Confronting my scars

Had surgery on Friday for breast cancer.  Had a lumpectomy where they removed the two cancerous tumors in my left breast and removed a number of the lymph nodes under my left armpit.

The surgery went well, I guess. I have had very little pain, which is good. Movement on my left side is a bit limited, which was to be expected. I've slept well both nights since the surgery, which is good.

My friend, Anna, came down from San Francisco to babysit me through this and she's been great. The support from all my friends has been incredible. 

One of the tough things is that the Filmmaker is not here. He's off at the Cannes Film Festival, which is something he's been planning for a long time and I'm mostly  glad he went because his soul was in serious need of some refilling. But I miss him a lot right now because he has been a great source of comfort through this whole process.

Today, 48 hours after the surgery, I removed the dressings and finally confronted my scars.

And I cried.

Honestly, they're not that bad. They are a bit larger than I had expected, or at least they appear that way.

There is a scar across the outside of my left breast where they took the tumors out and a scar under my arm.

And when I took the dressings off, I just cried. It's hard to see those slashes across my body and not cry. I can't imagine someone who's had a mastectomy and how they must feel when they see what's left. My breast is pretty much intact but it's still heartbreaking to see those scars across my skin.

I'm glad the cancer is out. I'm glad I had a choice of how to handle it. I'm glad the surgery was breast-conserving.

But still, I cried.

I cried because those scars make it real. I have breast cancer. For the rest of my life, that's how I'll be identified - breast cancer survivor. And those scars will be a reminder of that.

I cried because, while I never considered my breasts spectacular, I do have a full figure and that sometimes makes me feel very sexy, very pin-up. But I know now that there are these scars, and they make me feel less than.

And I'm glad the Filmmaker is not here to see me with drains and bruises and steristrips, etc. Because it's not pretty.

And I'm afraid to let him see me when he gets back. Because of the scars. Because of the imperfection. Because... Because... So many things. And I know he's a good guy and he knows what to expect because he's been to all the appointments with me. But I don't want him to see me like this. He deserves someone who's not going through all of this and all that is to come.

And I cried because of that.

And I'm sure these are not going to be the last of the tears. But for today, I'm going to let them fall and then maybe tomorrow, there will be less of them.

Self in progress

This is the beginning of a self-portrait I will be working on throughout my treatment for breast cancer. The colors in the background represent the surge of emotions running through my soul every single day. Stay tuned to see how it turns out.

More treatment stuff

Here's a new update - withdrawing from school, surgery update and blessings in my life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhd7CbAx9ZQ&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Meandering thoughts...

I have so many thoughts in my head today, it's impossible to get them all straight. So here they are, in no particular order.

1. There is too much information on the internet. The past couple of days, I have lost an enormous amount of time online researching and reading and basically getting buried in the incredible amount of information out there about breast cancer. Some of it is useful but some of it just scared the shit out of me. I have an appointment with my doctors on Tuesday so I'm trying to get as much info as possible so I can ask thorough questions when I see them.

2. I'm so very scared that the tests I had on Thursday are going to show that the cancer has spread to other areas. Absolutely freakin' terrified. Don't try to comfort me with "oh, no, it'll be fine."  You can't reason with irrationality.

3. I am so thankful to have an amazing man in my life right now. Yes, I know I have lots of friends and support but there's something that a special person brings to you at a time like this that a friend cannot. He can hold me like no one else can. And especially now, when I fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, I feel like I can get through this because he is there to protect me.

4. I am so terrified to have an amazing man in my life right now. To finally have found someone I care about so very much, who makes me feel incredible and who has given me so much, and to have him go through this with me... When he could/should be in a relationship with someone who's healthy and who is not gonna drag him through hell with her and not be what he deserves. It kills me to finally have this relationship only to have to put it through this meat grinder, especially when it's still so new.

5. I'm grateful to those who have contributed to Give Forward to help me raise money to cover expenses while I go through treatment. It is overwhelming. 

6. I am a big bundle of unknown right now, uncertain about my future in a way I haven't been in a very long time. And I'm more afraid than I have ever been in my life.

7. I know I will get through this. I know I will survive. I know my life will go on and no matter how it all turns out, I will make it the life I want it to be. And I know that I am surrounded by love, no matter what.

So that's where I am tonight. And there are more thoughts but I just can't articulate them right now.

I will be strong. I will figure it out. But maybe not tonight.

Raising money...

A colleague and lovely woman, Allegra, started a fundraising page for me to help me pay my bills while I go through treatment for breast cancer. If you'd like to help out, any contribution would be greatly appreciated.

Give Forward

Thanks.

Treatment update video

Just posted this to YouTube so check it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhd7CbAx9ZQ&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Treatment, friends, etc....

Treatment update

Finally met with doctors yesterday and now have a plan...

The appointment with the doctors yesterday went about how I expected. I'm going to include some medical stuff here in case you want to do some research and find out what all this crap means. I would recommend Breastcancer.org as a place to start. They have a ton of information that's easy to read and understand.

I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, grade 2 tumor between 1-1.9 cm with a second tumor at 4 mm in my left breast. There is a lymph node under my left arm that's about 4 cm and probably cancerous. They did a biopsy on it yesterday just to confirm this. However, IDC is the most curable and easily treatable cancer. The doctors kept referring to it as "garden variety" breast cancer. The IDC is estrogen-receptor positive and progesterone-receptor positive, which means these hormones can help the cancer to grow. It is HER2 negative, which is another deals with genetics and if it's negative, it doesn't influence the growth of cancer cells. With that information, it appears that I am Stage IIA, which means there are tumors under 2 cm and lymph node involvement.

Treatment options that were discussed were what I expected. Option of lumpectomy or mastectomy. I'm going to opt for lumpectomy because I have no history of cancer in my family so shouldn't need a mastectomy. Approximately one month after surgery, I will undergo chemotherapy for 4-6 cycles, which will go over a couple of months. Cycles appear to be 2-3 weeks in length. Following that, probably 6 weeks of radiation, 5 days a week. This is fromBreastcancer.org:

"Chemotherapy usually is given in cycles -- a specific period of treatment followed by a period of recovery. For instance, you may get chemotherapy on the first day of the cycle and then have a few weeks of recovery with no treatment. That is one cycle. Or you may get chemotherapy for several days in a row, or every other day, and then have a recovery period. A complete chemotherapy treatment is made up of several cycles. The number of cycles in a regimen and the total time of each regimen varies depending on the medicines used, but most regimens take 3 to 6 months to complete."

Because the cancer is hormone receptive, I will also be taking Tamoxifen, which helps keep the growth of the cancer from being attached to and growing from hormones.

Whew. That's a lot of info. Let's get to some lighter stuff.

The two doctors - Dr. Catherine Dang and Dr. Jennifer Lin - were awesome, as was everyone I saw yesterday. And they seemed to take good care of the Filmmaker while he was patiently waiting in between examinations and information. They looked like high school girls playing at being a doctor and The Filmmaker has dubbed them the "Hello Kitty" doctors. But they were precise and comforting, not giving too much information and being clear about what decisions needed to be made immediately and what decisions could wait. They assured me that even if it takes a few weeks to schedule the surgery that the cancer is not fast-growing and a week or two won't make a big difference. Dr. Dang is the presiding doctor and I think Dr. Lin may be in training but she certainly didn't feel like she was an intern or anything.

So the next step is a full body CT scan to ensure that there isn't cancer in any other part of my body, which they didn't seem to be too worried about. Then I meet with the doctors again and we will probably set the surgery date. The chemo treatment, etc., will probably be decided after the surgery, once they get all the lymph nodes out and biopsy everything again. Much biopsying will be done.

