I have my arsenal in place. My arsenal of attack. Raw milk shake in the morning with raw egg, frozen berries, raw coconut cream, raw honey. Oh, the delicious taste as it shimmers down my throat. And the nutritional richness of no pasteurization, Adding fat to every cell, removing toxins and storing them safely, away from the organs. Feeding me giving me energy to continue with this treatment, it's a long one, and at times can be disheartening, yet, I have no other choice because I am free of death, I am no longer programmed to kill myself and blame a disease. I am taking the responsbility to reverse what I created.
It's the best life there is.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
2010 Resolution
It's morning in the desert, light streaming through the blinds, transmitting electrical sun energy to every cell. Removing the bandage after sleeping several hours. Unwashed uncombed photographed by a friend, Tal, who loves black and white and is kind enough to record a few minutes of my morning.
New years resolution it's 2010. I'm living through this, I'm to sail through it all, the fears, thoughts, blood, gangrene scent, hot baths, sad moments, loss of breast, and most of all right now, dropping an old pattern I've carried since my adolescence where I brainwashed myself on Top 20 Hits of the 1970s, love, love, unrequited love, pain, suffering, breakups. All that crap rewinding itself round and round my brain, weakening my system, turning my complexion grey, fantasising about a man I broke up with, someone I already know is not right.
I must stop it all for a new life. Talk strongly to myself that NO, I do not want to return to be with him, he has no interest either, but I do want to be free and comfortable to be fully realized in reality. To be able to be warm to him, not need a thing anymore, not imagine what could be because I already know what is.
This kind of crap weakens the body and I am in no position to weaken myself.
I am here to expand and grow strong and deep with people who want to live free of such chains.
Thanks to Ilana, of Enerjoy Fitness, who told me to run to her whenever this unrequited love crap comes up, that we will eliminate it from my body and soul TOGETHER, I feel strong to do it, am excited for the change, and believe I can do it. You see, it's always been this way. I've always felt this way around love and men. And now, it's time for a brand new experiencing, something real, solid, person to person, free to move, respectful and sensual, an addition to life not a fulfilment of an emptiness.
It's the best day of the best year of my life.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Cancer and Anger
Do you have any idea how angry I’ve been? It started in my mother’s womb, while I was being born. Something stopped my passage out. Was she given some kind of drug or was she just too weak to help me out? This is the scene: I was moving through, everything was fine, well, as fine as the insides of a uterus can feel to a silky skinned, fine boned baby. Eyes clamped shut. No idea what was ahead of me and suddenly, out of the blue, obstruction. It seemed then that the first thoughts of my life flooded my mind. Questions were being asked of me, fear was imprinting itself in every cell. But while I was moving through, sliding and slipping, sighing inside, there were no thoughts, a kind of music relaxing my efforts, softening and paving my way.
Suddenly, a rush of liquid energy, the va-va-va-voom from all around me ceased to exist and no matter how hard I tried to push forward I could not. I was stopped, stuck, fucked.
And now, when I have to face cancer, all the orthodox minded people around me just can’t understand why I don’t, won’t trust doctors. Shall we start with my obstetrician? Rather, my mothers’? The one who told her it was okay to drink beer and smoke cigarettes while I grew inside of her? I know, we’re not supposed to dwell on the past, it was another life right? Nothing to do with who I am now…The fine Egyptian baby medical practitioner who told mum bed care was what was needed, she had to be careful, if she didn’t watch out, she might lose me, or lose her life. Off to a good start I see. Imagine how she must have felt, stuck between the god dammed sheets for all that time, no air conditioning in Egypt in the 1960s. No wonder the beer. And my father probably wasn’t much help, what with his bridge playing, work commitments, the yacht club and the sporting club.
So, there I found myself, with her clammy, bumpy, hot sweaty uterus cramped down on my face and neck, suctioning itself onto my back and bum, and somewhere far away, I could hear crying and loud voices, and I thought it was the end. It was hell in there, no offense mother, but it’s just not meant to go that way. I know now. My girlfriend is a Doula. She’s from Holland, and in that country, the majority of women have their babies naturally, without medical intervention, all those needles and blood samples, the epidural and caesareans. Not for those big boned Dutch women, oh no.
I remember - you probably don’t believe that I can remember but I do - that eventually I just had to move. I started to push myself forward, tried to ignore the flesh pressed against me and squirmed ahead, and my voice opened up and I started to scream and cry and reach for the sky. Somehow the sounds helped, my movement quickened, in stops and starts I approached the exit, I could feel it. Somehow the heat was dispersing and a cool breeze teased at me.
And then, wouldn’t you know it? Without my permission, a steel contraption is shoved in through what I knew was my exit and two cold, hard pieces of metal poked at me, hurt my face, dented my shoulder, and within minutes, the pieces clamped down on either side of my head, I could feel the controls out there, and my movement was interrupted and someone else’s movement took over. I came shooting through, screaming in the biggest rage of my life.
