Desperately Seeking Susan

I dyed my hair tonight.

Doesn't sound like a big deal but it was.

Since finishing chemo and radiation, my hair has been growing back in quite nicely.

And quite grayly.




When I see myself in photographs, I don't like the way I look because the silver hair looks so foreign to me. I thought I would get used to it. 

But I'm not.

I hate it.

I hate it because I didn't get to choose it. Cancer forced it on me when I had to shave my head after chemo. 

And while everyone loves how the silver looks - and I get it, it does look pretty good - it will never look good to me because I didn't get to choose it.

I realized it the other day when I was at my art class for work. One of the teachers who I haven't seen in a while came in and the first thing she said was how much she loved my hair. And I almost burst into tears.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I will never like this hair. Not right now. Maybe if I decide to let it go silver again, I will. But right now, I hate it.

Actually, I think what started it was that I found a box of hair color in my cupboard the other day when I was looking for something else. That made me break down and cry because the last time I colored my hair was maybe June, 2012 because I started chemo in July, 2012. And this box was left over from then. 

From when I was still me.

Last night, I sat on the couch and thought about that box of hair color. 

And this morning, I woke up and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I burst into tears because all of the above came crashing in on me. I don't know that woman with the silver hair looking back at me from my mirror.

So I opened the box when I got home tonight and started.

And I cried every step of the way. 

Cried for what I've lost.

Cried for who I was.

Cried for everything I've gone through.

Cried because... Just because.

And I'm not sure I'm done with the tears yet.

But maybe tomorrow, when I get up and go to teach, that face looking back at me in the mirror might look a little more like the me I was before March 9, 2012. Maybe I can let go of some of this and leave it behind if I'm not constantly reminded of what I've been through due to the color of my hair. Maybe I can really begin to find me again and move forward, toward normal, whatever that means.

But at least tonight, I took a bit of control. We'll see where that leads me...

I'm still here

Madame H drove me home from my birthday party on Saturday (birthday is actually today) and when she dropped me off, she said something that made me stop and think.

She said something like, "You got another birthday."

I got another birthday.

And I came home and sat down and cried.

Because I'm still here.

Battered and a little worse for wear. Tonight, my left shoulder/neck/clavicle hurt so much I can barely type this.

But I'm still here.

I'm lonely and I'm still missing the Filmmaker terribly, though we see each other now and then, which is nice.

And I'm still here.

I'm missing my dad today because a year ago, I was home and that was the last time I saw him.

But I'm still here.

And cancer didn't kill me. Luckily, it was caught early. 

And treatment didn't kill me, though it felt like it would at times. It still does feel like it will, even now.

But I'm still here.

And I got to have another birthday. And I will get to have another one next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.

And I'm grateful for the love and support for this last year, because without it, I truly think I would not have made it. The friends who showed me love in a million tiny ways. And in huge, amazing, epic ways. For having the Filmmaker there at the beginning, when I didn't know how I was going to get through each day. And for his... everything.

And I'm still here.

And I'm starting to feel like life is moving forward, in teeny baby steps, but moving. At last. And I'm finally starting to think about summer and Comic-Con, although I still don't know if I'm going. And thinking about my graphic novel and getting it out  into the world. And thinking about making another film. And what I'm going to direct next. And...

And I'm still here.

And I'm starting to think about where I'll be at my next birthday. Because now I can finally see a future. And I'm thinking about the fact that I want to let someone else in again. I learned a lot with the Filmmaker and since he's not going to surprise me, I need to look forward to someone else. Someone who will be more of what I want/need.

Because I'm still here.

And I am going to be here for a very, very long time.

We have nothing to fear but... fear...

I went to the WeSPARK post-treatment support group this week because I've been feeling lost and out of sorts and very, extremely depressed and decided I needed to get some help and guidance.

As I was on the bus to the group, I got thinking about what I was going to talk about. I haven't been able to go because of the new job and wanted to be able to summarize the last couple of months fairly quickly so as to not take up too much time.

As I was thinking about how I was feeling, I realized something.

I'm afraid.

Of course I'm afraid my cancer will come back, first and foremost. I mean, who wouldn't be? And I wish  I could not take this hormone suppressor because it is making me very depressed and incredibly moody. So depressed that I can't get off the couch.

But...

I realized I'm also afraid of moving forward.

Before I was diagnosed, I felt like I had almost everything I wanted. My teaching job was going very well and I felt optimistic that I would get my studio within a year or so. School was amazing - being able to go and paint for four straight hours, straight A's, learning so much it was incredible.  And, of course, the Filmmaker. Fun, easy days and lovely, sensuous nights with him.

Perfection.

And then...

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

And now it's all pretty much gone, except my teaching job. 

Now, who knows what would have happened had I not been diagnosed. I would have lost my father either way. The Filmmaker and I may not have lasted anyway. School, I'm pretty sure, would have still be straight A's because I wouldn't allow anything else.

But now, as I try to put my life back together, I realize that I'm really afraid to do just that - put my life back together.

Because what if I do...

...and the cancer comes back.

What if I build back up this life that I love and find another man who is just as wonderful as the Filmmaker was and what if I fall in love with him and get my own studio and go back to school and my life finally starts to make sense again and...

....what if...

That terrifies me.

Partly because I don't want to build everything up just to lose it again.

And a lot because I don't know if I could go through all of this again. I'm so moved and humbled by my friend who has gone through cancer treatment numerous times and is currently on borrowed time. She is so brave and funny and snarky while at the same time being incredibly vulnerable and honest. I don't know how she does it. I don't know how her husband does it. He, as well, humbles me and inspires me by his sheer devotion to her and to making her life the best life it can be.

I don't want to do this again. And I'm terrified that I will have to.

My risk is fairly low due to the size of my tumor and the fact that I had chemo and radiation and I'm on this stupid fucking crazy-making drug. However, the risk is still there and it's still very real. And cancer's a sneaky motherfucker. With having lymph node involvement and ER/PR positive, there is still a risk of recurrence.