And The Filmmaker took exceptional care of me yesterday. My favorite part was the trip to the Edison for a happy hour dinner with champagne and grilled cheese and tomato soup. What a beautiful place. I want to live there, please. 

In other news (sorry this is so very long), my colleague, Allegra Newman, has almost finished putting together the Give Forward page and it will be going live soon. This is a fundraising site that she's hoping to use to help raise some money for me so I can pay my bills while going through treatment. I will post the link once it's live.

So stay tuned. We're just beginning...

Hope-ish

For this moment, I have hope.

I went to a cancer resource center here in LA called WeSPARK, founded by Wendy Jo Sperber (you win the trivia contest if you can tell me who she is) who was diagnosed in 1997 and thought cancer patients should have somewhere comfortable and free to come and receive adjunctive care - support groups, exercise classes for people dealing with cancer, etc. She wanted it to feel like home.

WeSPARK was recommended by several friends of friends so I went. The intake counsellor turned out to be my therapist from oh, so long ago when I left my marriage. Couldn't ask for someone more appropriate to help guide me through this new journey since she was so amazing during that last one.

In talking to her about my diagnosis, we of course talked about my life since I last saw her probably five years ago. Back then, I think I had just moved in with my parents, had just started my teaching job and was still trying to figure out if the original OOMA (object of my affection) was something real or if he was just a friend. I was on my way to healing but still had a long way to go.

But in talking with Bonnie, I was overwhelmed by how amazing my life really is. It's easy to forget that in the midst of every day struggles, never mind a breast cancer diagnosis. She kept expressing delight at how things have turned out for me - the fact that I am still teaching fine art and that I love it more than I ever thought I would; that I probably will be running my own studio soon; that I am a fairly successful artist; that art has enriched my life so much;  and finally that I'm in a healthy, grown-up relationship with a healthy, grown-up man. She was also delighted to hear how I've learned to handle situations that used to just about cripple me and that I'm finally in a good, strong place mentally.

She pointed out that, yes, these next few months are going to be hell. There's no way they're not. I always liked that she never pulled punches but yet was also gentle and kind and funny. But she said that the best thing I have going for me is that I have such a beautiful life outside of this diagnosis. That I have great friends who are holding my hand. That I have an amazing community who are pulling out all the stops to make sure I'm taken care of. Job that I love. A man who I adore. Those are things a doctor can't prescribe. Those are things that many women going through this journey don't have. And those are the things that will still be there when all is said and done.

Bonnie also emphasized that I should realize that breast cancer isn't an endgame. I can deal with it, especially if it is early. I can handle it. I can come through it to the other side and continue to live this amazing life I've built.

And she also emphasized that this life is amazing and beautiful because I am amazing and beautiful. That I would not have all of you incredible people in my life if I wasn't at least just a little bit incredible myself.

After that meeting, I taught for the next three days. And I looked at my life a little bit differently. 

I love the kids I teach. No matter how sad, blue, beat up and pissed off I am, these kids fill my soul. What other job can you have where you get hugged all the time? Where the highest compliment is being told that you're very funny and that makes the class great? And I also get to teach the Filmmaker's daughter, who is a very promising artist and who is one of my favorite kids on earth.

And for today, my body feels good. I did an hour of yoga and was happy to find that my many months of inactivity hasn't killed my flexibility. 

And right now, I'm on the bus on my way to the Filmmaker, to sit on his couch and watch "Mad Men" and just enjoy his company.

And for the next few days until I meet with my oncologist and life becomes all about my left breast, I am going to embrace the sense of normalcy and take each day and breathe it in.  Yes, I'm terrified and, yes, I'm scared and panicked and all of those things. But underneath all of that, I am hopeful. And I will hang on to that hope into I get to the other side.

I hope to see you there.

Fear itself

I’m scared.

No, really.

Very, very scared.

These past few weeks since my diagnosis, I’ve had some moments of fear, among other emotions. Anger, of course. You read that one.

But without having met with an oncologist or breast surgeon yet, it’s been kind of easy to almost pretend nothing’s wrong. Sure, I get tired very easily. Sure, there are the occasional bouts of aches in my breast and my underarm but they don’t last more than a few moments and they’re not terribly painful so it’s easy to brush them away.

And people have commented on how impressed they are with the way I’m handling this diagnosis. Sure, it’s easy. There’s nothing going on yet to handle, other than making phone calls and chasing pathology reports and fighting with bureaucracy to actually get an appointment with someone who can tell me what the fuck is going on.

But other than that…

It’s been easy, sort of.

Last night, the Filmmaker came over. Haven’t really spent time with him for almost two weeks. I should have been working on paintings I have to do for one of my classes but I thought, you know what? I’m going to choose to live my life and enjoy time with this lovely man and figure out the paintings later. I knew I had some time today to paint in class so I chose to be with someone who makes me happy and who gives me great comfort.

And as usual, as we fell asleep, I once again couldn’t help but think about how great it feels to just lay there in the crook of his arm, listening to him snore and occasionally mumble nonsense in his sleep. I could do this every night.

And that’s where it began.

Now, I’ve had nights previously – especially when we first started dating – where I would quite literally cry as we fell asleep, so absolutely afraid that I was going to lose him for any number of reasons. I think every woman feels that way when they find someone they care about a lot. Normal, realistic fear about something that won’t happen for a long time, probably. Something in the future, something fictional, something easy to ignore and push away.

But it wasn’t just that fear last night. It was the fear of so many other things. The obvious – will he still want to sleep with me and make love to me when I’m scarred and raw from radiation treatments and maybe losing my hair from chemo? What man would want that?

But it went beyond that.

I’m afraid of what he’s going to go through as I move through treatment. I know he lost his father to cancer and I can only imagine what this might bring up for him.

And the way I feel snuggled up in his arms as we sleep is such an obvious metaphor for so many things in my life. My artwork. My school work. My directing. My life overall.

I finally pushed aside the fear, chalking it up to just a normal, regular visit from the clowns in my head, trying to stir up shit just to take away any joy I have.

And we got up this morning and he kissed me and went off on his day. And I went to school, did my two classes. I was supposed to finish two paintings today but I kind of gacked on the first one. I don’t like it. It’s not as good as the other two in this particular series I’m creating for class. I had a very long moment of fear – fear of losing my artistic ability. Fear of what the surgery is going to do to my ability to paint (the lumps are on my left side and I’m left-handed). Fear of losing this amazing gift that I have so recently found.

But I pushed it off as regular, normal clown shit and pushed through the day.

But tonight, sitting on my couch, real, true fear crept into my heart as I went through what little information I have on my diagnosis as I prepared for a meeting I have in the morning. I’m going to a cancer support organization here in Los Angeles called WeSPARK (wespark.org). They offer a variety of support groups, seminars, therapies and even yoga work outs for cancer patients, all for free and all to give us the support we need.

And as I gathered some papers together, just in case I need them, it really, REALLY hit me.

I have breast cancer.

I know I’ve been blogging about it and saying how it’s hit me. But moving forward on something concrete, where I will have to go in tomorrow and talk to someone about exactly what’s going on, about my diagnosis, and actually discuss the reality of the disease suddenly makes it very, incredibly real.

I have breast cancer.

And there’s no more pretending and ignoring and playing at normal. My life from now on will be about breast cancer. No matter what I do while I move into treatment, treatment is going to be at the forefront and will force me to consider it in every decision I make.

And my life suddenly narrowed down to a teeny, tiny point.

I have breast cancer.

And nothing will ever be the same.

