Losing Stuff

Non attachment, or vairagya, is one of the yoga sutras (not unlike the commandments).  It's in there amongst ahimsa/non violence and abhyasa/practice.  It's deeply connected to the practice part.  Without constant practice we will just keep hanging on to the stuff that's not working.


I am convinced that my lesson in this life is non attachment.  I have lost everything like 4 times over now. Is it "loss" or what I perceive as loss?  Did I really need it?
Was I just rescued from my own perceptions of what I NEED?  What I WANT? 


..."But Daddy, I want it NOW!!!"  Veruca Salt, Willie Wonka.  And me, all the time.


I've been taking stock of all of the things that I have lost recently due to this crap cancer.  The list includes 26 lymphnodes, 1 breast and 2 boyfriends.
There are more things, but really, do we need things?  What makes us happy?  Is it really our idea of happiness or someone else's?  Did that idea come from a box or the internet?  Who needs any of it?  Actually, I do miss the lymphnodes, but I digress.


The latest loss will be my dog Honey.  I just can't keep her any longer and it's breaking my heart.  We got her as a couple and it took 2 of us to get her where she is now compared to the skinny neurotic waif she was when she was found on death row at Animal Control 3 years ago.  The "guy"  bailed on both of us.  I lost him and lost our home a few months ago.
I couldn't afford a decent place in NYC on my own, let alone with a dog!


But I did, and I do it.  Her vet check ups are current.   Heartworm/flea meds are ordered online, she gets Wellness canned food, no wheat, no chemicals, and no dry food.  She has boxes of toys, clothes, brushes, shampoos healthier than mine.  Treats, raw hides and suppliments, oh my.  I love getting her stuff, making her happy.  It's also a bribe to keep her quiet.  We've bonded, she loves me and I love her.  She follows me everywhere, talks to me constantly-I think she's telling dumb jokes, mostly about David, but don't speak dog so can't be sure.  She cries softly when I pet her.
She sleeps next to me at night.


I put down a hefty dog deposit for this incredible studio sublet that I lucked into lately.  It's beautiful here.  it's also a commute across the river and impossible for me to get home between jobs.  It's sometimes 10-12 hours out, welcome to freelance.  Not to mention, the crap cancer is back.  Chemo again if this therapy isn't working.  A reality.  "Think positive" they say.


Honey is howling/barking like mad while I'm out.  My dick neighbors went straight to MGMT and I received 2 formal complaints.  I hired a dog walker.
Her humane no bark collar arrived in the mail today from Amazon.com.  $50 more.  Ka-ching. 


I am exhausted and feel like a prisoner here, I don't dare go out at night in case she pulls another midnight bark fest.


She needs more attention and training.  I move again in April, no idea where.  I have to let her go.  Here's hoping there is someone out there who will love her as much as I do.  Until then I will keep her.

She's got her eye on me right  now, feigning sleep but making sure I'm not leaving.
Oh God.




Loss.  Vairagya.  You choose.


How did my mom do this with 2 kids-and make it?

TMI

Sometimes you can get too much information.
Sometimes, people like to send me things that, and I quote; "might interest you"
Usually things that only serve to piss me off.  Usually, it only makes me furious when "friends" send such things.  They see the word "cancer" and "cure" or even better, "cause" and they think, "that's something Kelly should know".
Please.  Don't.  Ever.  Ever send me that stuff.  Ever.

I am in tears reading about how cancer metastasis occurs because of the poor tissue surrounding the original tumors.  Awesome.  As they claim in this article, "even the best tomatoes can't grow in sand"
Meaning good cells can't reproduce in bad neighborhoods.  WTF

All fine when you don't have this issue, so easy for people to throw this at me now.  I work tending bar once a week still, only a half a shift, 6 hours to be exact.  I find myself alone in that bar at times while all my friends are out for a smoke.  Drinking all weekend, doing drugs of various sorts, no one there has cancer.  No one.  Only me, alone in the bar, not smoking.  Sipping wine while they down shots of whiskey followed by hoards of cocaine, pot, cigarettes and whatever else.  God bless them, they are lucky.  Yet I have stage 4 cancer.  I have the disease.  I get to read all the "just thought you might be interested articles".  I get the "information".
It's depressing.  It's insulting.  It make me want to hurl this laptop out the window.

