, I never got Davina high, but I had participated in recreational drug use one evening. Davina seemed far more involved than I. My eyes never wrapped into the back of my head and I wasn’t fleeing to the Middle East claiming a family friend raped me to his school aged children. Still, I was overcome with Jewish guilt. I had introduced Davina to my friend Chester and that must have subsequently landed her here. The Jewish guilt grew intoxicating as my mother’s disapproving tone shed through the other end of the phone. I couldn't take full responsibility because Davina was an adult and I had warned her. Never was it my responsibility to do everything for this girl. We were young and stupid, getting high in our early twenties. I only did it once, though. Getting stoned on a daily basis was never the issue, especially because Davina never got involved with that.

At the time, I didn't know the extent of Davina’s drug use. I had distanced myself from her for some time then. Still walking through 'The Twilight Zone', I was unsure of what was real and what was not. After that insane mess of an intervention, I couldn't ground myself. Now, to top it off my mother was accusing me of being the cause for that terrible intervention. I assured her that this was not the case. Still, I felt uncomfortable with the entirety of the scenario. I don't believe she trusted I was telling the truth at the time.

Validating my fear, my mother approached Dr. Green in search of answers. Prior to their meeting, a few days passed and I felt my mother's disappointment with me. She channeled all of her frustrations and embarrassment into the way she spoke to me. I continued to talk to her every day as I always had, but I felt her damning disapproval. My mother didn't tell me she was planning to question Dr. Green. She didn't tell me until afterwards. Basically, as it went, my mother went to see Dr. Green. She assured him that she knew about doctor-patient confidentiality, but she had to know: Had her children been the cause of Davina's demise? Dr. Green explained that he could not break his client confidentiality and trust, however my mother should be rest assured that her children had nothing to do with Davina's issues. Her issues stretched much farther back than my sister and I.

From that moment on, my mother trusted I was telling the truth. I wouldn't have known her reasons for believing me, but of course she had to inform me that she spoke to Dr. Green. Why couldn't she trust her own son? Why couldn’t that be enough? But, again, she was more like Bertha than I had thought. Although I had told a white lie about never having done coke with Davina, I didn't then and I don't now feel responsible for her getting high. I did feel a level of responsibility at the time for introducing Chester to Davina.

This was before I knew the truth about Davina, though. At that moment, I worried that Davina blamed me and I felt terrible for bringing this pain on my mother. I looked back and regretted meeting Davina for drinks that first night at the 'Irish Pub'. Worried that my life would come back to embarrass my parents, I never wanted to meet her in the first place. I didn't want anything going back to my parents and now they feared the worst. This entire scenario presented doubt in my parents' eyes and introduced them to a new shame, that of a drug addict. I knew then and there that I was a casualty of Bertha, just as much as her daughter was. Clearly by Dr. Green's admission, Bertha was looking to post blame and she found that with me and my sister. This translated into me. Sharona could really do no wrong, so she was never a real suspect in my parents' eyes. Now my parents had another reason to treat me like a failure. It was upsetting, but I resolved to move on from it as they trusted I was not to fault in this scenario.

As the weeks passed after that, I kept firm distance from Davina. She tried to contact me once or twice, but her mother had made a clear declaration to mine that I stay away from Davina. I was not going to bring any more drama to my parents' house and clearly I was not able to help Davina; not without becoming a casualty. Having felt horrible for Davina, I didn’t think there was anything I could do at the time. During the time of separation, I began to hear things about Davina. My ears were open, so to speak, and I'm not going to lie: I was inquisitive. When Bertha blamed everything on my sister and I to my mother, she also made sure to let her know that “Raanan was lying about the lesbian stuff! Davina’s not a dyke.” Lovely. Clearly this was an angry mother who would never accept her daughter. I needed to keep my distance, but like I said, I was curious.

Shortly after the Davina incident/intervention/blame-game, I discovered some information from surrounding players within the community. It seems that growing up Davina was getting into trouble and drugs heavily. She would steal from her parents' medicine cabinets and bring pills to school. After synagogue on many Saturdays, she would bring a boatload of kids to her father's dental office/converted garage and inhale the Nitrous Oxide (aka laughing gas). I came to find out she was smoking weed in junior high school and was a notorious pot-head at the time. Here I thought I was the demise by having a bong on my coffee table. It also came to pass that she had been participating in hallucinogenic drugs and cocaine as early as high-school. Shocking to me, she had gone through many issues with drugs over the years and other kids within the community took the blame by account of Bertha. None of this was new to Davina's parents, yet they drug us through the mud as if it was the spontaneous burst of a bomb. This wasn't an unwarranted explosion, but rather a life-long problem and I was given the blame for this? I grew further disinterested with the situation. I wanted to be removed from it all.  