And I don’t know how many easy, lazy nights there will be now with the Filmmaker, where it won’t be about how I’m feeling or can he touch me there or does that hurt or…

And I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to just pick up a paintbrush and paint to my heart’s content. Already, I can only paint for significantly shorter bursts than I’m used to. And I’ll have to think about conserving my energy or whether or not I can lift my arm to paint or…

And no matter who’s at my beck and call, it’s still going to be a very lonely ride. Reading the posts on the discussion board I belong to, they are full of “my husband” and my partner” and “my significant other”. Someone who’s there all the time. Someone who is just an arm’s reach away.

I have a cat who’s an arm’s reach away.

And I’m so absolutely terrified tonight about what’s next. So absolutely terrified.

Because, starting now, nothing will ever be the same.

Better now

Okay, not so crazy today.

It’s been an emotional roller coaster since my diagnosis. Some days, I’m sane and totally in control. Other days, my emotions change as fast as the weather in San Francisco.

But I won’t apologize. The challenge with writing this blog is that some days, I look back at what I wrote in the previous entry and I kind of cringe. Did I really say that? Yeah, I did. That’s how I felt at that second, at that moment, deep in my head and my heart.

And it’s also challenging because I know that some of the people I talk about actually read this blog. But I promised when I started that I wouldn’t hold back unless someone told me to hold back. So if you’re in my life, you’re in my blog, unless you tell me to do otherwise.

But I have to write like no one is reading this. And let the chips fall where they may.

Today, I feel centered and in control, for the moment. Maybe it’s finally getting an appointment set up for a week from Friday to meet with a breast surgeon, someone who may actually be able to help me figure out my treatment. Maybe it’s that I got to spend the entire afternoon in a beautiful park, painting, as part of my watercolor class. Maybe it’s that I got some of this shit worked out when I blogged.

And I’m trying not to obsess over the fact that I currently have a B in most of my classes, instead of my usual A. And I’m trying not to freak out about that. There’s enough time left in the semester that I should be able to bring my grades back up. I can redo some of the assignments for my watercolor class and there are still a few more things in my art history class that I can do to gain a few extra points. So I’m trying to just let that go for now and not worry about a B.

And I did find a really good support group online that gave me a lot of information without overwhelming me with misinformation so I feel a bit better about where I am in my treatment. Some people got their surgery, treatment, etc., right away and some, like me, waited a while.

And a very generous offer came my way today from an artist I barely know. She wants to reach out to the art community we are both a part of and find a way to raise some money to help me out with my day to day expenses as I go through treatment. Touched and humbled me in such a deep way to have someone I barely know reach out to me.

And my friends, of course, continue to embrace me and comfort me and let me know in a million ways that they are there, they love me and that I am not alone in this fight.

And my dearest Filmmaker, if you read this and/or the previous entry, know that I’m just fine with where we are. You have been so kind and so incredibly generous in so many ways and I am so grateful for that. You are very special to me, whether you want to be or not, and I know you’re there and that’s enough for me.

And thinking about the Filmmaker makes me very glad that I have someone like him to hold my hand through this. While we may not be what I’d like to be with someone eventually, he’s here and he’s sweet and he takes very good care of me.

And it makes me think about my ex. I could have never gone through this with him. He could be kind and he could be sympathetic but it never lasted. I had pneumonia at one point – double pneumonia, actually – was in the hospital for three days. When I came home, I was supposed to be on strict bed rest for three weeks so I could recover and heal. Unfortunately, I was producing a major website at that time (in the earlier days of the internet) and I had to go into work a couple of times so I could oversee this multi-million dollar launch. I even had a laptop brought into the hospital so I could check email and do some client work while I was there. Well, he thought that since I “could” work that I should be able to do housework and make dinner every night. Never mind that by the time I got home from just a couple of hours at work, I could barely make it up our stairs to our apartment and I couldn’t breathe. Never mind that I was so sick, I couldn’t stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. But during my entire recovery, he would call every day from work and ask what I was making for dinner. He never cooked that whole time, not once. And he never brought anything home. If I didn’t cook, we had to go out to eat. Because that was easy for me – go sit at a restaurant, coughing up a lung (just about literally), and then have to deal with being berated for not cooking the entire time.

Needless to say, glad I don’t have him around to see me through this.

So for today, I’ll take that I’m happy and I’m feeling good, albeit very, very tired. I’ll be glad that I got some painting done tonight on my painting class homework and the painting is coming together beautifully. I’ll be thankful for the wonderful people in my life who continue to support me, love me and surprise me.

Not sure what tomorrow brings but I’ll deal with that tomorrow.

Anger, denial, blah, blah, blah...

I was having a good day.

The Filmmaker’s daughter, who is an art student of mine (that’s how we met) finished an absolutely beautiful painting she’s been working on. She was so happy with it, as was he and his son, as was I. Always makes me feel so accomplished and like I’m a rock star teacher when one of my kids – especially one of my favorite, most talented kids – does something awesome. And, of course, I got to spend a teeny, tiny bit of time with the Filmmaker, albeit at the studio with his kids and stuff, but it always makes me happy when I see him, no matter how short the time.

I came home, settled in for an evening of painting and catching up on stuff. I signed into my Barnes and Noble account because there was a book on breast cancer I saw last week and wanted to order. Not a warm, fuzzy, the universe will save you so be happy you have breast cancer kind of book. An actual workbook type of book that allows you to chart your treatment, make a list of questions, gives advice on what to ask your doctor, etc. My kind of book.

As I was sorting through the search results, I ran across a book for men about how to deal with the women in their lives who have breast cancer. Not just for husbands to deal with their wives, but for men in general, whether their wife, girlfriend, lover, friend, co-worker, whoever, has cancer. A way for them to figure out how to help the women in their lives going through this. I thought, hm, interesting. I wonder if maybe that would be something to get for the Filmmaker and maybe EE, the other guy who is on my caregiver list.

Then I noticed a plethora of books for husbands on how to help their wives deal with this whole thing.

And I thought, I’m not a wife. I don’t have a husband. I don’t really have a boyfriend. I have the Filmmaker, in whatever form our relationship is in. And he’s been really great and supportive and wonderful but…

But is he someone I would buy this book for and give to because what the hell are we doing anyway…

And then it hit me.

I have breast cancer.

It does this. Sneaks up on me and bitch-slaps me in the face and cripples me.

I have breast cancer.

Really.

Seriously.

Breast cancer.

I have it.

And that was followed shortly by…

Fuck.

I have breast cancer.

And the anger started.

I survived 16 years of an abusive relationship, rebuilt my life into something I love, surrounded by things I love and a job I love.

And now.

I have breast cancer.

I wanted to throw something across the room and scream at the top of my lungs. Why?! Why?! WHY?!

So cliché. And I try to avoid being cliché but there you go. I’m a cliché.

But I refuse to watch Dr. Phil and have him ask me “how’s that workin’ for ya?” when I try to figure out why I have breast cancer.

And tonight, I am consumed by anger.

Anger over my diagnosis.

Anger over how painfully slow my treatment – or lack thereof – is moving. Things went quickly at first but now I’m in a quagmire of bureaucratic bullshit that is the medical industry and I’m still two weeks away from even beginning to find out any information whatsoever about what the fuck is going on in my body. Anger over the panic I feel when I get these aches and pains in the area where the lumps are and the feeling of helplessness when that happens because I don’t know if it’s something normal, something serious or something my imagination is putting there.

Anger over the fact that I can’t afford to fix/register/run my car and I have to count on the people around me to care for me. Anger over the fact that I can’t just hop in my car and drive to the coffee shop and sit and sulk and write and brood. That I have to impose on the Filmmaker and our fragile relationship to be there for me, count on him to be there despite our situation being “casual” and “loose”. Anger over needing to need everyone around me when I’m not good at needing anyone at all.

