The Universal Control+Alt+Delete

How do you say the things that people don't want to hear?

How do you tell them things that they need to know, but from which they will still run?

How do you look into the eyes of people who love you but do not understand and give them hope that has not been given to you?

Are you lying or simply protecting them?

Is it your choice to protect or theirs to be protected?

Are you being fair or cruel?

The things I have left unsaid, I have left unsaid for me as much as you.

I do not want to speak the words and hear them said aloud again...

I do not want to swallow those words and make them my being.

I am not cancer.

I am not 20%.

I am not death.

I am not beyond hope.

I am not dying of cancer, I am living with it and I am still alive.

I am a human.

I have feelings.

Just because I am "not dead yet", it does not mean I am an effing machine.

It doesn't mean that although I will find the "funny" and almost always smile at you, that I am not scared shitless and a little bit of a wreck right this moment.

If I didn't have to tell you...

If you could simply read my mind...

The pain, sadness and fear dancing and teasing alongside the strength, drive, and optimism which collides with the logic, statistics, and percentages would drop you to your knees...

It does to me every day.

I am not rare.

I am not unique.

I'm just a girl.

And I am right in front of you.

...and you and everyone else is losing me.

We (as a society) have forgotten how to see the human factor involved with humans.

We have become emotionally displaced and when something happens, we flounder about like fish dumped ashore...

...gasping and hoping to get back to the safe and comfortable waters but without the knowledge of how to do it ourselves...

We can text and email our love to friends and family, but help us all on the day we have to listen to pain or emotion in someone's voice.

We can't handle tears.

We can't handle truths.

If I could simply hit a key and delete the things that displease me, I would.

If I could look into my children's eyes and only feel the immeasurable love and none of the fear of leaving them behind...

If I could for one day not worry about who will hold them and love them...

If I could stop time and simply hold them and laugh and never have them see me sick...

If I could look into your eyes and not see all of our dreams and our life being lived without me...

I would. Believe it.

If I could system restore my body to the day before the issues started...

...before I was scarred and disfigured....

...before the stress of a nine year battle etched it's trails along my eyes and brow...

...before my bones became fragile...

...before my hair started to fall out...

...I would.

I can't.

...But I will not be simply deleted from this life.

The Fastness of it All

I slept Saturday night.

It may have had something to do with driving to Farmington, eating things I shouldn't have and getting sick, driving home from Farmington, and hitting 3 holiday parties all around The Lou that did the trick.

It may have had something to do with my "pain management assistance".

I slept until 11am.

It was glorious.

Regardless, the pain was there when I awoke and was amazingly acute throughout the day.

The icy air didn't help. Not. One. Little. Bit.

Tonight, I will not sleep.

I am freaked out by how fast it is all happening.

I can see it in his eyes too.

...and Ty's.

Thursday I woke up and had to crawl around the house because of some "vertigo-like" symptoms.

Jay had to drive me to Edgewood to drop off the toys.

He had top drive me to work the next day so that I would not miss that stupid meeting.

He constantly searches for ways to eliminate my pain.

Constantly he deals with my tears, my vomit, my freaking out over the changes happening to my body, my scars, my constant falling and fainting, and now the losing of my hair.

Yep. That's my newest freak-fest.

My hair.

Going.

Going.

Going...

Gotta love that.

We find it all over the place.

I see it in the mirror.

In pictures.

In his eyes.

I'm ready and I'm not.

I don't want anyone to have to deal with this.

He will mistakenly think that I want him to leave.

I want to protect him.

I want to protect my children.

My friends.

Myself.

I am anguished over this.

Where did my strength go?

Why does it hurt so horribly?

When will it stop?

Why can't I take a vacation day from it?

Just one day off...

One day so that I can feel "normal".

One day so that I can get things done.

Play with my children without having to stop for air.

Ride my bike.

Laugh.

Sleep.

Live.

Why must I stop living so that I may "live"?

Why is it never enough?

When will it get better?

When will I be free?

Even If She Stays...

