I have only one last thing to lose.
One very precious last thing.
Very, very precious.
And it'll be gone very soon. And that will kill me.
And then...
I will begin again.
Because that's what I do.
Begin. Again.
Sadder. Harder. Stronger. Emptier.
And this will be that way.
Begin again.
Because I have to. Because there is no other choice.
I thought that's what this was - a new beginning.
But it's not. It's just something that will end.
Because it always does.
And I get up.
And I begin again.
This time, however, is going to be harder. So very much harder.
And it's not fair.
It's not.
And it's the last time I'll begin this part of my life again.
Because I'm not that strong.
Because I don't want to lose this last precious thing.
Because it's never fair.
And in losing this one precious thing, I lose so very much.
And I will begin again with the lost left behind, not to be recovered, a beginning that will be slower and harder.
But I will begin again.
Because that's what I do. Even when I don't want to.
And right now, I don't.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Hissy fit
I want to stand in the middle of the room and scream, "It's not fair!", over and over and over and over and over again.
Because...
It's just not fair.
I've fought so hard to create a life and I feel like one by one, everything I love is being ripped from me and there's nothing I can do about it.
And don't remind me it's temporary because that doesn't help. My cancer is not. It will be with me the rest of my life, in some form or other. It's something I'll think about any time something feels funny in my body. I will always wonder if it's coming back. Never mind the long term effects of chemo, which I won't know what they will be till I'm done. Same with radiation. And the hormone therapy. And... And... And...
And the issues from my past are now threatening my present. I've dealt with so many things from my family issues and my marriage and really felt like I was getting on the other side of those things. I've slain many clowns and learned to handle so much. And then this stupid fucking cancer. My emotions are all over the map because of the drugs coursing through my body. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's real and what's just jacked up shit in my head.
And it's not fair.
I had finally learned how to handle my emotions, sort them out and communicate them clearly. I've had a lot of success with relearning how to communicate. And now, I feel like I'm just standing and crying and screaming and no one is hearing me.
And it's not fair.
I love my teaching job, tying in my college education to go with it and make me a better teacher. Something I couldn't do when I was married because he criticized every choice I made, shut down every effort I made to become what I wanted to be. And now, all of that is put on hold. Stupid fucking cancer. Holding me back the way he did, the way that almost killed me the last time around. I can't move forward, I can't go back, I'm stuck in the middle, biding my time, waiting.
And it's not fair.
And, of course, the Filmmaker. I finally have someone in my life who is wonderful and amazing and beautiful. He has made me feel beautiful and not damaged throughout my treatment, which is something I can never thank him enough for. I was so glad to have him come into my life right as I got diagnosed because he seemed so exactly perfect for what I needed in my life to deal with this stupid fucking cancer.
But this stupid fucking cancer is exacerbating my issues from my marriage and tainting this relationship. And I don't know if it would be different if I weren't sick. Would I be able to handle this if I weren't constantly struggling to keep myself feeling good while going through treatment? Would I feel like this if I were healthy and able to sort through things logically? Or would I still feel like this? And I'm terrified to say anything because I never learned how to tell someone I'm in a relationship with how I feel and what I want/need. And when I've tried, I was either told my feelings don't matter or the person has disappeared from my life. And I don't know what to do because I'm afraid if I say anything, this will end. And I don't know if I'm ready for that.
And it's not fair.
And it's not fair.
And it's just not fucking fair.
Friday, September 07, 2012
Drink me
You've grown smaller with time.
Were you ever that big, that scary, that devastating?
You loomed large, huge, gigantic.
Leaving me "drink me" small.
The sound of your voice once brought me to my knees.
The look in your eyes brought me to a standstill.
I built you into something epic.
But, really, you were just something sad.
And angry.
But mostly sad.
And maybe it was the sad that was so large.
And it had nowhere to go.
So it became large and dark and twisted.
And maybe you felt "drink me" small sometimes under the sad.
But we were never small at the same time.
And as I grow larger in my own life, you no longer loom large.
You just loom sad.
And gradually maybe you'll be small enough for me to handle.
Were you ever that big, that scary, that devastating?
You loomed large, huge, gigantic.
Leaving me "drink me" small.
The sound of your voice once brought me to my knees.
The look in your eyes brought me to a standstill.
I built you into something epic.
But, really, you were just something sad.
And angry.
But mostly sad.
And maybe it was the sad that was so large.
And it had nowhere to go.
So it became large and dark and twisted.
And maybe you felt "drink me" small sometimes under the sad.
But we were never small at the same time.
And as I grow larger in my own life, you no longer loom large.
You just loom sad.
And gradually maybe you'll be small enough for me to handle.
Monday, September 03, 2012
Six of one, three of another
Just six months ago, I heard the three words that changed my life.
Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.
Translation - breast cancer.
Six months.
Seems longer and shorter, both at the same time.
I was in school, I was teaching, I was just beginning this relationship with the Filmmaker. I won't rehash. Read through the previous blogs if you're that interested - or that bored.
Six months.