Anger over needing period.

Anger over being alone. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, lots of friends, blah, blah, blah. But basically, I’m still alone. I’m sitting at home tonight, alone, angry, wanting something, someone but having no one. Anger over being too angry to actually reach out to anyone right now because all I’m going to do is either cry or scream and I really don’t want to inflict that on anyone.

Anger over being alone. Really alone. What I want to do is to call the Filmmaker and say, come over, hold me, tell me it’ll be all right, tell me not to worry, let me cry, let me weep, and just hold me. That’s the one thing he can do that no one else can – hold me, kiss me, wrap me up in his strong, comforting arms. But I don’t/can’t/won’t because… well… because. I don’t want to force this to be anything more than it is and I’m angry because I feel like this situation is forcing me to want more from him than I wanted before. And I’m angry because there are so many reminders of him around my place already that it makes me want more, in a way that I didn’t before this diagnosis. And I’m angry because it makes me feel out of control of my feelings. I don’t want to need him, I don’t want to want him to be anything more than he is. But I’m here and I’m alone and all I can think about is how much I want him here, right now.

Anger over not being able to let myself call anyone to be here for me. Because it makes me feel weak. It makes me feel stupid. It makes me feel helpless. And, yes, I know it’s ridiculous but that’s what I feel. And I’m angry that I feel that way. Angry because my friends aren’t mind-readers and no one is going to show up at my door, tell me it’s going to be all right, etc., etc. Anger over how stupid all of this is.

Anger over the unknown. I don’t know what the hell is going on or what is going to go on or anything about anything about anything. School? I dunno. Work? Dunno. Filmmaker? Double dunno. Treatment? Really, truly, honestly dunno.

Anger over having to deal with all of this. I just don’t want to. I’ve gone through so much and I just don’t think I should have to go through any more of this. I just want the life I was building. Job I love. School I love. Learning to love someone again.

Fuck.

I have breast cancer.

And tonight, it’s pissing me off.

Blessed men

Today, I realized how blessed I am by the men in my life.

I have not had the greatest experience with men, overall, especially men I was married to. Even men who have been friends have broken my heart and left me bleeding and wounded. And professionally, well, let’s just say I’m not sorry that a few of those bridges have been burned.

I started thinking about this because, of course, I was thinking about the Filmmaker. Someone commented on here recently about “kicking him to the curb” if he doesn’t make me happy. And to be honest, it’s crossed my mind. Not because of him, but because of the clowns in my head, who have resurfaced lately, thanks to my diagnosis. It’s a weird fight-or-flight thing going on in my head. Do I want to really involve him in this whole process? Will he be there throughout, even though he did say he would? How much am I going to worry about him during this process and how much is that going to take away from my own healing?

Now, this is all me, not him. He’s been nothing but lovely and supportive and just fabulous through the beginning of this.

It’s me.

And the fucking clowns.

But in thinking about all of this and many other things, I started to look at the other men in my life. And I realized that, probably for the first time ever, there are more men in my life who are great role models for the men I’d like in my life than ever before.

I am surrounded by men who are MEN. Not boys in men’s clothing. Not children playing at being grown-up. I mean, these guys can all get down and get ridiculous and silly and playful and all of that wonderful stuff. But they’re also grown-ups and adults when they need to be.

The main thing about these men is that they aren’t afraid to say what they feel, what they think. And they’re not afraid to call me on my shit when I’m being dumb. Yet they never make me feel devalued. They never make me feel like I’m “wrong”. And, in turn, it makes me not assign blame and just listen.

Several of these men are men I have worked with professionally. We’ve had our battles, we’ve had our arguments. We’ve gone ‘round and ‘round on things. And every time I’ve gone through something with these men, I always expect them to end up cutting me down and cutting me out.

But they haven’t. We’ve argued, we’ve fought, we’ve talked, we’ve hugged. And we’re still here. And we still love each other. And respect each other.

That was a huge lesson – that I can fight with someone and disagree and they can fight with me and disagree with me, yet we can all end up with a satisfactory solution, all end up friends, and leave all of that behind.

What?! How is that possible? I’ve been taught my whole life that I’m wrong and that I shouldn’t argue and that I should just shut up and sit in the corner.

But I am eternally grateful to KSL and Actor Guy, in particular, for teaching me this valuable lesson. These guys are friends, are colleagues and are amazing.

And, of course, the Filmmaker. Every time a situation starts to feel terrifyingly familiar – where I’m absolutely convinced he’s going to turn into CB and the Poet (and others) and just vanish from my life – he does an amazing thing - he doesn’t. He does very simple things – calls, texts, reaches out in some way – and I sometimes don’t know what to do with that. I’m ready for it to be over, prepare myself to never hear from him again, decide that I’m better off without him, dammit, if that’s how he’s going to behave (of course, all lead by clowns in cheerleading outfits, chanting, “Yay! He’s gone! We drove him away!”).

And then he calls. And actually apologizes.

What?!

What the fuck do I do with that? No piece of my heart has ever apologized… because they sneaked away in the night, never to return.

And he’s not.

I’m confused.

The clowns are freaked out. They are whispering in the corner right now, trying to come up with a game plan, trying to figure out how to undermine this.

But since it’s never happened before, they’re running out of ammunition.

Because he simply isn’t leaving.

I’m not saying he’s going to be here forever and that we’ll get married and have babies and live in a beach house with puppies and rainbows and shit.

Cuz we’re not.

And, yes, eventually, I’m sure he’ll leave. But I’m growing more and more confident that he won’t simply vanish into the night without a word. I think that when he’s ready to leave – or when I’m ready to leave – we will be grown-ups and try not break each other any more than necessary.

And I know this probably sounds ridiculous but, for me, this is the hardest part about being close to a man, whether as a lover or as a friend. And I’m not sure where it comes from. I always felt loved by my father and never felt that he abandoned me or anything so obvious as that. My brother and I have no relationship whatsoever but it’s been that way my whole life. So that’s a piece of the puzzle I need to look at, where this fear of abandonment comes from.

Mind you, the guys who sneaked away in the night didn’t help the cause.

But every time the Filmmaker doesn’t leave, every time a male friend doesn’t vanish, every time these men show me they care in a million tiny, little, simple, easy ways, they knock a clown down and help me grow less and less afraid of letting them in and more and more confident that I can trust them with pieces of my heart without fearing that those pieces are going to be scattered to the wind.

So, for tonight, I want to thank the blesséd men in my life for being here and staying here. KSL, EE, BW, and, of course, MG. And I’m sure there are a few others that I have forgotten to include. You guys rock my small self-centered world. Thank you for being men, boys. I love you much.

More of me...

Because you can't get enough of me, I decided to do a video blog about my journey through breast cancer treatment. I will continue with this blog but check out my video blog.

Balancing act

(Sorry, didn't realize my comments were turned off so you can feel free to comment now...)


Today for the first time since my diagnosis three weeks ago, I'm feeling normal.

The past three weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions. 

The first week, I was numb. I won't even say I put my game face on because I couldn't even find a face. Just putting one foot in front of the other was almost impossible. And to every difficult person I encountered, I wanted to scream, "Don't fuck with me! I have breast cancer!" To every difficult parent I had to deal with, I wanted to say, "I'm sorry your child is a brat and you don't know how to handle them but right now, I don't give a fuck because I have breast cancer." Guy at the bus stop who insisted on talking to me, despite the earbuds in my ears and my intense focus on "Doctor Who" on my iPhone,  "I really don't give a fuck which bus you ride and why, I have breast cancer!" Etc.

