The Angel Mehitabel

In one month, I went from a Painted Lady house overlooking the Presidio to living in an rented room in Oakland . I had been a VP at the company where I worked; I could only find work as a barista. Oh, it was humbling. It was more than humbling. I, to put it bluntly, cracked. I joined a cult.

No, it wasn’t a religious cult, though there was a kind of mysticism about it. It was more like a life-coach cult. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s called the Saturation Process. One of the managers at the coffee-shop where I worked was an adherent. It’s kind of a cross between Personality Mapping and the Law of Attraction. It uses color as an organizing principle. For instance, I’m 30 percent red (for passion and adventure); 50 percent blue (for spirituality) and 20 percent green (for confusion or lack of direction). So, I was a Mauve. The purpose of the Saturation Process, and therefore, the secret to happiness, is to be a Primary—either Red, Yellow or Blue. Talking about it seems silly, but it made sense at the time. You used self-hypnosis to attain your True Color. 

I see I’ve explained the Saturation Process (or the SP, as we called it) in way too much detail. Let me cut to the chase. I became obsessed with becoming a Primary. It swallowed up my life, this quest for perfection. I wanted to be a Blue Primary, and thus, a teacher. I went to many SP meetings, and spent weekends doing their workshops, under a Blue Primary, who I’ll call Angela. Angela said that in order to attain Blue Primary status, we had to undergo a process of intense self observation that included hypnotherapy sessions that she facilitated.

I don’t know what Angela did during those sessions; I only have vague memories of her monotone voice speaking over tranquil New Age music. But whatever she did stirred up my old enemy, the glowing little boy who wasn’t really a little boy. Angela insisted that the little boy represented my inner demons. That fact that he glowed Green was a significant. In order to attain Primary Status, I must somehow defeat him.

It didn’t work. Everything she suggested, I tried and failed.  The night terrors returned, and he began to say the most awful things to me. He’d tell me that I would die alone and loveless. Sometimes, he would shift his shape, and become more demonic, scaled and fork-tongued. And sometimes, he would just watch me, daring me to move. At one point, he showed up in my sessions with Angela! And these sessions, by the way, weren’t free. I dipped into my previous job’s 401 K to pay for them.

I went home for the holidays for the first time in two years, after the Dotcom Crash. Dad had to pay for the ticket. I was very cagey about my life out west. I mean, they knew that I was a barista and lived in Oakland, but that was all. They knew nothing about my involvement with the Saturation Process. I knew what that would say, and I couldn’t take it. When I got home, Mom mentioned that I looked really skinny, and was I eating OK. You know how mothers are. In the bathroom mirror, I looked horrible. My eyes were red and had dark circles under them. My skin was sallow.  I decided to take a nap; the flight had had three connections and I had been up since 4 AM. 

I entered my childhood room, and was immediately comforted. It was like stepping back in time. My bed had the same thick cream comforter. The walls were the same sea foam green. There, on my old desk, was an obsolete desktop. And on the chest of drawers at my bed’s foot, as if waiting to greet me, was my long lost friend, Mehitabel. I know it sounds corny, but I burst out crying. It was a combination of things, I think. I was just so damned tired, and seeing that familiar face, burned, with a single green eye, that dress of tatters, comforted me so much. I crawled beneath the cover, strangely excited. I stared at Mehitabel’s face until I fell asleep.

I remember the dream that I had. It was vivid. The green boy was there, waiting for me, perched on a tree branch. If anything, he was more green, a kind of putrid color. He was naked, and performing a lewd act while scowling at me. I took this to mean that he was enjoying my misery. He licked his lips at me in an inappropriate manner. I was powerless to do anything about it. My voice was stuck in my throat and I was paralyzed on the ground, just below this branch. He skittered along the branch, creeping towards me, his junk swinging. I knew, in the way that all dreamers know, that he wanted to do something horrible to me, too horrible to speak of. But then she appeared. Mehitabel, in her terrible glory. And she appeared as if she were real, and not just a piece of rubbish. Her blood-red velvet gown was restored. The ruined, burned section of her face glittered like liquid black opal. Her emerald green eye was  a pure and powerful glare. She was ugly, yes, but also, indescribably beautiful. I think it was because her essence, what she really was, shone through. I understood then that Mehitabel wasn’t really a Christmas ornament, much in the same way that the Green Boy wasn’t really a little boy. She told me to close my eyes. I found that I could now move. I obeyed her. Behind my closed eyes, I saw and felt a flash of light that would have blinded me if I hadn’t followed her orders. In that flare, I felt a sense of incredible euphoria. It was a wave, and it soaked me, got in my pores, down through my bones. I woke up immediately after that, feeling more at peace than I had for the past three years. My sister claims she heard me moaning in my sleep.

After that dream, I got my life back together. I’m married now, have a great job as a food writer, have a couple of kids, a boy aged 10, and a girl, aged 8. Ever since then, Mehitabel has been with me. I always keep her by my side.

Oh, the Green Boy only returned one time. He was very weak by this point. You can say that he was desaturated. He was a pale green ghost, and he didn’t bother to hide his horrible form. He kept looking around, as if he expected Mehitabel to appear and kick his scrawny ass. When I woke from that dream, I had a terrible migraine. The migraines plagued me for about three weeks before I got it checked out.

And here I am for my first treatment. So, in a way, the Green Boy was kind of helpful. A warning, letting me know that I was sick.

No, I won’t need an anti-depressant mixed in the medicine.

I have Mehitabel.