First, I just wanted to say that this is officially my 1,000th blog post on Nik at Nite! I haven't posted since Tuesday because I wanted to make it special when I did finally hit 1,000 (it's like watching the odometer turn over on your car!)... and then I received an email this afternoon that was so extraordinary it's turned my day upside-down... in a good way. The email was from someone I'll call "Gracie," and I'm really really hoping that she begins to comment on here and becomes part of what I'd like to think is a very tight-knit community. I hope I don't come off as arrogant by re-posting her email here, but it was just so amazing, so beautiful... AND she asked me to do it. I wanted you to read these words (please be warned that if you're anything like me, you're going to require some kleenex... I actually buried my face in my hands and was sobbing) and see what a difference a TV show -- and, I guess, a writer -- can make to people.
It's been said to me before -- "You write about television? Um... what, uh... what exactly do you have to say?" "She's a, wait... LOST EXPERT? Wow. That's a life well spent." "You know, if you can WRITE, then why not write a NOVEL... you know, a real book that people will actually want to read?" -- and as the years go on, it becomes less hurtful. But this email has pretty much made all of those comments go away in one fell swoop.
And Gracie, if being part of our community can help give you back some of that life that you lost, know that we're going to be here to give it back to you. Without any further ado, I'll turn you over to Gracie (and I hope the comments don't have anything to do with my books as much as they do about the courage and tenacity of the woman who wrote this email!).
Dearest Nikki:
This is my first e-mail to you, but I feel like I've known you for a very long time. I already know this is going to be long, but please give me the benefit of a doubt and continue on. I think you'll be glad you did.
I have to say up front that I have been very ill for almost two years with an as yet undiagnosed disorder which has put me into a chair and kept me there. I'm only fifty, but this disorder, which some claim is similar to chronic fatigue syndrome, has completely wiped me out physically, and has damaged me to some extent mentally. If at times this e-mail doesn't make sense, please overlook my shortcomings in an effort to see what I'm trying to say.
About a year ago (give or take), I saw an interview done by somebody who I can't even remember. But the interviewer was talking to someone from Lost, and I distinctly remember him or her saying they tune into Lost all the time just to see what is being cooked on this deserted island. (This was probably on a cooking show.) Although right now I cannot tell you who was talking to whom, the idea of what I would eat on a deserted island intrigued me enough to check out an episode of Lost. I had never seen Lost, never heard of Lost, didn't know any actor currently on Lost. I was literally Lost about Lost.
Prior to becoming ill I never watched TV. I was always a reader. Once in a very blue moon, my family would call me from the living room to come see some great thing on the "boob tube", or I would catch the evening news. Rarely did I EVER seek out something on my own. Of course, back in the days of Dallas and Dynasty, I was a normal, average TV viewer. It's sort of like I grew out of it.
Then I got this disorder, and I am now unable to read things unfamiliar to me. By that I mean I cannot read a novel that is completely foreign, but I might be able to get through something I've already read once before if it's still familiar. The problem is that by the time I get to the end of a paragraph, I don't remember what the beginning of the paragraph said. I found myself finishing chapters and having absolutely NO CLUE what this story was about. So, for a long time I was reading things that I already know about on Wikipedia just because I could. Then I found Lost.
Can you say "YES!!!?!?!"
I don't remember which episode I saw first, but it was a repeat, and the next one was out of order and made no sense with the first one. My husband was watching with me, and for the life of us we couldn't figure this out. The repeats NEVER played in order. One minute Locke is moving guns out of some kind of building, and the next thing we know everyone is building the only shelters they can manage out of scraps of airplane. Interesting, but insane. And since I'm basically living in a LayZBoy chair, it's not like I don't have time to figure this out, right?
So, early last fall we started calling the rental places and checking the library trying to get each episode of each season in order so we could watch this show. It was VERY slow going for awhile. By the time we had gotten through Season Two, I had heard from somewhere that there was this crazy lady out there who writes about TV shows. Some Nikki Stafford person. (Poor lady must have a horribly boring life!! All she can find to write about is television?? PLEASE?!?!) BUT, because I had seen the first two seasons of Lost, and because I knew what she was writing about, I would actually be able to read these books and follow them. I sent my husband to Amazon.com, and before I knew it, I had a copy of "Finding Lost". And because I knew basically what it was about, had seen it myself, and knew what was coming, I COULD READ IT AND FOLLOW ALONG!!