And I'm so terrified right now of it coming back again just as I get my life together - again. 

And I've rebuilt my life so very many times over the past 30 years, I'd like to not have to do that again for the next 30.

And I don't know if I could do it again. 

I was very lucky with my diagnosis. Caught early, small tumor, only a couple of lymph nodes. Very quick recovery, according to my doctors. After all, I am my father's daughter and have genes of steel. I was able to keep my breasts and even my scars are starting to recede and get less and less obvious. And my hair's grown back into this punky rock star style that has people asking me how I got my hair to look that way. Chemo is always a quippy, snarky answer that shuts them up.

And I got through treatment fairly well.

But if it comes back...

If it comes back...

I'll go through it again and I'll survive and I'll rebuild and I'll do what I need to do. Because what choice would there be?

But I'm so afraid to start moving forward in case I get knocked back. I don't want to lose everything again. I just don't.

So I have to get past this fear and keeping going. But it's hard. And the depression doesn't help. Hopefully I'll get some help on that end very soon.

But still...

What if...

But I can't live by "what if" and I have to move forward.

I'm just...

...stuck right now.

We'll see what next week brings...

What I learned from you

I learned to laugh even more than I ever have before.

I learned to be quiet without being afraid of not being heard.

I learned to be heard.

I learned to listen and accept.

I learned that I can be open and honest and not be punished for it.

I learned that someone I love can be gentle and kind and compassionate with me.

I learned that anger is not a normal part of a relationship.

I learned that I am worth something.

I learned how to just be with someone.

I learned to not write your story and to not try to figure out what you're going to do and do emotional algebra with every little thing.

I learned what true intimacy is by just laying in your arms.

I learned about passion. Boy, did I learn about passion. In everything.

I learned how to exist for right now, just in this second, in that moment with you. Every single moment.

I learned that I am good at... well... certain things.

I learned that I like being sexy and dressing like a girl and I learned I liked the way you looked at me when I dressed that way.

I learned to open my heart up again after so many years of being closed.

I learned that, while living in the moment with you was incredible, that I need a bit more. 

I learned that I can make the choices I need to make when it comes to protecting myself.

I learned that I can break my own heart and survive.

I'm learning how to let you back into my life, without hope, without agenda.

I learned that I can be myself when I'm with someone, that I don't have to be anything but me. And that's enough.

I learned that when someone listens to me and cares about me and lets me be heard, I don't need to make as much noise.

I learned that there are beautiful, amazing, incredible men out there who don't use their love as a weapon.

The most important thing I learned is to let you go...

Made it through... ?

Almost two months after finishing treatment, I'm really starting to comprehend what I went through.

Two surgeries.

Five months of chemo

Eight weeks of radiation.

Losing my father.

Ending a relationship.

Starting a new drug for the next five years.

And I'm here.

I don't know how I got here.

Going through treatment, especially chemo, I just put my head down and got through it because I didn't know what else to do. You don't really have a choice. Chemo or let the cancer come back and grow.

Walking to the bus stop the past few days,  I was thinking about how during chemo I almost couldn't make that two block walk. I would have to stop and rest after a block. And just climbing up the stairs to my apartment, I would have to stop and rest. Days and days and weeks and weeks of not being able to get off the couch. I made myself try to live as normal a life as possible. I was very grateful to have the Filmmaker there and it helped me find energy to know he would be on the other end of the bus route when I got there and that he would take care of me. But looking back, I don't know how I did it. How I survived.

There were days through chemo and especially the end of radiation where I just wanted to stop. Just stop. Didn't care about the future because the present was just so fucking hard. 

I don't know how I got through radiation, especially the end when my collarbone was burned and blistered and so incredibly painful, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't sit, I couldn't do much of anything. The wonderful Dan Panosian, one of my comic book mentors, saw me at Drink and Draw as I was at the end of radiation and was so happy to see me, he grabbed me by the shoulder/collarbone area as I was sitting to try and hug me from his standing position. I had to bite back the pain because he was so happy to see me and so sweet to me, I didn't want to let him know that I could feel the pain down to my toes. And the first time I saw the Filmmaker after I walked away was when he brought his daughter to class and as he went to hug me, he tried to compensate for my burns and tried to let me slide into him. But even with that consideration, horrible, horrible pain. It killed me that everyone who hugged me caused me such pain. The one thing I crave is physical interaction and I almost couldn't have that for so long.

The tough thing about making it through is that I'm not through.

Although treatment has ended, I'm still going through it. 

I am on Arimidex, a hormone-suppressing drug, because my cancer is hormone positive and estrogen can make it grow and spread very, very quickly. I'm supposed to be on this for five years. The big side effects are fatigue (big surprise), joint pain and possible mood changes. So far, the joint pain has been minimal. Fatigue I have gotten used to and know how to deal with that. But the biggest problem has been depression. This drug has exacerbated my depression to a degree that I really can't bear it. I tend towards depression as it is and this just doesn't help. And it always leads me to the Filmmaker, because "he" represents so many things I've lost and let go and wish I had back. It's not about him personally, it's about what he meant/means. 

And I don't want to add an antidepressant on to what I'm taking. I just don't want to be depressed. But I'm not sure that discontinuing the drug is a viable option. I don't want my cancer to spread or come back. My lovely friend, http://pinkgoose.wordpress.com/, is dealing with Stage 4 metastatic cancer with such grace and dignity and she has given me so much hope and advice along the way. But I don't want to be there with her. I don't want my friends to have to deal with all of this again, possibly even worse. I want to be healthy. I want to be healed. And this drug is essential for that. However, what kind of life is it if I'm depressed and cannot live the life I want to live.

But I made it through this far, I guess I can make it through whatever comes next.