Cancer is unfair.  It is random and it's awful.  I practice yoga - and meditation.  I teach yoga.  To other people with cancer.  I am a good person.  I don't deserve this.  None of us do.  I didn't do anything my friends didn't do-not saying alot but true nonetheless.  I eat well, I don't smoke even though I would kill about now for a chance to check out...
There are hoards of drugs saved up, kept safely under the bed just in case.  Pain killers. sleeping pills, muscle relaxers.  Neurontin, Percoset, Xanax, Adavan, whatever.  The irony is that I don't take it.  Surgery pain, cancer pain blah blah blah.  I take Tylenol only when desperately necessary.  Even that's supposed to be bad for the liver.  So I use sparingly.
Bad environment?  Fuck.
It's not just the toxins either.  It's the feelings.  I'm angry now, am I getting more cancer?  Is it a bad environment?  A bad relationship, all the sadness, is that why?  Is it a bad environment?  I lost my keys the other day, it was frustrating.  Bad soil again?  Breeding ground for cancer?

I won't have it.

I refuse this "information".  Please, please refrain from sending the cancer girl any and all info you think she "might find useful".
It's spam of the worst kind and will be deleted as such.

Thank you.

Paper Dragons

The hits just keep on coming.
The results of the dreaded semi annual pet scan are in.
There is a new spot.  It's on my liver.
Oh God.
To me, this sort of sounds like end stage, figuring once it went to the liver it's game over.  You know, with my honorary PHD in oncology and extensive knowledge of her2neu metastasis.  Not exactly.
It does mean I go for a liver biopsy.  Tomorrow.  I'll spare the boring details of waiting for this procedure to be scheduled,  the shifting of every class, every appointment, every-thing so as not to have a conflict.  The nerves, the tears and the absolute terror.  I am not present even though I am here.  I am thinking, fuck, I have fucking cancer in my liver.  After all that!   It means more chemo.  Damn!
The biopsy scares me.  Have had 4 now, all pretty awful, the last one being the worst, a needle to the sternum with no anesthesia other than a painful shot of Novocaine, which hurt as much as the test.  Worst day ever.
But forget all of that.  It's all par for the course when you have cancer.  I was just feeling incredibly sad and alone, and I had no one to go with me to this awful thing.  I used to have someone in my life who really cared.  "He" left 2 months ago.  All my terror and sadness over this terrible news was completely transferred to "him"  I missed "him" if "he" were here I wouldn't feel so scared and alone.  I have people now who will go, and will actually advocate on my behalf should the need arise.  Thank you!
Then, something happened, forcing me out of the familiar black cloud of post break up agony.
I received a letter Friday.  Medicaid is cutting me off.
As of Oct. 1, 2011, no more insurance.  That was the last straw.  I cried, I raged, I totally flipped out.  I called the number but the connection was bad and I could barely hear the recording, something about office moved.  I called another number, on hold.  Late for work.  UHG!
They claimed not to have received some 12 page document I mailed over a week ago.  Some re-certification form that took 3 weeks to fill out which included stalking and tracking my doctor until he spent 20 precious minutes filling out this crap paperwork.  I had to wait until Monday to retort.  Here's how it rolls:
I go to the office, in Brooklyn.  Go to the 4th floor and find the medicaid place, it's a huge room with some 100 empty red chairs.  Cool, no line!  Security calls someone.  She comes out, walking in that slow, disaffected, bored and pissed off way.  She takes my paper and demands a social security number.  "don't say it, write it", she says.  I see a pen at her fingertips and ask to borrow it.  She looks at me for the first time and says, "what, you don't have a pen"?  I dug one out of my bag, because, yes, I do carry a pen, thank you, just thought that one would be easier. She prints something out.  It's a number.  I take it and sit in one of the chairs.  I look up at the board.  Mine is the next number to be served.  Hooray.  Another woman comes in, she gets her number and sits behind me, she's after me.  We sit like this for 30 minutes.  Bing, my number is called, yay!
The woman I see is so typically smart.  In the system, on top of it, wondering why the hell this happened.  She doesn't even get it.  Turns out I make $76 too much per month to qualify for medicaid.  I owe them $76.  No they can't take it now, I need to wait for the letter saying so.  I have to appeal the decision, in court.  No you can't get an appeal, only a request for an appeal.  Go downstairs.
I go.  There they are, all the people from the empty chairs.  The bottom of the "social" barrel.  The welfare people.  I get scanned, I get stopped.  Seems they thought my new Loreal lipstick and gloss in one was a flip blade knife.  (happens to me all the time).  I am told to go to the phone on the wall and dial 2. These phones are all attached to the wall, set closely next to each other with barely a divider, not unlike prison.  They're old and loaded with graffiti, penned on and scratched in.  The words of the prophets.  I put in my request.  I'll get a letter soon.  Then it could be 60 more days.  They cannot stop insurance when the appeal has been summoned.  Meanwhile, getting the paperwork together for yet another challenge with the dragon of useless hassle.  Hey, free medical.  I am willing.
Got one foot on the throat of this dragon and a sword on the cancer itself.  Must keep fighting, stay focused and be brave.   Rock on!