After all of this was exposed, my mother drew a clear distance from Bertha. She fueled her initial disappointment and shame for me into anger and rage towards Bertha. I appreciated the sense of a united front, but I kept wondering how this all had even transpired. There was no logic on the table or foresight on my part. I felt bamboozled by all of this. Confused and unsure of how any of this even began, it was just another time in my life when I looked around for the cameras filming. This couldn't be real. I was for sure living in 'The Twilight Zone'.

For a short time, Davina seemed to have popped back on the grid, like a type of good will measure. It was akin to a publicist's attempt to reform the public image of a troubled star. Davina began involved socially and throughout our synagogue. My parents would hear stories right and left, because Bertha would rave to anyone listening about Davina's success. It reminds me of the Shakespeare saying: "Though doth protest too much" meaning there was no need for all of PR campaign put on for friends and members of the community alike. I had removed Davina from my life, but my life had now crossed over into my family life. As it became very obvious to me that Bertha was lying to the world, I wanted nothing to do with this. She was forcing her daughter into a pretty little picture of how she should look. It must have been the same way Bertha raved about her daughter as I sat in the doctor's chair for years. Clearly this was not a girl who was well off, a few months after having a colossal meltdown. Whether it was a manic episode or drug induced, Davina was borderline suicidal and bouncing off the wall, struggling with her own demons. There is no way in hell that the girl who was tricked into flying home by promise of a dying father was in her right mind directly after a manic episode. No way. That's just horse shit. I don't know who Bertha was trying to please, but it was not her daughter's heart.

During this time, I was invited to a party by way of an attendee. My girlfriend Lisa from high school was invited to a party with kids we had known from school years before. This was the school I attended for the majority of my eight grade year as well as all of ninth. Davina had attended the same school, but I didn't think she would be at this party. It never once occurred to me, to be honest. Lisa wanted me to come and reconnect with kids from years earlier. The party was held at this girl Jamie's house in honor of her two-year old daughter's birthday. It didn't seem like the kind of event Davina would be present at. The last time I saw her, she was convulsing with her eyes rolled back into her skull. It didn't seem like she would be at this party. Having agreed to tag along with Lisa for the afternoon, I went in without an idea of what would come.

We showed up at the house and the festivities were set up in the backyard. Jamie was the kind of girl who started popping out kids the second she graduated high school. We all know those girls. I know many girls of the same percentile. Jamie was sweet, but completely out of touch with the world as she was caring for three little ones at the time. She was more than grateful to have a day to reconnect herself with people who had mastered the ability to walk. I know it can be very isolating with many kids, but that’s not to say Jamie's not happy. She seems very happy, but every now and again, it's nice to have interaction with adults and I think that was Jamie's intention with this party. Jamie greeted us with half open arms. She was toting around an infant in one hand and had a free hand of the other. Lisa and I were directed to the adult beverage area after meeting a few of Jamie's relatives.

Drinks in hand, Lisa and I joined a group of girls who had all attended school with us. I didn't realize at first, but it was brought to my attention rather quickly after sitting down that Davina was there as well. Directed to look over into the distant corner of the backyard, I saw her. She rocked back and forth on a rocking chair with her arm wrapped around a pretty young Indian girl, while slurping what looked like a smoothie. First and foremost, I had no intentions of engaging with Davina. After everything I had discovered, all the allegations, and the bomb-like explosion that was Davina, I had no interest. For my parents' best interest as well as my own, I knew it was best I keep my distance.

All of a sudden, Davina rose and began to approach our group. My palms began to sweat. I was afraid I may say something I shouldn't and I really did not wish to engage. Davina walked right up to me and turned to Lisa: "Hey. How are you?" Lisa and Davina exchanged pleasantries, while I sat there uncomfortably. Davina turned to me and said: "Hey Raanan. Want a taste of my slurpee?" I declined. "But, it's got alcohol in it. You'll really like it. Try it!" She began shoving the straw to her frozen beverage in my face. There was a frozen daiquiri machine at the party and it seemed popular, but I wasn't about to share Davina's drink with her. I just wanted her to leave. She sat down across from me and tried to engage me, although it was strangely combative and abrasive. Davina was very much still the same person I saw that evening she returned from Israel. Talk continued and chatter was swirling around the group seated. Every few moments, Davina would try shoving her slurpee in my direction. I politely shook my head claiming “no” at each offer. Then, completely out of the air, Davina screams to me: "C'mon, taste my smoothie. Don't be a faggot." I did not look amused. "Seriously Raanan, don't be a faggot."