I've had two surgeries, three chemotherapy sessions and have become an avid researcher of my disease. I have had countless hours of advice from well-meaning people about everything from enemas to experimental treatments about how to deal with my cancer. I've been terrified by what I've learned and I've learned that not all of it applies to me. I've learned to live with losing two weeks out of every month to almost crippling exhaustion from chemo, battling it as best I can by just simply refusing to give in to it. I've learned to live without my tastebuds after chemo and I've learned how to tie a headscarf.
Six months.
I haven't learned to accept the bald head staring back at me from my mirror. I still have trouble believing that all of this has happened to me and that it's still happening. And that there is still more to come in front of me.
Six months.
I have three more months minimum to go in my treatment. That's three more rounds of chemo, a month of "rest", and then approximately five weeks of radiation. Woo-hoo.
Three months.
Trying to think of where my life will be in three months. With my life, things change so quickly and suddenly that I have almost given up trying to plan, trying to figure out what's going on.
Three months.
I do have a plan, mainly to keep myself occupied since I am now on disability and not teaching. I have endless days to fill, which is challenging for me. But I'm hoping to put my focus on several art projects and make that my job for the next three months. Draw, paint, create while I have the time.
Three months.
Hoping in three months to still find myself waking up the Filmmaker's arms. Snuggled up and nuzzled the other morning, his hand wrapped around the back of my shaved head, gently caressing it, I had to keep from crying. This is all I want. And I wish I weren't sick so I could be more. But he's still here.
Three months.
But will he still be here? Three months is both long and short. End of October will be a year together, most of which has been spent with me sick. But he nuzzles into me and I can't imagine him being anywhere else.
Three months.
The world will turn and life will change. And I'll go through chemo and I'll go through radiation. And I'll keep fighting, because I don't know what else to do. And I'll choose how I move through these three months, trying to stay positive, trying to not become my disease, trying to hang on to my life. And I choose to believe that the Filmmaker will be here in those three months and beyond, holding me and smiling at me and caressing my bald head.
Three months.
And then...
I will begin... Again...
Saturday, August 25, 2012
And spin...
I feel like my emotions are currently on a Twister spinner and I just keep hitting the stupid thing.
Spin....
Right hand, red...
He's going to break up with you because he's bored, he's met someone else, you're "too much"...
Spin...
Left foot, blue...
Break up with him before he does. Safer. Easier. Then I don't ever have to wonder or think or anything about him again.
Spin...
Right foot, yellow...
Lay in the fetal position and cry.
That's where I am right now.
For about two weeks.
I can barely trust my emotions during good times. I've learned a lot over the past seven-and-a-half years but still have a way to go, I guess. And when I hit hard times like I have over these past weeks, I cannot trust my emotions at all. I become a victim to them and absolutely lose control.
And the clowns come back.
And they bring the spinner and the board and sit in a circle and cackle whilst they spin, watching me twist myself inside out to try and manage everything and do the right thing and understand everything and be perfect and don't fall, don't fall, don't fall...
And today, I fell.
I conceded and I fell.
Because I can't balance right now. Between all the loss and leaving my teaching gig (temporarily while I finish chemo and radiation) and getting an eviction notice yesterday, I have no balance left.
I almost took down my last post about the Filmmaker because I'm not sure I feel that way today. Because I'm spinning and not balanced and wanting more from him is really me just wanting something solid underneath me, something I know will always be there because right now, I'm trying to balance on a hand and a foot and figuring out where to put the other foot and...
And I fell.
And I wouldn't blame him if he disappeared like all the others because... Well, because...
So tonight, I'm laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, ignoring the clowny cackles and the stupid fucking spinning sound.
And I'm just accepting that I fell and I can't get up right now.
It's been just too much.
My friends keep saying they don't know how I'm getting through all of this and still come back fighting.
Well, not tonight.
The spinner has beat me and I've lost this round. I refuse to continue to try to figure out which hand goes where and try to wrangle the emotions and all that.
Tonight, I concede.
But tomorrow, I'm gonna fight like the bad-ass motherfucker everyone thinks I am. And then we'll see what the next day brings.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Enough? More?
Thinking about the first time he kissed me. At my front door. An evening of delight and surprise and giddiness.
Thinking about the first night we made love. Nerves, giggles, beautiful.
Thinking about that night on the balcony. Full moon, wine, long talk. Exquisite.
Thinking about so many nights of climbing in bed, his eyes sparkling, his smile, my heart beating like it’s the first time.
Thinking about him at my bedside, waiting for my second surgery. Laughing, smiling. Never letting go of my hand.
Thinking about all the mornings of comfortable silence over breakfast. Safe. Secure. So lovely.
Thinking about him taping up my leaking boob. Unphased. Calm. Keeping me calm.
Thinking about him shaving my head. Gentle. Kind. Loving. Laughing.
Thinking about him coming up my stairs, his coat floating up like something out of a movie. My Batman.
So many things, so many beautiful times. So much to think about.