I've made it through pain, fatigue, depression, suicidal thoughts, death of my father, ending this relationship, sorrow, heartbreak, and loss like I have never felt or could comprehend. 

And I'm here.

But I am not sure where exactly here is. 

I do know that I'll make it through whatever is coming. I'll make it through this drug and its effects and make the decisions I need to make to regain my life. I'll make it through figuring out where to go creatively and professionally, even though right now I can't see it. I'll make it through eventually letting go of my feelings for the Filmmaker and maybe finding someone and losing someone again. 

I know I'll get to the other side of anything because I'm already here.

But here is kind of lonely. Going through treatment, everyone leaps to take care of you, give you comfort, sit with you, bring you food, whatever you need.

After treatment, *crickets* *crickets* *crickets*.

No one understands that you're still dealing, you're still hurting, you're still processing. For months, maybe. I have friends who have been still dealing for years. But without "active" treatment, everyone figures you're fine. And it's not their fault. They don't know. And everyone's always kind and gentle and wonderful when I see them. 

But there are a lot of empty days and empty nights as I try to figure out where "here" is and what it means. And as I try to process what I've gone through and what I'm going through.

But I'll make it through that, too. Because what choice is there? We go on. We make it through. 

Because we have to. To choose life, we have to make it through.

So here I am, through. 

Now, to figure out what all that means...

The other side

One year ago today, I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

I still have the piece of paper I wrote those words down on because I couldn’t believe it was true.

And I’ve written and written and written about everything that’s changed in this past year. And about my fears. And my hopes. And my dreams.

I’ve written about my friends and the Filmmaker and the hope and the loss and the everything of everything.

I sat here and cried until I couldn’t anymore last night. For all of this. For all the loss.

And I got up this morning and I went and I taught.

Real life.

Trying to get back to real life.

A year ago, I didn’t know how I was going to get through it. I didn’t know where I would be a year later.

And here I am.

On the other side… sort of.

There’s still a long way to go to heal, to recover, to rebuild. Just because the treatment is over doesn’t mean I’m suddenly healthy and ready to take on the world. That’s the hard part. No one really understands unless they’ve been through it. Your body goes through a year of hell, it doesn’t necessarily bounce right back.

And my heart needs to heal. Not just from leaving the Filmmaker, but from… I don’t know what from. But it feels beaten and battered and just wants to rest. Not think about anyone but me for a while.

And I still miss the Filmmaker every day. But I’m choosing to appreciate and hold the memories of him close and relish their beauty. And it’s more like a wistful wanting, not the painful, difficult, heart-rending wanting. And I’m glad he’s still in my life, as distant and far away as he is.

But I need to heal in every way. Focus on me. Focus on where I’m going.

Because suddenly, I’m not sure where to go next. It is difficult to move on after focusing for a year on what comes next. There is really no next now. I’m on a new medication that suppresses my estrogen since my cancer is estrogen-positive and we don’t want any of that crap running around, breeding other little cancer spawn.

But it’s been a horrible week of crippling side effects – the deepest, darkest depression I’ve had in years, moments of suicidal thoughts because it just didn’t seem worth trying to get through this, epic fatigue and just the lack of will to do anything at all. I have barely eaten because I just don’t want to. And all I can think is if this is what being on this drug for the next five years is going to be like, I may just say, fuck it, and take my chances because I can’t live like this. Yesterday and today were better, though, so I’m hoping my body is adjusting and that this will just be one more bad week in the midst of one really horrible year.

So the other side…

That’s a big empty space, the other side. The good thing is that all the stuff I love about my life is still here on the other side. My teaching job, my friends, my artwork, my writing, all of that. I don’t need to figure out my whole life, just need to figure out where to put my feet. There is potential, there is hope, there is… the other side.

One foot in front of the other…

To the other side.

I’ll let you know what it looks like from there.

Who are you?

You sat across from me last night and all I could think was - and who are you?

Hard to believe we were together for 16 years and now we're total strangers again. I know we've been apart for a long time - my choice and I really wouldn't change it, even now.

But I looked at you when you walked in and I thought, who are you? And who am I? And what happened to those two people who fell in love all those years ago? Where did they go?

And if we met today, being the people we are now, would we have fallen in love? How did we get here?

I looked at you and I saw that you haven't changed in the past - god, has it really been? - more than seven years. I don't think that's who you were when we met. That angry, bitter, negative person. Did I do that to you? Turn you into that?

And it made me sad that all those years mean nothing now. That we can only sit across the table from each other, being uncomfortable, knowing there was a history there but not knowing what that means now.

I wish sometimes that I could have let you be a part of my life. To not lose all those years together because there were good things in there, under all the bad. To hang on to something, some vestige of a relationship. To not lose all of that time.

I wish I could invite you back into my life now. But listening to you last night, I know that's not possible because, well, you're the same person you were when I left. And I can't invite that person back into my life. I just can't. Even if I kept you on the edge of things, I don't think you would stay there. And the old habits would come crashing back. And I can't do that again.

But I wondered who you are now. How you have changed, if you have changed. Did you wonder that as you sat across the table from me? Did you recognize me? Or did you wonder the same thing - who are you?

And our history laid on the table between us, just staring at us. Our friends were kind enough to ignore that history and just treat us as individuals, not like the couple we were. I appreciated that. I don't know if you did. 

I wish I could be a bigger person and say, hey, let's have dinner, grab coffee, whatever, and just catch up. But the things you said last night made me know that that is never going to happen. Because ironically, I know exactly who you are. 

And, more importantly, I know who I am. 

Of course

Of course I can't get over you.

You were, in so many ways, the first true love of my life.

At least this version of my life.

I waited almost seven years for someone like you. 

And you arrived just when I needed you the most... and the least.

When we began, I didn't need you. I didn't need anyone to make my life complete. And maybe that's why you came in when you did.

And then I needed you more than I ever thought I would. And you were there. Quiet. Effortless. Just there.

