Monthly Archives: May 2013

Standing still moving a million miles an hour

I am lying in my childhood bedroom, staring up at a ceiling that once had thousands of glow in the dark stars, but is now completely and totally blank.

It feels like a metaphor for my future. A tabula rasa in ceiling form. At thirty-three, being here feels a bit like a failure, but then I look at my life, and what I’ve been through in the last year, and it all of a sudden doesn’t.

It feels like success. It feels like love.

My parents loved me enough and were supportive enough that when push came to shove, they welcomed me back into their home with open arms, and then carried me through the darkest days I have ever known with embraces, jokes to release the tension, and shoulders for me to cry on.

It’s that unconditional love, that bond, that I so desperately want to share with someone else. Not just any someone, my someone. That little girl I’ve seen dancing in my dreams since I was seventeen. That unknown, unnamed child that keeps calling me momma. My
subconscious screaming and plotting any way possible to make her real, and yet, there’s nothing.

This dream has been such a part of my life that I have done, and have given so much of it away to reach it. I’ve walked away from relationships with people who undoubtedly loved me, but for whatever reason weren’t ready to have children, or didn’t want them at all. No one goal has shaped my life as much as this one has, and the sense of urgency that plagued me in my twenties has now become a horrible farce of urgency, so much so that I’m at a god damned stand still.

In limbo.

Surgeons and oncologists do whatever they can to help you live the life you want to live, within reason, with cancer. They do, and it’s amazing how far technology has advanced. Every day since my surgery I’m better, I can feel it, but medically, statistically, they’re keeping the numbers at roughly 80%sure I’m clear.

I’ve never been an 80% person. That’s a solid B in my book, and dammit, I was an A student!

But 80% allows me to have children, or rather, a child. 80% allows me to be a mom. 80% is better than a hundred percent with no uterus and early menopause and no baby ever to call me mom.

But I’m not there yet. And as hard as I try to get to the spot where I am ready to be there, I’m just as far away as I have ever been. Financially, I’m ok, but that won’t last that much longer unless I start looking again. Relationship wise, how do you begin to tell the guy who you’ve been crazy in love with for the better part of two years, who has really only been your friend, and then became something other that you want to have a baby? Like now? Before 80% turns into 60% or 50%?

If you’re me, you tell him via text in typical self deprecating humor about raising money to get invitro done, and then act mock horrified when you realize he might actually run the other way if you become a sperm obsessed baby making machine that only wants him for one thing….

But I want three things really, and for other people they seem to come more easily. I just want him, for the rest of my life, and my kid to call him dad. It’s utterly crazy, and strange to think about…..

Or maybe not…he just said I could

use him for whatever I want.

I doubt he knows what a monster he may have unleashed.

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Apparently I have a stalker…

and that makes me sound crazy.  But whatever.

 

Apparently, there are people out there who hurt you so badly, who make you feel so incredibly upset about whatever amount of friendship you tried to impart to them over the years that they use it to rip your own heart out, leave it bloody by the curb.  Those same people, who treat you like scum, like your friendship meant nothing, are the ones that seem to follow you through life, and relish in your defeats.

Guess what, cancer hasn’t won.  I am winning, I am fighting, so to you, person who hurt me so badly a year ago and threatened to have her supposed “friends” do bodily harm to me, who ripped on my writing style and then claim I never paid her to read three chapters of my novel when I didn’t have a damn dime to my name, and then spread malicious fallicies all over her facebook page like a goddamned high schooler… stop reading my blog (when I have all of seven readers, i think this alone is comical to say, but just stop.)  You don’t get to relish in my defeats, you don’t get to champion my successes.  You don’t get to claim anything on me, ever again.

I am happier now without you in my life, and I just want you gone.  Respect that, don’t contact me again, and move on with your life.  It shows more of your guilt than anything that you can’t let it go. I’ve forgiven you, but I don’t forget that kind of malice.  So just go..

 

Here’s the door, don’t let it hit your ass on the way out.Image

 

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