This should be enough. His beautiful eyes, falling asleep with his arm around me, my head on his shoulder. Excellent sex. Comfortable nights and days. One night turning into three days without any discussion. No rush, no hurry. Just being.
This should be enough. His hand on my hip. Rubbing my now bald head and smiling at me.
This should be enough.
It should.
But…
Maybe it’s not.
As close as he holds me, there’s an arm’s length he keeps me at. He’s so good at keeping all the elements of his life compartmentalized. And I have my own special compartment. And it’s beautiful. But it’s still over there, not quite a part of his life. Almost a year, so many things we’ve gone through and done and been. And it’s still there, that arm’s length.
I get it with his children. And I respect that. They are his life. And he wants to protect them. So that’s an area I’m more than happy to let him decide how to include me with them. I’m always thrilled when he does because it is such a precious part of his life.
But still…
Arm’s length makes me feel invisible at times. And that’s my issue. I’ve lived my whole life feeling invisible. My family, my marriage. Invisible.
And this man, who makes me feel so amazing and beautiful and incredible, still holds me invisibly from parts of his life. And that’s tough for me.
And I’m finding I’m doing the same things I’ve done before - trying to figure out who to be and what to do to make him love me. What do I have to do in order not to be invisible?
Yet…
I’m not always invisible. I’m mostly very visible. And maybe it’s my own issues that make me feel this. But still…
Arm’s length.
I’m so used to arm’s length. Arm’s length is what I know. The almosts. The so-close. I can’t say anything because it’ll rock the boat and I’ll be punished. What I have will be gone, taken away. That’s why I accept invisible. That’s why I accept almosts. Because they’re better than nothing.
And it’s not huge things. He’s there when I need him. And he’s been so incredible throughout my treatment, especially considering I figured he’d be gone when I was diagnosed. But he’s still here.
And the huge majority of our relationship is wonderful. And beautiful. And easy. And comfortable. And exactly what I want it to be.
But…
As we get closer, the arm’s length is more obvious. There is a barrier there and I don’t know how to get over it. And I don’t know what it is.
Well, maybe I do.
It’s fear. It’s always fear. And it’s always what I do - I get too close and they don’t like it. Sort of. They want it but don’t know what to do with it when it’s right there.
And he’s afraid. I know it. His marriage ending killed him and I don’t think he ever wants to be that close again. Because it would hurt too much if another one ever left him. So he’s become an expert at arm’s length, because then he’ll never have to hurt again.
But arm’s length is not where I want to be, regardless of everything else. I need that arm to bend, to bring me closer, to take me out of that compartment and let me into his life. His whole life. His real life. Not just this wonderful little fantasy we’ve created. His whole life.
But, truth be told, I don’t think that arm will ever bend. Maybe not with me. And I have to decide if this is enough. This wonderful, beautiful almost we have. Is that enough?
I don’t know right now. I can’t imagine my life without him. But I can’t see where we’re going or where we’ll be.
And all I can think of is this:
“Spaces there are
That won't be filled,
Not by remembering
Or reaching.
Sometimes the distance
Separating those who love
Lies between them
In the same small bed.
And though the separation
Is but inches
It might as well be miles.
Distance is distance
And holding one the other close
Is arms length all the same.”
Rod McKuen
I hope we find a way to cross that distance and leave it behind.
Because…
I’m tired of almost.
Thinking about the first night we made love. Nerves, giggles, beautiful.
Thinking about that night on the balcony. Full moon, wine, long talk. Exquisite.
Thinking about so many nights of climbing in bed, his eyes sparkling, his smile, my heart beating like it’s the first time.
Thinking about him at my bedside, waiting for my second surgery. Laughing, smiling. Never letting go of my hand.
Thinking about all the mornings of comfortable silence over breakfast. Safe. Secure. So lovely.
Thinking about him taping up my leaking boob. Unphased. Calm. Keeping me calm.
Thinking about him shaving my head. Gentle. Kind. Loving. Laughing.
Thinking about him coming up my stairs, his coat floating up like something out of a movie. My Batman.
So many things, so many beautiful times. So much to think about.
This should be enough. His beautiful eyes, falling asleep with his arm around me, my head on his shoulder. Excellent sex. Comfortable nights and days. One night turning into three days without any discussion. No rush, no hurry. Just being.
This should be enough. His hand on my hip. Rubbing my now bald head and smiling at me.
This should be enough.
It should.
But…
Maybe it’s not.
As close as he holds me, there’s an arm’s length he keeps me at. He’s so good at keeping all the elements of his life compartmentalized. And I have my own special compartment. And it’s beautiful. But it’s still over there, not quite a part of his life. Almost a year, so many things we’ve gone through and done and been. And it’s still there, that arm’s length.
I get it with his children. And I respect that. They are his life. And he wants to protect them. So that’s an area I’m more than happy to let him decide how to include me with them. I’m always thrilled when he does because it is such a precious part of his life.
But still…
Arm’s length makes me feel invisible at times. And that’s my issue. I’ve lived my whole life feeling invisible. My family, my marriage. Invisible.