And you showed me that to love someone didn't have to hurt, didn't have to be difficult. That you could talk to each other without hurting each other. That things could be let go and never brought up again. That you could just be with each other and that that could be enough.

And it was enough. Even when I said I needed more, it was almost enough.

Almost.

And I think for a moment, you loved, too, as much as you didn't want to. And it was everything I ever wanted and never knew you could have.

And a year ago, you gave me a perfect Valentine's Day because we didn't treat it like it was. It was quiet and easy and simple. Just us. Just being us. Just enjoying each other. Just that. Just simple. The best Valentine's Day ever.

And I have never been with someone like you. So of course I can't figure out how to leave you behind. Because you hit me harder than maybe you've hit anyone before, simply because I've never had someone like you. You showed me such passion that you left me breathless. 

Maybe there are a million of you out there and I will find someone else who is just as easy and just as simple and just as perfect. And you will recede into that space of fond memories and comfort.

But for now...

I just simply can't seem to let you go.  I just simply wish we could go back and try it again, pick up and start over. And when I saw you last week and we sat and talked like we always talk, it made me just want to hold you and kiss you and tell you how wrong I was to walk away. Because I want you, I miss you, I wish you were here.

You are also the first one who has stayed around. I'm so used to wallowing in the pain and not understanding why someone has walked away from me that now I don't know what to do with the fact that you're still here, in my life.

And I'm glad you're here and I know it'll get back to being simple and easy with you. It already is in so many ways.

It's just hard to let you go at the end of the night. Because I really didn't want to let you go in the first place. Maybe I was wrong. But I don't think so. I let you go before you broke my heart in pieces, because I think that's where it would have gone.

And I hope you don't read this blog anymore because... well, because maybe you don't need to know this.

But on this day of love and hearts,  I just thought you should know.

You were a true love of my life. And I'm still here. And if you wanted to...

And I hope you find what your heart desires. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be loved in the most spectacular way. Because you loved me in the most spectacular way, even if you didn't mean to. And I still love you and probably always will.

Beginning/ending

A year ago, I was on the phone with my best friend. I put my hand in my armpit for some inexplicable reason.

Egg-sized lump.

And my journey began.

You've followed my journey so I don't need to re-explain it.

I finished treatment on January 22, just about two weeks shy of this anniversary.

It's strange because I'm realizing that I don't have to make my treatment my priority any more. I do have a bunch of doctor follow-ups coming up but other than that, I get to have my life back.

But I'm so used to talking about my treatment and answering questions about how I am and what's going on that now that there's nothing going on, I don't know what to talk about. It's nice that my friends are still asking and commenting and supporting me. But I'm starting to meet new people and cancer is still sort of the center of my universe. 

I need to re-learn how to have a conversation that doesn't start with "my treatment" or "my cancer" or anything like that. I need to just have a conversation. When people comment on my hair, which is growing out nicely, I'm starting to realize I just need to say, thank you, and not launch into a whole discussion about my treatment.

I need to begin to put this behind me and move into my new life.

It's hard, though, when the lingering side effects still invade my life. I spent two nights in the hospital this week because of a pounding heart. And I mean an alien is going to burst out of my chest pounding. After a ton of tests, emerged with a clean bill of health, other than a potassium deficiency. And then tonight, after painting a good chunk of the day and sitting at a weird angle watching the Super Bowl, my collarbone aches so much from radiation that it's almost unbearable. And the fatigue is epic and sneaky. I'll feel great and then all of a sudden, I crash and could sleep for eight hours.

So I have to move into this life while still dragging a huge pile of crap along behind me. Difficult to manage. Harder than any restart I've ever done in my life.

And weirdly, I was thinking about Munchausen Syndrome. This is a syndrome where a patient believes they are very ill and/or will make themselves ill so they will get attention. And sometimes, I understand that, in a twisted way. I've had a year of compassion and affection and attention in a highly exaggerated way that we never experience except in a time of trauma. But slowly, that will fade. People will still be lovely and compassionate. But that constant attention is already fading. And there's a sense of wondering how to get by without that constant attention. This is what drives strange people to do strange things to themselves to keep getting attention.

I don't want to be a Munchausen.

But I get it.

Now I need to move the attention back to my accomplishments, not my illness. Accept the attention that's on me, not my cancer. Still talk about my experience because, as a storyteller, it's what I do. But not make my life about cancer. Go back to making my life... my life.

So I'm doing what my friend's little baby girl does - sending my cancer to the trees. (He says she gestures to the trees any time she doesn't like something and says, "Go to the trees!". I love this.)

A year from now, I hope to be considered free of disease. That's the closest we can get to "cured". 

A year from now, I hope to be more settled financially and emotionally. Maybe be able to think about moving into an artist's loft so I have room to paint.

A year from now, I hope to be back in school and maybe knowing where to go from there.

A year from now, I hope to be in love again, with someone even more wonderful than the Filmmaker was.

A year from now, I hope...

Hellogoodbye

I kissed you hello again.
But really,
I think it was truly good-bye.
It was a letting go
as much as it was a bringing back.
The moment of hope
has faded 
in the reality of
life.

I'm glad you're here.
But you're still over there.
And I don't think
you'll ever be here again.
We'll pass 
and we'll say hello
and we'll be fond
and we'll be friendly.
But we won't be
again.

But I'm glad
I got to kiss you 
hello
and
good-bye.

Peaceful heart

I had a hard lesson about my restless heart this week.

I ended up in the hospital.

Hello? Lesson needed in a serious way, I guess.

I finished radiation and "official" cancer treatment on January 22nd. I won't repeat how I felt because you can read my earlier blog, "And it's done", if you want to rehash it.