I had refused to interact with her, but I was deeply offended by what she said. There is never a time – in my book – to start calling anyone such names. I stood up and told her that was unacceptable language and corrected her rather affirmatively. There was no room for discussion. She had no right to speak to me that way – plain and simple. Furthermore, as a struggling lesbian, you would think she would be more sensitive. I think she was projecting a lot of self-hatred and feelings she felt from her own family. Everyone seated seemed to take my side, arguing that there was no other side when hatred's involved. Feeling exiled, Davina rose rather quickly to leave, but not before gloating that the beautiful Indian girl seated across the yard was her girlfriend. With that, she walked away. It seemed extremely strange, following her homophobic comment towards me.

We all inevitably began to gossip about what had just occurred. It was strange to everyone seated there that day. Jamie had not heard any of the exchange and I felt it was better that way. In the meantime, Lisa had gone to the buffet station where food was laid out for guests and got to chatting with Davina's date. Lisa, feeling snarky, congratulated the young girl on her relationship to Davina. The girl stopped Lisa in her tracks: "I am not a lesbian. Davina and I are just friends." It was happening again. This felt far too much like the scenario of months prior with Julie. I felt like I had spent enough time focused on Davina that day and was itching to leave. Then Jamie approached our seated group in tears. It seems that while her infant was crying, Davina walked over to Jamie and her tear-stricken child proclaiming: "Jamie, your daughter's a Grade-A bitch. She's really just a little bitch. Shut her the fuck up." Jamie, who was still breastfeeding and not drinking that day was overcome with her hormones and broke into tears herself. The truth is that I couldn't imagine any parent holding their child, soothing them from tears, and having Davina run over, crazy off her rocker and declare their child a bitch. It was mean and tasteless, but it became apparent to me that Davina was no longer in a normal frame of mind across the board. She was a danger to those around her and I couldn't be around it at all.

I said my final goodbye to Davina that day; not directly to her face, but I made peace on my own. No longer could I be part of 'The Twilight Zone’. I knew in that moment that Davina was not going to live a good life. There was no way for her to get better with champions of such reckless behavior leaving her be. I knew she was on a destructive path to death with her parents behind the steering wheel. This was horribly sad to watch, but I had to walk away; there was nothing I could do. Davina only had down to go. I did not wish this for her. In fact, it was quite the opposite: I wished her only the best and hoped that help may come. With that said, I knew it was time for me to say goodbye. I felt strongly that her parents were going to kill her and I felt helpless, so I walked away that day.

Over the years, I heard very little of Davina, other than that she had moved to Miami and was attending Law School. Davina, being a brilliant mind and studious student never seemed to have a problem with school. It seemed as if that was her parents’ best attempt to hide the pain and demons: put Davina back in school. Continuing to stay away, I heard little else. Then, all the while, my mother became friends with Bertha. This level of betrayal wasn't new for my mother, but it hurt nonetheless. She told me that she had resolved from her anger towards Bertha and had now forgiven her and kept her as a friend in a limited capacity. I kept wondering: "What about me? She attacked your son and placed unnecessary blame on him, yet you can be her friend?" It made no sense to me and I was hurt, but not overly surprised. Still I kept my distance from Davina, and hurt internally from the betrayal of my mother.         

About a year or so ago, I received a phone call from a friend I hadn't heard from in years: "Davina Rosenthal passed away last night." It was that finite and irreversible. This was horribly sad; and in that moment, my heart was broken again. I had said goodbye to Davina so many years before, the same way one must say goodbye to an addict when they've lost them to the war. While the true story may never be exposed, the official story is that Davina had a heart attack in the middle of the night. What gets left out of the story was the fact that prescription pills had caused the onset of her heart attack. Either way, she left the world before her thirtieth birthday. I was overcome with sadness for Davina and her struggles.