Suddenly, a rush of liquid energy, the va-va-va-voom from all around me ceased to exist and no matter how hard I tried to push forward I could not. I was stopped, stuck, fucked.
And now, when I have to face cancer, all the orthodox minded people around me just can’t understand why I don’t, won’t trust doctors. Shall we start with my obstetrician? Rather, my mothers’? The one who told her it was okay to drink beer and smoke cigarettes while I grew inside of her? I know, we’re not supposed to dwell on the past, it was another life right? Nothing to do with who I am now…The fine Egyptian baby medical practitioner who told mum bed care was what was needed, she had to be careful, if she didn’t watch out, she might lose me, or lose her life. Off to a good start I see. Imagine how she must have felt, stuck between the god dammed sheets for all that time, no air conditioning in Egypt in the 1960s. No wonder the beer. And my father probably wasn’t much help, what with his bridge playing, work commitments, the yacht club and the sporting club.
So, there I found myself, with her clammy, bumpy, hot sweaty uterus cramped down on my face and neck, suctioning itself onto my back and bum, and somewhere far away, I could hear crying and loud voices, and I thought it was the end. It was hell in there, no offense mother, but it’s just not meant to go that way. I know now. My girlfriend is a Doula. She’s from Holland, and in that country, the majority of women have their babies naturally, without medical intervention, all those needles and blood samples, the epidural and caesareans. Not for those big boned Dutch women, oh no.
I remember - you probably don’t believe that I can remember but I do - that eventually I just had to move. I started to push myself forward, tried to ignore the flesh pressed against me and squirmed ahead, and my voice opened up and I started to scream and cry and reach for the sky. Somehow the sounds helped, my movement quickened, in stops and starts I approached the exit, I could feel it. Somehow the heat was dispersing and a cool breeze teased at me.
And then, wouldn’t you know it? Without my permission, a steel contraption is shoved in through what I knew was my exit and two cold, hard pieces of metal poked at me, hurt my face, dented my shoulder, and within minutes, the pieces clamped down on either side of my head, I could feel the controls out there, and my movement was interrupted and someone else’s movement took over. I came shooting through, screaming in the biggest rage of my life.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Story of O = being an outlier
Right now, the tumor stinks. There's a groove down the center, and placing a slice of lemon directly on it helps absorb the odor. I can go for hours and not notice anything, until I remove the bandage.
Dissolving a cancerous tumor naturally is the act of an outlier. A person on the edge of mass culture, who came out of that culture, but realized on many occasions throughout her life, that the normal life could never be enough for her. It was full of lies and stupid stories, people being mean and not trusting each other, competition and bullying in school, stress and expectations, unhappy parents, a brother who wanted to be left alone, and her neediness never fulfilled.
My body is taking every ounce of energy to dissolve this rock in my breast. I get breathless after the slightest activity and find myself lying down for a few minutes to relax. My body returns to a balanced state and I can get up and move on.
I have to admit it disturbs me, but I know once the tumor has completely gone, my energy will return, I'll build myself back to being able to climb pinnacle peak here in scottsdale, to dance at people unlimited meetings, to feel free to meet someone to enjoy sex with,.
Right now, with my latest man friend gone, I realized that I had perhaps been unrealistic to expect a stranger to come into my life, accept the tumor, be able to see it on a constant basis, help me out with maggot therapy, bring me bandages when it suddenly starts bleeding, take arty photos of the whole thing with his great camera and be interested in doing that, not feel sick at the sight of it, not wish I was normal and had 2 breasts, be able to not worry about the weird food treatement I've chosen, be able to stay passionate with me, and understand my dark moments, and hold me and tell me it is all going to be all right. Plus, make love with me several times a week, because after all, in my mind, sex and love are two of the healthiest experiences people can share, and I was up for it.
Now he's gone, he ran fast, I knew it would be better to continue on alone, be able to lie about naked and not have to cover up, do all my writing work relaxed, allow my breast to breath, go in the sun for vitamin D, take baths, not have to cover up and try and make it all allright, hide my tears, cry alone, not say too much about my fears and so on,
Still I believe, because I stayed with a man I loved who died of AIDS six years after we met, that it is possible to have such a passion between one another, lover or not, but to have a solid feeling that the person you are with will live, that you see them alive and whole, no matter what is going on, that you will speak up and say the things that will build that person to keep living, with joy and courage, to outlive adversity and doubt, together you see, and with others, everything can be achieved.
So, though we are separated now, I know who I am. I am a person who prefers to stay together with a person I adore, through it all, to change together, even when it gets tough, and one can't change immediately, needs help, but has that feeling of knowing change must occur, then I want to be there, to see and make those changes, to deepen my connection to love more to feel more, to cry with the depth of adoration I feel for that person, when I look at the skin, the face, the shape of the body, tears well up, because when I have made love to that person, I have completely taken them in to me, no separation, and even though habitual patterns of separation come up, I want to end them, to be close.
