What's My Point?

So it's pop and not totally obscure and original and all that, but Sarah's "Building a Mystery" is still hands-down the best song in my arsenal to describe Roi (and a few other "beautiful fucked up men" I just couldn't seem to keep myself away from). 

Besides, I had a major girl crush on Sarah back in the day despite my rebel self - not a rebel against girl crushes obviously, but against all things in main stream media.  I really tried to resist Sarah for the longest time, she of the being soooo overplayed on the radio what with Adia and Arms of an Angel. But she was hot, yo! And she had all kinds of dark and beautiful lyrics on her albums that rarely got radio time. 

What ravages of spirit

conjured this temptuous rage

created you a monster

broken by the rules of love

and fate has lead you through it

you do what you have to do

and fate has led you through it

you do what you have to do ...

and I have the sense to recognize that

I don't know how to let you go

every moment marked

with apparitions of your soul

I'm ever swiftly moving

trying to escape this desire

the yearning to be near you

I do what I have to do

the yearning to be near you

I do what I have to do

but I have the sense to recognize

that I don't know how

to let you go

I don't know how

to let you go

a glowing ember

burning hot

burning slow

deep within I'm shaken by the violence

of existing for only you

There's still a certain someone I think of when I listen to that song -- and my heart breaks exquisitely each and every time. 

So what's my point? 1. That I'm allowed to love Sarah, don't judge me and 2. Roi is beautiful, but he's fucked up and sometimes the pain of loving and hating someone simultaneously wears me the fuck out.

Triggers and Nightmares

Roi woke me this morning a little before I was ready to get up. As I lay there wrapped in hypnagogic bliss he started telling me all about how interesting the woman is that he'll be presenting with at an event tonight. This kind of talk in the past has held far too much other meaning.

Somewhere in my skull a domino was knocked over, a cascade of chemicals was released, and as I fell back into sleep I entered a nightmare.

Roi and I lived in a rickety old tall thing of a house.  It was grim and grey -- a WWII looking factory building turned "house". We lived in one little corner, the rest being too much to convert over. 

People were gathering in our shabby living room and tiny kitchen for a speaking event while I was upstairs discovering that I had an alarming bald patch across my scalp. As in waking life, I had been sick with a mysterious illness, but here in dreamland it was far more horrifying. Pain coupled with disfiguration.

Now, this bald patch was awful for many obvious reasons, but it was causing me excess worry because Roi was downstairs with a boatload of women who were fawning over his interesting mind, disarming quirkiness, and handsome hard body. 

I fretted in front of the mirror, panicked and on the verge of tears. How could I possibly face the situation downstairs looking like this?? Where would I find the strength to suffer more humiliation, to tolerate Roi's lack of compassion or comfort? 

I crept down the stairs to pull him aside and tell him about it -- the bald patch -- and nearly collided with him at the bottom of the stairs. His face was shining, stretched taut, the molecules of his fragile ego vibrating from all the attention, his addict mind whirring with possibilities and fantastical scenarios of hedonistic pleasures.

Just on the other side of the door behind him I could hear laughter and ice lazily clinking against glass.

I felt like a troll under the stairs, ruining everyone's happiness simply because of my own misery. I decided to wait to tell Roi. He would only say something monumentally stupid anyway.  Instead I sulked my way to the living room. That's when I realized it wasn't just a lot of women, it was ONLY women.  And several of them seemed to already know Roi intimately. They bobbed around him, their eyes fat with self-satisfaction, their gestures and words familiar and intimate. 

As in waking life, he was as delighted as he was "innocent". He laughed at nothing, laughed at what was obvious and true -- his way of banishing responsibility and the discomfort that accompanied it. 

No time to talk, no time to lose myself, so I sat down to wait for the presentation. It was then that I noticed the woman behind me was lounging on her side -- naked. She might as well have been pouring wine down her voluptuous throat and chasing it with fat purple grapes for all she was smug in her comfort. 

When I stared with dismay she locked eyes with me and said, "what? You know you want to touch it."

"No", I said firmly, "No, I really don't", and turned back round to face forward, stiffening with resolve hoping that this would keep me from flying apart. 