And this man, who makes me feel so amazing and beautiful and incredible, still holds me invisibly from parts of his life. And that’s tough for me.
And I’m finding I’m doing the same things I’ve done before - trying to figure out who to be and what to do to make him love me. What do I have to do in order not to be invisible?
Yet…
I’m not always invisible. I’m mostly very visible. And maybe it’s my own issues that make me feel this. But still…
Arm’s length.
I’m so used to arm’s length. Arm’s length is what I know. The almosts. The so-close. I can’t say anything because it’ll rock the boat and I’ll be punished. What I have will be gone, taken away. That’s why I accept invisible. That’s why I accept almosts. Because they’re better than nothing.
And it’s not huge things. He’s there when I need him. And he’s been so incredible throughout my treatment, especially considering I figured he’d be gone when I was diagnosed. But he’s still here.
And the huge majority of our relationship is wonderful. And beautiful. And easy. And comfortable. And exactly what I want it to be.
But…
As we get closer, the arm’s length is more obvious. There is a barrier there and I don’t know how to get over it. And I don’t know what it is.
Well, maybe I do.
It’s fear. It’s always fear. And it’s always what I do - I get too close and they don’t like it. Sort of. They want it but don’t know what to do with it when it’s right there.
And he’s afraid. I know it. His marriage ending killed him and I don’t think he ever wants to be that close again. Because it would hurt too much if another one ever left him. So he’s become an expert at arm’s length, because then he’ll never have to hurt again.
But arm’s length is not where I want to be, regardless of everything else. I need that arm to bend, to bring me closer, to take me out of that compartment and let me into his life. His whole life. His real life. Not just this wonderful little fantasy we’ve created. His whole life.
But, truth be told, I don’t think that arm will ever bend. Maybe not with me. And I have to decide if this is enough. This wonderful, beautiful almost we have. Is that enough?
I don’t know right now. I can’t imagine my life without him. But I can’t see where we’re going or where we’ll be.
And all I can think of is this:
“Spaces there are
That won't be filled,
Not by remembering
Or reaching.
Sometimes the distance
Separating those who love
Lies between them
In the same small bed.
And though the separation
Is but inches
It might as well be miles.
Distance is distance
And holding one the other close
Is arms length all the same.”
Rod McKuen
I hope we find a way to cross that distance and leave it behind.
Because…
I’m tired of almost.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
"Doctor Who" commercial - check it out
So just over a week ago, the Filmmaker asked me to help him shoot a very funny little commercial for the new season of "Doctor Who". For those of you not in the entertainment industry, people do "spec commercials" like this quite often to build their portfolio and hoping to catch the eye of someone who might be able to do something for them. I'm a big "Doctor Who" fan and always am ready to help the Filmmaker out, so we spent the day shooting.
When he finished it, he tweeted the video to Chris Hardwick of "The Nerdist", a wildly popular geek podcast and TV show on BBC America, home of "Doctor Who". The Filmmkaer has been building a relationship with Chris over the past year. Well, Chris passed it along to BBC America and, lo and behold, the video ended up on the BBC America Round Up article, featuring info on the British premiere of the show. Such a huge success for a quick little video! I'm so proud of him for just doing it and putting it out there, not being afraid to reach out to those who can help!
So check it out and share it, if you like it. I'm the arm of the waitress at the beginning, not the voice, however. And the entire crew was just me and the Filmmaker.
Enjoy!
http://www.bbcamerica.com/anglophenia/2012/08/doctor-whos-day-roundup-season-7-premieres-in-london-tonight/
When he finished it, he tweeted the video to Chris Hardwick of "The Nerdist", a wildly popular geek podcast and TV show on BBC America, home of "Doctor Who". The Filmmkaer has been building a relationship with Chris over the past year. Well, Chris passed it along to BBC America and, lo and behold, the video ended up on the BBC America Round Up article, featuring info on the British premiere of the show. Such a huge success for a quick little video! I'm so proud of him for just doing it and putting it out there, not being afraid to reach out to those who can help!
So check it out and share it, if you like it. I'm the arm of the waitress at the beginning, not the voice, however. And the entire crew was just me and the Filmmaker.
Enjoy!
http://www.bbcamerica.com/anglophenia/2012/08/doctor-whos-day-roundup-season-7-premieres-in-london-tonight/
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Hair today, gone... just gone
So I was told to anticipate my hair falling out on day 14 after my first chemo treatment... and they weren't kidding. On day 14, handfuls of hair started to go. I was devastated. This treatment has already taken away so much of my self-esteem, here was just one more blow to my already fragile ego. And, of course, I was worried about how the Filmmaker was going to take my baldness.
I will eventually learn not to worry about him. He offered to come over immediately and help shave my head. He and my friend, Tracy, came over and this is what happened:
Diary on YouTube
Joy. Tears. Laughter. Pain. Laughter. Whiskey. Laughter. Love. Love. Love.
This is what makes this process tolerable - love.
Enjoy.
