I can’t remember ever being truly afraid of death. There are
methods of dying which horrify me a bit, but as for the state of
being no longer alive, not so scary. There was even a dark time in my life in
which I was rushing toward it. Don’t get me wrong. It has long been my wish for
an extensive and happy life, but I also accept that death is something we all
experience eventually.
Somewhere between treatments, the cancer snuck back into my
lung. As far as I know, my tumor index is still much lower than it was in the
beginning, but I don’t know what this means number-wise. Really, I don’t care
what it means at all in numbers or in words. I just know that it’s trying to
get the best of me. It started as a silent invader and is still as stealthy as
ever. And for the first time, fear is creeping in along with it. Even as I
drink a mug of tomato soup and type at my computer in my warm apartment, a line
of ice is making its way down my spine and there’s a paranoid tingling at the
base of my skull.
Just the other evening I had several moments in which I
almost lost my composure in front of Violet. I felt as if I sat too still, I
would begin to shake and tears were already beginning to stir. I had to leave
the room to ensure that she wouldn’t see me in distress. I was hoping I would
be able to shrug it off by the next morning, but even today, it clings
tenaciously to the back of my psyche, springing forth when least expected. It
happened again today as I was driving to my Krav Maga class. Violet was in her
car seat and I was listening to Wardruna on the stereo. I had enough
distractions to keep it from becoming overwhelming. It was more like a
continuous dreaded thought peeking out behind my eyes. Even now, I feel it
sending its reminders, as if it wants me to know it’s watching me back.
Now this in no way means I’m giving up. And it doesn’t mean
that I’m accepting the diagnosis as “no cure.” It just means that for the first
time, I can see how formidable this thing can be. I’m feeling its presence as
if I’m being possessed by a malevolent entity. Somewhere in all of this, it
began to feel like something sentient. Its attempt at takeover is purely
hostile and destructive and it’s grinning at me. Mocking me. It wants to win. I
won’t let it. I can’t let it; but for the first time, I’m absolutely terrified.
I was already done with today when my feet swung off the bed
and the right one landed right in cold, squishy cat diarrhea. Violet had been
the one to come in and wake me with much persistence and I had to yell at her
to move out of my way as I hopped to the bathroom to rinse it off in the sink.
I would have used the bathtub, but it’s slightly clogged and takes too long to
drain. The rest of the morning was no picnic. As I struggled to wake up enough
to function, Violet pawed at me, making her usual demands. I got her a bowl of
cereal and curled up on the sofa for a glorious few minutes. I’ve been dealing
with an obnoxious cough which causes a violent stabbing pain in the pinched
nerve that’s in my back. Needless to say, I have not been getting restful sleep.
The time came for me to shower and get ready for the day,
which had me stepping in even more cat diarrhea (Jesse’s cat has been terribly
ill, poor thing) and scrambling for something to wear with Violet still
pestering me for things I can’t deliver at every turn. I barely got both of us
ready in time to get her to the bus for school, then made my way back up to the
apartment where I was greeted by a living room filled with clutter and a
mountain of dishes in the kitchen. My heart sank to see it. I was almost caught
up on things before this cough and back pain started. Now it’s almost back to
where it was and Jesse has been exhausted from work whilst he adjusts to his
new early schedule. So, I get to start again and hopefully, I’ll be able to get
this place completed before something happens to cause another backslide. I
haven’t even touched Violet’s room. The bathroom and our bedroom are atrocious
and there is a giant pile of cardboard by the dining table that needs to go
out.
As I’ve been juggling housework, Violet, endless errands,
and all the fun (not fun) surprises that life keeps pitching my way, the
frustration that I already feel has worsened by something else that has been
eating at me for a while now. Some of my friends are angry with me. One even
called me out. It seems, that I’m not the friend some people want or need me to
be. I’ve been accused of not meeting my end of the required time and attention
needed to maintain said friendships. I’ve been accused of not making the
effort, of not placing enough importance on being a proactive friend and only
making contact when I need something. Fucking ouch.