"...can I ask you one thing?" he said. "Call her more often. She doesn't have a whole lot of people to talk to. Only a few friends. (antisocial)..."

I thought for a moment. She needed me. Now. Again. Why was I so put off by this? I had forgiven her years ago. Hadn't I?

"...As far as mom goes, we have the relationship that we have and it is what it is. I have always loved her and always will, but there is a comfort level that we both respect when dealing with each other and mom can't handle what is going on with me right now. It's better for me to protect her. She's never been very strong and although I used to resent her for that when I was a child, I am now protective of her...like you are...", I replied to him.

All via email of course because why would we have actual human interaction in this family?

He is so young and so old now all at once. How did he get that way? She raised him so differently. She stayed for him. How did he get that way?

Is it the price we pay for having her as a mom...even if she stays?

Can any of us remember a "childhood"?

Jennifer can.

Jennifer was set free.

Jennifer was 3.

Yet...

Of all of us, Jennifer is the one who is most like "her" when she was at her almost worst...

...except Jennifer would never leave her children.

Jennifer is defined by her children and has no separate identity.

Is that because our mother left her as if she didn't exist?

Should we count Jen among the casualties of our childhood deaths of the soul?

Because Jennifer is so much like our mother, I have removed her from my life.

One of "her" has always been more than I could bare.

How did Jen end up like her?

Jennifer had a childhood, but no mother.

Jennifer had a father, but no mother.

Jennifer had love, but no mother.

Jennifer was always protected from it all.

Jennifer was always the "victim" in our mother's choice to go.

Poor Jennifer.

It was somehow understood that she would leave me.

I was old.

I was almost 10.

I had no mother, but I was 10.

I had no father, but I was 10.

I lived with my grandpa and lesbian aunt before being gay was "cool", but it was OK because I was 10.

"When your mother calls, don't tell her about anything that's bothering you. Talk to me. We mustn't get her upset. She can't handle it," he said every Sunday night before that magical phone call.

I could handle it. After all, I was 10. 2 digits. I had a boom box and a mauve 12-speed Raleigh.

I could handle it.

I puffed out my flat little chest with pride at that knowledge.

I could cook now. I could plan a meal. I could make my own icing and bake heart-shaped layered cakes for my grandpa. I could burn the shit out of butterscotch pudding like no other. I could polish silver. I could wax the furniture. I could set the table with the good china. I knew how to get the spots off glasses and make sure there were no water spots on the faucet. I could do laundry. I could iron every little pleat in my Catholic school uniform. I could sew buttons on work shirts and pajama tops. I could curse a blue streak in Italian. I was 10. It's a pretty big deal.

Every night for 2 hours I would dance my ass off in front of our mirrored wall in the living room, acting out every ballet and Broadway play that I had ever seen. All for his amusement as he read The Journal and rested his eyes. He never asked me to lower the volume.

This convinced me that he was deaf. And blind.

His eyes watered when my mom told him I would move to Florida for high school.

I had only witnessed his crying once before. That was when our dog was hit by a car. I knew he loved me.

Jennifer was the lucky one.

She never asked for Jennifer to come back.

She left her alone. She stayed out of her life.

This is how I knew she hated me.

My carefree days of no yelling, not watching suicide "attempts", and no snide remarks about my late father were about to end.

Cue the razors, pills, revolvers, and temper tantrums...our mother was in a relationship.

Back to walking on egg shells.

Back to awaiting the other shoe to drop.

Back to hiding her pills, dulling her razors and praying that she wasn't stupid enough to play with her department-issued revolvers.

(She was stupid enough...but somehow lucky enough not to kill either of us.)

Is that a gray hair...? I'm 13, dammit!

POOF!

14 now and motherless again.

She wasn't dead.

She was two blocks away in a condo.

She drove past our house every day and never stopped.

I saw her a few times a year.

Never at her request.

She rolled coins for my 16th birthday because I didn't deserve real money.

No gift. Just rolled quarters.

My gift was her not calling or seeing me for my birthday.

Or my dance recitals and competitions.

Or my graduation.

She saw me cheer once. Once.