 

Pissy Offy

It's been a while since the last post and wish I could say it's all better now, castles in Spain and all that. I can't. I will say it gets a bit better each day. Then back to hell. Then back to better, and so on. Work is great, work is incessant and work is necessary to not think about what's really going on. My body is giving out and the post-apocolyptic side effects of radiation are in full effect. The dizzy wierd is now being followed by scary numbness and weirdo chest pains. Back pains are just plain terrifying. Deny.

Heart has the all clear. Dr. Lando Calrissian said so (actually a Cardiologist that kinda looked like the Star Wars’ untrustworthy character but is cute so who cares). It's probably just anxiety and being a yoga teacher who practices often, I am offended. Really? Anxiety? I try to do the right things and still feel awful all the time. My newer normal? Hate it, mean it.

My patience is gone today. I am angry and tired and desperately in need of a break. The deposit from "OUR" place has been dispersed at last, after a wait of nearly 2 months. They gave him half. He's apparently just gotten a promotion. He tells me about his 28th story apt with the killer views, pool downstairs with yoga classes led by some hot young yoga teacher attended by the “bitches with the long hair. His own washer and dryer. Why? Why tell me, unless he is truly sadistic, a trait I am coming to suspect more and more each time we speak. Damn. Disappointing.

I’m the one left behind during cancer with the dog he no longer wants, in the 5 floor walkup with all of “our” things crammed into a closet with no closet. Thanks. Way to marry someone. So angry. So hurt. No way around it, he sucks. I don't care who reads it anymore. It's true. Onwards and upwards.

It actually sucks more to meet someone cool again. I have no trust, like it matters. There’s always someone better, younger, faster. NY is a veritable candy store for singles. You can’t throw a rock without randomly hitting a model-I’ve tried-kidding. It’s a wretched place for meeting anyone of substance (as He used to tell me all the time).

Fact is I did meet this great person tonight, so like me, same background, same cities, same arts education, same AGE!!! Plus he’s tall, and cute in that super sexy, artist cool guy way.

These guys are all alike. Perfectly matched to me yet will seek out the youngest, most beautifully perfect, most wealthy, most anything I’m not and bring them into my bar so that I can serve them both with a smile. Then they’ll get drunk and make out, or better yet, disappear into the bathroom together. Classy. Later I’ll come home exhausted and broken. Punched in the soul. It happens all the time. Who needs that?

Such is the life of the non-pretty girl.

Add cancer and it gets super fun!

I hate everyone.

(not you)

Love and light

Pray for a change. This time things will be different.

Summer in the City

Life goes on.

This morning, Honey and I went on our daily trip to Stuyvesant park. I grab a coffee from the cart guy on 14th street, a ritual of late. Tried to make my own but milk went off during the night apparently, transforming my perfectly pressed coffee into a disgusting curdled mess. I have about $17 to last until Friday and it's only Wednesday. Good girl on a budget!

Perfect start to a perfect day.

We sit, Honey hangs out while I read or do a crossword. I never, ever used to just sit but the thought of going back to a hot box of an apartment is too depressing. It's another 90 degree day already but still nice in the shade. My spirits lift slightly as the caffeine kicks in and I watch the people come and go, mostly staff at Beth Israel. Gardeners are working in the flower boxes surrounded by a beautiful fountain. Honey greets the other dogs with a stand-offish curiosity and while she looks adorable the fact is she's a possessive bitch and will act as such if another dog gets between us. She's been stellar lately, getting better every day.