I will eventually learn not to worry about him. He offered to come over immediately and help shave my head. He and my friend, Tracy, came over and this is what happened:
Diary on YouTube
Joy. Tears. Laughter. Pain. Laughter. Whiskey. Laughter. Love. Love. Love.
This is what makes this process tolerable - love.
Enjoy.
Monday, July 30, 2012
I am beautiful
One of the hardest things about having cancer is how it makes you forget that you are beautiful. The scars, the bruises, the effects of drugs and chemo on your body make you perpetually feel ugly and awful and makes you want to hide all of your body parts because everything feels like it looks hideous.
So to make me remember that I am beautiful, I did a shoot as a pin-up right before I began chemotherapy. I think pin-ups - true, authentic 1940's pin-ups - are so sexy and beautiful so that's why I chose to do this.
Enjoy.
So to make me remember that I am beautiful, I did a shoot as a pin-up right before I began chemotherapy. I think pin-ups - true, authentic 1940's pin-ups - are so sexy and beautiful so that's why I chose to do this.
Enjoy.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
More shoes...
Fuck the other shoe.
There's a label on that shoe and the label is "trust".
Not trust in the way that you trust someone when you let them into your life. I, in fact, trust too easily. I have very often trusted men in the past with my heart because they made me feel something. So I immediately trusted they would take my heart and eventually give me theirs in return, once I figured out how to be who I thought they wanted me to be.
But the trust I struggle with is the trust that someone will stay and be who I need them to be.
My family has always given me mixed messages when it comes to this. They are amazing when it comes to concrete things - I need money, I need a car, I need something tangible. But where they have fallen short is in the emotional arena. This has been made crystal clear this week. Won't bore you with the details but when my sister finally called me a week after my first chemo treatment (no contact before, during or immediately after) to "see how I was", she gave me about a minute and a half of her attention before the conversation eventually turned to how unhappy she is because her step-kids aren't taking care of the dogs and there's dog shit in the house. And all I could think was, I had chemo six days ago and you're talking to me about dog shit.
And it hit me.
That's the big fucking clown I can't kill. The clown that dangles the carrot of love and affection in front of me and then sadistically yanks it away just when I can almost reach it.
Now, my family does their best. They really do. And my relationship with my sister is a work-in-progress, slowly growing. But I have to accept that she is never going to give me the connection that I need. Maybe my role in her life is to be there for her, with no expectation of return.
So when I finally find myself in a normal, healthy relationship, I don't know what to do. I keep waiting for him to behave the way I know - hang the carrot of love and affection in front of me and just when I'm a heartbeat away from actually getting what I want, yank it away from me and leave me to fall to pieces.
So right now, I get to choose.
I get to choose whether to live by what I know and make myself crazy over and over again, waiting for a shoe that may not exist to fall. Let the dysfunctional lessons of my life continue to rule my world and just sit and wait. Because if I just wait, surely that shoe will fall.
Or I can choose to say fuck the shoe.
I can choose to figure both shoes are on the ground with nowhere to go. I can choose to trust that the Filmmaker is everything that he has shown me to be. And that when this does end, he will be everything he has shown me he is and he will hand my heart back to me as gently as possible. I can choose to break the dysfunction and see what happens if I truly trust.
"There's something so familiar and still so unknown
But the closer that we get
I swear it feels like coming home
And I'm ready to be brave."
Wise words from Keith Urban.
I'm ready to be brave.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The other shoe
Waiting.
It'll drop.
I feel like it's already on its way down.
It's what I do.
I get close.
They like it.
I get closer.
They like it.
I get thisclose.
They're gone.
It's all I know.
I hope this time...
... I hope I'm wrong.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
You
My hand
On your back.
The gentle rhythm
Of your breathing.
You move closer,
Unaware of even doing it.
Fitting in the curve
Of your arm
In the groggy morning light,
Watching you think,
Plan,
Wake.
That moment
After
Where there's nothing
But being wrapped in you.
You.
Me.
Nothing else
In those moments
In between.
That's why I can't sleep.
You're not here.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Who am I this time?
I have been going through a very deep depression the past few days. And I think I know what it's about.
I don't know who I am right now.
I have changed myself so many times, especially over the past 25 years of my life, and now I find myself at that crossroad again, trying to figure out who I am this time.
When I started this version of my life seven years ago, I was knee deep in a fledgling directing career and determined that that was what I was going to do for the rest of my life. It was part of the reason I left my marriage - he was doing his damnedest to try to prevent me from directing and trying to control my career, such as it was.
Now here I am.
I haven't directed in almost a year and I really don't know if I'm going to ever direct again. The passion, the drive, the desire I had for almost 20 years is pretty much gone.
And, yes, I am an artist and I think that a huge part of my heart and soul that used to go into directing now goes into my art.
But I'm such a baby in that arena. Every day, I am face-to-face with how little I really do know and realize how much more I have to learn.
Facing cancer has spun my whole life around, making me really look at what's important and what I want.
And I really don't know any of that right now.
And I don't really want to start again -- again.
There is so much unknown in front of me right now.