I moved through the world, telling close friends, avoiding putting anything on Facebook because it would only be about my diagnosis and I wasn't sure I wanted the world to know yet because I still hadn't wrapped my own brain around it.

Luckily, my friends led me through the numbness, taking me by the hand, whispering gently, giving me space and giving me normal while I sorted this out.

The second week is a blank. I have no idea what happened.  Had a lot going on, including WonderCon, a comic book convention I was really looking forward to. And I got to spend time with the Filmmaker and his beautiful, amazing children. And I did an art show that was a two night event, the last night of which the Filmmaker joined me. 

But I'll be damned if I can really remember any of it. I remember feeling angry because my body was stretched beyond its limits. And it pissed me off that my body, which has always been able to manage through days without sleep for production and which has rarely let me down, now let me down constantly as it tries to do battle with itself. 

And I was angry at school because , well, because I set the bar very high and the expectations of my teachers is extremely high, even with this diagnosis. They have cut me a lot of slack but I still have to deliver. And I didn't want to. I wanted to just be average, to just be normal and not have this ridiculous high jump to hurdle while going through this.

And I was angry with my best friend because she was busy. Now, understand, she spent plenty of time on the phone and by email with me but that didn't matter. I was angry that she was out of town on business and that I couldn't reach her. There were other people who I talked to and who helped me out but there's no reasoning with irrationality. I wanted her and she wasn't there. 

And I was angry with the Filmmaker. For no other reason that he is so close to what I want but not ready to be what I want. And he may never be. And that made me angry because I wanted to call him every day and cry and say, come over and hold me and tell me that everything will be all right. But I couldn't let myself because I couldn't let myself be that vulnerable with him. I couldn't let myself admit that I want him and need him and wish... And it made me angry that I let myself get into this place again - almost but not quite. When right now, 
I don't know if I can let myself be in an almost place.

And I was angry at the world. Because. Who else am I gonna be angry with? 

This week, I hurt. I let myself hurt. I let myself cry. Today, looking in the mirror at the studio, making sure I didn't have paint on my face, I pushed my hair out of my face and thought that I have to find a better hair color to cover my gray when I realized, in a few months, I may lose my hair, depending on my treatment. And that brought me to my knees, in the bathroom, in the middle of teaching.

I hurt for all the things I could lose. I hurt for all the pain I've already gone through in my life. I hurt for the fact that, despite the friends and the Filmmaker, I am still basically alone. There is no one at my side day-to-day for this. And my friends are amazing and supportive and incredible. But it still comes down to just me and that hurts.

I hurt for wanting more than almost.

It hurts that I'll be 50 in a week and I'm essentially still alone. This is not where I'm supposed to be. Where's the husband and the family and the house and the life? Where's the success?

Hit bottom. Gave up. Almost decided that I needed to stop seeing the Filmmaker (a weekly occurrence due to the clowns in my head).  Thought about quitting school. Wanted to just hide and stop everything. 

Woke up this morning, still feeling the hurt and pain. Didn't want to teach, which is rare for me because I love teaching art and I love my kids. But I went because I need the money and I need the joy I get from teaching.

And I began to feel normal again. Just for a moment. Hugs from the kids. Working with my program director, who's awesome. 

And when the Filmmaker came in to drop his daughter off for class, I forgot about the clowns and the hurt and the fear and all of that. He hugged me and all I could think of is that I'm so glad he's here. And teaching his very talented daughter is one of my favorite things to do.

I don't know if it's all the outpouring of energy from people this week or just that I'm dealing better or what. But tonight, right now, this second, I can get through this. I've gotten through so many other things in my life, this is just one more thing.

And maybe these past seven years where I've learned to live with myself and figured out who I am and what I am all led up to this. Because despite having a great support group, I do have to do this myself. No one else is going to be there every night. No one else is going to be there every day. It's just me. And it's been just me for almost seven years. And it's been hard but it's taught me how to do this.

And when the Filmmaker hugged me this morning, all I could think is that I'm so glad he's here, whether it's for one more month, one more year or ten more years, he makes me happy and he makes my heart skip a beat when he smiles at me. And for now, I'll take the almost because he's given me such rom-com moments that it gives me hope that there is a more, whether or not it's with him.

And while I wait to meet with the oncologist/surgeon, I will embrace the short period of "normal" before I get on with the business of breast cancer. And hope that whatevr's on the other side of it, I will continue to live the life I've created and find something more over there.

Fear

Today, I am overwhelmed with fear.

I will lose everything. I will survive this but what will be left? 

  I'm a straight A student with a 4.0 GPA. That'll be one of the first things to go.  I'll finish my classes but realistically, a 4.0 will be impossible to maintain.

Financially, I'm not sure how to make it. I'm barely paying my bills and I lose any work at all, I will lose everything, quite literally. I can't pay my rent right now without my student loans and there is nothing left when I get paid after I pay my few other bills. I don't know how I'm gonna do this.

Ironically, my art will probably grow and become something else. That's one good thing.

And the Filmmaker. So much to lose there. Or is there? He said he'd be here and I believe him. But what will we be? And what are we now? Will there be anything left of the glimmer of something or will this always be peripheral until I get through this and he can leave with some dignity and grace? I don't know if we were ever gonna be anything but this, but now I'll never know. And today, I want to push him away because that would just be easier.

And who will I be on the other side? I'm tired already of the "you'll get through this and be stronger" platitudes. I know that's what you're supposed to say but I'm growing to loathe that phrase. I've been so broken by so many things and I always get up and I always get through and I'm always alone on the other side of it. And I just don't know if I can get through being broken again and end up starting again, starting alone, finding my way yet again.

And I know I have friends and I know I have support. And I know they'll be there. But right now, there is just such a feeling of separateness, disconnect. I wish... I don't know what I wish. I wish there was a relationship with a capital R right now. I wish I didn't feel so very alone. I wish to be weak and sad and heartbroken. I wish...

For today, I'll put my head down and my game face on and just go through the motions. And I'll weep for what I'm gonna lose and I'll weep for what I've already lost. 

And tomorrow, I'll get up and start all over again. And I'll maybe feel more optimistic and be all sunshine and puppies and regret I ever felt any of this today. The platitudes will ring true and the loneliness will be less and I'll be fine with the relationship with the little r and life will go on...

Do you think I'm sexy?

Sensual - relating to or consisting in the gratification of the senses or indulgence of appetites

I never appreciated sensuality until I left my marriage. My ex had no appreciation for anything sensual or sexual. In the entire 16 years we were together, I think once I wore beautiful sexy lingerie, only to have him ask me why I bothered. Yep. Sexy.

Even something as simple as perfume, which I love and which makes me feel very sexy, was a constant source of criticism from him. There was a rule that I had to apply any perfume an hour before we went anywhere because he didn't want me getting in the car with fresh perfume. And then inevitable cut down about which perfume I chose to wear.

So needless to say, our sex life was about as sexual and sensual as an episode of "The Golden Girls". Tab A into slot B. An occasional variance but pretty much the same thing all the time. And, yes, I did spend a lot of time going over my to do list in my head while waiting for him to... Well... Ya know.

So discovering the wonder of fishnets and high heels was a revelation. And seeing normal men react to this sensual side of me just blew me away. Yeah, I'm an enlightened, educated, smart woman but I do love it when a man gives me that look from head to toe and makes that appreciative noise in his throat that usually will cause a withering look from his significant other.