That last one isn’t entirely true. It came out of a
misunderstanding and miscommunication. I tried to convey something that came
out wrong, and well…there was that. As for the rest of it? Fine. Sure. It’s true.
But let me tell you WHY it’s true.
Now first, let me be clear that the feelings behind such
statements aren’t necessarily wrong. You need what you need and if you need a
friend to meet you exactly halfway in order to maintain the friendship, well…that’s
what you need. There’s nothing wrong with that, but here’s the thing; I don’t
have it to give. It’s not that I don’t want to be the friend that people need.
I do. I do so much, it has caused some serious emotional upset and self-doubt.
After a falling out with one friend in particular, I spent hours in a crumpled
mess of tears, thinking that maybe I’m just a shitty person. It was agony and
it lasted for weeks. Hell, I still feel it. There’s a part of me that still
wonders if I just suck as a human being, but that’s what a lifetime of low
self-esteem and social anxiety will do to you.
Then I remember all that’s on my plate. Even with knowledge
of my situation, I think that sometimes people don’t quite grasp the magnitude
of it. Hell, even I forget how tough I’ve got it at times. I look great most of
the time when people see me. I do Krav Maga (though not nearly as often as I
used to), which is one Hell of a workout. I go to see bands with Jesse when we
have the money. When I do get together with friends, I often seem fine. Here’s
what people don’t see:
I’m exhausted all day, every day. Some days I’m just less
exhausted than others.
I have some sort of physical discomfort almost all the time,
whether it’s my bad teeth, or my bad back, or a screaming tension headache (I
had to go to the E.R. for my head not too long ago).
I have been fighting a seemingly futile battle against my
own apartment, trying to clear out and organize years and years of stuff piling
up, and trying to catch up on the chores that I miss when I’m too sick to do
them.
I have a very busy four-year-old who demands a ridiculous
amount of attention. Even though I love her more than anything, she exhausts and
tests me every day.
I’m all over the place. I have to get Violet on and off the
school bus every day. Mondays and Wednesdays, I have to get her to her karate
class and then get home in time to do some cleaning and make dinner so I can go
to Krav Maga (which I have missed so much of lately due to all the other shit I
have to deal with).
My car is in serious need of help, and I can no longer drive
it more than a few short miles at a time, so I have to wait to do a lot of
things until Jesse is home from work.
The biggest thing though, lest people forget…I HAVE CANCER!
Fucking cancer, people!!! I may look healthy, but how healthy can I possibly be
with stage FOUR fucking cancer??? Just imagine how much worse it would be if I
didn’t have my daughter, Jesse, and Krav Maga to help drive me to continue. All
the things above would certainly keep most people pretty busy, but doing it on
top of something that is actively trying to kill me seems damn impossible some
days. Yes, it’s diminished significantly, and yes, I try to remain as active as
possible, but I haven’t beaten it yet, and this shit takes its toll. I still
haven’t fully recovered from my last bout and I got slammed with this.
People are killed by this every day. Western Medicine has
given me a death sentence. I’m choosing not to accept that sentence, but it
takes a lot of work and determination. I had to leave some Facebook support
groups because the women there were either dying or talking about how much time
they have before they die. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t handle all that death. Learning
how to live can be difficult. Learning how to live and beat a “terminal”
illness while you’re at it, well how easy is that? It’s not. It’s not easy at
all. I’m up against odds that most people say are impossible. Even with the
progress I’ve made, my oncologist (who is absolutely wonderful, don’t get me
wrong) is still counting on the likelihood of this eventually taking me out. So
how much time and energy do you suppose it takes to disagree with that and make
good on what I propose to do, which is live? How much do you think that takes
out of me? How much energy and constant mindfulness do you think goes into
defying those kinds of odds?
