DISCLAIMER: These are my personal experiences as it "felt" to me and as I saw, heard or believed it to be. This is how it happened and represents my beliefs! If you do not agree with certain esoteric or alternative beliefs -- do not read further. I do not want your negative reviews or opinion. I do welcome positive words and any fair questions you may have; I will try to answer!
By Angela Theresa Egic
In order to really tell the little details of my first meeting with Tim Curry (herein referred to as TC), there are some facts, which need to be brought up, in order to understand what happened.
I've shared some of the metaphysical aspects of our, what I felt, was a destined meeting of soul mates.
Just the same, my amazing experience at my third visit to RHPS was only the beginning of a five-year journey to meeting the man, who, I must admit, has changed my life in so many ways.
Not too long after realizing my "connection" with TC I started reading books about metaphysics, psychology and 'making dreams come true'. I knew I had to meet this man.
Books came just as I needed them – and proved the adage when the student is ready, the teacher appears. And maybe, that is exactly was TC was to me? A teacher -- at a distance. At the very least, he certainly was a catalyst to the rest of my life -- and even ended up saving my life!
Let me explain . . .
Around the time I noticed TC on the movie theater screen and felt the twist of fate grab me, full force, it was the start of a journey which nearly ended only two years later.
During this year, a skinny girl by nature, I fell into the horror of anorexia nervosa. Between the ages of eighteen to twenty years old, I went from my high school average of 120 pounds to 95 pounds. Being 5'9" I was, for the most part, a walking skeleton.
In 1982, still a normal 120 lbs . . .I had graduated from high school, the year before, and wanted to move to Hollywood to become a "movie star" I fell into depression. I found myself stuck in my hometown of Phoenix, Arizona living with my over-protective parents.
I had a job as a 'candy girl' at the movie theatre, which I liked, but just minimum wage. I didn't want to go to college immediately. I just wanted to act and be a star.
I had a boyfriend since my junior year and he was going to college nearby, but we hardly saw each other since we graduated high school. We never had sexual intercourse in the two years we'd been together because I wanted to wait "until I was married". He respected this; nevertheless, he was starting to pressure me to give up my virginity. He wasn’t pushing too hard, pun unintended, yet, we talked about it a lot when we were together.
Also, little did he know, I had changed my mind. I wanted to lose my virginity, very much . . . just with someone else! I fell madly in lust for a sixteen-year-old Jewish guy and wanted to gift him with my virginity. He didn't want it, though.
Then, I saw him . . . TIM CURRY. I wanted TC to deflower me . . . if I could track him down!
I started praying to God to help me meet TC, as it would lift my deepening depression.
Then my mentor (in metaphysical teachings), a woman named Kali Kaufman. She reminded me about "telepathy", which I had read about before [around my sophomore year].
Telepathy is mentally sending a message to a living person in another room, state or country. It was the 80s equivalent of e-mail, I suppose, since we didn't have computers, cell phones, CDs or DVDs! Hell, we had just gotten cable!
I had been quite successful in using telepathy in school. Telepathy requires a sender and a receiver and I experimented with it in high school.
I started to send messages to TC. The first message I recall sending out to him, wherever he may be, was to "get more famous" so I could find him! I even got specific with – do some movies, get in magazines and on TV.
How I did it was to open my RHPS Book and look at a photo of him as Frank N. Furter and put my mental message as a beam of light from my third eye (located in the middle of your forehead) to his third eye. I found having a visual worked best for me! And wow, it worked!!!
I started hearing about him all over the place . . . met people who saw him in concert, back in the late 70s, as Peter Frampton's opening act . . . and met another girl who hung out with him and his band at a club in Phoenix, when he performed there. A girl at my job had a photo of TC, which her older sister took when she met him in Phoenix doing his tour!!!
Very happy with my results, I started regular conversations with TC, in my mind and with my book. And then I visited my local record store, we still listened to LPs; and I found three TC albums! Bought then all, of course.