And one of the best things about the Filmmaker is his appreciation and affection for all things sensual. He is passionate and sexy and has a healthy appetite for everything that stimulates the senses. And he appreciates that he is the beneficiary of Z's advice to me that life is too short not to wear sexy underwear. 

And then there's sex.

I went almost seven years without having sex. Yup. Almost seven years. I would say I missed it but since my sexual experience is very limited and the last few years of my marriage were so lackluster in that department, I didn't think I was missing much.

But in the past five months, I've had probably more sex than I did in the entire last five years of my marriage. And it definitely is not pedestrian in any sense of the word.

And I'm very insecure about my body in the last few years because I'm not a size six and I'm going to be 50 in a few weeks and I spend half my time covered in paint.

But the Filmmaker makes me feel beautiful and amazing and sexy and sensual and all of those things I never knew I could be.

And now, with this diagnosis, one of my biggest fears is that I'm not going to feel that way again. Right now, my left breast is decorated with a smattering of bruises left over from the biopsy. And knowing that in the coming weeks, I'm going to have surgery and end up with scars as well makes me terrified that I'm going to lose that sense of sensuality I've grown to appreciate as a part of me.

Madame H, my resident sexual advisor, took me out for coffee last night and I talked to her about this a bit. And the thing she said was that sensuality comes from the inside. And that no matter what my outside looks like, I have the capacity to hold on to that sensuality. I just have to know that it lives in my heart, not on my breast.

But I would be lying if I said I wasn't terrified that after the surgery and when my hair falls out from radiation, that this beautiful, sensual man is going to look at me and not want me anymore. I could handle it if I were just a natural evolution of the relationship. After all, that happens. 

But it's not just about this relationship. It about any relationship after this. Despite the fact that, as far as I know right now, the surgery should be minimally invasive and leave very little scarring, will a man find me attractive if I have scars there? Compound that with my age and my weight and the baggage of abuse and I'm can just see the dating profile I could post.

SWF - 50's (I hear stampeding feet already), voluptuous (aka overweight), breast cancer survivor (ugly scarred up boobs) with a history of abuse. Oh, and funny and smart and artistic. Yeah, they'll be lining up.

I've just finally gotten to the point where I wanted to be out there, wanted to be with someone again. Finally risked putting my heart on the line and jump into this relationship with the Filmmaker, which terrifies me on a regular basis because I really have no idea what I'm doing and am convinced I'm gonna fuck it up somehow. But after he's gone, for whatever reason, will someone else want me again? Will someone see me as beautiful and sexy and sensual with not only "natural" imperfections but the scars from surgery and the always-present fear there could be more?

I could go without sex, I'll be honest. Though I wouldn't give up any of it from the last few months. But what I would miss more is the afterwards. The spooning, the cuddling, the way the Filmmaker wraps around me, both consciously as we fall asleep, and unconsciously, in the middle of the night, when he's asleep but still manages to find me and hold me. The loss of that would be more heartbreaking than anything else.

But it's not the Filmmaker's responsibility to make me feel beautiful and sexy and sensual. It's something I have to really embrace and hold on to as I go through this journey and make sure I don't ever let myself lose how great I feel in high heels and sexy underwear. Because one thing I have learned through the past few years is that, ultimately, I am responsible for how I feel. Period. And I have to hold on to that as I go.

And hopefully on the other side of this, I will still see myself as desirable, no matter who's in my life.

Don't know if I can do this...

I was diagnosed today with breast cancer.

I have no quippy blog to post, nothing funny and clever to say.

Luckily, it’s the most common kind of breast cancer, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. It’s highly treatable and it should be all right in the long run.

It started about a month ago. I was talking on the phone to my heterosexual life partner, Z, and for some reason, put my hand under my left armpit. There was a lump there. I had an appointment at the free clinic a few days away so I thought I’d bring it up to my doctor when I got there.

She checked it out and did a breast exam.

And she found another lump - this time on my right breast. Very tiny. I couldn’t even feel it.

She immediately gave me paperwork to schedule a mammogram and told me to schedule it immediately. And then set up an appointment for a month later.

This week on Tuesday, I went for the mammogram. Didn’t think much of it. Wasn’t too concerned. There’s no history of cancer of any kind in my family and my mother has had a lump or two herself.

Took the bus - two hours to where the mammogram place was. Figured I’d be in and out. After all, there’s no history in my family. I should be fine.

They did all the regular mammography films that they usually do. I was then sent for an ultrasound.

And that’s where it got scary.

The ultrasound tech started at the lump under my left arm and then started to follow something from there to the side of my left breast. As far as I knew, there was nothing there. But on the screen, I could see a dark area she was following with the ultrasound. She focused on the side of my left breast for a while, printed or sent some images and then said she wanted to go and confer with the doctor. She came back and had me go for another mammogram film at a different angle. Again focused on my left breast. Went back for more ultrasound.

About then, I started to panic. I could tell there was something wrong.

Finally, a doctor came in. And that’s when the world shifted.

They had found two more lumps, on the left side. Nothing was showing up on the right side, where my doctor had palpated something. But they were concerned about the two on the left side.

So I went from one lump to four lumps. Fuck.

She told me they were going to do a biopsy. I thought she meant I’d have to schedule another appointment and come back. But instead, they did the biopsy immediately.

Holy fuck.

I texted my two best friends in a panic, saying I was getting a biopsy. They were amazing and texted right back for me to breathe, be calm, all kinds of wonderful reassurance. I was still freaked out but felt better.

Then the doctor prepped me for the biopsy. She explained what she was going to do - they were going to numb the side of my breast and then use this big-ass needle to pull some cells from the one lump in my breast. She numbed the area and then put in the needle. The first sample was fine, didn’t hurt. But the second sample felt like she stabbed me in the heart. And I have a very high pain threshold and I had to hold back the tears. Then I started to shake. The doctor even acknowledged the pain and apologized. They were avoiding one of the lumps because it’s right on the chest wall and she was afraid that one would be very painful.

After she finished, I realized there was no way I could take a two hour bus ride home. I was shaking, I was in terrible pain and I was freaked out completely. I tried to think of who could come over and pick me up in the middle of the day without having to take off work.

I texted the Filmmaker. He knew I was going in for a mammogram but I had assured him it would be nothing. There’s no history in my family so it should just be routine.

He responded immediately that he would come. I burst into tears at that. I needed some comfort and I needed some care and that was on its way.

The doctor explained to me about taking care of the biopsy site but I barely heard her. All I could think about was that they had to do a biopsy and that the amount of lumps had doubled. Scared the shit out of me.

The Filmmaker made record time and picked me up. I could tell by the look on his face that he was very concerned but uncertain of how to handle this. He asked a lot of questions, let me talk as much as I needed to. I put my hand on his leg the whole time he was driving because I just needed connection. I really wanted him to take me to his place and just sit on the couch and have him take care of me. But part of me really just wanted to go home and process and be alone. As we drove towards my place, he asked me if I needed to eat. His solution to most things -- good food or good booze.

He took me to Barney’s Beanery, a staple in Hollywood that I had never been to. By that time, I was exhausted, starving, worn out and emotionally spent. We sat in the booth and I just let him talk. I asked him about his week and let him just talk. I just needed some normalcy. Every time I flinched or frowned, he immediately stopped and asked me what I needed. I just wanted to hear him talk. Not to think about what could be.

Fully fed and feeling a bit better, he drove me home. I had been telling him how incredibly broke I was, that I wasn’t sure how I was going to get to work because I was completely out of money. He asked me if I wanted some “walking around money”, which made me smile. He’s something like somebody out of the 1940’s, which is one of the things I absolutely adore about him. He’s old-fashioned and charming and darling and he really came through for me.