We take a walk around the park and I see this woman, probably homeless, washing her clothes in a water fountain. Our paths were definitely going to cross as I had to pass her to get by. I averted my gaze and quickened my step but was drawn right into her trap. She said, "can I ask you something"? Here we go. The smell of her made me instantly nauseous, a post radiation treat. Being the ever polite waspy swf I said "sure". There then ensued a rant of epic proportions beginning with a story about how someone "broke up all her stuff" last night and ending with "Brittany Spears and her crazy tattooed boyfriend did it". I then realized she was young, so so young. I felt for her and knew she needed mental help. Her rant became louder and louder becoming more aggressive now crying "they're all racist" and "kill all white people" and how she could hurt someone real bad. Nice. Kbye!

We split leaving her screaming at no one in particular.

Momentary spirit lift=gone.

Five minutes later walking home down the avenue I spot another clearly disturbed woman pounding down the street coming right at us. "Fuck God" she said as she spat in front of me on the sidewalk. Lovely.

Moments later, after being hit up for change by the resident homeless guy, there's another guy laid out on the sidewalk in front of my place apparently going into some sort of seizure. He's shirtless, filthy, hair in matted, stinking dreads lolling about while good Samaritan guy is calling 911. I don't stop to help. I have become that person. Too much.

I really, really hate it here. Cannot believe people are paying $3000 a month to live on this block. It's a gentrified ghetto. High end tenement living. I don't belong here!!!

Change is imminent. NYC summertime blues.

Now what

So. Here we are. Honey and I sitting on my single bed back in the east village wondering what the hell? Did that really just happen?

Broke up, moved out, radiated, exhausted.

I go in and out of feeling sad, sick, terrible, anxious and lonely. I get the occasional glimpse of what it's like not to hurt this much. It's something.

My dog was evicted from dad's place upstate yesterday for biting my stepmother. 3 times. Not good. She's pissed.

I miss him. I hate myself for that weakness and hate him for what he is doing and I still miss him. I cry all day long. I saw our Calvin Klein sheets on display at Macy's yesterday while buying supplies for my rented single bed and I wanted to die. I accidentally gave away our same set of $300 Calvin sheets and duvet cover to the gal who bought our bed for $25.00 off Craig's List at 9:00am the day I moved. Took me ages to pay that off with my crap salary. She got the comforter too, Didn't realize it was in the bag. She was adorable though and totally deserved a break. I'm glad she has it and trust it will serve her well.

Whatever. It's only Stuff. Will deal with a duvet in the fall when it gets cold because right now it's 91 in NYC. Why keep looking at that damn pattern we chose together anyway? Torture.

He's gone. I'm better off I know, but hate this and hate him and feel so sad for Honey who keeps a constant vigil for him. No matter where we are. She looks so incredibly sad. Yet again, she's a cocker spaniel, they always look sad.

I am happy to have my Honey dog back but at the same time so, so, so destroyed that this is really happening.

Most likely these feelings are merely the result of a post radiation crash. It happens. My back is apparently breaking. This remains a mystery and I refuse to accept it.

I sometimes think I will not make it. Then my friends step in and do amazing things. Install an a/c unit, move my whole place around to make it better. Make me wait in the hall so as to not to lift anything heavy while they shift beds and boxes etc.

Random phone calls. Invites to whatever. Invited specifically to come live here, with a dog and for less than what I'd pay in way out Brooklyn. Amazing things really. I am blessed. Thank you. All. It is saving my life. It is meaningful and I will return the favors however I can.

Why do I miss him then? Crazy AND stupid. Nice.

What an idiot. Heal dammit! Time needs to speed up right...now!

Be gone! No more sad. Please.

Next time, flowers and sunsets and castles in Spain. Or meditations from Costa Rica. You are all invited.

Enough said.

Love and light

K x

Falling

He's officially gone.

I helped out by guarding the U-Haul while he went up and down loading half our stuff into the back and heading off to drive the 900 miles alone. The truck was brand spanking new and had 2 big air conditioned seats up front, one of which would remain empty. I felt sad. Numb. Odd. Honey watched him go. At one point she actually whacked the moving trolley with her front paw. She's hilarious. Not so funny when I got home from shopping and she'd peed on the couch I was about to sell. Spent the better part of the day cleaning that up. Thanks for the $800 pee Honey. It's like Seinfeld, "Poppy peed on the couch"-

but I digress.

Don't fear change. Don't resist. Resistance is futile.

