Gateway Girl

I am the gateway girl. I’m the one who shows you that you want someone, something more. But it’s not me. I’m the one who sets the stage and someone else gets to perform on it.

With Cute Boy, he was dating someone on the other coast. He flirted outrageously with me. We got very close. I thought something was going on. And it was. Just not with me. As soon as I thought we were going somewhere, he suddenly decided to have the East Coast girl move in with him. Now, I’m not saying it’s because of me but the timing sure was interesting. And they got married and now have two kids. And I hope he’s happy. I don’t know because I don’t hear from him anymore.

Then the Poet. Who was kind of sleeping with someone when we met. Nothing serious. She was definitely not someone I could see him with. And again, we got so close. So very, very close. But he told me he wasn’t in love with me. And then disappeared. Shortly thereafter, he found someone. They live together now. He seems very happy. I don’t know because I don’t hear from him anymore.

And now, the Filmmaker just posted a video (under the guise of his alter ego) saying one of his resolutions this year is to find love. The man who said he didn’t want to be a boyfriend. The man who could deal with my having cancer yet couldn’t deal with holding my hand in public because someone might think he’s my boyfriend. The man I slept with for almost a year, who I just wanted to give me a teeny bit more, who said he wanted to play the field and just be casual. This man wants to find love. Now, maybe he means sex. Maybe he means someone to be casual with. But he used the term “find love”.

And my heart broke.

Because I’m still here. And I wanted to give him all the love he wanted. But he chose not to take it.

And all it would take would be a phone call from him. An email. A text. And I’d be right there.

He wouldn’t have to find love because it’s right here.

But I haven’t really heard from him in almost three months. (Sounds familiar) Oh, he’s good about responding to me. But if I stop reaching out to him, he’ll fade into the distance and become like all of the others - someone with a piece of my heart who I knew once.

And it makes me angry. And it breaks my heart. Because I never seem to be the one that they want. I always seem to be the one before the one that they want.

And if that’s true, then the Filmmaker will find someone within the next month or so who is the one who he wants. And he’ll be happy. And I really want that.

But…

Fuck.

Why can’t it be me? The only issue we had was that I wanted more and he didn’t.

And maybe I’m reading more into this than is there. And maybe I’m overreacting. (What? Me?) And maybe he really just wants someone to be casual and to be not serious.

But he said “find love”.

And if my life were a romantic comedy, one of his friends or his mother or someone close to him would kick him in the shins and say, hey, stupid. You had that and you let it go. And she’s still here and she still loves you. And he’d show up at my door… well… you know the whole “show up at my door” scenario. And we’d become that romantic urban myth of the couple who broke up and then got back together again and lived happily ever after.

But my friend, Shelley, already had that. She and her now-husband and the father of her gorgeous daughter broke up for six months and then got back together and are now ridiculously happy. So she got that. Which means I don’t.

And I’m tired of being the gateway girl. And I’m tired of not getting the guy. And not being the one who is happy in the arms of the man who I love. And I’m tired of feeling like there’s something wrong with me.

And now, there’s even more wrong with me. I’m a cancer survivor with my battle wounds obvious all over my body. The Filmmaker was there as these wounds were obtained and he made that okay. But now, I don’t know that anyone is going to want to be with the wounded warrior I have become. I thought he would stay around because he dealt with my wounds so easily. But maybe that drove him away and he just couldn’t express it.

So I sit here in my apartment, reminders of him everywhere. And I’m pissed off and hurt and heartbroken and angry and pissed off and… rinse, repeat.

I want to call him or go over and bang on his door and scream at him, “You stupid son-of-a-bitch! You had me! You had love! And you let me go, you stupid…”

But…

He’ll find someone and be happy. And that someone won’t be me. And I’ll cry every time I see a picture of him with her because, goddammit, it should have been me. IT FUCKING SHOULD BE ME!!!!

Because it’s time. It’s time that it was me. Because we fit together. And we worked.

And it should be me.

But it never is. And it won’t be. So I’ll stop trying to even be friends. I’ll stop reaching out because my heart breaks every time he doesn’t reach back. And my heart is broken enough. I’ll truly let him go and just pretend he isn’t there and stop trying to be in his life. Because he obviously doesn’t want me there. Silence speaks louder than words sometimes.

Because I’m the gateway girl. And I’ll probably spend my life watching the men I love find the women they love. After me.

So I guess the solution is to not give my heart away and not give myself away.

To stop looking at every guy I meet and wonder if he’s going to be the one who I get to keep. Like the very lovely guy I met at the coffee shop the other night. Spent two hours talking. Really connected. And after he left, I immediately thought, maybe he’ll call. And maybe this will be something. And maybe…

And that was immediately followed by the absolute knowledge that he won’t even contact me, never mind be the one I get to keep.

I don’t need to have someone in my life. I’ve never been one to be that woman, that woman that absolutely needs a man to complete her life. But being with the Filmmaker showed me that I really love being with someone. Especially being with him.

But I don’t want to be the gateway girl anymore. So I guess I’ll just not let anyone else in. That way, I won’t open myself up to be the one standing on the sidelines, watching a piece of my heart walk away yet again and watch someone I love give his heart to someone else. Because there just isn’t much of my heart left anymore. I think I gave the last, precious piece to the Filmmaker. And I don’t want to let go of any of it anymore.

And maybe that’s sad. But at least I won’t have to be the gateway girl anymore. And maybe I can survive with my heart intact and keep some of it for myself.

Never going to be

You are never going to be what I want you to be, what I think we could be.

And I think I always knew that. But I hoped. Because there were moments…

But you’re never going to be.

And you’re never going to tell me you love me. And I’ll never get to admit how much I love you.

Because you’re never going to be what I want you to be.

And it’s so hard because I miss your big, comfy bed and the big, comfy you in that big, comfy bed. I miss your arms around me as we fall asleep. And talking about Star Trek for an hour. And reaching out and finding you there.