But I thought I would be completely done. Yes, the side effects will linger for a long time. My clavicle in particular is still pretty sensitive and achy. But at least the burns have healed and I'm not going in every day to get toasted. My left boob even is starting to look more normal. And little things like the neuropathy in my feet from chemo is starting to recede a bit and my hair is growing back. I have eyebrows again! And eyelashes! And my hair looks kinda groovy - salt and pepper and still very, very short. But people are always commenting on it, even if they don't know what I've gone through. Debating about growing it out. Beginning to feel like I'm putting all of this behind me, trying to find a new normal and figure out what my life is going to look like going forward.

Then my heart got in the way. Of course. Because it does that.

This time, it was literally my physical heart being difficult.

For apparently the past week or more, I have been experiencing my heart pounding in my chest like it's an alien trying to escape. I chalked it up to radiation side effects, because it can mess with your heart and lungs.

Well, Sunday night into Monday, it got significantly worse. I called my radiation oncologist, whose nurse got back to me almost eight hours later, and said there was nothing they could do for me, that it probably wasn't radiation-related and that I should either go see my regular doctor (which I don't have) or go to the emergency room. Then they suggested I call my regular oncologist because it could be chemo-related. Chemo ended at the beginning of November but whatever.

Called the regular oncologist. He said it's not chemo-related, it's probably radiation-related and there's nothing he could do for me. Call my regular doctor or go to the ER.

After much forehead-slapping from my friends, I finally went to the ER. Two nights, one day and a plethora of tests later, nothing showed up. Just my heart being irregular without cause. Not even enough to really show up on the tests. The one thing they did find is that my potassium is low and my electrolytes were low. Which apparently can cause all of this ridiculous heart pounding crap.

I got home yesterday and ended up chanting for a bit as I was also trying to face going to the Filmmaker's birthday party last night. Needless to say, I was a huge vortex of wickedly twisted emotions. I haven't really seen him since we broke up, other than briefly at the studio a couple of weeks ago. So I sat down to chant, to let go of things and put it all on the altar. I started off as I usually do, chanting for a peaceful heart to see him that night without agenda and without trying to make it be something it wasn't.

But the poignancy of chanting for a peaceful heart really struck me. I had just gone through this (albeit minor) issue with my heart being all over the place, something I have been trying to control emotionally for years. And now it had actually manifested itself physically. Of course, the two aren't tied together, but I couldn't help but marvel at the blatant point the universe was trying to make.

I need a peaceful heart.

In spades.

My heart suffers from being a victim of my head. When my head starts thinking, my heart starts thumping. Because my head enjoys being on the hamster wheel and trying to find as many ways to make me scared and nervous and afraid. It thrives when I'm all screwed up and chasing my emotional tail. My head loves nothing more than getting my heart going 100 miles an hour in a tailspin, wondering what's going on and how to feel. The white noise in my head sometimes is deafening.

And my heart gets restless and anxious because it's not my head. It doesn't have logic. It has feelings and emotions and love and pain and everything in between. It doesn't have the ability to sort through things. It just feels. Everything.

And in dealing with my actual physical racing heart over the past two days, I couldn't avoid the metaphor for my intangible heart.

And for both of them, I need to find peace.

For my physical heart, it should be a simple choice of eating better and getting better nutrition. My body has taken a beating since May with surgery and chemo and radiation and everything else. My diet has never been one to brag about and it's finally taking its toll on me. Despite having no appetite and not wanting to eat, I need to keep myself healthy and I need to feed my heart. That's easy.

My metaphorical heart, maybe not so easy.

I took a big step towards letting it heal last night. Went to the Filmmaker's birthday party at a local bar, with PJR in tow. PJR has been a godsend through treatment and never hesitated when I asked her to go with me, because I knew it was going to be hard.

My heart was prepared for hard. It put up walls and brick and mortar and wrapped itself in chrome and hid so it wouldn't have to feel when it saw him. My brain had convinced it that he wouldn't be the man I know he is. My brain wrote terrible stories about how this night was going to go. And my heart bought every word of it and almost convinced me not to go.

But I needed to go. My heart felt like it was going to say good-bye to him, to let him go from my life. Just kiss him, say "I miss you" and walk away forever. Because my brain convinced my heart that he was going to say good-bye and not be what he's always shown he is.

And I went. And it was exactly what it needed to be. We reconnected. He put his arm out for me and I still fit in there. He kept his arm there for a long time and it felt good to be back there, where I belonged. He was the man I knew he was.

We left after a short time, which was wise, I think. It was perfect.

On the way home, PJR said what I needed to hear - you mean something very important to him. That he's not going anywhere and that he cares for me. Sometimes, I can't see those things because my brain blinds my heart and it all gets muddy.

And so, this morning, I woke with my peaceful heart. I don't know where we go from here, but it makes me happy that I was able to look into his beautiful eyes and say - not good-bye - maybe hello, again. To maybe start over and see where we go from here.

And I got some perspective on why my heart panics and clings and doesn't understand how to do some things.

My family, of course.

I hate to keep harping on my family because they did the best they could. My parents both came from difficult circumstances and raised us the best they could. I appreciate how they tried to give us a better life than they had. That they wanted us to be happy, even though they may not have had the tools to do it in a way that would have maybe helped us all to be a bit healthier emotionally. But they did what they knew and they really gave us all a lot of good things, despite the bad they knew.

But that means my heart grew up learning that love is twisted and complicated and painful. It grew up being given love, only to have it yanked away with no explanation. Sometimes, love and rejection came in the same sentence. There was a lot of love dangled, but then mysteriously pulled away with no explanation. My heart was taught that it was never good enough to be truly loved. That someone was always better, someone always deserved it more than me.

It's so much more complicated than just that. But that's the main idea. I'm not good enough. No one is ever going to love me because I'm not good enough. And  there's no way someone is going to stick around after conflict, because I'm not worth it. They may seem like they are still there, they still care, but really, they don't. They're just being polite. I'm not enough.

