December 28, 2005 01:15pm
The Death of Julie Meadows
Source: Adult Industry News
by: Julie Meadows
How does this work, anyway? I've always wondered. Okay, you are a performer in the industry, but the time comes to do something else. So what do you do? Do you A) Bow out completely and go live on a farm in Utah? B) Take on the intense task of directing or managing talent because you're still desperately sado-masochistic and need to be punished for something that happened over twenty years ago? Or C) Marry some rich guy and wait for him to keel over so you can run off and live in solitude in Paris, France and gorge yourself on crepes, tarts and Merlot? See, I don't know. I opted for D) Pursue an idealistic passion and remarry the last wonderful, monogamous Midwestern guy on the planet. I am and will always be a hopeless romantic.
So how does this translate in my life, you ask? From porn star performer to porn star writer? What does it mean? Well, I know it means I have weird, limbo schizophrenic conversations with people I used to know how to talk to. They would ask me what I'm up to and I would tell them about movies or feature dancing... or whatever else. Now I say I'm a writer and they look at me like I'm speaking Portuguese. And then I get uncomfortable because I think maybe I am speaking Portuguese. Then I realize that I am not speaking Portuguese, and then they realize that I am not speaking Portuguese, and then we both look pretty stupid for even thinking I'd know any Portuguese. It's freakin' weird, man.
It is strange to be on the other end of the stick. I used to work out in my head how I would defend being in porn should the occasion arise that someone from the "outside" would take the notion to grill me on my life choices. Because of the reaction I'm getting from my peers, I am having to work out in my head how to explain being a writer should the occasion arise that someone from the "inside" take the notion to blow me off for my life choices. Either way, it feels like a battle in life for people to see me, really.
But I think we all have that same problem, don't you? Whether we are filming sex, going to college, climbing the corporate ladder or starting a political campaign, there always seems to be some big obstacle in making our way by asserting who we are in any given role we happen to play. Even a mother must establish herself firmly as a certain kind of mother lest her own child misunderstand and not take her seriously.
So here I am, a modified Julie Meadows, doing what? Writing about my life. I wrote a whole book of short stories, autobiographical recollections from my freaky deaky adventures. Because my life is so damn interesting! More importantly, it is a constant quest for meaning without judgment. And when I say judgment, I mean my own, not anyone else's. There is something to be gleaned from every experience. Even if it is just gratuitous fun because I get to do things most people don't!
For instance, I recently attended a Brittany Andrews Slave Auction. A slave auction! How many people can say they know Brittany Andrews and have been to a slave auction at her place? Only me! Okay, quite a few people, but not, like.... ten thousand! Less than ten thousand people, and I was one of them!! WooHoo!
But getting to the base of things, what is the real issue here? What is the real struggle? I'm glad you asked. The real struggle, is with identity. It is with behavior. I am struggling with my own sense of self right now. I am struggling with my own integrity. I am meeting the ever present and mythical creatures known as 'Inner Demons'.
One minute I am quiet and docile and wonderfully "normal". You know, a married gal. Doing the same thing most people are doing. It would be entirely too boring to exist this way, except that I have already lived a wonderfully crazy life at my young age, so it's kinda kinky to be "normal", for me.
The next minute though, something happens. A glitch in the system. In the next instant, I am defensive and combative and am ready to eat my wonderful man's head. Why? It's not that I'm insecure because of what other people may or may not think about me. I am insecure because of what I think about me. My inner demons have reared their ugly heads because they're tired of not being acknowledged. I won't go into too much detail, but suffice it to say that I go a little kookoo. Once, I even broke a television set. "Rock-N-Roll, Man!!" Yuck! It was not pretty. It will be fun to write about, but still...not pretty.
I am at a place now where I must face up to things I have blissfully avoided for years, and it feels a lot like death, I guess. Killing off pieces of debris from a past that is physically gone, but still resides in hollow chambers of my mind. If I didn't write right now, I am afraid of what I would be doing. This is my therapy, just like it was eighteen years ago. I know whatever I would be doing would probably land me in jail.
I am taking the opportunity to do journalistic things and to report things. But the next question is, do I just jump out of the industry and start all over again in another field without the help of my friends and colleagues? No. No matter what, I am devoted to giving back to the community that helped make me who I am, if it will have me. I want to be useful somehow. I want to be beneficial, still. Maybe not in a drastic way, but in some way. Everyone has something to contribute, and I don't subscribe to the thinking of weird men and women who would put me down as insignificant. There will always be plenty of those, from within the industry, and without.
I've written about chemically imbalanced kitty cats, people making their way in the adult industry, West Hollywood (which is, incidentally, the safest place in the world for a woman to live, aside from parts of San Francisco and Manhattan). Now that I am back to Introverted Julie Mode, now that I am a geek and I don't know how to talk to people, I must figure out how to re-establish myself.
In slaying the evil side of my personality, I am finding a way to hone my skills and have fun just wanting to know as much as possible about everyone I already love and care about. Bonding with other writers, making notes about everything, because I think trying to denounce a part of ourselves just because we are exploring other parts of ourselves, is a mistake.
I want to experience the birth of a more mature and stable Julie. I love my life. I love porn people and I love regular people. Understanding is key. That's all any of us want, anyway. A little darn understanding. Understand?