And it’s hard for me to accept it.

But you’re never going to be that.

And you’re not going to change. You’ve been too hurt. And maybe I’ve added to that hurt and fucked up any chance that you’d change. And I’m not going to change. Because I need someone to be what I want them to be, what I need them to be.

And I hate that it won’t be you. And I hate that you’re never going to be that.

There were moments where I thought you could be. And I miss that. I miss your home because, for a minute, it felt like home. It felt like it could be home. And being with you and your kids. It felt so good. So much like what I need, what I want.

But you’ll never be what I want.

And my friends all say maybe you’ll miss me, maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe on a rainy night like this, you’ll show up at my door, take my face gently in your hands and kiss me and tell me you’ve missed me and make passionate love to me, like you did that one night so very long ago. And I wish for nothing more than that.

But you’ll never be that. And you’re in Hawaii so you’re definitely not going to show up at my door on this rainy night.

And even as a friend, you won’t be what I want you to be.

Because I don’t want you to be my friend. I really don’t. I’ll do it because… I don’t know. Because. But even that, it’s in your court now. I’ve done my part. Now it’s up to you. But I don’t think you’ll make that happen. Because you can’t be what I want you to be.

And I deserve the love I choose to accept. And I need to only accept someone who is going to love me back as much as I love them. And I won’t change. I did need this thing we had to be something more. Not forever kind of more. But at least an inch more. I just needed to know you’d be there, at least for the next little while.

And I’m never going to be what you want me to be. Someone who’s okay with not enough. Someone whose heart isn’t already in your hands. Someone who can let you go.

And I miss you still every single day. I imagine I can feel you, missing me, somehow, some way. But I know that’s not true. I’m already an anecdote in your file of women you’ve dated. Nothing special. Just another one on the list.

And I want you to miss me. And I want you to read this and see how much I miss you. But you won’t. Or if you do, you’ll pretend you didn’t. And I’ll never know. Because you’ll never tell me. Because you’ll never show up at my door, in the rain, to love me.

Because you’re never going to be that.

And I’ll find someone who is that. Or not. I don’t need to have someone. I’ve been alone for a long time and I don’t need someone there. I just liked having you there. Because you showed me that I could love someone again. And you showed me that there are good guys out there who won’t abuse me, who won’t treat me like shit. Someone who can be gentle and tender and caring.

And I hope… I don’t know what I hope. I want you to be happy. And it kills me that I’m not the one to do that for you. But I can’t.

Because you’re never going to be what I want you to be.

And that’s it.

And then the doctor said...

"I'm very concerned the cancer may have spread."

Almost as hard to hear as the first diagnosis.

It started mid-week last week when I noticed some swelling in my clavicle area. I didn't think much of it because I just started radiation treatment as the last round of treatment for my cancer. So I pointed it out to the radiation nurses on Thursday and they said to discuss it with the radiation oncologist on Friday in my check in with him.

Well, on Friday,  I point out the swelling, expecting the RO to say it's nothing, it's a normal reaction, etc. Instead, he palpated it and then frowned and started going, hmmm, a lot. Never a good sign. Then he told me he wanted me to have a CT scan right away. Being Friday, I figured that would happen Monday. Nope. After scheduling it for Monday, the RO called several times and insisted that I do it Saturday.

Now, I'm starting to freak out. When your doctor calls several times and insists on a test on a weekend, that's not a good sign.

So, the RO calls today. I was up the college, turning in some work to tie up loose ends from dropping out in May due to my surgery and diagnosis. Nothing like getting that call on campus. 

The words stopped me cold. No signs of disease yet in the CT scan, which is good. But the RO said, "I'm very concerned that the cancer has spread." He asked me to come in at a different time on Wednesday so he can rethink the radiation protocol to include my collarbone. He had said early on that the clavicle is a place where he was thinking of targeting at first because it's one of the places where the cancer could spread. But he had decided not to treat it.

And now...

Nothing else matters because the cancer may have spread.

The fact that I can't pay my rent yet again doesn't matter. If the cancer has spread, I have to rethink my entire life, including where I live. I have no idea where or how I would move with no money and no credit and nothing at all. 

The fact that I may not be able to return to school doesn't matter. I've just started thinking about what I have to do to be prepared to register in the new year and getting excited about going back to class. But now, doesn't matter. I can't think about that until I have a better idea of what's going on and how serious this is.

Even the Filmmaker doesn't matter. I've put so much of my fear of things into him and the end of our relationship. And now, it just doesn't matter. He hasn't reached out as I finished chemo and things like that since we stopped seeing each other. And I don't expect him to reach out now because he likes his life easy and free of challenges. And I don't fit that mode so I don't expect to hear from him. And it doesn't matter because I need to focus on me and getting through this next challenge.

And nothing else matters. 

I don't know what to think or how to feel. I'm numb again, just as I was starting to feel like myself again. And I was just starting to get past the chemo and looking past the radiation to the future. And I was just getting past the Filmmaker and thinking about who I want in the future.

And now...

Nothing matters.

Because I can't see the future again right now. I can't see past today. I can't see past Wednesday.

I hope the RO has more settling information on Wednesday to give me hope that this isn't as scary and bad as it feels. I'll see.

But right now...

Nothing else matters.

Yup

Still miss you.

Despite the fact that I don't think you miss me - at all.

Despite the fact that I figure I won't ever see you again, even with your promises of friendship. I know it won't happen. It never does.

Despite the fact that I need to let you go. And that you've let me go.

Despite the fact that I won't reach out to you at this point. I've reached. Now it's up to you. And you won't. And maybe I've hurt you without knowing. But now, I'll never you.

But still...

Still miss you.

This War is Over - Almost

It's been a long year. Toughest year of my life - quite literally. And it's been taking its toll on me.