Well, the Filmmaker again proved to be the exception to the rule. And coming home, I let go of some of that past and pulled my heart into the present. PJR and I had been talking about letting go of old habits when it comes to food and money and things like that. But I think last night, I let go of some emotional habits. I went there with no agenda. All I wanted was to let him know that I still cared, that I want to reach out to him and let him know he still means something to me. And I tried to go in without defining what that something is.

Of course, the romantic in me wanted him to see me and instantly fall back in love with me and sweep me up in his arms and take me home...

But what I got was exactly what I needed. Someone who showed me he still cares, no matter what we've gone through. That there are people who aren't going to push me away once our relationship changes and that maybe - just maybe - I am good enough to stay. 

I let go of my brain for a moment and just felt. Just let my heart feel and breathe. And for a moment, my heart was at peace. Without agenda, without interference of everyone I've ever known who has hurt me, without those voices in my head, I just led with my heart. I let my heart feel. I let it feel him and his affection. And I let my heart tell him I missed him.

And it felt good. And my heart felt at peace because it was allowed to feel. 

I cried all the way home out of a myriad of feelings. But in the end, there was peace.

And hopefully, my heart learned a lesson about not listening to my brain and that it's okay to feel what it feels. Even if it's hard. Even if it's complicated. Maybe it learned how to trust its feelings and that it's okay to express those feelings. Because if I don't express them, how will anyone know how I feel?

(Sorry, this blog post got away from me so I hope it makes sense.)

So today, I feel like I took a step forward into putting things behind me. Toward finding normal. Toward letting go of the pain and the hurt and the hard of this past year. I took a step forward to a healthier, happier, more peaceful heart and finally let go of some of the big stuff I've been carrying.

Will it stay this way? I'm not sure. My brain is already pulling last night apart and trying to stir things up. But my heart is not listening. Because it's at peace. And it knows that we don't need to re-examine and cross-examine and over-examine everything. It knows we can just be. Just enjoy. Just feel.

So for today, we're going to just feel...

I wish...

I wish I could make love with you one more time.

Feel your kiss, your hands, your mouth. Hear you laugh. 

Fall asleep wrapped up with you, whispering, talking, just being.

Wake up the same way. Sliding into your shoulder, feeling  your arm wrap around me and pull me close. 

I miss that. I miss you. 

I wish that I didn't, that I was over you.

But I guess I'm not.

And I would give anything...

for just one more night...

And it's done

I finished radiation today. Officially marks the end of my treatment for breast cancer. 

And I don't know how I feel.

Relief. It's over. Other than follow up appointments and the anti-estrogen pill I'll have to take for five years, it's done. No more planning my entire life around endless hours of treatment and wondering how I'm going to feel. Being afraid to make plans because I don't know how my energy is going to be. That'll hang around for a while because the fatigue doesn't immediately go away. And tonight, my collarbone is aching terribly and I tried to draw but couldn't because of the discomfort. But still. Relief. It's done. I can restart my life again.

Terrible sadness. I have lost so much over this past year. So many little things in my life. So many big things. So many intangible things. So many things I wish I could have back. School. The Filmmaker. My father. My health. A perfect, non-scarred, non-burned and bruised and battered breast, most of all. I am scarred forever, inside and out. And tonight, I don't know how to feel about that. Wishing the Filmmaker were still here, holding me. Wishing he could be... whatever. So much sadness right now.

Immediately followed by incredible gratitude. While he's not here with me, the Filmmaker was there when I needed what he had. And my friends have filled my life in so very many ways during all of this. I have never, ever felt so loved in all of my life than I do right now. And for someone who has never felt loved, despite two marriages and a family who claims to want to love me, I have never felt this loved. Friends. The amazing guys at Drink and Draw who treat me with incredible respect and affection. And every minute I got to spend with the Filmmaker. It all gives me hope that as I move into this new life (yet again), I  move forward with hope that this love will continue to fill the empty spaces I have always felt in my life. And that, even though it took me six years to find someone amazing like the Filmmaker, that maybe it won't take me that long to find someone else to fill the space he has left behind. Someone who will be what he could not be for me. Someone who could just love me. That's all. Just love me.

And then swing back to fear. Fear of losing the love that has surrounded me. As I get healthy, will I be standing here by myself, everyone having moved back to their lives and me, trying to get my feet under me. Fear of being alone in the next leg of this journey. That all this wonderfulness is fleeting. Fear that the Filmmaker was the last relationship I'll have. That that was as good as it gets - another almost. That I will never find that more that I deserve.

And the biggest fear. That I will be here again some day. That those little bastard cells are hiding somewhere, plotting to take over my body and render me even more incapacitated than I was this time around. I know how lucky I am to have had the "easy" time I have had with my treatment. It could have been so epically hard. And not that it was easy but it could have been so epically hard. I'm afraid that if it comes back, it will not be this "easy". That it will be all the horrible things I managed to avoid this time around. And that there will be so much more to lose. Because it never gets easier, if it comes back. I'm so afraid that this is not just one small hiccup in my life. That this could become my life. I've seen a dear friend go through this and she still is going through this. And my heart breaks as I watch her deal with such a scary future with grace and dignity. And I don't want to be her. I don't want to be someone who has to deal with this with grace and dignity again. 

Fear that I will only be me for the rest of my life. On one hand, I have learned that the hole in my life is not really there. I have learned that I am exactly who I need to be and I don't need to find something or someone to make me feel whole. My art does that. My writing does that. My friends and my life do that. But having had a glimpse of what something beautiful feels like with someone, I am so afraid I will never get to feel that again. Because who is going to want this warrior? This battered, beaten, wounded woman who is so fraught with imperfection and who is so possibly unfixable and broken that she can never be anything but the imperfect, fragile, battle-worn warrior that I am.

But yet, there's a strange sense of peace underneath all of this. And a weird sense of pride. I have survived this. I have taken everything that has been thrown at me and I'm still here. I have held on by the skin of my teeth. I have gritted those teeth and dug in and just put my head down and held on. It's weird to have people congratulate me on finishing treatment, like I've accomplished some spectacular thing. But I guess I have. 