So if I’m not the friend you need, then I’m sorry. I truly
am sorry. As I said before, I just don’t have it to give. It doesn’t make me
right, and it doesn’t make you wrong. It just is what it is. People talk about
not wasting time with someone who treats you like an option instead of a
priority. Well, if you need to be a priority, find someone who has it
available. Right now, my priorities are with raising my daughter, loving my
man, making my home a safe and peaceful place, and NOT DYING. As much as I wish
I could give more, as much as it hurts me to my core, I just can’t. If this
means people are going to walk out of my life, then that’s what it means. Go do
what’s best for you. Of course it hurts, but I’ve got to focus on getting
better. I’ve got to focus on my immediate surroundings if I want to survive…and
I do want to survive. I don’t expect everyone to understand. It’s a lot to take
in. For those who can handle me at my limited capacity, thank you. I know it
can be difficult. For those who can’t, well I wish you the best. Maybe years down
the road, I can be what you need, but not now. Not today. It doesn’t mean I don’t
love you (otherwise it wouldn’t hurt so much). It just means I can’t act on
that love in the way you need me to.
It’s been such a whirlwind. I’ve had no time for writing and
it’s been eating at me. Jesse is living with me now, and it’s been good so far,
even though the apartment is largely in disarray. He lost his job in January
and just started a good one this week. With all the chaos of my life, I chose
to leave my wonderful job to focus on getting better, being a mom, and my
creative pursuits. It’s time for some serious self-care. It’s time to be who
and what I truly am, and to unearth the parts that have been sleeping.
Things have changed with the cancer, too. My tumor index
began to slowly go down with oral chemotherapy. I started taking Rick Simpson
Oil. If you don’t know what that is, I highly recommend looking into it. Even
though it was going down, it was so slow and I was growing so tired of the
fluid overwhelming my lung and having to have it drained via thoracentesis. At
the end of January, I believe it was, the procedure caused my lung to collapse,
which lead to a fun-filled, dilauded-enhanced stay in the hospital. Gradually,
since the beginning of this, the need to have this done became less and less
frequent. Still, it seemed like it was never going to speed up, and as is the
way with chemotherapy, I was getting so weak and so sick.
I don’t bring it up very often, but I have been a Reike
healer for quite a few years, though I maintained level 1 and primarily did
self-healing for that time. I would even go long periods without using it at
all. Well, I finally decided that you can have cancer and still use Reike, so
in March I attended a four-day retreat to complete my Reike 2 training. I had
recently received another call saying that the tumors had gone down again; very
slightly. I was also toward the end of my two-week chemotherapy cycle, and I
was weak and tired. But I went.
I won’t share the details of Reike training, as it’s a lot
to try to fit into a blog. For those who don’t know what it is, in short: Reike
is a Japanese form of meditation that requires training and mentorship. It
promotes physical, emotional, and psychological health. It strengthens the
mind-body-spirit connection, and is even used in some U.S. hospitals.
The retreat was amazing. Even though I had to excuse myself
a few times to go and sleep in my little cabin, I got so much out of it. I
could feel my Phoenix Fire beginning to spark. It ended on a Sunday, and the
following Thursday I had a CT scan to get a better look at the tumors. Just a
few days after that, I got a call from my oncologist’s office. I was told that
the scan showed no evidence of disease in my lung, and everywhere else had
diminished drastically, though it was still in multiple places. Jesse was
sitting with me at the dining room table at his father’s house when this news
came to me. I got off the phone and cried the first genuinely happy tears I can
remember in a long time. I’ve been taken off the chemo and am being placed on hormone
therapies instead.
Of course my Krav Maga has suffered due to all of this, but
I still go whenever I can. That’s the hard part. That’s where I get depressed.
I miss training five days a week. I miss having that drive and ability. I miss
being able to do fall-breaks on my back, then immediately jumping up to strike
the pads. I keep hoping that as I improve, I can get my class count back up,
though I am not allowed to do the belt tests until my spine recovers. I keep
telling myself that until I can advance, I’ll just have to become the most
badass yellow belt I can be. Now…to actually get to class.
Some days the uncertainty of everything gets to me.
Everything is so up in the air with no signs of landing anytime soon. I’m so
glad I have Jesse here now. When I’m floating away or lost in a panic, he has a
miraculous way of grounding me. Of course he drives me batty sometimes but overall,
he soothes my soul. We seem to be sort of building plans, but I try not to
think about it too much. I’m still afraid of losing this.