Looking back through my blog, I can see how hard it's been. Being prone to depression, going through hard times makes it difficult for me to find the good, the positive in things. I try to keep a good face in public, but in private, it's just too hard sometimes.

And there's been a lot to deal with.

Let's start with cancer. Cancer. Really? Cancer? That thought still goes through my mind. How did I end up here? Still trying to absorb the fact that I am a cancer patient/survivor. 

And it's easy to get sucked into the negative because my energy is about half or less than it usually is. It's so hard for me to not be able to go at everything a thousand  miles an hour and take on the world. Right now, just taking on my staircase is exhausting.

And as much as I have had great support from my friends and from the Filmmaker early on, I still feel like I've gone through this mostly alone. Because as much as everyone loves me and comforts me and takes care of me, the toughest nights have been when I'm alone. No one can be with me twenty-four hours a day so there's been a lot of alone. And as much as they all love me, they haven't been here so they can't relate, as much as they try. And that feels alone. Even laying in bed with the Filmmaker, his arm around me or his hand on my hip, there were still times when I felt so very alone in this. I knew I could wake him up and say, I'm scared, I need... something. And he would have given me whatever I needed. But even that wouldn't have helped. You're still alone in this. Because no one can do it for you. It's just you.

On top of cancer, life goes on. And the side effects and the emotional toll build and build and build as you go through this because you can only process so much of it at a time. Mostly, you  put your head down and just get through the day. You try to be normal but most days, normal is a stretch. Most days, just getting from one room to the other is a herculean accomplishment. Add to that pressures of  life and the unique pressures of handling this disease and it's crippling.

And I right now, I'm having trouble getting through the last of this. The weight o the last ten months is crushing me. I just want to be done. I just want to be done. 

Radiation is quicker and easier. In and out in 15 minutes as opposed to four to six hours. And no epic chemo-type side effects.

But it's 33 more days of facing this disease head-on. And it's five days a week, not one day every couple of weeks. And I just don't want to do it.

But I'm trying to focus on getting to January 18. That's the end of actual treatment. January 18. Just under a year from when I found the lump. There will still be appointments and follow up and estrogen suppressors to deal with but the major stuff will be over.

Then I can start life again. Put all the pain and sadness and anger and everything else behind me. Look back at the good things through these tough times -- and there were a lot otherwise I wouldn't have been able to handle this.

I can look forward to a year of starting over again. Of building my life again. Of building my health again. And if nothing else, this year has really shown me what I want my life to be, from my career to who I want to share my life with. And maybe once this war is over, I can reap the rewards and finally get to the life I want.

Where do I go?

So, in typical form, I don't know where to go from here. Because right now, I'm feeling stuck.

First, I should know better than to reach out. Aussie has a "partner" who is in Australia. Still gonna have coffee with him. Why not? But I should know better. Next time, I'll rethink reaching out. I'm never successful when I do. And I really don't know that I'm ready to be with someone again right now. Because...

I don't know how I feel about being friends with the Filmmaker. I've never been in this situation. Because I haven't really dated, I've never had to stay friends with someone I've been with. I cut off all communication with my ex because I couldn't survive if I let him stay involved. And the other men I've gotten close to but never got to where I wanted to with them left me behind without a word. So this is all new to me.

I told him I want to be friends and he always said he wanted that. And there's little signs that, as far as he's concerned, we're kind of there. But we haven't seen each other - it's been almost two months since I walked away. 

And I don't think I can see him. As much as I want to be friends and I told him I could, I don't think I can. I'll want to stay with him and I'll want to hold him and kiss him and all that icky, lovey stuff. And he doesn't want that. And I don't know if I can do that.

But I don't want to hurt him because I know how it feels to have someone walk away who I still want to have a connection with. And I don't want to be that person and do that to him. But part of me figures he's already let me go and that I don't mean anything to him other than someone on his periphery that he should maybe stay in touch with.

And I don't want to see that in his eyes when I see him. I don't want to see that he doesn't want to be with me.

But with the holidays coming up, maybe I can avoid him until I figure it out. Until my heart truly lets him go. Some time in 2045.

The ball is in his court to reach out to me to get together so maybe he'll make it easy for me by simply not reaching out to me to get together. Maybe he's already with someone else who is sitting on his couch with him and sleeping in his bed and making sure he doesn't miss me at all. Someone who is holding him and kissing him and all that lovey stuff.

And that will kill me. As much as I want him to be happy.

And I had hoped he'd surprise me. Somehow. But, no. Because that doesn't happen to me. 

And I'm stuck because I'm waiting to move on but my stupid heart apparently isn't ready. And it's pissing me off because nothing is going to change  him and I know that. He's not going to suddenly decide he misses me and he wants to try again and he wants to be with just me. Because he's not. And I'm stuck because I want him to do all of that.

But he won't.

And I start radiation tomorrow and that scares the shit out of me. And I can't help but remember being with him the day before I began chemo and how much I felt comforted by him and calmed by him. And he's not here. 

And I'm stuck because I'm still in treatment and I'm pissed off about that. I have another month and a half before I can begin to put all of this stupid fucking cancer treatment behind me. And maybe I can't put the Filmmaker behind me because I can't put the cancer treatment behind me and I'm stuck. And stuck and stuck and stuck.

And all I want is for him to be here with me. Be stuck with him.

But I'm just fucking stuck. And I don't know how to unstick.

Skip this entry

This is entry 666.

I could post something clever and funny and entertaining.

But, no.

Just skip this and go on to the next!

Thank you.

But then again...

So I reached out in a couple of very scary ways lately.

I reached out to the Filmmaker to try and see if we can be friends. He insisted he wanted to remain friends even as we were ending our relationship (with a small r) but I wasn't sure that I could. I've taken some time, talked to the therapist at the cancer resource center, who helped me see what was just relationship stuff and what was cancer stuff. I've done some deep thinking and a lot of crying. And I finally accepted that I want to try to keep him in my life. I miss his company, I miss his presence, I miss his cute face.