Can you please try to get a visual on this? It's important that you understand where I'm coming from. Although I can, and do, go to bed, I live in a chair. I can get to the bathroom on my own, but anything beyond that and the dizziness makes me hit the floor. I leave my house to go to the doctors, and THAT'S IT. I haven't even had a haircut in over a year. I'm exhausted, but hanging in there waiting for some kind of diagnosis so I have some direction in which to go next. My husband works a full time job and takes care of me (obviously I no longer drive), and our only daughter started her freshman year of college last August. I'm on my own far too much, but it's a necessary evil as we cannot afford anything like a full time companion or nurse. And right before everything went completely black ... I FOUND LOST AND NIKKI STAFFORD!! And I don't feel so alone anymore.
You can't see me while I type this but tears of gratitude are running down my face. In at least one of your books (I have all of your Finding Lost books now), you say something about sending you feedback, i.e., "comments, complaints, praise? Please just a little??" I'm quoting you off the top of my head so pardon my bad if it's not exact. Praise, huh? Just a little?? How about this: I loved my life. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things. I mean I'm not a doctor or a world leader, but it was MINE and I loved it. I love my family and our pets and our home. I loved music (Aerosmith), and the sound of rain on the awnings in the Spring. I loved flowers. I loved many things. And it was my life for better or for worse, and then that part just suddenly ended, and we don't know why. Roughly a year later, things had gotten pretty bad. The lack of a diagnosis is disheartening and puzzling. I had lost so much weight, I had to sleep on a bubble pad to keep from getting bed sores. I hate doctors, but realized I would be seeing more and more of them. I was slowly learning how to get comfortable in this chair. It got dark. It got bad. I will honestly tell you that at night I was thinking about things people are not supposed to be thinking about. And right about then Lost and Nikki Stafford lands in my lap!!!
By Christmas I had seen all five seasons, and I had read three of your books. I had some problems getting through the stories within the story, like your take on the book "A Tale Of Two Cities", for example. And if I wanted to read about a particular actor or actress, I might have to read those sections four or five times or more. But I got through it for the most part. I now have finished the fourth Finding Lost book, and I guess I'm waiting on the last one. Yes, I am waiting for it with held breath, but I am NOT looking forward to it because that's the end. And if I am still sitting here after that book is published, and I've finished it, well.....let's not go there, ok?
There was a time when I hit 82 pounds that I didn't think I'd make it to see the end of Lost or the end of your books, but now I'm gaining. As of today, I'm weighing in at a whopping 95 pounds!!! I might just be here for a while. In my heart, and I mean deep down where my soul lives, I wonder how much of that is due to Nikki Stafford. Somebody I've never met who gave me something to look forward to, kept me hanging by a string from week to week, and gave me a blog where I could go and read at my own pace without criticism. And, yes, I go there all the time. I've never had a Google Account and cannot figure out how to sign in so I can comment with the rest of them if I wanted to, so I just read along. (Yes, I've tried and tried to sign in, but I'm not doing something right, and it's just one more thing I'd have to have my husband help me with, so I'm not asking.) And it keeps me going until the next doctors appointment or the next Lost episode. "Just a little," huh? Just a little.
Honestly, I would probably (maybe) still be here if not for Lost, but it wouldn't be nearly as fun, and in ways I cannot explain Lost took away some of that darkness I lived with day to day. With Lost, I have the show, the magazine, Lostpedia, your books, and your blog. There's a lot of emotions in there, especially a lot of laughter, which I sorely need. I sincerely wish I had a direct e-mail address for Darlton so I could loudly bow and thank them.
Nikki, I can sit here and watch Lost and still be alone. And I did that too. Back in the day. After Season Five came out on DVD, we bought all of them and watched everything again before Six started. I can sit here and watch CSI, anything, and be alone. By myself.
Something happened after the first Finding Lost, which covered two seasons I believe. It was right after that book (probably IN that book) that I learned of the blog. So from then on out, I'm here watching this show, knowing you've already seen what I'm watching until I catch up, and YOU'VE got a book out there about it that I can read. There are a zillion Lost books out there. But when I sent my husband to Amazon, I think the name Finding Lost was what caught my attention. After that I was all yours. With each book I was right there with you every page. You never gave anything away, and you insisted that if anybody cared enough to read your books, they better be watching the damn show. The little lists that you added (Sawyer nicknames), the write-up of the books, and the actors. You went over and above. And my brain was going. Thinking for me is like trying to see something looking through soup. It's actually EASIER for me to sit here and type than it is to have a conversation.