I decided afterward to rearrange the room so that it was indeed mine. With half our stuff gone, the place is even bigger and brighter, I kind of love it. However, it suddenly felt eerily empty and I had to get out. Went downtown to meet the girls and go to some hipster swank rooftop pool party in the lower east side. It was all that I had anticipated, velvet rope waits for no apparent reason, over priced drinks and a hipster crowd all packed onto a tiny outdoor deck with a wading pool stickered with Andy Warhol images at the bottom. DJ Bruce was awesome though and it was a pretty good diversion from the crap feelings I was having. Dinner at Boca Chica was good, I was so hungry but need to remember not to eat big. Radiation and tummy: bad news. Live in the light. Keep the flow. Positive social interaction. Word.

Falling.

I hardly slept. The bed feels empty, the apartment, hollow. He's really gone this time. Think I had another anxiety attack. So stupid. With all the support of friends and family and still when left alone I feel like the loser. Anxieties over money and what to do and on and on. Just feeling alone. Awful. Falling backward.

Radiation began this week. Day 1 was a wretched 4 hour fiasco that left me wrecked and on the verge of tears yet again. I went alone but he was home when I got back. He took me out for a well earned margarita. It was nice and I will miss that part of us terribly. I already do.

The rest was cake. Easy, in and out. I do feel wierd. My head hurts, my stomach is in bits and my back feels ultra fragile. No wonder as they're zapping me clear across my spine on a daily basis. Everything feels heavy. I'm friggin tired.

As the radiation machine completes 2 slow circles, I'm reminded of the spaceship in 2001, I hear Stravinsky. It's the drunk spins yet I'm completely sober. Hope it's working, pray it's killing this damn tumor so I can live my life!

He arrived in Chicago safely this morning, I just got a text. "how are you"? he asks.

"Congratulations"! I write back. "The place feels wierd without you" I add.

"yeah, it's wierd" he admits.

Falling.

And Then

And then there were none.

No more feelings.

He's taken to starting fights in order to get a reaction to then say to me, and I quote,

"this is why I'm leaving you".

Sound paranoid? Too right. It's awful. My skin has literally dried out with the overly salty tears shed, the incessant crying for the last 3 weeks. Regrets, apologies, penance. Punishment.

I'm done now, and angry. He recently accused me of smoking again. Seriously. Smoking, really. When I reacted he told me that he doesn't care anymore anyway. "It's your life why bother"? I was so hurt and reactive, I probably looked even more guilty in his eyes. There's no winning here. I need to not be around him now. There's no right thing to say. Ever.

I don't know what's worse, the fact he accused me of lying or the fact he no longer cares.

I'm not lying by the way, haven't smoked in years, he's insane. Now I feel like I am too.

It is becoming the ugly awful breakup that he feels he needs to be the better man. What kind of man leaves his partner of 3 years during radiation? He feels guilty. Another bad ball in my court, not one I want at all but one I'll get the blame for.

I start radiation next week for a cancer lingering in my lower spine. The meeting with the doctor last week was harsh, over an hour long and resulting in an agreement to a simulation the very next day. Treatment will be daily. For 4 weeks. WTF. Thank you to my friend Deborah who came with me taking notes, spending most of her day walking on a bad knee or sitting in a waiting room. Lunch on me next time.

My mother needs to come out apparently. I'll need care, apparently. Radiation oncologist (who looks like Amma, the hugging guru from India btw) has suggested I leave NY and move closer to family. To Cali. Yikes. I have to move out in 3 weeks. Really?? I can't deal! Really frustrated and angry now. She says, treatment 1st priority, the rest will fall into place. Jeez maybe she really is Amma.

Mr. I want to marry you for 3 years is now Mr. F*** off I'm leaving. Not just me but our dog too whom we adopted together. How can he possibly look into her big brown eyes and not love her? He's a guy. That's how. "I'm not staying together over a dog", his actual quote.

Sorry good guys, just another moment to vent and I'll stop.

(I had written "he's a Brit" originally but chose not to offend my true and good British friends of which there are many).

So,

Then there were none. Fine. If that's really how he feels about me. Go. I hate being with anyone who can't or won't even try to understand. It's all I do for my friends, it's all we have really. Compassion and understanding for each other. Boyfriends/girlfriends are not exempt from this and need to be held accountable. If I messed up, I apologize, profoundly. But...

No more nice.