So yes, it’s been quite eventful. I’ve even had dear friends
and family visit me from other countries since my last post. It’s been wonderful,
but so fast-paced. I’m looking forward to things slowing down a bit. I need
some quiet time, some self-nurturing time. This most definitely includes
writing.
My Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Marlene came to visit from Australia.
I waited 35 years for this day.
My beloved Christina from Germany!!! And Tyler from right here!
It’s been crazy around here. A lot is changing and I’m not
as good at keeping up on things as I was (which honestly wasn’t great then,
either). I’ve been hospitalized a couple of times. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and
New Year have come and gone. David Bowie died.
As I sit here, listening to the Starman’s last, really last
album, I identify with it so much. I don’t understand his meanings behind all
of his lyrics, but I can hear where the cancer is speaking through his last
masterpiece, and I have some of my own definitions floating in from it. I
decided a while back, just before Christmas, that this isn’t going to kill me.
It isn’t allowed to. Not like this.
This is my third battle with this beast and frankly, it’s
getting old. I have been accomplishing so little. I couldn’t figure out why
when the treatments are so much less harsh this time (one oral chemotherapy
medication. I get to keep my hair and everything), am I so very exhausted?
Today I finally figured it out. Before, I had help with everything. Now I’m
doing this as a single mom with a part time job, trying to keep attending Krav
Maga training (you know I’ll go nuts if I don’t), and managing a household,
phone calls, appointments, bills, car problems. I’m so tired…
…but I’m not giving up.
Of course I’m not relying on chemo alone. It’s already been
stated that it won’t save my life, just prolong it a bit. Well then, I guess I’ll
just have to save myself. Through the love and assistance of amazing people, I
have been able to start taking Rick Simpson Oil (Phoenix Tears), and I’m still
attending Krav when I can. I’m slowly transitioning into dietary changes and
will be taking a blood test as soon as I can manage it, so that I can have my
diet optimized for my life and conditions.
I have Violet, and she is the future of the world. She is
the love of my life. She needs me and I need to be here for her. Jesse is by my
side most of the time, helping me through this. I have friends and family all
over the world, encouraging and supporting me. I’m also extraordinarily
stubborn. Don’t get me wrong, this is terrifying, and sadness and anger visit
regularly. Sometimes the days get jumbled and confused. Today nausea came for
me as I was driving to work and I had to come back home. My Monday is now
becoming another blur as I type in my bed, letting cannabis sooth the sickness.
But I’m here. I’m alive. Even when I have a tube stuck in my back, draining
fluid off of my left lung, even when I’m dizzy from medication, and even when I
can hardly eat, I’m alive. I’m fighting. I don’t know how not to.
Today is rough. Today is scary. But that’s today. I will
rest and recover and I will pick up my sword tomorrow.
Something happened to me when I was told I was dying.
Actually I wasn’t told in those words exactly. The words “death” and “dying”
weren’t used at all. “Metastasized” and “no cure” have been used along with “average
life-expectancy” …but not DYING. This coming Friday will mark two weeks since I
heard that news. Today is one week since I got out of the hospital after being
rushed by ambulance because I couldn’t breathe and my blood pressure had
plummeted. Today is the day I followed up with my oncologist to discuss the
findings of the scans and tests run whilst enjoying my hospital stay. Today I
learned what places it has chosen to latch onto and start eating me: spine, pelvis,
left lung, liver, and skull.
Stage 4.
Metastatic.
It’s in my bones.
According to Western Medicine, I’m fucked. Do you know what
the average lifespan of someone with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer is? Four
years. Yes, four. Now let’s be clear that this is the “average.” Well kids, I’m
not fucking average. Never have been. While it’s true that for the vast
majority of my life I felt that I was below average, I have learned something
about where we place ourselves in regard to that spectrum. We tend to restrict
ourselves to “above” or “below”. How about just stepping off of that spectrum
completely? How about instead of “above” or “below” we choose “not?” I am NOT
average, not by a long-shot. So I am not accepting averages here. I’m not
accepting Western Medicine’s cold dismissal of this vessel when the spirit
inside it is screaming to prove it wrong, to smash this monster, to raise my
beautiful daughter.