So first there was the show itself. That was indeed great, and I could (and did) watch it while everyone was gone, and watch it again later with my husband when he came home from work. But THE FIRST BOOK?? My husband doesn't read...well, he can and does when he has to, but he's not a reader. I LIVED TO READ. I read to live. People NEVER saw me without a book no matter where I was. NEVER. It was like Ben telling the truth. NEVER HAPPENS. And when I got hands on your first book, that was MINE. I could read that one book all day and all night, over and over, and each time I read it, I found something that I'd missed before. Or something that I hadn't been able to GRASP before. The show itself offered me and my husband the same thing it offers you and everyone else. But the books?? Lady, those books saved my ass!!! Can you put yourself in my shoes to know that I've lost a little of my mind, but I could see daylight in those books?? The books gave me freedom. They gave me something I could do alone, without being alone. They gave me something to think about, when there were other things I truly DID NOT want to think about. And the blog just makes me think more and more, and it makes me laugh. I'm trying to get you on the same page with me, but frankly, I don't think I have the words or the ability to string them together to put you where I was: Lost gave me something to think about and anticipate. Finding Lost gave me a reason to get out of bed.
So I am here to loudly THANK YOU! There is no garbage in this e-mail, no trash talk, no lies. Just a clear desire to thank you myself for being there to be found at a time when I so desperately needed to find something! YOU have been a Godsend, Dear Woman, and I would be a shallow, shadow of my former self if I did not reach out to say THANK YOU!
UPDATE: Gracie emailed me back after I'd posted this and after the comments had come in, and she said she really really needed to drive home the point that the show hadn't done this, but I had. She told me not to be critical or try to pass the praise over to other people (that's a very, very difficult thing for me to do) and that she wanted me to post her new message. So Gracie, I just wanted to tell you that you ARE getting through, and yes, I do completely understand what you're saying. But self-deprecation is simply part of my personality, and it's what I do. But I certainly don't want you to think that you're not explaining yourself, because once again, you've done so beautifully. So, here is the continuation of Gracie's story, and once again, thank you for sharing this with me, Gracie!!
Oh, and before I post this, I just wanted to tell one quick anecdote: when my first Lost book was being written, we were all desperately trying to come up with a title for it, and it just wasn't working, until a friend of a friend suggested "Getting Lost." I thought it was the PERFECT title. "If you read Nikki's book and are looking to understand the show, you will finally "get" Lost." I loved it. And then another publisher -- who shares the distributor that we have -- also had a Lost book on their sched. Ours was coming out in September. Theirs in August. And then theirs had the title... Getting Lost. Because they were going to beat us by a month, we were now forced to switch titles, and I was SO upset about it. I loved that first title. So we went back to an earlier title that I'd actually suggested, "Finding Lost." I was never really married to it, and it didn't have the cool double-meaning of the other one...
But now after Gracie's posted her note, I'm really happy with the title. It's definitely grown on me over the past couple of years anyway, but she keeps referring to the title and how she's been "found" as a result of it, and now I'm so, so happy that other publisher took the title so I could change mine. :) Thank you for that, Gracie!
The rest of my story.........and another long one.
I know you have a life. Husband and kids, I think. As in more than one child. So this e-mail you will have to save until the house is dark and everyone is in bed so you can really, really think about it. Be alone for this one. Now that the story has been told, you may as well be completely current on the details.
First, let me say, NO, I am not stalking you, nor will I. But this e-mail is probably going to read weird. This one I'm gonna have to put some time into as well as my mind. This one has to be done RIGHT! Soup move aside, PLEASE!
I'm fifty years old. Started smoking when I was TWELVE. Too stupid to know any better. Two years ago in April I quit with a smoking cessation class. I quit a habit that had gotten to FOUR PACKS A DAY. That's not a typo. Yepper, that says FOUR. Four packs is eighty cigarettes. A DAY. That was April of 2008. By the end of July I was sound asleep. I was sleeping for days on end. My husband has told all the doctors that trying to wake me was like trying to wake someone from a coma. No response at all, although he knew I was alive obviously. This went on for months. Within this time frame, yes, I'm seeing my doctor, who insists that I MUST be depressed over LOSING my cigarettes. Of all the things I was, I knew I wasn't depressed. Especially about cigarettes. Actually, I should have been depressed but wasn't. That doctor wanted me to see a psychiatrist to prove TO ME that I was depressed. I called his bluff, and I saw this lady several times.