Lovely Deb. (fabulous artist and textile designer friend from yoga and hours of waiting rooms) offered today to cook for me while I go through radiation, asking if I'll have a freezer in the new place because she's making me spaghetti sauce.... Crying-again!! Lovely tears of gratitude and thankful for kindness in the world. Even here in NYC.

Mom has realigned her whole work schedule to get here to be with me, hoping we can have some fun together regardless. We usually do.

Dad and Eileen have even agreed to take Honey dog for a summer vacay upstate while I go through treatment, if need be. Could be a win win.

Thank you. All.

Love. Healing. Patience. Peace.

Aside note: Honey's dreaming next to me, chasing dream squirrels, twitching, running and barking through closed lips. So cute.

How could anyone leave her?

Why

Why-

Tonight my teacher asked us, "why do we come to meditation class". My answer was,

"It's a discipline".

Great.

Another hard ass answer suggesting impossible perfection. Far more perfect girl in the corner says, "So we can have clarity". Better.

I proceed to meditate on how wrong the answer was and how I am wrong all the time and why He's leaving because it's All My Fault. Then proceed to get mad at him for being such a judgemental prick. Then mad at myself for being mad, and harsh on myself for being harsh-oh whatever, crap! Where the hell is this coming from? I blame the hormone suppressants. Seriously.

Doesn't all this soul searching and self realization count for anything? I constantly question my actions and am forever correcting bad behavior. He doesn't seem to ever do this. I have apologized countless times for every feeling he doesn't agree with, every action he disapproves of and pretty much every damn thing I do. It's all I do. It's annoying. He's still dumping me. And our dog. Irony!! So sorry I was a nice and conscientious person. He's moving away to another, better town to his great job and fabulous apartment. Without us. I'm going to have to sell all our furniture that I only just paid off while I watch him get new stuff for his awesome place. It's hell. Yet, it's only stuff.

Lease here is up June 30. My new future place has no room. I have been lucky enough to find a share. So it's a 5 floor walk up with no A/C in yet another 8.5 x 11 ft. room that I'll need 3 jobs to afford. It's also sunny and has good, creative energy with a cool woman who will be a huge healing agent in her own right. Plus she's invited Honey. She's a Godsend, pretty much.

Meanwhile, meeting with my radiation oncologist tomorrow for a consult on L4. Seems they think another round of radiation to my spine will do it, end this nightmare. It will be round #3 in as many years. Harsh. Moving's going to be a bitch right now. I literally can't lift.

I completely can't handle this. At all. I'm alone. Again.

Starting to feel the anger now, oh yes. It's out of control but better than crying all the time and asking why.

Can you change your Karma? Mine is apparently awful and I wish to exchange it for a better one please. One with a loving family close by, maybe a great guy and perfect health. And money. Lots and lots of money.

Or, freedom. I'd give it all up for that.

Freedom from this horrible hell disease and everything it's taking from me right now. Freedom the the thoughts of worthlessness and constant fear of failure. Freedom from worry and anxiety over every single thing that's happening to me.

"You're so strong Kelly, you'll be fine".

"You'll land on your feet, you always do".

Sick of surviving. Sick of barely making it and the obligatory gratitude that I've lived another day/month/year.

Why? Why go on. To prove them wrong, that's why. If nothing else. If I fall apart over this, he wins.

Sthita sukha asana. Steady joyful seat. So there.

In the end I meditated on Patience. I counted to 6 and thought "patience" for 30 minutes. All other thoughts were labeled, "thinking" and were gently cast aside for a 6 count chant of "patience". The opposite of anger.

I have to let him go with love. I can't slide into this wormhole of negativity. No more falling back on smoking addictions or slaving away in dark bars for the insane money and perpetual attention.

I have to stay in the light. I have to meditate on patience. It helps me see clearly.

It helps me to clarify.

That's why.

Thank you girl in the corner.

New Directions

Pronounced "no erections", it was a halfway house for women in Orange County, Ca back in the 80's. I spent 30 days there. That was after a 30 day stint in hospital rehab. for abuse of illicit and powerful narcotics. I rarely think of those times, it was several lifetimes ago. I was young. The fear of addiction stays with me and mercifully the desire has been long been lifted. Scared straight. I was lucky to get out relatively intact. The percentage of kids getting clean for good was something like 3%. Or so they told us at the time. It was before getting clean/sober was cool, before the VH1 reality shows and the celebrity status, but only just. Liz Taylor (rest her soul) was one of the first to out herself on that front. To great applause and admiration I might add. For me it was a nightmare and one I never wish to relive.