So I very carefully crafted an email, let it sit for a few days, decided I wasn't ready and wouldn't send it and then found myself sending it.

Guess I was ready.

I didn't expect a response. That's been the lesson in my life. When I reach out, they don't reach back. They vanish into the mist.

But he reached back. Simply. Quietly. Mainly said, okay. We haven't planned t get together yet but at least he reached back. I'm trying not to write scenarios. I'm trying to just let it be and see where it goes.

And...

I had planned to write a blog about this heart being closed. It was going to be poignant and deep and emotional. It was going to be about how much I learned from my time with the Filmmaker, more glorious praise about him getting me through treatment and how he showed me what I really want. And it was going to end with something beautiful and powerful and that would make me - and maybe you - cry.

It was going to be all about how this was the end. I wasn't going to reach out to anyone ever again. I wasn't going to allow my heart to be exposed again because it's too hard and it's been bashed enough and... you know the rest.

And then...

I met this guy.

Okay, not in caps I MET THIS GUY!!!!

Just - I met this guy. At Thanksgiving at friend's place. Friend of a friend. 

Didn't notice him at first but by the end of the evening, we were deep in geek discussion about comic books and Doctor Who and all those things that I find so attractive in men. Oh, and he's handsome in a scruffy sort of way. And Australian.

At the end of the evening, he offered to drive me home as I don't have a working car right now. I said yes, despite the fact that Patty was going to drive me. She even kept her mouth shut because she could see we had hit it off. But the mutual friend spoke up and said I had a ride already. Well, in the confusion of packing up and leaving and being awkward, we didn't exchange numbers.

And I did what we all do - I stalked him on Facebook. And liked what I saw.

But, as  I said a few paragraphs ago, I wasn't going to reach out. I'm not looking for something new. A teeny part of me is still hoping for a rom-com ending with the Filmmaker, though there's no way on earth that's going to happen. But I'm not ready to reach out to someone new, put myself out there again, so soon after losing the Filmmaker. There's no way.

I just sent the Australian a Facebook message, today's version of passing a note in class.

Don't expect a response. After all, I'm an overweight, bald, emotionally busted cancer patient. Maybe I should use that for an OKCupid profile. Slightly damaged cancer survivor with several decades of abuse in her past, shaved head, no eyebrows. Oh, and a left boob with a lovely scar across it from cancer surgery. Stampede... away.

But I guess I was ready.

Ready to put something out  there with no agenda, no expectation, nothing except following an instinct that said, what the hell, why not? I didn't have an answer.

So...

Why not?

Yikes.

Carrie Bradshaw? Really?

Let me start with the fact that I am not a big fan of "Sex in the City". I watched it only because everyone talked about it and it runs at all hours of the night and day on cable, so it's basically something in the background while I'm doing other things. I don't think I ever really watched it during its original run, other than maybe occasionally catching it by accident.

The main reason I didn't really watch it was because I couldn't relate to any of the characters. I found them all to be so unrealistic. I mean, really, $500 for  pair of shoes? And she's a moderately successful columnist, alway crying broke. And don't get me started on the others. Cardboard cutouts of what women should be.

I did get kind of sucked into Carrie and Big's relationship, but only because it's so idealized. It's the fantasy. I never thought I'd have a relationship like that so I enjoyed the fantasy of it and moved on. I scoffed when other women started calling their boyfriends "Mr. Big" because they wanted that fantasy.

I did actually really love the first movie (the second one I'm going to pretend I never saw because it was everything I hated about the series originally). I loved that it dealt realistically (more or less) with Carrie and Big's fantasy life being broken and each of them trying to deal with the aftermath.

So why am I writing about women I don't like and a show that I never really cared about?

Because now, I get it.

When the show first aired, I was in the beginning of the end of my doomed marriage. I never had the Mr. Big fantasy about my ex and didn't get it. My relationship looked nothing like anything on screen so I just didn't get it.

Then I was single for a long time. I guess maybe I understood the appeal of the show a bit more then because suddenly, I was hearing bits and pieces that resonated with me about being single and trying to figure it out. Especially the early episodes.

But then I started seeing the Filmmaker. And suddenly, Carrie and Big made sense. I got the fantasy romance angle because, for the first time in my life, I was in that fantasy romance. I understood Carrie. I understood her struggle to figure out how to be with him. And I understood why she loved him. That fantasy is incredible. Someone who curls your toes and wraps you up in his arms and everything else just disappears. I got it.

And lately, that show seems to be determined to haunt me and mimic my own life. I've had it on the background a lot while I paint lately because I don't really have to pay attention to it and it's easy background noise. 

But the past few days, the episodes have been dealing with exactly what I'm dealing with. How do you reconnect with someone you've broken up with, especially someone who was so very special and yet so emotionally unavailable? And what do you do when you do reconnect? How do you handle that? And just every emotion and feeling I've been dealing with since we stopped seeing each other and I try to figure out how (or if) to fit him back into my life.

I never thought I would find wisdom in a fictional character with $500 shoes who smokes and who I don't always find particularly smart.

But I kept finding myself stopping and listening to what Carrie and her minions were saying because, suddenly, there was something worth listening to in there. Maybe they did have it figured out. Maybe the writers knew all the answers since they seemed to know all the questions.

And the cutesy questions Carrie often asks in her columns. Even those seemed to leap out to me, screaming, "Hey, Susan! Pay attention! This is exactly what you've been thinking about!"

So I listened.

And what conclusion have I come to?

I'm not Carrie Bradshaw, although I guess a little of her lives in each woman. Otherwise, the show would not have been the huge success it was.