And it's funny because I said this to my friend, Anna, tonight and she replied with, you're very good with the unknown, that's your life for the past seven years.
Which is true, to a point.
But there was always my directing career as the endgame, as the point I was aiming for.
Now, I don't know what the point is. I don't know where I'm going now.
I think I want to do comic books but I don't know. That's another huge glut of unknown. One of the comic book artists I know says I'm talented but all I can see right now is how much I don't know.
And since I've had to drop out of college for treatment, I don't know when I'm going to be able to go back and pick up where I left off.
And I'm in this relationship which, while it's really wonderful and the Filmmaker is amazing, I have no idea where it's going or even where we are now. I've tried not to look at it too closely and tried not to put that stupid, age-old question to him - where are we now and where are we going - because I'm afraid it'll scare him off. He's here and he takes good care of me and I adore him. But even with this, there's a huge unknown - for so many reasons.
Of course, the big unknown is my cancer treatment. And I'm a little tired of hearing, "You'll be fine, you'll get through it, you're a strong woman, you can do it." And I might be fine and get through it and be strong. Or not. I don't know.
And I don't know what this treatment is going to do to my life or my relationship or anything else in the world.
And I don't really want to start over again.
And I really want to know what's going on and what's coming next. And I really want to know if there's a future with the Filmmaker or if I'm just filling time. And... And... And..
And I don't know who I am anymore.
I don't know who I'm supposed to be.
With my ex and with my family, I knew what the expectation was and I learned how to meet that expectation. I've been doing it most of my life.
And with the men in my life, the ones who took pieces of my heart but never gave me theirs, I kept trying to figure out who to be and what to be in order to get them to leave a piece of their heart with me.
But with the Filmmaker, he likes me exactly as I am and doesn't try and change me. Yet I constantly find myself lacking, deciding that he should/could/must want something more than this fat, depressed cancer patient.
So I'm overcome with not knowing, not seeing, not understanding where the next step is in anything in my life. My life has become today. And maybe tomorrow. And my next doctor appointment. And then chemo.
And I want to know more. I want more. I want... I want...
I just want to know.
That's it.
I just want to know.
I don't know who I am right now.
I have changed myself so many times, especially over the past 25 years of my life, and now I find myself at that crossroad again, trying to figure out who I am this time.
When I started this version of my life seven years ago, I was knee deep in a fledgling directing career and determined that that was what I was going to do for the rest of my life. It was part of the reason I left my marriage - he was doing his damnedest to try to prevent me from directing and trying to control my career, such as it was.
Now here I am.
I haven't directed in almost a year and I really don't know if I'm going to ever direct again. The passion, the drive, the desire I had for almost 20 years is pretty much gone.
And, yes, I am an artist and I think that a huge part of my heart and soul that used to go into directing now goes into my art.
But I'm such a baby in that arena. Every day, I am face-to-face with how little I really do know and realize how much more I have to learn.
Facing cancer has spun my whole life around, making me really look at what's important and what I want.
And I really don't know any of that right now.
And I don't really want to start again -- again.
There is so much unknown in front of me right now.
And it's funny because I said this to my friend, Anna, tonight and she replied with, you're very good with the unknown, that's your life for the past seven years.
Which is true, to a point.
But there was always my directing career as the endgame, as the point I was aiming for.
Now, I don't know what the point is. I don't know where I'm going now.
I think I want to do comic books but I don't know. That's another huge glut of unknown. One of the comic book artists I know says I'm talented but all I can see right now is how much I don't know.
And since I've had to drop out of college for treatment, I don't know when I'm going to be able to go back and pick up where I left off.
And I'm in this relationship which, while it's really wonderful and the Filmmaker is amazing, I have no idea where it's going or even where we are now. I've tried not to look at it too closely and tried not to put that stupid, age-old question to him - where are we now and where are we going - because I'm afraid it'll scare him off. He's here and he takes good care of me and I adore him. But even with this, there's a huge unknown - for so many reasons.
Of course, the big unknown is my cancer treatment. And I'm a little tired of hearing, "You'll be fine, you'll get through it, you're a strong woman, you can do it." And I might be fine and get through it and be strong. Or not. I don't know.
And I don't know what this treatment is going to do to my life or my relationship or anything else in the world.
And I don't really want to start over again.
And I really want to know what's going on and what's coming next. And I really want to know if there's a future with the Filmmaker or if I'm just filling time. And... And... And..
And I don't know who I am anymore.
I don't know who I'm supposed to be.
With my ex and with my family, I knew what the expectation was and I learned how to meet that expectation. I've been doing it most of my life.
And with the men in my life, the ones who took pieces of my heart but never gave me theirs, I kept trying to figure out who to be and what to be in order to get them to leave a piece of their heart with me.
But with the Filmmaker, he likes me exactly as I am and doesn't try and change me. Yet I constantly find myself lacking, deciding that he should/could/must want something more than this fat, depressed cancer patient.
So I'm overcome with not knowing, not seeing, not understanding where the next step is in anything in my life. My life has become today. And maybe tomorrow. And my next doctor appointment. And then chemo.