Thankfully I woke up.  I told Roi about the dream...he laughed.

Let it Stick

Roi thinks he's dying. This is not the first time. 

There was the time his heart was skipping a beat, or adding a beat, I forget which, and he ruminated endlessly over his impending death. He got scared, he gripped my hand in the dark of the car as I drove him to the ER and told me he loved me. 

Then he found out he was fine, just fine. A little heart irregularity that a little pill could smooth out. 

A day later he treated me like dirt. Sat eating with his back to me. 

He doesn't remember this. 

Then there was the time...oh, never mind. 

Today he thinks he has cancer. He's got a couple of weird symptoms that don't really match any cancer symptoms I can find on the big wide Google, and yet he's convinced himself. 

It's not that I'm not concerned. It's just that he's bouncing from "woe is me", to gripping me in the dark telling me he loves me and he's so sorry for what he's done. 

This would be tragically romantic if I hadn't already lived this moment with him a couple of times already only to find out he's fine, not even sick at all, healthy as a goddamned horse. And that in itself would be good news except that once he finds out he's not sick he instantly reverts back to being a wanker. A healthy wanker.

And I'm trying to figure out what to do with this. You know? 

I'm being cheery, caring, and gently soothing his fears with rational facts about what this could be and what it isn't likely to be.  It's a little taxing, but it's coming naturally.  That isn't the problem. Nor is the problem the possibility that he's really sick and maybe, possibly, he's right and could die soon. That would be sad, but when I think of the potential grieving I see an end - a relief. 

Death is solid. There's no wondering. It's done. Finis. 

It's the idea of him finding out he's fine and how he'll behave then. Going back to the push and pull that always keeps me, US, on edge. 

I do hope he's fine. But I would be lying if I didn't also say that I hope all of the realizations he's having right now stick this time.

Deep Breath

*Deep breath*

Now that most of the major boxes are unpacked, Kyd is not wreaking daily havoc on our lives, I don't have to worry about my lights shutting off or having a roof over our heads or where the next meal is going to come from...

Now that I've been able to catch up on some major paperwork, now that the pain in my body has subsided (temporarily or permanently I'm not sure yet)...

I'm finding that I can't relax. 

That swarm of angry worries is still swarming around up there in the closet I shut them into. No way I'm throwing that door open, but I also know they're not going away on their own.  Obviously suffocating them in the dark didn't work. 

I keep saying this, it's time for me to go to a meeting, and it's time for me to sit my tush down on the cushion and meditate. 

These two things are like calling in an expert worry exterminator, except instead of pumping a toxic gas through the keyhole (that's how I'd try to handle things), he's somehow able to coax each worry wasp out from under the door one by one, and then whisper something in their tiny little ear.  After, they transform into dragonflies with iridescent and colorful wings, and light upon the windowsill just once to sit in the sunlight breathing before flying off to find a flower on which to perch prettily.  

Meetings. Meditation. 

Do it.

Inner and Outer Pain

I'm not sure what to title this post yet since I'm not really sure what's going to come out of me. Of course, when you read this there will be a title, so already I'm rambling. 

Yay me. 

Let's see, I'll start with why I've been absent for the past week or so.  During the move from The 'Ole Hell Hole, I noticed the ring finger of my left hand was hurting. I didn't pay it much attention since the whole experience was painful. A minor pain in one finger was barely registered on the radar. Nevertheless, there it was, this annoying pain for which I had no explanation, so I shrugged it off and picked up another box. I WAS moving after all, knocking myself into things, tripping over boxes, and doing loads and loads of lifting. Surely I must've tweaked it somehow. 

But then the pain started radiating to other fingers, and into my other hand. Then I noticed I couldn't get my ring on or off anymore because my knuckles had swollen. 

Still, I thought, it had to be from the move and the heat. 

Then the pain got worse, and worse still.  I noticed it was worse in the mornings. Making the bed or squeezing a pillow to pick it up became torture. 

Strange things started happening. Like the day I was driving Lexie somewhere and my hands were hurting like they did every day by then, and then like a little fire the pain suddenly and rapidly spread all the way up my arms.  My SKIN hurt. 

That made me pay attention. 