And the questions I have/had are universal. I just didn't have them previously because my marriage was not normal and not something you would write about in a sitcom. But once I was in something with someone "normal" who had normal issues about commitment and emotional availability, the questions all made sense.

And there is comfort in the fantasy that someone like Carrie could finally end up with the love of her life. Someone who would find her in Paris and bring her home. Someone who, no matter how many times they walked away from each other, kept coming back. Someone who wasn't perfect but who was perfect for her.

And now, as I move through this phase of dealing with the end of my time with the Filmmaker and as I try to decide whether it's better to just let him fade away so I won't get hurt by having him in my life, or if it's better to risk being hurt, I find weird comfort in the fictional advice of Carrie and friends. And maybe a little bit of misguided hope. If she and Big could figure it out...

And that kind of pisses me off. Cuz I'm not supposed to like them.

But maybe, beyond the shoes and the hair and the clothes, there is a spark of truth and a smidgeon of reality that lives there. And maybe there's nothing wrong with that.

Deserving love

"We accept the love we think we deserve." 

Great line written by Stephen Chbosky from "Perks of Being a Wallflower".

And we do. Or at least I do. I accept the love I think I deserve.

The problem is, I've been taught I deserve love that makes me feel invisible and insignificant. I deserve love that is somehow less than. I deserve men who almost love me but stop just short of the love I want, but that I don't feel I deserve.

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

Ever since I heard that quote, it's stuck in my head. "The love we think we deserve." 

I've said time and time again about my husbands that they loved me as best they could, as much as they could. So that's apparently the love I deserve - the best they can. Never what I need,  just the best they can. And I have always accepted that. The almost. The not-enough. Because that's the love I think I deserve.

With the Filmmaker, I accepted the almost right up front because he told me from the beginning that this would never be something long term or serious. And I accepted that because he's so darling and charming and lovely. And he kissed me under the full moon. And said wonderful things. It felt so much more than maybe it was. And I felt the arm's length the whole time but I accepted it.

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

And even today, I wish I could have the arm's length back because he was so close to what I want. But even he said, "You deserve to be with someone who's going to be what you deserve." But I thought he was what I deserved - the almost.  

And in talking with the therapist at WeSPARK about a variety of issues exacerbated by my cancer treatment (losing my dad, financial struggles, ending this relationship with the Filmmaker), she brought up the fact that I always am drawn to men who can't be what I need. There's always an emotional distance there that I can never seem to bridge. And somehow, that's what I feel I deserve - almost there but not quite. And I accept that.

But why?

There are obvious answers to that. My screwed up family who can make me feel loved and insignificant at the same time. The only one who ever really made me feel really loved was my father. But he was so quiet about it, I didn't realize it until he was almost gone.

But that's what I think I deserve - schizophrenic love that pulls me close and makes me believe and makes me fall and makes me feel like this is what I've always wanted, and then pushes me so far away, I can't see them anymore and I can't figure out why I'm standing here, broken, hurt, alone and devastated. You said you'd always love me, yet you fucked some other woman and left. You said you'd never leave me, yet you showed up with divorce papers before I could figure out what I wanted.  And you and you and you, all of you said you'd always be my friend, you'd always be there for me. And you're not. And I accept that because...

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

And in all the thinking I've done since ending things with the Filmmaker and in talking with the therapist, it's made me realize that I do think that the only love I deserve is second rate, less than, not what I want kind of love.

And you know what?

Fuck that.

I deserve a full love. A love that not only fills my soul with light and joy but fills his soul as well. I deserve someone who wants my love as much as I want his. My therapist said something about finding someone you can come together with and just celebrate being with each other. Celebrate who each person is without trying to change them or make them something else. Celebrate being together without clinging and pulling and desperate needing. Just celebrate the being together. That doesn't mean every minute is going to be sunshine and puppies, but it means that the harder times will be easier to get through because there is balance, there is harmony, there is a foundation where each person stands. Not pulling the other one off balance but helping each other stay on balance.

That's the love I deserve. I saw glimpses of it with the Filmmaker, which is probably why I fell so hard and why I miss him so much still. I felt like we celebrated each other, without pulling, without dragging. Just being with each other. I didn't need to be anything but me, literally scars and all. And I hoped that he would feel that balance with me and let that arm bend and pull me closer. Because I think he deserves that love as well. But he accepts the love he thinks he deserves. And I can't change that.

But I'm beginning to realize that I deserve more. 

I deserve someone who thinks of me first... well, almost first. I don't need someone who's gonna text me a hundred times a day and forgets who he is. But someone who makes me a priority, not an afterthought.

Someone who can't keep his hands off of me because he thinks I'm beautiful.

Someone who treats me with respect and dignity.

Someone who looks at me the way you did, for a while, at least. With his heart in his eyes so my heart can look back at his, like mine did at yours.

Someone fearless, who can be with me without worrying about what his past did to him and what others might think about us. Someone who can just be with me in the present, unafraid that there might be a future, whatever that may look like. 

Someone who understands that we get to create this and not have to stick a label on it. It can just be about us, not the world.  After all, at the end of the day, it's just us that curl up together in bed together. No one else gets to be there with us and decide who we are.

Someone who wants to create this. With me. Because it's me. And because it's him.

Someone who won't be an almost. Someone who will be all.

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

I accept that I deserve more. I deserve what I want.

Now, if only there's someone out there who thinks I'm exactly what he deserves.

I want to be hopeful, but I'm not holding my breath...

Letting go

I’m not good at letting go.

I still have my pointe shoes from when I was 18. I have the guitar my parents bought me when I was 12. I have way too much stuff around my apartment from the various shows and films I’ve done over the years.

I’m not good at letting go.

I still have the video somewhere from my first wedding. I think I might even still have the wedding album. I even have notes my first husband sent me after we split up.

Not good at letting go.