And I want to know more. I want more. I want... I want...
I just want to know.
That's it.
I just want to know.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Fundraiser
My friend, Allegra Newman, set up a fundraising site to help me deal with handling my living expenses while I go through treatment for breast cancer. So far, we have raised 50% of the $8,000 goal we set.
The fundraiser ends on June 30 and I am so very grateful to those who have contributed so far. This fund has paid my rent, my cell phone bill, put groceries in my cupboard, allowed me to put gas in the tanks of my caregivers and even treat them out for lunch or drinks for helping me out.
I still have a long way to go as I start chemo mid-July so if you can contribute, even just a hug through the site, it would be much appreciated.
Here's the link:
www.giveforward.com/susanleecancerfund
The fundraiser ends on June 30 and I am so very grateful to those who have contributed so far. This fund has paid my rent, my cell phone bill, put groceries in my cupboard, allowed me to put gas in the tanks of my caregivers and even treat them out for lunch or drinks for helping me out.
I still have a long way to go as I start chemo mid-July so if you can contribute, even just a hug through the site, it would be much appreciated.
Here's the link:
www.giveforward.com/susanleecancerfund
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Wishing...
I wish you were here, or that I was there.
Your arms around me, holding me, telling me it'll be okay without saying a word.
Safe.
Comforted.
Calmed.
And I know you're not here for good reasons. Two really beautiful, wonderful reasons.
And you've been here for so much. And I adore you for that.
But still...
I wish you were here...
Your arms around me, holding me, telling me it'll be okay without saying a word.
Safe.
Comforted.
Calmed.
And I know you're not here for good reasons. Two really beautiful, wonderful reasons.
And you've been here for so much. And I adore you for that.
But still...
I wish you were here...
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Real good man...
I am an enlightened, modern, fiercely independent woman.
But nothing makes me feel sexier than having the man I adore put his hand ever so gently on my ass and give it a little squeeze. Makes me blush and giggle like a schoolgirl.
Am I the only one who feels like this?
I have slapped men and thrown drinks at them for this.
Obviously, it's different when it's someone you're sleeping with.
But right now, I need all the sexy I can get. And the Filmmaker has been providing that, in spades.
Made arrangements to meet him at a film industry party last week. I wasn't sure about the dress code so I decided to dress up a bit. Ever since my surgery, I haven't been feeling my most attractive and the Filmmaker hasn't gotten a lot of the girly part of me lately so I thought, why not? My favorite black skirt with a nice slit on the thigh, subtly low cut top and fishnets and heels. Tres girly.
The effort was definitely appreciated. He could not keep his hands off me all night. Nothing obvious or inappropriate. Just the casual hand-on-the-ass, constant physical connection, arm around me kind of stuff. But it was more than that. I could feel the WANT coming off of him. And it made me giddy. And that made me feel like the most beautiful, sexy woman on earth. He's always very affectionate and lovely but every once in a while, there's a desire that comes through that takes my breath away.
And to feel that desire now, when I'm scarred and battered and broken. And he's heard all of the details of my disease and what it's going to do to me. And to have him still want me like that just overwhelms me.
And not that the sex isn't good - it's kinda awesome, at least for me. Hopefully for him as well. But that want, that desire, sometimes that's almost better than sex. We can all get sex any time we want to but we can't all be desired in that way. I know. I have spent pretty much my whole life being un-desired. And to be this desired now, well, there aren't words.
And to have someone who isn't afraid to show his affection, isn't afraid to make me feel this giddy, silly, sexy way just overwhelms me. And the fact that eight months into this relationship, every time I see him feels first-date special gives me hope that we can keep this precious, delicate thing we've created going, no matter what my treatment throws at me, no matter how ugly and awful and un-beautiful I feel.
Through all of this, I know (and I hope) that there's a real good man waiting and wanting me, no matter what.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Saturday, June 09, 2012
One of the many why's
So many times, I just want to ask you - why are you here?
With me.
Now.
You could make other choices, especially now. I think you're still keeping one eye over there while you're here. And I get that. But it makes me want to ask...
Why are you here?
And there are so many beautiful women out there. And I know you love beautiful women. That's something I can't ignore. And I like to think I'm included in that group or you wouldn't be with me. But still...
Why are you here?
Because I don't feel beautiful right now. And I think you deserve beautiful. And in a few weeks and over the next six months, I am not going to be beautiful. Inside or out. And this thing between us that has been so precious and beautiful may not be anymore because it will pushed to its limits by the non-beauty of my life..
And that scares the shit out of me.
Because I think you're beautiful, inside and out. And you've been beautiful to me, every day, every moment. And you've given me such beautiful memories...
And why are you here?
Because I can't for the life of me figure out why you'd choose to go through this with me when you could choose someone else. Someone beautiful. Someone else who will miss you and kiss you and give you the simplicity you seek. I know she's out there. And I know she could make you just as happy, maybe happier because...
Why are you here?
Because, in the end, you'll break my heart anyway. So maybe it'd be better if you broke it now.