The next year she cancelled a check to my drill team for my uniforms and costumes just to embarrass me.

She was never there when it mattered....or even when it didn't.

Some man was always more important and ruled her crazy little world.

Men. And horses. Not her children.

She told me to leave as soon as my grandfather's funeral was over. I was 17. I was the only one who had spoken to her. Embraced her. It was a slap. It hurt. It was the last time it would hurt.

I know why I was never a child. But what about him?

She stayed for him. Raised him. Gave him everything. EVERYTHING! She talked to him. She LOVES him. How did he get to be so old at not-yet-18?

Is this the price we pay for having her as a mom...even if she stays?

For You to See Me

For you to see me, I have taken drugs that mask the pain to allow you to focus on my eyes and the love and laughter that live there.

For you to see me, those drugs need to go away, as my body now relies on them to get through it instead of getting stronger.

For you to see me, I do things to my body that I shouldn't...because I am alive!

For you to see me, I have to limit that more and let myself heal, but I need you to remember that I am alive.

For you to see me, I need you to hold those images and my laughter in your head during those moments when I am curled into a ball and crying in pain or you are holding my hair as I get sick.

For you to see me, I need you know that no matter the pain, I will get up. I have to. No matter how stupid or selfish it seems to you.

For you to see me, I need you to see the pain but see past it to the girl inside who is laughing and just waiting for that gasp of air to crack another joke.

For you to see me, you must know that the joke will always come. The smile. The giggle. It's all there.

For you to see me, I need you to know that I can weather any storm, and have and some days you are going to have to believe in that.

For you to see me, I need you to lean on me a little bit so that you can rest and stay strong too.

For you to see me, I need you to see that it relaxes me to make things better and easier for you, even if that's not what you think you need.

For you to see me, I need you to allow me to protect you to a point because in doing so, it helps me.

For you to see me, I need you to understand that for me, as hectic as you think it is, I need to cram it all into a day.

For you to see me, I need you to see that I see you and all of your fears, concern and love. I hear you and I understand all that you are feeling.

For you to see me, I need you to believe that I am stronger than this and that I am not today or any day soon giving up this battle and I will beat it.

On the day that I don't, I need you to remember that I tried my ass off...and see me for that.

Lost-ish

My head is swirling right now.

Psychocross season has started and I jumped in head first...right into an addiction, it seems. I love it. Two things have fucked this right up for me:

1. The robbery that happened in the lot at practice sends me into a panic attack almost every time I arrive. I have to throw up. I shake. I don't even park in the lot anymore, but passing it starts the mess immediately. I feel like "they" are hiding watching me practice so that while I am gone they can take what is left of my stuff. I hate that I have let it affect me. It has brought up old panic from violations past. It super sucks. Last night was the first time I got to relax at practice because it was rainy, wet and muddy...and cold, so I knew those pussy-assed, lazy effing thieves wouldn't be hiding anywhere outside. I had a fantastic practice and was sorry to see it end.

2. On top of that, I started feeling really physically bad last week. I assumed it was nerves at the start of cx racing and the fact that my first race would take place in WI (where I have never raced) and in front of a boy (a badass racer) whom I dig. No teammates would be there. Just me, the boy, my bike, and what I thought were my nerves. I tanked my race. I had the most awful stabbing pains, my heart rate was not at it's normal racing pace, and no amount of pain relief actually relieved the pain. I tried to smile, but I am pretty sure the boy thought I was constipated.

I woke up Sunday (still in WI) surfing the crimson wave. Fantastic. (Oh yeah! How ya like me now, baby?) OY! Regardless, I was hellbent on having a great time, and we did. We hit the MTB trails in the cold and I truly enjoyed watching him ride. I however, struggled...with the pain and with how much to tell him about said pain, but rode on. He knew. I am apparently not a good faker. (Wait that made me think of something else and I have to giggle.) My one accomplishment that ride was apparently making it upright without putting my foot down through something called "The Litter Box". Uphill and sand is all I will say there.