Thing is, the other person has to want the same thing, and be capable of extending that to you, and be excited by it, and know, that patterns are death, and togetherness is the goal, and we're safe, we're really safe to make these changes, because we have found people who really give a shit, who won't leave.
Like I told him at the start, I wouldn't be the one to leave, he'd have to be the one because I know who I am. I'm here to stay. I'm capable of forgiving and moving, I want to melt, I must.
When you've got a rock of toxic death in your breast, you know you have to move.
Dissolving a cancerous tumor naturally is the act of an outlier. A person on the edge of mass culture, who came out of that culture, but realized on many occasions throughout her life, that the normal life could never be enough for her. It was full of lies and stupid stories, people being mean and not trusting each other, competition and bullying in school, stress and expectations, unhappy parents, a brother who wanted to be left alone, and her neediness never fulfilled.
My body is taking every ounce of energy to dissolve this rock in my breast. I get breathless after the slightest activity and find myself lying down for a few minutes to relax. My body returns to a balanced state and I can get up and move on.
I have to admit it disturbs me, but I know once the tumor has completely gone, my energy will return, I'll build myself back to being able to climb pinnacle peak here in scottsdale, to dance at people unlimited meetings, to feel free to meet someone to enjoy sex with,.
Right now, with my latest man friend gone, I realized that I had perhaps been unrealistic to expect a stranger to come into my life, accept the tumor, be able to see it on a constant basis, help me out with maggot therapy, bring me bandages when it suddenly starts bleeding, take arty photos of the whole thing with his great camera and be interested in doing that, not feel sick at the sight of it, not wish I was normal and had 2 breasts, be able to not worry about the weird food treatement I've chosen, be able to stay passionate with me, and understand my dark moments, and hold me and tell me it is all going to be all right. Plus, make love with me several times a week, because after all, in my mind, sex and love are two of the healthiest experiences people can share, and I was up for it.
Now he's gone, he ran fast, I knew it would be better to continue on alone, be able to lie about naked and not have to cover up, do all my writing work relaxed, allow my breast to breath, go in the sun for vitamin D, take baths, not have to cover up and try and make it all allright, hide my tears, cry alone, not say too much about my fears and so on,
Still I believe, because I stayed with a man I loved who died of AIDS six years after we met, that it is possible to have such a passion between one another, lover or not, but to have a solid feeling that the person you are with will live, that you see them alive and whole, no matter what is going on, that you will speak up and say the things that will build that person to keep living, with joy and courage, to outlive adversity and doubt, together you see, and with others, everything can be achieved.
So, though we are separated now, I know who I am. I am a person who prefers to stay together with a person I adore, through it all, to change together, even when it gets tough, and one can't change immediately, needs help, but has that feeling of knowing change must occur, then I want to be there, to see and make those changes, to deepen my connection to love more to feel more, to cry with the depth of adoration I feel for that person, when I look at the skin, the face, the shape of the body, tears well up, because when I have made love to that person, I have completely taken them in to me, no separation, and even though habitual patterns of separation come up, I want to end them, to be close.
Thing is, the other person has to want the same thing, and be capable of extending that to you, and be excited by it, and know, that patterns are death, and togetherness is the goal, and we're safe, we're really safe to make these changes, because we have found people who really give a shit, who won't leave.
Like I told him at the start, I wouldn't be the one to leave, he'd have to be the one because I know who I am. I'm here to stay. I'm capable of forgiving and moving, I want to melt, I must.
When you've got a rock of toxic death in your breast, you know you have to move.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The ending of a relationship and odors of decay
The odors of decay can get to be overwhelming some days, during periods of tumor deterioration, like these past few weeks, and it being directly under my nose, despite the bandages covering the wound, I am left to smell the mouldy, acidy, rotting smell of flesh being removed slowly, over time.
These days I am emerging out of the shock of another broken relationship. I know I created the break, just as I created the coming together at the start.
I also know, that I was willing to overcome all the obstacles that prevented us from staying close, together, every excited. I have that in me. This characteristic of being a person who can go everywhere and all the way with another person, is a wonderful feeling to have and maintain. I can nurture that feeling, it comes with a dedication to the other and to myself. To not allow separation to be an option, because how easy is it to tear apart and start again? I find it hard on the body, unless I'm 100% in agreement with it. My preference is to let go every minute and start fresh with the person. Speak what is in my heart, be heard and move on.
But you need the other person to want this way of being at the same time. If they don't, then, there is no where to go with them or with yourself, except away, because it's always better to be alone and relaxed than in the presence of a person who is slowly turning off to you, who is led by ego rather than a melted need for you.