I mention New Directions because I am fully into the show "Glee" right now (though just started season 1). It's the name of the group in the show. It's a Netflix guilty pleasure and one that the soon to be ex-boyfriend would never, ever watch in a million years. He hates musicals. Fully understandable. I, on the other hand, was raised in the performing arts. My life was all about the stage. 13 years in training, 2 full scholarships to ABT. Turned Baryshnikov himself down and quit to go to art school. I still love and miss it. Giselle, Coppelia, Don Q. Paquita, Swan Lake. Like all good child celebs I developed this ridiculous drug problem which stemmed in feeling never good enough. Ever. That and a family history, a genetic code that forces even the most stoic into submission to the all mighty high. It's an old story and one that wears me out. Who cares. Over. I am good enough. There is no perfect anything. Cancer sets one thing straight. It's fight or die. Thoughts like those will put you over the edge into that negative ninth ring of hell from which there is no return.

So do lovers who stop loving you for being who you are. People who bail at the first sign of un-ease. People who want to marry you one minute and abandon you the next.

I am done. I have to be strong, walk away and know I could never make it right.

I'll never be perfect enough for him.

I may be alone for the rest of my life but at least I will not feel forever wrong in someone else's eyes.

Never, ever look at myself through his eyes. It's none of my business what he thinks of me and I'll never change his opinion.

Sad and sick. I am watching "Glee" because it's all about joy and who you are and nerdy outcasts who always turn out to be great. It's bad, it's good it's fun. It's about talent. I used to have that. He'll never know about that side. The good stuff.

To him, I'm just some chick with issues.

To me that just sad. Empty. Shallow.

-and breaks into sad dance routine---now.

One o' those days

Another day waking before sunrise, too early to get up too stressed to go back to sleep. I wander around the soon to be gone apartment in the barely there light of a dreary rain soaked dawn. I go back to bed just as he's waking up. I fall asleep and have bad dreams. Very bad. I cannot breathe at all. Awake, he packs to leave for another life, seeking an apartment in another city, flight leaves at noon. We watch, the dog and I.

Outside, we watch as he gets in a cab and drives off. She keeps looking back and refuses to walk any further. She finally pees, then tries to take me back to where we left him. She thinks all men in suits hailing Cabs are him. It's cute. It breaks my heart.

Class at noon, crap, late. Running like mad to get there on time, racing down the subway stairs, swipe the card- "Insufficient Fare"! Crap. I run to the machine just in time to be cut off by a flock of tourists who have no idea where they are or what they're doing. Run to the opposite end of the station, get the card, train coming, hurry hurry. Got it, Run down the stairs, doors close in my face.

I get there, barely. Patience. Class is hard today, my body is totally exhausted yet I keep pushing, keep running. Legs are cramping, back is groaning the usual complaints, nearing threats of spasm. Feelings catching up, move faster, go harder. Leave early to make the next appt. Leaving the changing room, pull out the shades and out flies my favorite all natural Iris perfume oil from England. It falls and shatters leaving splinters of glass and all of my rare oils on the floor. I clean it up thoroughly, nearing tears again. "I'll never afford that again" I think. Thinking.

Running to the next thing, therapy at Cancercare with a licensed social worker. Now running late from the whole perfume debacle. Just miss the crosstown bus. Run to 6th ave just miss the express bus uptown. Went to the subway, just miss the 1 uptown. Really? Now it's like some crazy conspiracy. It got warm and humid. Sticky and crying I run. I get there. I cry some more.

Home at last to the "end of life" apartment. Honey needs out. She is happy to see me. I have a letter from England. It's from his mom. She's just saying how much I'm in her thoughts with all the medical stuff going on. How much they care about me, his parents. They are lovely.

I cry again.

Patience.

On the Line

Testing.

So, we begin again...

This blogging thing is still new for me and feeling like an old crazy lady who can't open her emails. Last night, boyfriend reworked the laptop so that all of my accounts are on this computer which he plans to leave with me. It's all part of the separation apparently. So, while I am grateful he's leaving me with a way to communicate with the world, i am saddened by this whole division of property thing. It only make the inevitable more, uh, inevitable.

My passwords have been changed around and I cannot find the original blog but will try again as it's most likely right in front of my eyes.

Onwards and upwards kids. It's going to be a bumpy night.