Another book I had read also talked about writing down your dreams "as if they already are true". It started immediately. Grabbed my notebook and began a five-year ritual . . . which I called "Fantasy Letters to TC".
My Dearest Tim . . .
It came flowing from my beautiful handwriting. [I still have beautiful handwriting; my teachers always complimented me on this talent] . . . and I wrote pages and pages to TC as if I already knew him! This is only an example (and a guess) of what they were like -- as these letters, never sent, are in my files somewhere and not with me.
My Dearest Tim . . .
Thank you so much for your call the other day, it was great hearing your voice for the first time on the phone. I cannot believe I'll be seeing you in a month. I still find it hard to believe those big metal things can fly; my first airplane ride! Yes, I know you will be there with me in spirit.
As I was writing free flow and had my TC albums playing, I fell into a bit of fantasy and imagining him reading my letter as I wrote it.
Then, it came time for me to sign it . . .and in the fading chorus of "S.O.S." [a song recorded on TC’s album Simplicity] I heard, clearly, TC telling me . . .
"Make contact the way we always did before."
In my mind I asked him, "You mean like this?"
And his voice started repeating "S.O.S. Save Our Souls . . . S.O.S.O.S. Angel . . . S.O.S."
When I woke, as I had fallen asleep hearing this, or was in a trance -- I had signed my "fantasy letter":
Love,
Always Your Angel . . .
In this timeframe, I also wrote a poem to TC called "Fantasy Man"
Off-hand, I only can recall the first verse at this writing. There are several copies in my storage in Florida.
Fantasy Man
Fantasy Man, on the screen above,
One that so many grow to love . . .
How can it be it happened to me?
When in your life I can't possibly be.
Fantasy Man, are you real?
In your world, do you feel?
Or have they hardened your heart away?
Come to me, then . . .
I will make you okay.
Fantasy Man, in the world of stars,
Wine, food and publicity scars . . .
Alone, in need . . .
I see into your eyes,
Your smile and laughter . . .
can't hide the lies.
Fantasy Man, you always have me,
To your heart, I hold the key . . .
Be ever strong and see me here,
Sending you light, to ease your fear.
Fantasy Man, you don't even know,
From Heaven I was sent . . .
to this Earth below.
To guide and love you as I do,
Our souls must touch . . .
before this life is through.
--Circa 1983 by "Curry's Angel"--
Then something really wild happened, which, in a way, scared me, but confirmed to me – TC and I would meet one day. After this moment, I never doubted it again.
It was one of the very hard days of my depression. I was in my room and praying for God to "take me home" because I "didn't want to live this life anymore".
I was crying hysterically and in the midst of this anguish, a clear message came to me, I NEED HELP OR I AM GOING TO HURT MYSELF! I went to my window and tried to put my arms through the glass. It wasn't breaking, so I hit harder, figuring if I did this – then I could, indeed, go home with God! The tears and my beating of the glass were so intense, I could not see through the tears . . .
My bedroom door securely locked and the parents out at work . . .
Without words . . . a man grabbed my arms, pulled me from the window to the middle of my room. I fell, sobbing, into his strong arms and laid on his chest. He rocked me as my sobbing slowed, almost like slow dancing.
I truly felt his warm arms holding me . . .
Then I came out of my daze, my crying jag and realized there was no one . . . of that description in my home!
I jumped away to take a look at the intruder who just calmed me down.
I saw Tim Curry STANDING IN MY ROOM . . . it was brief, yet enough to make out those large liquid eyes. . . then he disappeared!
I fell on the floor, covering my tear-strained, bloodshot eyes and breathing hard.
"No way! This did NOT happen!”
I looked up and the room was normal.
"Tim, were you really here?!"
Silence. Then a feeling of warmth, again (around my shoulders, from behind).
It shook me up and I decided to leave the room for a while, to think this through.
