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.