And when the various pieces of my heart left me behind, that was even more difficult to let go. Months of crying over them, my heart broken and shattered on the floor.

I hung on to the anger over my second husband for a very long time. It was easy. There was a lot of anger.

Bags of teddy bears in my closet.

Not good at letting go.

Of anything.

But the lesson I’ve been learning lately is that I have to.

Let go.

Of everything.

Having cancer is the biggest lesson in letting go one can have.

You can’t hang on to anything when you have cancer. You just simply can’t because you’re just trying to get by.

You let go of your control. There is so much going on and so much information and so many choices to make that you have to let go and follow where your treatment takes you.

You let go of your vanity. Losing your hair is inevitable. But no one tells you about losing your eyebrows and eyelashes and… other hair. It’s weird. It’s odd. But you have to let go because you can’t do anything about it.

You let go of having anything that feels like normal because nothing is normal anymore. And coming out of treatment, there is a new normal to be established because you can’t go back to who you were before. You have to let it go.

And I’m not good at letting go.

But I’m learning.

For someone who has spent her whole life playing with an emotional Rubik’s cube, feeling like I have to have every angle figured out and know how to respond to any possible variation in any situation, letting go of that control is almost impossible.

But I’m learning.

It began with the Filmmaker. I didn’t have to figure things out with him because there was nothing to figure out. He is exactly who he is and I didn’t have to anticipate which bomb was going to go off if I did something wrong. It was simple and I’d never had that before.

And I began to let go.

I stopped trying to figure out how to make him happy because he was happy. Which let me be free to be happy. I stopped playing with the Rubik’s cube and put it away because I didn’t need it anymore.

I let it go.

And it helped me to realize that I cannot control things around me. I don’t have to anticipate and be perfect and figure out every angle on everything all the time. I don’t have to do it with someone I care about. I don’t have to do it with my treatment. I don’t have to do it with anything in my life.

I can let go.

I can let go of him. Let him go. Not worry about if and when and what. Because I don’t know and I can’t control it or him or us. I can only follow my heart and do what it tells me. And right now, it says let go. Say good-bye. Wish him well. Accept that he’s out of my life and probably won’t come back. And let go of that pain and hurt.

I can let go of fear. There has been so much fear going through treatment. So much I don’t know, so much I can’t figure out. And now that I’m getting to the end of it, I can let go. I don’t know if this is it and my cancer will never come back. But I can’t control that. So I’m letting go.

I can let go of not knowing. I’ve always held on to not knowing, held on to trying to figure out the future, where I’m going, what’s going to happen. But I don’t know. And the more I try to hang on to something that’s not there, the harder it is. I can let go.

And I can let go of my life. Stop trying to be everything and do everything and show everyone how amazing I can be. Let go. Accept that, for a while, I can’t be and do and have everything. Just take what each day gives me until I get back on my feet. And even then, accept that each day gives me what I need and stop there. Let go.

I can let go of my past. There’s nothing there that’s going to do me any good now. I’ve looked at all of it and analyzed it and figured a lot of it out. And what hasn’t been figured out yet doesn’t matter. It’ll get there. I can let go of the anger and the pain and all of the bullshit. It happened. It hurt. It almost killed me. But I’m still here and I’m still standing so I can let it all go. Take the lessons and leave the rest.

Let go.

Let go.

Let go.

I miss...

...breakfast with you, mornings with you.

Endings and beginnings

I am sitting at Cedars Sinai in Los Angeles undergoing my last chemotherapy treatment. It's been a long five months of six rounds of chemo and the ass-kicking that goes along with it.

But here I am. Hours away from being done.

I remember breaking down before my first treatment, sitting with the Filmmaker at his place, unable to pull myself together because of how daunting and scary and big it all seemed. I couldn't figure out how I was going to get through it.

And here I am. Almost through.

It hasn't been easy. Besides all the emotional crap that has gone on over the past five months, the physical toll has been tough. No energy, no focus, neuropathy in my feet, shakes in my hands. Constant nausea. No taste for anything. Depression, anxiety, panic attacks. And actually, comparatively, my side effects have been on the lower end. But for someone like me, it's been crippling.

But marking this milestone means putting so much behind me. And maybe putting some of the emotional trauma of the past few months behind me as well. 

Now I get to "rest" for a month or so as I prepare for six weeks of radiation - every day, five days a week. However, should be easier on my body.

The tough thing is that the fatigue and effects can last for months and maybe a year after I'm done. So while this step is behind me, it's not over by a long shot. 

But it's done. 

It's a mixed bag of emotions. I'm happy to put it behind me but as the facilitator in my treatment support group explained, these milestones can make you realize what you've been through and that can be overwhelming. We sometimes don't look at what we're going through until we're done. And then the breakdown comes.

And I'm not in breakdown but I am overcome with emotion. Sad and mourning for all the things I've lost through this, both tangible and intangible. Frustrated that there's more I have to go through and that these effects are going to be around for awhile.

But also incredibly grateful.

My medical team has been amazing, from my Hello, Kitty surgeons to my wise and soft-spoken oncologist to all the funny, delightful nurses and Disney princess physical therapist.

My friends who have gone above and beyond. Who drive me everywhere. Who feed me and entertain me. Who let me cry and scream and just be me. Who have reached out to the community at large for me to help me pay my bills and stay in my apartment and just survive. There aren't words.

And the Filmmaker. While I don't know where we'll go from here, if we'll get to friends or just fade from each other's lives, he was there when I needed someone the most. Made me feel beautiful at the lowest points and gave me comfort in ways I'm sure he wasn't even aware of. He gave me almost a year of passion and joy and gentleness and so many other things. I won't forget a day of it and I can't even express how much those days meant to me.

And grateful to just be here. My dad taught me that. Grateful for today, whatever it brings. It's hard to get there some days, when things suck and you feel like shit and everything seems to be crumbling around you.