Someone was there . . .certainly looked like TC.
I thought, years later . . . it must’ve been his astral self, perhaps, traveling to a troubled fan at the right time? Or was I just a young girl . . .with an active imagination, in the midst of her own crisis. . . needing to be held?
I guess I can never be sure . . . but, I knew, from that day forward . . . one day, I'd meet Tim Curry, the man . . .my fantasy man.
My 20th birthday was nearly upon me . . . my weight hovering at 110 lbs . . .and my anorexia still my secret. Lots of oversized t-shirts to cover my protruding hip bones and ribs.
I had a new love.
My boyfriend, Nick and I . . . had a fun agreement, though. We chatted about if I met TC and he met Stevie Nicks…he'd let me have a long-term fling with TC as long as I let him have one with Stevie. We were agreed!
Nick was still in high school, he was 17-years-old. I was 20-years-old! In fact, we attended his prom. He seemed very happy and full of pride to have a 20-year-old girlfriend! LOL! We were both virgins and this time, it was me trying to convince him that we should give each other our virginity. Still, I wanted to wait until he was 18-years-old; not just for the laws [which weren‘t as strict at the time] -- but to make sure Nick really did love me. He kept saying we were “just friends”. . .Of course, I looked so young, even then (still look younger than my years today). When I drove to pick Nick up from school . . . the staff thought I was one of the students!
At the prom, I met many of Nick’s friends . . . one of them would be important to me later. His name was Marco, and he danced with me a couple of times at the prom. He was, obviously, infatuated with me. I only had eyes for Nick, thought . . . I was so in love!
Not too long after my birthday celebration, as my boyfriend and mother started noticing me getting thinner . . . I came home from work one day feeling a bit nauseous, ate a little something and went to the bathroom and passed out. When I came to, my stomach hurt like a thousand swords had stabbed me. I tried to stand and walk and collapsed on the spot. I dragged myself to the living room where my little cousin, Sherry, aged 10, called an ambulance for me. My mother drove up about that time, before an ambulance could be dispatched – my mother took me to the ER instead of waiting for paramedics.
I was diagnosed with appendicitis and taken into surgery. And the weirdest thing happened. The paramedics who met us at the door were two young men. One of them LOOKED JUST LIKE TIM CURRY ! I will call him ’Steve’ from hereon out.
Even though I was in severe pain, I tried to act all together for Steve. I told him he looked just like TC and asked him if he'd come see me after I got out of surgery. He promised he would!
It was my first surgery since my tonsils came out at the age of 5.
When I woke up in recovery, for some weird reason, I couldn't open my eyelids, they felt so damn heavy! The nurse and my mother were encouraging me to try to open them, but I didn't want to and felt so tired.
Then my mother said, "Steve is here, Angela!"
My eyes flew wide open and Steve wheeled my gurney to my room. I insisted Steve help me into the bed as I felt the breeze as my sheet came off of me. Steve covered me and said goodbye. I still felt cold, looked under my sheet and realized I was completely nude!!
I was then so embarrassed and told my mother, "I wish I had remembered to shave my legs!" Although, in those days, my light hair barely showed up after three days of not shaving.
In the hospital for three days . . . Nick, my boyfriend, wasn’t allowed to visit me, or didn‘t. I was devastated.
The surgeon also said something bizarre to my mother during my after-surgery evaluation.
"That's strange, her appendix weren't very swelled up for acute appendicitis."
I felt weird after the surgery, but went back to work; weak, depressed and no longer speaking to Nick.
Everyone noticed I was too pale and thin. At work, I hadn't eaten in five days, I was feeling cramps (I had a little tiny surgical site where they removed my appendix). I went up to the bathroom and was feeling more pain than I had the day I passed out. A co-worker came up and asked if I was all right. I told her no and to get the manager. The manager asked if I wanted him to drive me home or back to the hospital. I asked to go home.