I have survived. I have survived all of this. The loss, the joy, the fear, the pain, the love, the agony. I will survive returning to a "normal" life and getting things back in line. And I will survive if I find another almost, I think. And I will survive, however long, if this motherfucker of a disease returns and tries to eat my life again. 

It's funny, because people keep saying that this must have given me a new perspective on my life. And it didn't, really. I got the new perspective when I left my marriage in 2005. I chose the life I have now, a life that helped me survive this awful, devastating year. So while it didn't give me a new perspective, it did make me know that the life I have created is worth so very much. And it makes me even more grateful that I have made the choices I have made since that time. Because it has allowed me the life that I want to return to. The life I want to build upon after this unanticipated hiatus.

So...

Here we go. Join me on this new journey in my life and let's see where the road takes us from here.

Understanding Fear

I've been facing a lot of fear this year. Epic fear, actually, in every aspect of my life. 

Some of it's logical and understandable. Cancer creates gargantuan fear. Fear of the simplest things, fear of the biggest things. Fear of recurrence. Fear of death. Fear of life. Fear of never being the person you were before your diagnosis. Fear of never being loved. Just... fear.

And tonight, I took a deep look inside of the fear that lives... well... inside.

It started simply. I was thinking about the Filmmaker. I swore I would stop writing about him but he keeps leading me to things so... there you go. He's been posting a lot from a couple of events in Vegas so he's been on my mind. But this really isn't about him. He's just the antagonist, I guess.

Okay, this may be long and rambling so feel free to opt out now. Otherwise, I promise I will get to a point eventually.

 Since I walked away from the Filmmaker, I sometimes get a feeling of almost panic or desperation when I think of him. Some of it makes sense. I miss him. I wish I hadn't walked away from him. I wish we could have worked out. All that kind of stuff that one feels after a break-up. And he was so incredibly specal to me that it's been hard to let him go.

But underneath all of that is this deep-seated, inexplicable panic or fear or... I don't know how to describe it. If I could show you, it would be a reaching, grasping, wanting motion. Buried within that motion is such a deep, dark fear. And that's the fear I'm trying to understand.

In talking with the therapist at the cancer support center I've gone to, she helped me to see that if I can figure out what that grasping, desperate, crazy panic is, I can move past it and maybe really fill that hole that is currently occupied by that fear.

And tonight, as that throat-closing panic began to grow again as I thought about the Filmmaker and all the things I wished he would/could/want him to do, I decided to sit in that ugliness and fear and look deep inside of it.

Like Rose when she looked into the heart of the TARDIS. (Look it up.)

It was hard. I wanted to take the easy answer. It's because I want to be loved and he doesn't love me. I'm disappointed. I'm scared no one will ever love me because if he couldn't, who will? And how will I ever find someone so compatible.... etc., etc., etc. And all the while, I knew none of this was what was causing the panic.

When I pushed all the easy, simple possibilities aside, I finally looked into the fear and started to understand it.

Okay, let's see if I can explain this.

I've spent most of my life being shown that I mean nothing. That I am not important. That I don't deserve to be treated with respect or dignity. That I am not worthy of love of any kind. That I should just stand on the side and wait until I am noticed. I'm not supposed to rock the boat. I'm supposed to just take what I'm given and not expect anything more than that. I am worthless. I am stupid. I am nothing.

I've spent the last six and a half years trying to unlearn that. And I've succeeded in so many areas of my life. And I have come to be more capable of understanding that this is a crock of shit that has been fed to me. None of it intentionally. Well, maybe most of it not intentionally. But I learned it to my soul and I believed it.

And maybe the Filmmaker was the perfect transition and the perfect manifestation of this struggle.

On one hand, he was incredible and everything I wanted. I've struggled for love and struggled to be with someone who I didn't feel I had to change for. When I was with him, I felt safe and easy and perfect. I didn't feel like I was imperfect, even when I went through surgery and chemo and lost all my hair. He made me feel everything I wanted to feel from someone. I felt loved.

On the other hand, he was exactly what I knew, what I had been taught. His inability to acknowledge our relationship to his friends, to his children, made me feel unimportant, not good enough. Made me feel like I was standing on the side, waiting to be good enough for him to want to acknowledge. It made me feel less than and made me feel exactly the way I had felt all my life. It was comfortable. It was familiar.

And the longer we were together, the more I hoped the side of the relationship that was so new and so different from what I knew would grow and become something bigger than the other side. And the harder it became for me to sit with the other side. And the more it hurt that the situation felt so very familiar.

Choosing to walk away from him was the scariest thing I've ever done because it would have been easy to stay. Because it was familiar. Because I knew this.

But the part of me that has grown up through these past almost seven years knew that this familiar, comfortable feeling was not right for me. That if I stayed with him, I would simply end up the way I've always ended up in my life - feeling empty and worthless and numb. Not because he went out of his way to make me feel that way, but because I accepted his inability to acknowledge that we were something more.

And I realized tonight that the panic, the scary, the indescribable thing I feel when I think about him now really has nothing to do with him. It has to do with letting go of the familiar. It has to do with understanding that walking away from him put me in unfamiliar territory. Well, maybe not entirely unfamiliar. I left my ex for almost the same reason - it wasn't right. It was making me fee empty and nothing.

And to face the fact that I deserve more is the scariest thing I've ever felt because I've never felt that I deserve more. It's terrifying for me to acknowledge that I can say I deserve more. Because I have never been taught that I can ask for that. That I can even entertain the idea that I deserve more, when it comes to being loved.

My family did the best they could. My exes both did the best they could. And even the Filmmaker did the best he could.

But I finally accept tonight that I deserve more than the best they could. Because if I acknowledge that and if I say that out loud, then it means something. I don't know what. But it's so very scary for me to say I deserve more and that I want more. Because I see so many people around me who can't say that and who accept less than that I am afraid that it's wrong to say that that's what I want.