But it hits me at times when people call me brave and inspiring because I'm going through chemo and I'm not afraid to show off my bald head. But in those moments, I want to ask them what they think the other choice is. Don't go through treatment and eventually die a horrible lingering death? Um, no, thanks. This is not brave, what I'm doing. It's life. It's survival. You would do exactly the same thing. And you'd be grateful you get to have today and have a future where you won't have to go through this again (fingers crossed).

So I sit here, hydration and goodies going through my system to help counter-balance the drugs from yesterday and I know I won't have to be here again. 

And I will celebrate quietly tonight, maybe go to a drawing event near my place, and just revel in the life I get to live, cancer or not.

What a year hath wrought

A year ago, you kissed me under the moon and it began. You told me I was sexy and beautiful and said all the things I always wanted to hear.

And it was perfect.

You were the final piece of my life falling into place.

I had it all. I had what I wanted.

School. Straight A, 4.0 student. Classes I loved. Teachers I loved. Producing work that I am still so very proud of.

My teaching job. Who'dve thought I would end up teaching fine art to children? Discovering this hidden talent? Having that talent nurtured. Knowing I had a future with this company, eventual goal to have my own studio.

And you. We fit together. Knowing you for so long before actually going out with you just made us fit better.

For a moment, a year ago, I looked ahead and saw nothing but hope and wonder and exactly what I wanted. I thought, for a moment, this is it. I finally have the life that I want. I never thought you and I were forever but I thought we were for a while, whatever shape that took. And for the first time, I stopped worrying and stopped thinking about next month, next year, next anything. For a moment, it was the perfect moment.

And then...

March 9. IDC - invasive ductal carcinoma.

And slowly but surely, over the past year, everything has gone.

And losing you put the pin in it.

I could have handled losing you by itself. It would have been hard, of course, because I did fall. And I think you did, though you'll never admit it. My heart would have still broken but it wouldn't have been so hard.

But you were the last thing holding me together. Because of everything you've given me since March 9. Because as everything fell to the side, you were still there.

And now...

It's a year later. And I can't help but think of you kissing me so sweetly in the yard and then really kissing me as you dropped me off after that wonderful night.

And it's a year later. And we didn't make it. And you're not here.

And there's nothing here now. 

That perfect moment a year ago is gone. And all the things I thought I would have now are gone. 

And as the thing that destroyed my life is now slowly getting handled and slowly becoming less and less consuming, I'm left with emptiness around me.

And I know I'll rebuild and things will change and somewhere out there is another perfect moment with school and work and maybe someone else kissing me under the moon. 

And I'll look back at this moment and realize that I survived it and put it behind me. And I'll wonder about the tears I shed over everything, including you. And I'm pretty sure you won't be there to wonder with me about those tears because, well, you'll be like all the others and vanish silently and seamlessly despite the promises and all that. And I'll wonder in that moment where you are and send you loving thoughts that you're happy in whatever world you're in.

And in a year, this won't seem so big and so sad and so hard. And I'll be proud of how I survived and how I got through and how I held my head up and dug in. And I'll be proud of the lessons I learned with you and with cancer and with all that came with it. And I'll have moved on and become something new and someone new and someone stronger and older and deeper.

But right now, this moment, I'm not there. I'm lost in that moment a year ago when you kissed me deep and kissed me long at my front door and everything clicked. I'm lost in the moment of perfection and hope and possible. 

And I want all of that back. I want my life back - with you in it. With my father in it. With all of it in it. I want a year ago and I want to stay there, never to face March 9, never to face cancer and chemo and surgery and scars and drugs and baldness and pain and exhaustion and fear and terror and uncertainty and mortality. I want all of it back. 

I just want my life back.

Of fear and perfection

In my eyes, your were perfect.

Might have been the rose-colored glasses.

Or all the assholes in my life prior to you.

Whatever.

You were perfect.

Or as perfect as I wanted you to be.

And that's a lot of pressure.

To be perfect.

And you kept insisting you weren't but I ignored that because, well, to be repetitive, you were.

And perfection is a lot to expect of someone. I didn't realize that. I thought it was a compliment. 

You were simply perfect because you weren't them.  You didn't behave the way I expected because of the way I've been treated. You surprised me at every turn because I had been conditioned to expect different things.

You were perfect because you were just simply you.

And I was so afraid that you would do what I expected that when little, incidental things happened that felt oh, so familiar, it plunged me into crazy because here I was again, in exactly the same place, getting exactly what I expected. And that was crippling. Because I expected you to be more because you had been.

And the more I became Cancer Girl, the more perfect you became. You were there, you gave me support, you gave me comfort. Just those simple things were things I had lacked in my marriages - simple comfort, simple support. And you became more perfect.

And I never thought to ask if you felt that pressure, if you felt the cancer, if you felt anything. You were so simple, just going along, being perfect in my eyes that I never looked to see if the perfection was crushing you.

I thought I was so smart, seeing the fear from your marriage, seeing the fear of this being something more than casual, seeing the fear of you being trapped by whatever this was.

But I never thought about the fear of being perfect.

And perfect can be scary.

Because to me, this was as perfect as it could get. Easy. Simple. I tried not to label us or put us in a box or think about anniversary dates or anything because I didn't want to break the perfect. Because I knew of your fear and didn't want to scare you away.

But in the end, fear is what finished this.

My fear of letting you go. My fear of you being not perfect and becoming exactly what I expected - just another one of those men who would go through my life and leave devastation in their path. My fear of not being perfect for you and my fear of being invisible and unimportant and nothing.

Your fear of letting me too close. Your fear of my being exactly what you expected and leaving you gutted and devastated if this was something more than nothing. Your fear of the expectation of perfect and not living up to that. Your fear that this being something might mean you missing something else.

And here we are, perfectly fearful. So close to something yet now, so close to nothing.