This psychiatrist tells me I have a physical problem that is causing me "mental difficulties". I do not have a mental problem which is affecting my body. She says I do not meet any of the criteria for depression except the part that relates to sleeping, but this is a physical problem causing this, and it's not a mental one. She even goes so far as to tell me "Do not let this doctor put you on antidepressants. That is the worst thing you need right now." I went back to my doctor and told him what she said, and since he referred me to her, we KNOW that he got a follow up letter telling him exactly what she told me. (My husband sat in for all of this so I could keep her advice straight, and he heard the same thing I did). The doctor has no clue now what to do with me, so he does nothing. NOTHING! Wouldn't even refer me to somebody else.
Meanwhile in between these two doctors, there was an insinuation going on that because I had started smoking so young and before puberty, and had smoked so heavily, that MAYBE there was a chemical in the cigarettes that my body was missing. Maybe I should try it again UNDER MODERATE CONDITIONS?? Who smokes four packs a day and understands the word MODERATE??? I am starting to lose it at this point. We start looking for a new doctor. Meanwhile, in my mind I've got one doctor telling me it's mental, and another doctor is saying most definitely NOT. I started smoking again, and before you know it, I'm back at four packs a day. My daughter was getting ready to head into her senior year in high school and seventeen at the time (without a mother for all intents and purposes). And my husband was just all over the place. I think his anger at this doctor was only surpassed by his sadness at my situation. HE started smoking again.
Now, keeping in mind right here that I have NO CLUE whether or not you smoke, imagine I'm here in my chair and I'm reading your books. And smoking to beat the band. If you can try to put this e-mail together with the past ones, maybe you'll see that now I'm getting out of bed more often. Finding Lost wasn't the only reason, and if you're curious, I'll explain. But now I'm getting up. Still sleeping twelve hours a day, but at least I'm awake for the other twelve. And I'm smoking. I had the dizziness before I restarted smoking, but it's no better or worse now. I can get to the bathroom if I'm careful, and when I'm feeling really bold, I can make a trip to the kitchen. (We live in a VERY small house. The kitchen cupboard is about 25 feet from my chair.) So here I am reading Finding Lost and gaining some strength from this relationship that you don't even know about. It's making me use my head. I'm thinking, but I'm not just thinking about dark things anymore. For the first time in ages, I'm thinking about what I saw on TV some time ago, and what I'm currently reading about it. And it feels good. I feel human. Actually, it's wonderful!!
I'm drawing from your thoughts, your enthusiasm, your humor. I'm seeing this story through your eyes, and then seeing it again through my own. It's giving me hope. Not the show, but the connection with you and the thinking about it. It's giving me a REASON. And I'm delighted!! My husband, God love him, could not do that. My daughter couldn't do it. They could not connect with me in any way that didn't have to do with my current mental and physical condition because they are devastated. They still cannot see past it. Yes, we talk about other things, but I usually do not connect with them on the same level that you had me connected to you in those books. You wanted your readers to think about it, feel it, wear those shoes, smell it. Ache for them. Bleed. And I did. YOU made the connection, not Darlton. This was the written word, not the show.
From all of this I started working through the soup that is my mind. This was and is a very slow process, and it has taken ages to get to the point where I am now. But what I wanted to say is this: I never wanted to start smoking again. That has KILLED me mentally almost since the day I picked the pack back up. I had it beat! I was NEVER going to smoke again. Hell or high water could not make me smoke. I even had trigger stops in place just in case the "worst things" happened. If an unmentionable happened, and someone died, smoking would not bring them back to me. I WAS DONE! FREEDOM!!! To have someone suggest to me that maybe it was the cigarettes was just ludicrous. For me to have actually done it was a grasp at ANYTHING that might help, in combination with my state of mind at that time. And then to go straight back up to four packs a day while sitting in this chair put me in a place so dark, I just wanted it to end. All of it. To have your now nineteen year old daughter look at you from across the room with such loss, with such pain, and with her own anger, and know you CANNOT help her because YOU ARE THE CAUSE OF IT is below the pale. Nobody should ever have to endure that. My thought was "please, just end it now." And to see my husband smoking again.......to see that this has aged him. He doesn't sleep well. At times he's very absentminded, and I can only hope he's not this way at work, because I know it's because of me. He's thinking of me. He has done EVERY DAMN THING a woman in my position could expect or hope her husband would do. He's done it. Almost all of it alone. And I've told him, "I cannot help you." "I cannot help you help me!"