But I could see a bit of panic under his smile. We’re supposed to be casual. I didn’t want to ask too much of him because of the loose nature of our relationship. But I was just glad he was there and he took care of me.

I’ve spent the past few days just holding my breath, waiting to hear about the results.

And I got the call today at noon.

Invasive ductal carcinoma.

It means the cancer is in my milk ducts or lymph nodes. Most women who are diagnosed with cancer are diagnosed with this type. The doctor said it’s highly treatable. I will hear from someone at the clinic next week who will help me figure out the paperwork to get all of my treatment covered since I have no insurance. They will also let me know what the treatment plan is. Sounds like it’s going to be surgery -- a lumpectomy -- first and then some radiation after that. Hopefully, that will get all of it and be done.

But all I can think about tonight is that I have cancer.

I have cancer.

And I don’t know if I can do this.

I have dealt with so much in my life. Highly dysfunctional family, abusive marriage, starting my life over not once but twice. Finally feeling like I have my life together - going to school and getting straight A’s, loving my teaching job which will probably evolve into running my own studio this year, and the relationship with the Filmmaker.

And now…

I have cancer.

And knowing it’s treatable and knowing it’ll probably all be good in the long run doesn’t help tonight.

Tonight, all I can think about is -- I don’t know if I can do this. I’m tired. And I’m worn out. And I’m tired of dealing and handling and being strong and all of that bullshit. And I don’t know if I can be strong again and handle again and deal some more.

I know I have an amazing support system and I have friends who will absolutely be there for me. Anna even offered to drive down from San Francisco tonight if I needed her here.

But I don’t know if I can do this.

And all I can see tonight are the things I could lose. I’m not sure how the treatment is going to affect my schoolwork and my time at school. I’m not sure how it’s going to affect my job. Although my scheduler assured me today they will work with me and take care of me.

And I’m afraid I’ll lose the Filmmaker. He’s an awesome guy and he’s very sweet. But he didn’t sign up for this. He has made it clear he wants a “casual” relationship, that he wants something that isn’t terribly serious, something that is fun and easy and comfortable.

And now, this is going to be none of that, at least for a while. And that scares the shit out of me. I’m hoping he continues to surprise me, as he always does. I kinda know he’ll be there as a friend but I hope he’s there as more.

So for tonight, I’m overwhelmed and terrified. And I’m going to weep and cry and mourn all the things that are pouring out of my heart. And I’m going to let myself think about the worst case scenario and I’m going to let myself be sad.

And then tomorrow…

I’ll get up. I’ll go and teach. I’ll see the Filmmaker briefly as he brings his daughter in for art class with me and I’ll have to figure out how to deal with him in that moment. And then I’ll come home and go to bed and get up Sunday and continue to live. And I’ll figure out time to sit down with the Filmmaker and lay it all out for him and let him decide what he wants to do.

And I’ll deal with it, whatever his answer is.

And I’ll chant with my Buddhist friends on Sunday and hope that that positive energy infuses my body and helps with the healing.

And I’ll do what I always do - put one foot in front of the other and right it out to the other side.

And I’ll have days where I can’t do it and that’s just the way it is.

And today is one of those days.

Want/Need/Have

The Filmmaker confronted me a while ago about the fact that he felt that I maybe wanted more from this relationship (with a little “r”) than he was ready to give. We talked honestly and openly about where we were and what my expectations were, etc. And I had to tell him honestly - I don’t know what my expectations are. I really like where we are and what we are. And, yes, of course I’d like it to turn into something “more” - whatever that means. But for right now, this is exactly where I want to be.

And it’s been great ever since then. Maybe some of the pressure is off and maybe he just needed to be heard.

But since then, I have been thinking about what I want and why I’m with him.

Yes, of course there are things I’d like for him to do. I’d love to talk to him more when I don’t see him. I’d love to call him and just talk on the phone for a while. I’d love to get little text messages from him when I have something important going on. There’s a ton of little things that I’d love for him to do.

Because I’ve had those things done for me in the past and they made me feel great. The Poet, especially, was good at those “things”. If I had an art show, he’d text me as I was driving there, wishing me luck. That usually turned into me calling him eventually, after numerous texts, and talking to him for a long time. He’d call me once or twice a week and we’d talk for hours about deeply personal things. I cried on his shoulder more than once and he fought crying on mine more than once. We had long nights of wine and poetry and him reading to me, which was one of my favorite things about him.

And those are the things that made me think there was something more there. Because it felt like what I wanted - someone to care, someone to participate, someone to make me feel special.

But he sneaked away eventually, leaving me feeling not terribly special.

And now, there’s the Filmmaker. And a part of me wants him to do all those terribly special things. And for a long time, I thought it meant that he didn’t care because he didn’t do those things. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He responds quickly when I do. And I wanted those things, especially after we talked and I really started thinking about it.

But then I realized something. I’ve had those things with CB and the Poet and others. And in the end, I was never really sure how they felt. I was never really sure if they really, truly cared. Because in the end, they simply disappeared. From being thisclose to vanishing on the horizon.

And though he doesn’t do the things the other did, the Filmmaker does his own thing. He brought me cupcakes to Drink and Draw after we went out on Halloween for the first time. I didn’t think he would even show up, but he did. And with cupcakes. There was that one beautiful, incredible, heart-stopping night (same night as the cupcakes, in fact) with the impromptu party invite on the 35th floor penthouse with the full moon. And that’s when I fell. Total rom-com night. And he fought to get me Sweden at a white elephant Christmas party. And now Sweden hangs proudly in my kitchen (not gonna explain it, just know it was funny and amazing and awesome). And he got a nightlight for his bathroom because I’m terrified of the dark. And he puts whipped cream in my coffee.

And he’s here. And we don’t get deep in conversation about who we are and where we come from, because I think we both know all of that about each other. We were friends first, so there’s a lot that doesn’t need to be said. And because I think we both don’t really need to say it anymore.

And he’s here. And he winks at me, which makes me giggle. And he sings to me, which I love. And he makes me breakfast every time I stay over. And there’s never a question about me staying over. And he lent me sweatpants when I forgot my jeans at home.

And he’s here. And the way he holds me sometimes when we’re falling asleep says more than any four hour conversation on the phone could say. And the way his eyes light up as we climb into bed and settle in for the night means more than a million text messages could mean.

And he’s here. And that’s more important than anything else.

And I’m not spending hours wondering how he feels or if he likes me or if he’s going to be around next week or what he’s thinking or feeling or… on and on and on. Because he’s here.

And for the longest time, I thought I needed all the other stuff plus what he gives me. Because that’s what I thought it should be. But I’ve had the other stuff. And it left me empty.

And whenever this goes, whatever it turns into, I know right now, this is exactly what I want and what I need. All the other stuff means nothing because it’s not him. I want what he has and what he gives. That’s all I need… for right now…

Figuring It Out

I’ve actually written a blog or two over the past couple of days, filled with tales of struggle and battle and learning and healing and a bunch of other bullshit.

Yeah, you all know it’s a struggle and a battle after going through sixteen years and a lifetime of emotional abuse.

But, for now, I need to let go of all of that for a while and just focus on the good. Because all the struggle and battle have led me here, to this moment, when it is good. And without having gone through the darkest of the dark and fought to build a life that I can be proud of and embrace, then the good wouldn’t be as good and maybe I wouldn’t be able to really feel the joy that I feel. To feel that great joy one has to be able to feel that great pain. And I guess the best that we can hope for is that the joy will finally one day outweigh the pain.