Because my heart's at a tipping point and I'd rather it not go over if you're wondering...
Why am I here?
With me.
Now.
You could make other choices, especially now. I think you're still keeping one eye over there while you're here. And I get that. But it makes me want to ask...
Why are you here?
And there are so many beautiful women out there. And I know you love beautiful women. That's something I can't ignore. And I like to think I'm included in that group or you wouldn't be with me. But still...
Why are you here?
Because I don't feel beautiful right now. And I think you deserve beautiful. And in a few weeks and over the next six months, I am not going to be beautiful. Inside or out. And this thing between us that has been so precious and beautiful may not be anymore because it will pushed to its limits by the non-beauty of my life..
And that scares the shit out of me.
Because I think you're beautiful, inside and out. And you've been beautiful to me, every day, every moment. And you've given me such beautiful memories...
And why are you here?
Because I can't for the life of me figure out why you'd choose to go through this with me when you could choose someone else. Someone beautiful. Someone else who will miss you and kiss you and give you the simplicity you seek. I know she's out there. And I know she could make you just as happy, maybe happier because...
Why are you here?
Because, in the end, you'll break my heart anyway. So maybe it'd be better if you broke it now.
Because my heart's at a tipping point and I'd rather it not go over if you're wondering...
Why am I here?
Thursday, June 07, 2012
Friday, June 01, 2012
Don't wanna
I don’t want to have cancer today.
I just don’t.
It’s nothing big.
I just don’t want to.
It’s probably the pending surgery on Monday that’s got me here.
I’m just starting to feel better from the surgery two weeks ago. The incision under my arm is healing, the incision on my breast is healing. The bruising is almost gone. The pain has diminished greatly, though I’m still dealing with some range of motion issues that should go away eventually. I’m even ditching the ugly, white surgery bra for a real bra today. Though the Filmmaker joked that he found the ugly bra kind of sexy in a ‘50s housewife sort of way.
But Monday, they go back in through the incision in the breast and dig out some more tissue. The pathology report showed some pre-cancerous tissue around the margins so they have to go in and take out more.
Great.
No problem.
I want it gone, it want it all out.
But today, it’s daunting because this is all the beginning of what is to come and I don’t want what is to come.
I see my friends dealing with chemo and I read about what it does to you. And it’s easy to say, oh, it’ll be tough for a few months but then you’ll be through it and it’ll be fine.
But that’s not the truth, is it?
The effects of chemo and radiation can linger for a long time. And today, it’s a huge mountain to get over.
So today, I just don’t want to have cancer.
Today, I just want to feel the Filmmaker’s arms around me, holding me, telling me it’ll be all right, like he did just a little while ago. I want to hide in the crook of his arm and the warmth of his smile.
When he first saw me when he got back from Cannes, I was so nervous about him seeing me with my scars and my steristrips and all the mess that I was. I was so worried he would never want to make love to me again because I felt so hideous. But afterward, when I lay in the hollow of his arm, I cried because I felt so safe, so secure with him, with everything. So comforted. So calm.
But today, I don’t have his arms and I don’t have his eyes. It’s just me today.
And today, I’m not sure that even he could soothe me.
Because, today, I don’t want to have cancer.
But I do.
I just don’t.
It’s nothing big.
I just don’t want to.
It’s probably the pending surgery on Monday that’s got me here.
I’m just starting to feel better from the surgery two weeks ago. The incision under my arm is healing, the incision on my breast is healing. The bruising is almost gone. The pain has diminished greatly, though I’m still dealing with some range of motion issues that should go away eventually. I’m even ditching the ugly, white surgery bra for a real bra today. Though the Filmmaker joked that he found the ugly bra kind of sexy in a ‘50s housewife sort of way.
But Monday, they go back in through the incision in the breast and dig out some more tissue. The pathology report showed some pre-cancerous tissue around the margins so they have to go in and take out more.
Great.
No problem.
I want it gone, it want it all out.
But today, it’s daunting because this is all the beginning of what is to come and I don’t want what is to come.
I see my friends dealing with chemo and I read about what it does to you. And it’s easy to say, oh, it’ll be tough for a few months but then you’ll be through it and it’ll be fine.
But that’s not the truth, is it?
The effects of chemo and radiation can linger for a long time. And today, it’s a huge mountain to get over.
So today, I just don’t want to have cancer.
Today, I just want to feel the Filmmaker’s arms around me, holding me, telling me it’ll be all right, like he did just a little while ago. I want to hide in the crook of his arm and the warmth of his smile.
When he first saw me when he got back from Cannes, I was so nervous about him seeing me with my scars and my steristrips and all the mess that I was. I was so worried he would never want to make love to me again because I felt so hideous. But afterward, when I lay in the hollow of his arm, I cried because I felt so safe, so secure with him, with everything. So comforted. So calm.
But today, I don’t have his arms and I don’t have his eyes. It’s just me today.
And today, I’m not sure that even he could soothe me.
Because, today, I don’t want to have cancer.
But I do.
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