A dark summer it was, the darkest. Autumn barely whispered
and winter is already knocking at my windowpane. So much of the year was spent
feeling like I was dying, and honestly, wanting to. I can’t help thinking of
stories I’ve heard about people who earnestly tried committing suicide only to
have it fail somehow and how they instantly regretted the choice they had made
once it was “too late.” I wonder if every person who kills themselves has that
happen. My case definitely isn’t suicide, but I can’t lie. I was tired of
living. I wanted to close my eyes and never have to open them again. The only
thing keeping me on this plane was my precious and amazing child. Now that
Death is making eyes at me for very, very real this time, I am absolutely not
interested. I want to live. I want to be. I want to become. I’ve got shit to do
and like Hell I’m just going to leave this plane when there is a little girl
who needs me.
I’m angry. I’m fucking livid. After all the horrors and
traumas that breast cancer put me through, after my marriage crumbled, after
scraping at crumbs to start pulling some sort of life together, after changing
and becoming stronger than I’ve ever been only to get knocked down by one
gut-wrenching heartache after another this year, this…THIS is what I’m
presented with??? No. Fuck this. No. Not interested. I will find a way. If this
thing wants to kill me, fine. But not before I raise Violet. Not before I
create a life I can be proud of. Okay, so it didn’t go the way I wanted. That
stable life with a caring partner, that fulfilling career choice, that crusade
against all things unjust and unsavory, that legacy I wanted to build; none of
it seems to be possible now. No walk down the aisle in a beautiful gown to greet
the love of my life. No impressive college degrees. I have to let go of those
wants because all of my energy now is devoted to living. It’s devoted to seeing
my child into adulthood. I will hunt down and utilize all alternative
treatments I can get my hands on. I will summon all of my will. I will live.
As I said…I’m fucking livid. But the anger is turning into
something good. It’s turning into bloodlust. It’s turning into determination.
If there is one thing I’ve learned for certain about myself over the last
couple of years, it’s that I’m a fighter. No matter how long I spend recovering
from a devastating blow, I get up. I always get up.
Since the day I stood over my brother’s body, awash with
wonder and grief, I have marveled at the power of pain. Physical pain…intense
physical pain can rearrange a person’s psyche like you wouldn’t believe. And I
have known physical pain. I have known it in ways that even the most skilled
wordsmith could not do any justice to. Emotional pain however, deep,
all-encompassing emotional pain…now that is something to behold.
It is no secret that the year thus far has been wrought with
trials and tragedies. Myself and people all around me have been suffering in a
variety of ways. It has taken me closer to the edge of my limits than I had ever
thought possible. Every time I seem to be turning a corner, following a promise
uttered or a spark of light, I am met with that shadowy despair once again. Its
insanity clutches at me and I feel myself clawing against rage and
hopelessness. So on evenings like this, when my cheeks have felt like flowing
liquid to the touch and my brow has been creased with all the tension of the
strongest vice until a friend rescues me with coffee and a forbidden cigarette
to bring me back into myself, I can take a step back for just a moment. I can
look. I can become the scientist.
I am a great scientist when studying my own emotional pain
and mental torment. Even as it agonizingly rips apart my insides, I am
fascinated. The madness and sheer enormity of it are breathtaking in a way that
is almost art. I am surviving this and I have been surviving it for months on
end. But is there an end? Logic dictates that there must be but the when and
how are lost to me at this time. I am putting on my mad scientist coat and I am
dusting off my beakers and boilers to see what this beast can do; to see the
colors it paints within me. And oh how sometimes I shake! Isn’t it marvelous
what this thing can do? Isn’t it poetry? Will it kill me? No, though I am sure
it has tried. No, it will not kill me. It can’t kill me if I’m cutting it to
pieces and dissecting its every corner and shape. It can’t kill me even when it
has me tricked into feeling like I’m dying. For you see, I am the mad scientist,
and I run this show…even when it’s running away with me.
I’ve been without internet for a few months, hence the
silence. Actually there have been other reasons for my silence. For I’ve been
lost, you see. The summer was long, and mercilessly hot and it seemed that all
of the Pacific Northwest was on fire. The sun beat down on Washington and
Oregon with a fury that left burnt scars in its wake. And yet…it was so dark.
