Hi my name is Haley (Hi Haley), I'm a...I'm a Trekkie

Nate and I have always be pretty open about our past. I use to have a bowl haircut, he use to fold his man-panties perfectly in his drawer. I spent most of my high school career grounded, he was arrested for accepting stolen goods (a huge 7 ft Ronald McDonald statue). He was flashed by a girl for the first time when he was 15, my favorite outfit when I was 15 included a pair of bright maroon/pink sweatpants. He was a engaged to a cute blond, I was a Star Trek fan aka a Trekkie.

So you see, we both have a past that we don't go into much detail with. Enough details so we're not hiding anything from each other but not too much to bring up unwanted questions. It works for us, we're happy that way. We have a system...the other day I endangered the system.
Our way of life, our happy little world was shaken and it's all my fault.

The other evening we were watching a movie, I don't remember what it was. Nate and I were comfortably snuggled in one of our huge beanbag chairs, enjoying junk food and the warmth of a corn bag. The Christmas tree lights were twinkling in the background, the snow was falling so the world around us was clean and white. It was so peaceful.
As we watched the T.V. I mentioned to Nate that one of the actors reminded me of Worf from Star Trek: The Next Generation.
"That guy reminds me of Worf, you know, Michael Dorn."
Nate looked at 'me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.' He knew that I was a recovering Trekkie but he didn't know the real extent of my problem until that moment.
I realized I had made a fatal error in divulging my knowledge to Nate of the real name of the actor that played Worf. For over three years I had been able to hide the amplitude of my Trekkie past but all the untold secrets revealed themselves in true color as I tried to change the subject.
"Hey babe, want to get pizza?"
The diversion worked, but Nate is too clever to forget such a inexpiable secret.

I blame my Trekkie disorder on my dad. Some kids see their dad drinking so the kid ends up an alcoholic. Some kids see their dad's playboys laying around and the kid ends up addicted to porn. My dad was a faithful evening watcher of Star Trek. My early years found me playing around the living room, not really paying attention to the evenings episode of life threatening alien attack, but knowing full well that the high pitched "beep-beep" with the flashing red lights, meant "all hands on deck." Captain Kirk and Spock were skilled men, capable of getting out of any compromising situation.
My real problem began with Star Trek: The Next Generation. How I loved the accent of Captain Jean-Luc Picard , Commander Ryker had eyes that melted my heart, I was going to be a doctor just like Dr. Crusher. In fact, like giving an alcoholic keys to a liquor store, one of my elementary school field trips was to a space museum where they had a star ship Voyager. All the kids in my class got to pull positions out of a hat. There was a captain, 1st commander ect...those who didn't pull main positions were to be the little ensigns destined to be the first killed when the aliens attacked. Guess who pulled the job of doctor...yes, it was me. My fate was sealed before I had been born and Star Trek had been created.
My real love in the Next Generation was a dark skinned, wrinkled forehead, Bat'leth toting Klingon named Worf. My affection was so strong for Worf that along with the postcards I collected of him and his Klingon enemies (in case I ever encountered them, I would need to destroy them), along with the delta shield pendant that was worn by every Star Fleet officer, along with the Star Trek: The Next Generation collectors plate, I also had a well used Klingon dictionary and audio dictionary to learn the proper pronunciation of the Klingon language. My goal was to be fluent in Klingon before I joined the Star Fleet Academy (this would beef up my resume quite a bit, plus, I could proclaim my affections to Worf in his native tongue).

As you can see, this obsession was not as healthy as a parent would hope for. Other children my age were playing dress up and barbies. I ran back an forth from one spot to another pretending I had been 'energized' and was off to fight another intergalactic battle. "Hljol" (that means 'beam me up' in Klingon).

What saved me from a life of Trekkieness? It might have been all the reruns, oh wait, those weren't reruns, they were "new episodes" with a different alien and a different ensign dying each time. It might of been the night my folks told me there was no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and then to pour a little lemon juice on my broken heart, they showed me the hour long documentary of the making of Star Trek. My precious star ship Voyager was nothing but a plastic 10 inch toy that a string held up in front of a black star sprinkled background. Commander Ryker was an arrogant jackass and I'm pretty sure he wore contacts, his eyes had lost the melting power they once had. My precious Worf, oh Worf, I saw the process of applying his make-up.
My world was shattered, I didn't know what was real or fake anymore. I was just waiting for my folks to say "Oh, and by the way, you're adopted."
So is the life of a child who is forced to grow up too fast.

Hi my name is Haley (hi Haley), I'm a recovering Trekkie (sounds of surprise because Haley seems like a normal person). I wake up every morning and just take one day at a time (nods of agreement, that's all you can do). I try not to dwell on the past but at times when I'm alone, my mind wanders to what might have been (that's natural for everyone). I noticed when I walked in to this meeting that across the hall is a Star Trek convention (gasps, what will she do), it's ok, I walked by and ignored the sign asking for volunteer Klingon interpreters...it's time to say good-bye forever.

Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!
(It is a good day to die)