Over the next few days the pain just continued to spread.  Every day would add a few joints and some other random spots just for fun. Finally, when I woke up and every single thing from my neck down hurt I went to the ER. The doctor poked in various spots, squeezed others, all while he listened to me prattle off the progression of what had been ailing me. He threw out a couple of possibilities and then ordered some blood tests. Six tubes of blood later I was released with a prescription for a hardcore anti-inflammatory. 

A few days later, the pain receded as quickly as it had progressed.  Each day I had a little less pain, a few more joints I could move without wincing.  Some of the tests are still out and I see a doctor Thursday to go over them. Candidates on the table are Rheumatoid Arthritis, Lyme, Lupus, or Fibromyalgia.  

Not a fun diagnosis in the bunch. 

In the midst of all this, Roi and I had a pretty substantial fight, and Kyd stopped in to stay over for a night. The upshot of both of these events is that I still don't trust Roi a bit even though there have been few signs in months that he's continued with dishonesty, and Kyd has boarded the Midnight Express to Bottom. 

Kyd was irritable and spacey while he was here. Almost every conversation sent him into a froth in short order so we didn't have many conversations at all. He tried to swindle me into giving him more money than the $40 I was already doubtful about giving him (for food). He complained about dinner, he was contrarian about everything anyone had to say, he left blankets and pillows all over the living room, and nearly took my head off in the morning because I didn't know where the iPod car adaptor was.

In short, he was a mess. 

He DID say thank you and hugged me good-bye when he left in the morning. I added that to my mental gratitude list and left the rest alone. 

Filling in the Blanks

As promised.

I've not heard from Kyd. From what I can piece together he is living a few towns away with a young guy that he parties with. And when I say party, I mean Raves. They're back in vogue it seems, pacifiers and all.

The truth is, and this is where it gets scary in my head, I'd rather he was at a Rave than a basement drinking party. But it's the lesser of evils and I hate that my thinking looks like this. Because I'm more than aware about Ecstacy -- the HAPPY choice drug of Ravers -- and the devastation it can have on a healthy mind, never mind the quick mess it can make of a mind already teetering on the bleeding edge of chemical imbalance.  And we won't even mention the risk of sudden death.

So I make a choice every day. The choice to not think about what Kyd is up to too hard. I do this so I can come back from my own dangerous edge. I do this in hopes that I can salvage the tiny slice of what's left with my time with Lexi and push her out of a reasonably stable nest.

Jeezus, I'm living a warped version of Sophie's Choice.

I got a call the other day from his probation (for a drinking related incident) and I had to relay the message to him. He was short on the phone and clearly not interested in checking in or casual chatting. His responses were short and tight. 

When I hear that, when I think about how far away he is from me and from sobriety, my stomach shreds and dissolves and drips down into my feet and I just want to lie down in the middle of the road.  Anything to stop the ache and the worry and the helplessness.

So I throw my head into a box and unpack something, I make lists and check items off, I laugh about something with Lexi while I cook her a healthy dinner. I push away the black swarm of worry-wasps, push them back into a closet in the back of my skull and stuff towels into the cracks and hope they'll just suffocate in there.

But they won't, and so now that I'm unpacked well enough for satisfaction I need to go to a meeting. Stat.

Settling Dust

How long has it been? Weeks?

A lifetime can happen in weeks, so I'll give you the synopsis and fill in the blanks over the next few days.

* Finished the big move into Roi's house, by the skin of my teeth.
* Discovered that this pain in my hands, the swelling in my joints, etc, it likely Rheumatoid Arthritis. That on top of psoriasis on the sole of one foot and other symptoms over the last couple of years since I was bitten by a tick is making me worried.
* Have been on several bike rides. One of the saving graces of this new place is that it is comfortably close to a vast network of bike paths. I love biking and I had missed it.
* I'm discovering just how needy and negative Roi really is.
* Kyd came and stayed for a few days to help, but it ended badly. I haven't heard from him since.
* Lexi loves the new place.
* I haven't had enough time to catch my breath, never mind figure out how I feel about all this.
* I turned 40 and realized that what bothers me about it is not so much the adding of another year, but the subtraction.

Be back soon with more details. Promise.