So very, very dark.
After the sweet bliss of spring gave way to this blistering
time, the man I love more than all others wounded me more deeply than anyone
ever has, leaving me feeling exposed and disposable. I was blindsided, and as I
stumbled through the ache and humiliation of it, things got even worse. There
were unexpected financial pitfalls and my schooling came to a screeching halt.
I suddenly found myself wandering aimlessly, not having any sense of direction.
With each step I took, I lost my footing and everything I reached for seemed to
crumble like smoldering ash. The days became a blur and I had to rely on
autopilot just to keep going.
I had lost what I thought was love, and then I lost a dear
friend and pillar in my spiritual community when he unexpectedly died of a
heart attack. My last memory of him was looking up into his kind gaze as he put
his arm lovingly around me in an attempt to comfort my broken heart…and then
his stopped working. Stan the Stick man left this world and an entire community
was shaken to its core. The only comfort in this was that it was one thing I
didn’t have to feel alone in. In this one thing there were others who were
feeling the same grief along with me. For a short time, it gave me something to
hold onto. Then the darkness reached its claws out again and wrapped them
around my throat. I recently learned that another very special friend of mine
is currently fighting for her life and so is my stepdaughter. It looks grim for
both of them and there is nothing I can do but watch in horror, helpless to
save either of them.
Stan and his amazing wife Nelia
Oh that darkness. Even as the sun bore down, it became all I
could see or feel. Behind every sunbeam its tendrils creeped and crawled,
enveloping the whole of my existence. I desperately searched for signs of
something good, something containing joy. I looked to my sweet, beautiful
daughter, hoping that my love for her would snap me out of it, but all I could
see was my failure as a mother. I even lost my Krav Maga and her Karate classes
because of the aforementioned financial catastrophes. It was too much. It was
so heavy and so black. I was sinking and every morning was met with searing
emotional torment. I couldn’t think. I could hardly function at all, and I
could feel myself slipping into something great and terrible. Despair
suffocated me and rage battered me. After all I had survived and after all I
had fought for, I couldn’t understand how it had come to this. The whole world
had lost its senses and I was losing a battle with myself that I will not speak
of in detail at this time.
It was only a few short weeks ago that a couple of my most
intuitive friends saw what was happening to me and within me. They saw that I
was in trouble and that I needed someone to show me that I was not as alone as
I felt. I was not suffering unnoticed; I just couldn’t see beyond that looming
wall of blackness. In that place, that terrible, terrible place, I felt hands
reaching for my wrists and I was pulled close enough to the surface to see that
there are people who see me…who really see me. It snapped me to my senses long
enough to be able to see that while I was living in shadow, there was something
beyond it. There was a life waiting for me. I just needed to find my way back
to it and back to myself.
No, it wasn’t a grand realization. It wasn’t as if the light
suddenly broke through the darkness to illuminate all the good things. I didn’t
suddenly break from my despair as a shining beacon of hope and determination. I
was still in the dark. I was still in pain. The important thing, the most
important thing, was that at least I knew there was something better. I just
had to find my way back. I had been given a rope, but I still had to climb. And
so, covered in soot and ash, I began to climb.
I have chosen to maintain my friendship with Jesse. It’s a
very complicated and bizarre situation, and cannot be fully explained herein.
It has taken a lot of thought and history and willingness to understand his
side to be able to accept what is. It’s not easy and not a day goes by that I
don’t wonder if I should just sever ties. If it was anyone else, I would. This
thing…this whatever-it-is at this time, is more worth holding onto than letting
go of at this point. He is kind and has shown great concern and caring. We have
had some grand adventures, and continue to do so as I help him with his
photography business. We went to the Faerieworlds festival, which even in my
darkness, was one of the best weekends I can recall. It was the only break I
had from all that was threatening to devour me and it was good. There were
amazing wonders and scenery. Beautiful people living as otherworldly creatures
were everywhere I looked and there was wonderful, healing music. I experienced things
that gave me just enough to sustain me until those friendly hands reached for
me and I was shown that I am visible.