*smirk*

Anyway, as I drove home Monday morning in an amazing amount of pain (and a bit loopy from that/Aleve/too little sleep), I started to feel the "warm wateries" of impending vomit. In the beginning, I would pull over and vomit. Then I ran out of napkins and had to make actual stops. I had had coffee. That had to be out by the first vomit, so imagine how fun the subsequent vomitfests actually were. NOT! Halfway home I stopped to get a sugar-and-hell-laced orange Hi-C from McFatties to help balance my sugar and spinning head. (Note: Hi-C burns when coming out of your nose!)

I got back to The Lou in time for a meeting and continued my day feeling like absolute ass. For some reason, I went to cross practice. (I have issues, dude.) It seemed to give me the charge I needed. I think I needed to not suck after Saturday's race. It helped. The next day, I went to work and felt pretty happy about things, but really tired. Then I got nauseous. Then I started tossing cookies again. Then the blood started. Straight to the medical center, many tests and a few days later and I am looking at potential issues that I cannot beat the crap out of anyone for. I am no longer taking in solids and have to repair my body.

I am at a loss. I am a quality v. quantity girl. I would rather die today on my bike than live to 100 in a bed pissing and shitting myself with people taking care of me.

I am told that I am selfish. What about my children?

What about them?

My children love me. They know (not think) that I love them.

My children would never understand a mommy who laid in bed being sick.

My children would never understand a mommy who didn't play hard, with them or with her bikes.

My children will never remember a mommy who laid there and did nothing.

I will never understand the selfishness of people who would rather me be alive and miserable and in excruciating physical pain because they cannot bear the pain (what pain?), than to see me alive for whatever amount of time happy and loving life.

When it's your turn to fight, you can fight however you want, and I will be there to support you...in one way or another. This is my fight. Put it in perspective.

Don't waste your time (or mine) being angry at me because I am not doing what you wish I would. Life's too short.

Hmmmm... I guess I'm not really lost. I'm right here.

Gateway Cup 2008 - Team Revolution Interview

The Idea of Me

The idea of me is that I am intimidating.

I am unapproachable.

I am a "tough" chick.

I let everything roll off my shoulders.

Nothing affects me.

Nothing hurts me.

I do not feel.

I am dead on the inside.

I am a "pretty" girl who can snap her fingers and get what she wants when she wants it.

I am a princess.

Yeah?

Really?

Just once I would like something handed to me.

Just once.

I would love for that something to be along the lines of remission, financial freedom, or a guaranty for my children that I will be there to watch them graduate, get married, have babies...

I do not want diamonds, shoes, purses, cars, or bikes.

I don't want promises of a fairy tale that appeals to you and not me.

I don't want to fit into your box.

I don't want anyone to buy me anything.

I don't want anyone to do anything.

I don't want anyone to give me anything.

...or attempt to save me.

I just want to be treated like I am a human being capable and deserving of love, understanding, and the same respect that you expect from me.

I don't want you to explain to me the many ways in which you can "satisfy" me. You can't.

I do not want you to ask me my stance on one night stands. (Am I not deserving of more than a fuck to satisfy your selfish needs?) Seriously?

I am not a bitch or a cunt or a snob because I won't sleep with you. I am a girl with a lot of common sense and a little more self-respect than you may be used to. Deal with it.

No, as a matter of fact, it isn't flattering to be asked out by people who only see my face or some other physical attribute they find appealing without having a clue as to who I am on the inside.

Can you tell me one thing about me that you cannot see with your eyes?

Would you still find me attractive, cool, funny, silly, if I didn't protect you with my laughter and constant smile?

Would you still love me, want me, need me if you heard me scream and cry out in the pain that never goes away and is at best a dull throb?

Tell yourself what you must, I know who I call in the middle of the night when the pain closes my throat, burns my eyes and makes me tear at my own flesh and bite my lips to keep my children safe from a pain that they should never know...

I am not the enigma you have created in your mind.

I am just a girl.

If you cut me, I will bleed.

If you hurt me, I will cry.

You cannot buy me.

You cannot fix me.

...and my tiara was knocked off when I was a child...

I am better and more real than your idea.