As the days went on, countless former classmates and members of the synagogue we grew up in reached out to me. On the surface, everyone seemed sad and overwhelmed, clenching to connect with memories of nostalgia feeling the gaping hole left by Davina's absence. I collected further information about Davina's state of mind leading up to her departure. As it went, it seems she had been active on Facebook for the weeks prior to her passing. She was ranting and raving erratically online, threatening suicide and shaming the world. Hearing this, it was quite obvious that Davina was crying out for help and no one around her seemed to do anything. In the end, she was brought home, to the source of all of her pain and struggle. Knowing this, I fear it was worst for her at the end. When I look back at the events surrounding her passing, I can't help but feel anger towards her parents, feeling they should be held responsible for this young girl's demise. I knew there was a struggling heart beneath all of the pain and destruction. Davina was a beautiful person who never had a chance, unfortunately. Her parents seemed to fight her up until the end. They played the roles of grieve-stricken parents excellently, but I knew that they did not care for their little girl like she deserved.

As people continued to contact me, popping up out of nowhere, I began frustrated with my incoming e-mails. People needed a place to deal with their guilt and they found the human need to connect. The problem, I found, was that many of these individuals were bullies to me as a child and were not there for Davina when she needed them. I was not going to be anyone's easy way out of guilt. This was one of multiple stories of children lost within my community, and I blame everyone involved for the somber results. I say this not from a place of anger, but more so a place of awareness, and had Davina been awarded certain freedoms to be herself and a loving, nurturing environment, perhaps things would have gone differently.

Because I did not feel a need to connect in healing my guilt, I was brazen and direct in explaining the strange nature of these received e-mails. I confronted many childhood bullies for their part in my sad youth. As I received apologies, which was never the intention of my responses, I grew more frustrated for Davina and felt less of a connection with the place that we came from. In combination with her parents, I felt the community had killed Davina.

After I had hit my frustration level with e-mails, I received a long e-mail from Davina's best friend Naomi. We hadn't known each other well since we were little, but when Davina and I had reconnected, I remember Naomi was a part of her life. Naomi was a practicing Orthodox Jew and a married lady, no doubt. She was everything Bertha wished Davina to be. Bertha always promoted their friendship. Due to this and Naomi's placement within the community, I lashed out in response to her e-mail. She wrote me a message in an attempt to connect over this dear friend's death. I assumed that Naomi didn't know the true Davina like I had and was therefore under the illusion of Bertha and the demon dentist. Feeling like it was my duty to chastise these members of the community, I wrote a heavy response explaining why I would not step foot at that funeral, detailing the horrendous events that led to Davina's demise brought on by her parents and an uninvolved community. I explained that I had made an amends with Davina's future years before, having already said goodbye.

While I was anticipating an angry e-mail in response, I found the opposite. Naomi wrote me a heart-felt apology for my loss and detailing her own trouble coming to terms with what occurred. She confided that she knew everything that I did and had only wished Davina could live her life. Here this religious woman who lives her life by the cloth understood, on a human level, the need for Davina to be different and supported her. I sat in front of my computer monitor and cried profusely as I read through her e-mail. Davina's legacy and life had not been lost by account of her parents. There was at least one other person who knew the truth; another person who loved her. I found comfort in her honesty and I finally felt that much needed connection sought by our peers. Naomi and I continued to e-mail back and forth, sharing fond memories from Davina's life. It was beautiful and helped me to make peace with this precious soul's passing.

Naomi was preparing a eulogy for the funeral and although I would not be present, I felt like Davina's story was safe in the arms of her dear friend. I knew that whether or not Naomi spoke about the truth, she would speak highly of her friend and give a beautiful tribute. This didn't make it any less shock or any less sad of a situation, but I felt a certain sense of relief. I felt like Davina finally made peace. She could finally rest, rather than living under the critical eye of parents that never deserved her.

This whole story left a foul taste in my mouth. It started with this Twilight Zone of a community that I grew up from. The Rosenthal family played a game of deception within an unruly town. Neither Dr. Rosenthal and Bertha nor our community were free of pain and judgment. This was a place where it was not okay to be gay. People back home still poke their noses up when my name comes up. Sure, the world is far more progressive than it was those years ago when I came out, however it is not something with a place in that world. Here I was subscribing to a doctor for further "parnasa" within our community. We never stopped to examine whether we were being treated rightly or if it was a positive environment. Instead, this word - "parnasa" - dominated my childhood. As religion dominated any and all decisions that came our way, "Parnasa" was often at the epicenter. One's "Parnasa", most easily translated as one's "livelihood", refers to their profession or that which supplies food for one's family. Looking back, I see that Dr. Rosenthal, was not working to supply "livelihood" for his family. Instead, by keeping it within the community, I can't help but think that we enabled Davina's demise...

And so ends another episode of My Twilight Zone, along with Davina’s Story…

Xoxo.

R.