Pictures by Jesse Lanier
And so, for a few weeks I met each morning feeling like I
was dying but knowing that I really wasn’t. I went to work, I took care of Violet and I
even worked things out with my martial arts school so that Violet and I can
return when October starts. They have even awarded me a partial scholarship.
That brought the first happy tears I’ve cried in a very long time. Yesterday,
since I was on my own without Violet, Jesse and I went on a spontaneous drive
down the Columbia River Gorge on the Washington side, scouting out scenery
worthy of photographs. As we laughed and talked and adventured our way in his
funny brown jeep down winding roads, we made a few stops and then kept going.
Without planning for it, we found ourselves at the Maryhill Stonehenge Memorial
(which is a smaller replica of Stonehenge that serves as a war memorial site for
those who don’t know) just in time for the lunar eclipse of the full blood
moon. It was breathtaking! As Jesse fiddled with his camera and began to take
pictures, I lost myself in the moon for a moment, marveling at its full
ruddiness. I remembered a Facebook post my friend Corinne had shared about
using that opportunity to let things go and release what harms or no longer
serves me. I crouched down, leaning against one of the stone pillars, looking
up at the moon, and I quietly whispered to it all of the things that are
hurting me that I wish to let go of. I asked for things as well. I asked for
direction. I asked for purpose. I asked to get my passion, my creativity, my
sense of self back. I asked for a happy life and I asked for help in becoming
the mother that Violet needs and deserves. I asked for peace.
Pictures by Jesse Lanier
There was more picture taking and Jesse showed me the
coolest trick using a small light to illuminate surfaces for night time
photography. Even though he explained in detail how it works, I’m still baffled
and stunned. I’ll let him keep the science. I’d rather have the wonder. He got
some fantastic shots and it was fun to take part. After we’d gotten all we
could, we climbed back into the jeep, wearily made the two-hour trip back and I
was dropped off at my tiny and silent apartment where I was greeted by a
snuffly, happy hound and two impatient cats. The snakes (yes I have two of them
now) seemed indifferent. Haha! I took a few moments to wind down and settle in for
the night before retiring to my luxurious canopy bed, wondering if things would
be different. I wondered if there was really any power in letting things go.
And then I drifted into strange and nonsensical dreams.
Today is the first day I can remember in which I woke up not
feeling like I was dying. I could feel the residual pain of the darkest summer
lingering softly in the background, fading like nightmares do as the morning
wears on. My heart remembered the ache and still feels it to this moment, but
it is not overpowered. Today, for the first time since I don’t know when, I
feel like I can get past this. I feel like I have what it takes, even though I
am still shaking. I am still afraid. I don’t know how I will feel tomorrow
morning. I don’t know if the darkness will come for me again. Right now, I’m
okay. Right now I know my chances of feeling okay tomorrow are higher than they
were yesterday. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll get everything
resolved. I don’t know if I will ever have the love that I thought I had and
lost. I don’t know if when I finally finish my book, it will actually get
published. I don’t know if I will excel at Krav Maga to the point that I
desire. I don’t know anything.
I had left my driver’s license in Jesse’s jeep and the poor
guy had to bring it to me, whilst recovering from a headache. He sat with me
for a bit and we talked about his photography and other things. I don’t know what
he is. I don’t know why he is…but he is. And I am. And I’m learning to just
accept and be okay. I might grow old and never have what I think I want now. I
might just have to be okay alone. I have Violet, but she will grow up and move
on. Friendships will fade and people will die. There will be pain and I know
how much pain there can be…but I’ll be okay. There are sunsets and moons and
things and places. There are thoughts and dreams and nightmares and waking from
it all to look around and seek a new perspective. There are happy songs when I
need to dance and feel lifted and there are sad songs when I need to feel
understood. There is what there is…and it continues to move and twist and
undulate and cycle. The only constant is change and I am learning to find peace
in uncertainty. The darkness will come again, but when it does, I'll ride it out.
My current favorite sad song, "Faith in Others" by Opeth. It offers a strange sort of comfort.