And it makes me scared that I will never find what I think I deserve. And I'm scared that I'm asking too much to say that I deserve more. That someone's going to say to me, are you crazy? You don't deserve more. You deserve exactly what you've had.

But tonight, I faced the fear of saying it out loud - I deserve more.

And that means acknowledging that while most of my relationship with the Filmmaker was incredible and amazing and exactly what I wanted, the rest of it made me less than. And I have to let that go in order to move forward to what I deserve. And that's scary because it feels like I can't miss the Filmmaker and that I can't mourn for what could have been. And it makes me want to hang on to him more because it's comfortable to feel that way.

But I have to face the fear and face that I don't want to feel that way anymore. I have to face the fear that I do actually deserve more and that I have to break this one last vestige of my past and really let go. Because once I let go of that awful, terribly, debilitating sense of being nothing, I will be in uncharted territory.Territory that hopefully will lead to something wonderful and amazing and exactly what I deserve. But between here and there, it will be waters full of unknown and fear and clouds and bears and sharks and all kinds of things I don't know. And I have to know that I've faced that unknown before and come out on the other side.

I faced the unknown of leaving my hometown and moving across the country.

I faced almost sixteen years of emotional abuse and walking away from that and rebuilding my life from scratch.

I faced breast cancer.

I can face this. I deserve to face this. And I deserve to accept the love that I want. 

Walking wounded

I sympathize with the zombies on "The Walking Dead". I feel like I've spent the last year shambling through my life, just trying to find somewhere quiet to rest. That's all the zombies want - somewhere quiet to rest. Oh, and brains. I can relate to that as well. I haven't felt like I've had a brain since March 9, when I got diagnosed with breast cancer.

Looking back over this past year, it's a blur. A blur of doctors and surgeons and research and information and non-information. Worries, both legitimate and not so much. Panic. Fear. Sadness. Anger.

And then nothing at all. Zombieland.

It's hard to even process now. I guess our brains go into zombie mode in order to deal with  so much awful. 

I've spent most of the last year just getting up and getting through. My art kept me going and made me feel alive. The relationship with the Filmmaker filled me with such light and pleasure. But then - back to zombieland.

Even now, going through radiation, which is nowhere near as bad as chemo, I'm still semi-zombie-like. I get up in the morning, put on clothes, grab my little talisman and go to radiation. I'm home very quickly - I'm gone maybe an hour total. But even this part of treatment zaps my energy and leaves me prone on the couch much of the time. I'm fighting exhaustion just sitting here at the coffee shop writing this but I didn't want to waste yet another day just laying on the couch.

I'm ready to de-zombie-fy. My last radiation treatment should be January 23 and then probably a month or so of tests and poking and prodding. And a new drug that I have to take for five years. But hopefully as I move into February, I will be less "Walking Dead" and more walking wounded.

It's funny because most of my wounds have been on the inside - emotional, personal, things no one really sees. Now, I wear my wounds like a warrior. The scar on my left breast and under my arm. The bright red tracks of radiation all over the left side of my body, looking like I forgot to wear sunscreen and spent two days on the beach. My 1/4 inch hair, mostly grey, still very thin and feeling kind of like rabbit fur. All my exterior wounds. 

But these wounds and this treatment has led me to one big discovery. The big wound, the big hole I have kept trying to fill for most of my life is a fallacy. It doesn't exist. I've dug a hole, wanting to fill it with unconditional love from somewhere else - family, men, marriages. But nothing has ever filled it. My therapist from the cancer center told me to look at that hole and see what it needs. And once I can figure that out, once I can find that inside of me, then I can help myself move on. Well, what it needed was me, giving myself the unconditional love I so crave.

Okay, now I've wandered from zombies into "Eat Pray Love", god help me. But that's the simple truth. And I got there without reading 200 self-help books. It only took cancer to get me to this point.

Let's see if I can tie this back to zombies.

I have shambled through so much of my life and my relationships numbly, trying to be whatever it is they want. Never looking to see the damage it's doing to me. 

And maybe now that I've learned that there isn't something missing, that I don't need someone's brains or love or whatever, maybe I can find my way back to human. Because what fills that hole is not exterior. It's my art. It's my heart. It's all the things I love about my life that I have brought to myself. I didn't need someone else to create this. I created it.

And I've dealt with my cancer alone, in many ways. I've had so many people be there for me and help me and I don't want to sound ungrateful. But no one was really there on the hardest nights, the hardest times. The times when I didn't think I could get through this. I lived through the darkest times A lesson that has been very hard for me.

So as this chapter of treatment comes to a close, maybe I can eventually escape Zombieland and find somewhere more akin to Oz.

Except without the damn flying monkeys. And wicked witch. And...

Damn...

This is me

Tonight, after stage managing a One Day Play (written, rehearsed and performed all within 24 hours), and celebrating the new year with my theater family, I am sitting at home, alone, and very happy… at this for this second.

Because right now, I know this is who I am. And I know who I am. And I adore who I am.

I am a warrior.

I am an artist.

I am a director.

I am a filmmaker.

I am a writer.

I am a girl.

I am a hard case.

I am a sentimental fool.

I am someone who loves deeply and passionately and wantonly.

I am a woman.

And I am more than enough. I am full and I am happy. I need nothing and no one tonight because I know exactly who I am and what I am.

And what I am is amazing.

And if I can’t find someone who can appreciate how amazing I am and if I can’t find someone who wants to share his amazing with me, then I’m fine just sitting here, by myself, being amazing.

Because, for once in my life, I don’t feel like I’m lacking in something, that I am somehow not good enough or strong enough or something enough.

I am enough. I am exactly who I need to be, right now, in this moment.

And I hope to carry this sense of me into the new year and beyond, to continue to build this beautiful, complicated, astonishing life I have built.

I can’t wait to see where I go next.

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.