At home, still in pain, which was getting very, very severe; I finally threw up and felt 100% better for about ten minutes. Then, like a diesel engine truck hit me, the pain came back . . . 100 times worse!!!
I screamed for an ambulance and someone called them, my cousin, Vince; I found out later.
As the paramedics came in I begged for a gun to end my misery and I kept trying to pass out. But, they wouldn't let me sleep, and asked me stupid questions. They even asked me, a virgin, if I could be having a baby.
I answered, “Only if there’s a star in the East!”
Despite my sense of humor . . . the pain really was too much and my blood pressure was so low. Someone yelled out, “100 over 40 and going down!”
More questions and me asking to die and my answers were incorrect: I was rushed to a different hospital.
“Angela, what year is it?”
I moaned, “I don’t care! What? 1975?”
It was 1983.
Emergency surgery revealed a ruptured ovarian cyst, which destroyed both the ovary and fallopian tube on one side; so I had everything removed on one side.
The appendix was probably never in trouble; it had been a cyst the whole time. I had also formed a cyst in one of my breasts. The hospital was afraid to give me another surgery because I was much too thin and anemic and they thought I might die on the table.
Eventually, the cyst was removed and my weight went down some more. I ended up in the hospital for another month and diagnosed with "malnutrition" (because anorexia wasn't famous enough yet).
I was fully emaciated and my body was eating my muscles in my legs. My once plump cheeks were sunken in and my veins . . .which they were feeding me through, kept collapsing. They were trying to find veins in my legs and feet! I bruised each time they touched me. I probably looked like a heroin addict beat up by a pimp or something!
I had many visitors as I was hospitalized over two weeks. One day, after the first ten days, the doctors allowed me to go out of the hospital for a few hours to see a movie; just to alleviate my boredom. Still, I was sick and it was a relief to get back to the hospital, in a weird way.
Marco, the 16-year-old from Nick’s high school, rode his bicycle across Phoenix to visit me! No one understood my attraction to 16 and 17-year-old boys. Still, I looked about 15 or 16 myself and was still young in . . well, some ways (can you say virgin, anyone?). I wasn’t ready to date 20 and 21-year-old men who were already having sex. I just wasn’t ready. And considering my physical condition -- impossible. All that surgery . . . my appendix, my ovary . . . no, no one was going down there except doctors.
Still, I would’ve taken my chances with my true love (?) . . . the then, 37-year-old Tim Curry! *wink*
At this point, there had been no solid food in my mouth or body for over a month. And the two or three times I tried to eat, my throat would close immediately. Anorexics often forget how to swallow in the worst stages of the disease. Or our bodies forget . . .
Finally, as I lay dying, my wish to "go home to God" coming true, the doctor came in and told me and my mother. "Tell your daughter she's going to die. And Angela, tell you mother what you want to be buried in, because I can't help you anymore!"
He walked out the room, leaving us stunned.
My mother, suddenly calm for the first time in months, said, "Well, Angela, I don't want you to go. And I know this, if you don't eat, you'll never know if you could've met Tim Curry or become a movie star. I know for a fact, if you die, you won't do either one."
Because I hadn't eaten much for three months in total, nothing in a month; and girls, with anorexia, you also lose your appetite completely – I did have one, only one, slight craving . . . McDonald's french fries!!
Against the doctor's orders, my mother brought a bag of McDonald's french fries into my room.
The doctor was crazy – even though I hadn't eaten regular in three months, he said I shouldn't eat french fries!!!
Anyway, my mother understood me better . . . give the starving child what she wants. I ate two and a half or three french fries. At the weigh in, I had gained one ounce, and had a little bit of an appetite back. They sent me home to recover.
It did take another year for me to learn to eat normal again, and two years of anemia.
Still, Tim Curry and McDonald's french fries saved my life.
My mother's words made me think, yeah . . . I'd like to meet TC and become a movie star; and I would have to live to do it!
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