I'm happy to say that, MUCH THANKS TO YOU NIKKI, on Thursday, March 25th, I smoked 47 cigarettes. Had one right before I went to bed that night, and I haven't had one since. Because I'm THINKING about it again. And I'm able to clearly see in my mind that I never wanted to start again, and I'm not sure why I did, beyond frustration. So I laid them down, and there they stay. My daughter's face upon hearing that news just about took me to the floor.
When the family leaves for the day, they know what my situation is going to be, so they set up what they think I'm going to need beside my chair. That would include my cigarettes. They know I can get up to go get things, but it's not very wise because if I fall down, and it's a bad fall, I'm gonna stay there until one of them gets home. So they try to have me all set up. Before I went to bed on the 25th, the pack of cigarettes on the table beside me had five cigarettes left in it. It's still there with FIVE cigarettes in it right next to an empty yet dirty ashtray that I'm no longer using, yet they are RIGHT BESIDE ME. The doctor gave me an odd look yesterday and I know he wanted to ask how I do this. So, how do I do this? Well, I figure that if I want to smoke them, I'm going to. But I don't want to smoke them AND I'M THINKING IT THROUGH. They sound nasty, they are nasty, they're killing me, and I like money. So there they sit. And the entire tobacco industry can kiss my skinny a**.
When most people try to quit, they go for walks, or take a shower when an urge hits them, brush their teeth, join a gym, whatever. Some eat, which is bad. But they can all get up and go do something. Just get up and go do something until the urge to smoke goes away. I'm in a chair and the worst of this quit is over. If I can do it here, why is ANYONE still smoking? If I can quit with a pack and an ashtray right beside me, why can't anyone else? I can't take a bath by myself, but mentally I can throw one over on the tobacco industry. Damn Nikki!!! Please see this for what it is!!!!! THIS IS YOUR DOING!!!! SEE THAT NIK! I have completely wasted my time and yours if you cannot see that this is a direct result of YOUR BOOKS. Of you getting me to see through the soup. You should read this to your husband, your family, sit on the roof and read it to your neighbors. You should print this. This is one person connecting with, and be able to help another person, when neither one of them have even met! Never had a single conversation. Not even an e-mail.
Now, you are completely, hopelessly up to date. When the people on your blog come back to you and say "See Nikki! Look at what you do?", you need to stop being so self critical, and just accept it at face value cause it's true. That doesn't mean it went to your head. It means you accept that your life has been about more than you knew, and in the process, you've really helped someone regain a sense of herself. You have changed lives over a TV show, and I hope you print off all of my e-mails and send them to your family and other critics.
Which takes me back to the stalking thing from the beginning. No, I'm not a stalker, but I really believe that if someone has changed your life and touched you in ways or at times when nothing else could touch you or reach you, that person needs to be told all about it. To NOT say something is very shallow, and I am many things although shallow is not among them. Listen to the people on the blog or please listen to me: NOBODY COULD TOUCH ME! THEY COULD NOT REACH ME TO MAKE THE CONNECTION! BUT YOU DID!
And if you don't post this one, I'm going to!
Love ya,
Gracie
P.S. Took me a lot of time yesterday and quite a bit of time today to type this. My heart is in this thing. My tears are in here, My own personal pain is in this e-mail. My heartache, my distress, my anger, my love. GOD LET PEOPLE LEARN SOMETHING FROM IT! Take a good long look at the one person (or family) who ROCKS your world, and really look at them for ALL THAT THEY DO to you, for you, with you, about you, BECAUSE of you. Then put them where I am now. And live with it. Every day. Day after day. Endlessly. Live with it.
Enjoy what you have while you have it and this e-mail will have been well worth my time and efforts. It makes me think that "Lost" has been "Found".
and you can click on the link to order it.