And lately, that’s where I’m getting to. Still learning, still painful, still a struggle. But the joy is so beautiful and so wondrous that it’s worth all the struggle to get through to this moment. And when I fell asleep wrapped up tightly in his arms on Valentine’s night, that’s when I let go a little bit more. And that’s when I realized that I still have a lot of work to do to get to the point where there isn’t two days of drama in my own head leading up to one really lovely, beautiful night.

He’s not the one doing something wrong, it’s my own baggage and crap dragging along behind me that are getting in the way. And maybe that my expectations have been set to a certain point and I am anticipating him living up to those expectations. And he’s helping me learn how to let go of these very destructive expectations by simply not living down to them. He’s teaching me, slowly but surely, that I don’t need to figure things out beforehand. That I don’t need to plan 35 different ways to say something or to approach him or anything like that. I can be simple and easy and honest and he responds to that.

And I know he’s afraid and carries his own baggage along with him. And I can see it in his eyes sometimes and I can feel it in his tentativeness around me sometimes. There are moments between us that are so filled with what’s unsaid and what we’re afraid to say that it’s almost palpable. And when we do just let go and just be with each other, it’s so simple and beautiful and effortless that it’s helping me learn to just be with him -- a very difficult thing for me to do.

 And in the late night hours, when we finally fall asleep and he won’t let me out of his embrace even in that slumber, I just want to exist in that moment forever. I have never felt so secure and so safe and so wanted than I do in those quiet, peaceful, intimate moments.

And it’s not about true love or being with him forever or anything like that. It’s about existing only in that time, in that moment and just being able to be vulnerable and let my walls down and not getting my teeth kicked in when that happens.

 And I hope that if this relationship ends -- or when this relationship is over -- that the lessons I learned will carry on to the next one and make that one even easier and let me leave piles of Samsonite behind.

 And for now, I’ll go back to Melissa Etheridge, because she always seems to have the right words. “'Cause I wanna stay here in this moment/Can I quietly slip into you/You and I can stay here in this moment/Let the world fade away, I just want to stay with you”

You may now return to your regularly scheduled life…

The curse of the day of the heart

Valentine’s Day.

Fuck.

So much pressure.

I have gone around and around about Valentine’s Day this year because, officially, I’m dating someone, which means I should have plans.

But I don’t.

After our discussion around his birthday, I kind of knew that the Filmmaker wouldn’t ask me out for Valentine’s. After all, it’s a day of professing love and bestowing affection and all kinds of complicated things when you’re in a relationship that’s “casual” and not a relationship with a capital R. We’re in that middle ground limbo of relationship hell - together, but not really; adore each other but not really love; intimate but not there yet.

And I essentially accepted that I would be spending Valentine’s with Z, my best friend, the way it has been for years. Her boyfriend doesn’t really believe in Valentine’s so it’s usually her and me.

But as she and I talked last night about whether we were actually going to have our standing date, I talked myself into being pissed off that the Filmmaker hadn’t asked me out for that special day. And everything’s up in the air because Z’s boyfriend occasionally breaks his loathing of Valentine’s and will actually take her out. So we were discussing how we were both in limbo, despite having men in our lives.

And when we hung up, despite my having accepted that the Filmmaker would not be my date on the 14th, I left myself get caught up in the worst of the worst thing I do - expectations.

Way back when I was seeing a therapist, one of the things she talked to me about was my expectation of people and situations and how those expectations led me often into difficult situations because I think/expect things to go one way and when they don’t, I get very upset and pissed off. Even though the other person has no idea what my expectations are, I think they should know and they should be able to read my mind.

Well, I walked down that well-worn path last night and got myself into a real old-fashioned tizzy.

Fuck him. He should know that this day means something and he should know that I know it doesn’t mean what he thinks I think it means and he should just grow a pair and be a man and quit hiding behind the inevitable “I’m a dick” conversation that’ll come up and fuck him and I should just stop seeing him if he can’t get his head out of his ass long enough to see how this is stupid and mean and fuck him… you get the drift.

I even spent the entire morning working out my break-up speech. Oh, it’s a good one. Full of “I’m calling bullshit” and “you keep pushing me away” and all kinds of Lifetime movie moments that maybe I’ll put into the new script I’m writing. I honed it to perfection and patted myself on the back for being a grown up and taking charge of this and not letting myself be made to feel invisible and bad and…

Oh, but wait…

We never discussed going out on the 14th. We had a long discussion about being “casual”, which means things like Valentine’s will probably go unacknowledged because casual relationships don’t go there.

Oh, and he has no idea what I’m thinking or feeling, so how can he be responsible for what I’m thinking and feeling?

Because… well… because… shit. I got nothing.

I finally got my brain to calm down after spending the day starting college again. The distraction gave me some clarity in this whole stupid situation.

First of all, I’ve had the “perfect” Valentine’s with my ex. Sixteen years of perfect. He did everything right. Flowers. Occasionally candy. Dinner, movie. Beautiful cards professing unending love. All the romance he thought the day should hold.

And he tore me apart the other 364 days a year.

He showed me that this one day of professing love and being “romantic” (damn, there’s a lot of quotation marks in this entry) really means absolutely nothing if it’s not backed up by love and kindness the rest of the year. Roses and dinner and Hallmark cards are empty, meaningless and hypocritical if there’s nothing in the rest of your life.

And he always made such a big deal out of being together on Valentine’s Day and making sure that we did it right. But it eventually meant nothing other than one more day I had to smile and pretend that everything was all right. In fact, I had to pretend harder because we were supposed to be happy, we were supposed to be in love. But as we got further and further from that love, it was actually painful to try to be all that. The words on the cards hurt because I knew the promises were only words on a card that thousands of other women were reading that day. And that on the 15th, it would all be back to normal, those words only echoes, empty and hollow.

So what does that mean now? With the Filmmaker?

Well, I realized I had a choice.

I could let myself be angry and upset and petulant, like maybe every other woman he’s ever been with, over something silly like this. I could make him feel bad because he’s not ready to be in a relationship that would celebrate Valentine’s Day. I could force him to be something he’s not, push him into a situation that he’s obviously either not comfortable with or not ready for. I could push and push until either he or I says, enough, and we walk away from each other. I sometimes feel like he’s trying to do that anyway, trying to get me to walk away so he doesn’t have to. So I could do that. I could be that girl, that chick who’s the pushy, whiny bitch who berates him about not being a good man.

Or…

I could accept that I knew that we weren’t going to be together tomorrow. I could accept that he’s just not ready/willing/able to go there. I know where he stands, I know how he feels so I could just accept that and let it go. I could also look at my previous life and see how little this one single day means in the course of an entire relationship. I could accept that I don’t know where he’s coming from, I don’t know what he’s thinking and he doesn’t know what I’m thinking and just leave it at that.

Because I dig him. I dig him a lot. And it’s not perfect and it’s not quite what I want in the long run. But it’s pretty groovy right now.

And eventually, I’ll say good-bye, when it’s really not working or it’s really getting difficult or it really just doesn’t feel good anymore.

But for now, I can choose to just the day go by, maybe shoot him a quick, innocuous text wishing him love on the day, so he knows he’s not in the doghouse with me but also that there’s no expectation of anything. I can choose to just enjoy his company whenever I see him because he makes me so very happy the rest of the time. I can choose to just let go of all this expectation that the day forces upon us and just know that one single day means absolutely nothing at all. And I can choose to not be a crazy, insane, demanding woman and just relax and not make him crazy at the same time.

And I can send him positive vibes tonight and tomorrow, instead of the angry, dark, negative vibes I’ve been shooting at him all day. And show him I care by showing him I don’t care. There are 364 other days we can play. One single day doesn’t matter.

That’s what I choose.