We succeeded perfectly in letting us go.

You

I miss you so very much...

I didn't tell you

For a long time, on those Saturdays when you would bring your daughter into the studio, I started looking forward to seeing you. I would almost hold my breath, waiting. And you'd come in and smile and my day was made. And all those Saturdays of us talking afterward until I had to get on to the next class.

I never imagined I'd be with you. I always thought we would never be anything but a Saturday flirt. I never even hoped because I just never thought you would ask.

But then you did.

And everyone was so surprised because I never mentioned you. Because I never thought I'd be with you.

And your charming British friend took me by surprise when he said you'd wanted to ask me for a long time. So maybe those Saturdays were special for you, too.

It all seemed to happen so fast. You asked, we went, you kissed me in the yard and that was it.

And now, it's over just as fast.

And I'm gonna miss those days of waiting for you to come to the studio, when there was nothing but a whisper of something sweet.

Because I already miss just the whisper of you.

Just a little bit

Wish I could have gotten
Just a little bit more.
A bit more time with you.
A bit more of you.
A bit more of us.
Because what I did get
Was so much.

I just wish
I could have gotten
Just a little bit more.

Dark night of the soul

A bottle of whiskey.

A bottle of pills.

Hard to decide which one to partake of.

If I started with the pills, I would not have stopped.

So instead, two big glasses of whiskey barely took the edge off of the desire for the pills.

And it wasn't the end of things with the Filmmaker that drove me to it, although that was a teeny part of it.

It was just the sense of loss. Because he was the last thing I was hanging on to - us. Him. The comfort, the safety. And now that was gone.

And there was nothing left.

No one understands what cancer can take away from you. They want to but they can't possibly unless they've gone through it or dealt with someone who's gone through it.

First, you lose your balance. Nothing makes sense. There's too much information and you can't get your feet under you. You lose control of your life and cancer takes all of that away from you.

Then you lose your sense of self. Surgery, side effects, drugs, and all that shit just make you not recognize that person in the mirror. Exhaustion, terror, fear, nausea, scars, hair loss, and...and...and... Who am I? What am I? Where did I go?

You cannot do your job, no matter how you try, so you lose your professional self. You can lose your job. You can lose all sense of how to do your job. You lose the very things you've been building towards to create the life you want.

You lose everything that defines you as a woman. I was lucky enough to keep my breasts but there is a huge slash across one of them. I have no hair. Now, I have no eyebrows. And am counting the eyelashes as they fall.

And so many of us lose those we care about, whether they leave or we leave. I don't know if the Filmmaker left because of my illness. He said he doesn't think of me as being sick so maybe not. But to me, I still feel like cancer got in our way, because it's gotten in the way of everything.

But until the last few days, at least I had him to hang on to. The one last good thing in my life from before my diagnosis.

And now that's gone. And I am partially responsible for his being gone, as is he. And we left it as good as you can, vowing to be friends, vowing to always be in one another's life.

But I've heard that before. The Poet swore that and then he vanished. Others have made that promise and then vanished. And I'm sure the Filmmaker meant it when he said it but... Well, let's just say I won't hold my breath. Now that I'm not there, I'm sure he's put me neatly into a compartment and put a lock on that so he won't have to look at it again. And he'll smile when he sees me when I go back to teaching and he brings his brilliant daughter into class. And he'll say, hey, we should hang out. And I'll say, yeah, we should.

But we won't. Because they never do. It never happens. And I lose them and they never come back.

And he'll join them in that netherworld where they go when they don't come back.

And it's the last thing I had.

And now I'm back to one, back to nothing, back to empty.

And the choice between the bottles was difficult. 

Because I'm tired.

I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being brave and inspirational and a superwoman and all that bullshit friends put on you because they don't see you on the nights where you can't stop crying, where you can't get off the couch because, emotionally, you just can't go on.

I'm tired of going on.

Now, I don't want to die or kill myself or anything like that.

But Monday night, all I could think about was how I just wanted it all to go away. I just wanted to not be strong for a while. I just wanted to not feel the pain of letting the Filmmaker go and losing all the so-very-good. I just wanted to not have cancer and not think about cancer and not face chemo Thursday. I just wanted to shut everything down for a while to get some peace, to get some quiet. To just not have to be for a while.

But it does come down to choice. And I fought the choice that said, take the pills, you'll feel better because you just won't feel.

 And I got up and I dealt with the Filmmaker and I went on. I drew and I did the things I had to do. And I went to the treatment group at WeSPARK today and talked a bit about the dark night and the Filmmaker. And I pretended to be strong and good and solid, because I had to.  And I hung out with friends and I put on the brave face because I had to.

And I chose to go on. Because, eventually, you have to.

But I still don't want to. Because I can't face what else I can lose.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll find Wonder Woman again and put on the mask and the cape. And go on and be brave and be inspirational and be all that bullshit.

But today...

Walking away

This morning, I walked away from my Batman, ironically to protect my heart.

It has been a year of lessons learned, discovery, passion, pleasure and joy. And a year of almost.

And I can't do almost anymore, even if it means leaving all of the so-very-good behind. And it was so incredibly very good. So much so that I thought very strongly about staying because of the so very good.

But the almost was too much and I took what I had left of my heart and walked away.

And I will miss his beautiful blue eyes, and his gentle, kind heart, and his arm around me as I fall asleep on his shoulder, and his tactile toes, and every other single thing about him.

And the image of him in his dark coat, striding up my stairs, the passion tangible in the air, will be one that will live in me for a very long time.

So thank you, my Batman, for the things you gave that you can't even fathom. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes and see how beautiful and amazing you are. And I only wish you joy.

And I'm sorry I can't be friends. Not yet. Maybe never. Because a piece of my heart lives in you and it will call to the other pieces I still have and I don't think I could resist that call. So, I'm sorry. But know that I will think of you often and with love.