Now, I am going to live with myself and take care of the things that need to be taken care of, my health, my joy, my prosperity. I won't be looking around for the next one to fill my time and my mind. It's going to be new for me, and I'm doing it.
These days I am emerging out of the shock of another broken relationship. I know I created the break, just as I created the coming together at the start.
I also know, that I was willing to overcome all the obstacles that prevented us from staying close, together, every excited. I have that in me. This characteristic of being a person who can go everywhere and all the way with another person, is a wonderful feeling to have and maintain. I can nurture that feeling, it comes with a dedication to the other and to myself. To not allow separation to be an option, because how easy is it to tear apart and start again? I find it hard on the body, unless I'm 100% in agreement with it. My preference is to let go every minute and start fresh with the person. Speak what is in my heart, be heard and move on.
But you need the other person to want this way of being at the same time. If they don't, then, there is no where to go with them or with yourself, except away, because it's always better to be alone and relaxed than in the presence of a person who is slowly turning off to you, who is led by ego rather than a melted need for you.
Now, I am going to live with myself and take care of the things that need to be taken care of, my health, my joy, my prosperity. I won't be looking around for the next one to fill my time and my mind. It's going to be new for me, and I'm doing it.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Alone Again by Choice
When the man I had grown interested in first discovered my messed up breast, and heard me talk to him about it, I had to bring it all out at the start, it's only fair to inform an interested party of what he may be getting himself into, he told me that he would heal me he would be instrumental in healing me.
I liked the sound of his words and the certain feeling he conveyed through them. He surprised me with the confidence he seemed to feel, and I relaxed as I kissed him, straggled across the top of him, legs everywhere, his hair in his eyes and mine drooping across his cheeks. I pressed against his chest, the heat was heavy and wet, I hadn't been with a man for a very long time and I liked this one.
Suddenly, I noticed the blood on his chest, under my breast. It had streaked down across his ribs and onto his stomach. My breast was bleeding through the bandage and the lingerie. I'd pressed too hard into him, passionately, and jumped up and ran to the shower. I took everything off, and had a quick wash, blotting the breast with wet bandage and waiting for the blood to stop.
I could see his face as he slunk into the bathroom to be closer to me and get himself a towel. His face was white and his focus was clear. The towel moist, he checked himself out in the mirror and cleared his body of my blood as orderly and quickly as he could.
I kept my smile on, inside I felt everything collapse. This was going to be too much, I'd be lucky if he stuck around, I had no right to get myself involved with someone else, have them have to deal with this cancer, have them have to feel and think all the emotions and thoughts they would have to experience being with and liking me.
Well, once we were all washed off, we got back into bed and slunk into a friendly embrace. The passion had no place, we were starting over again, as though it were the first night, circling each other feeling what could be going on.
After that, I had to be very careful not to rub myself against his chest, an activity I used to love with all my lovers, the freedom to press against the other, to feel their body, their strength, to let them feel my excitement at being so close to them, caressing with my breasts the skin of their chest.
I made sure the right breast was always lifted away from him. I never again pressed, or made contact in more than the lightest way. I had to make sure he could be comfortable, he had to know I was considering him, and it came out, he admitted he was squeamish at the sight of blood.
But this breast this tumor bleeds, I thought. It has to. It's an open wound and often, contact jars the edges, and the skin breaks and at other times, usually when i remove a dried bandage that's been on it all day, too quickly, a thin spurt of blood, like a fountain, bursts into the air, hitting my skin and anything in its way. The shower wall gets painted with my blood, mixing with the water, running down onto the ground and into the drain, getting paler and paler as it disappears.
Gushing out of me, hitting the wall, the plastic glass divider, spurting like it's never going to stop. I put my finger on it to plug it up. I remove my finger and the thin powerhouse streak shoots out again. Somehow, it's fascinating to me. People would think I was touched to feel this way, some would rush me to hospital, to have it all fixed up, cut off, bandaged up, sanitized. But it just isn't going to go that way for me. I feel it. I'm seeing it all, I'm experiencing the natural removal of the tumor, day after day, year in and year out. Knowing, that the body takes care of it all, wanting to keep me whole because I am whole.
As the months progress, I notice he stops paying any attention to my good breast, something he had done at the start. It's as though it doesn't exist for him. When I ask him about it he doesn't want to talk about it. This disturbs me, because where can you go with a person who won't talk?
And then, I'm required to keep the area covered up more often, so that he doesn't have to see the tumor in its many incarnations. If I bleed at night in the shower, I keep quiet about it, and eventually, he stops showering there himself and begins to use the second bathroom as his own.
Conflict increases, mostly around sex. I want it more often and more exploratory than he does. I'd like him to open his eyes more while we're fucking, and keep his clothes off when we sleep together, but he doesn't want or need to make those changes. Not even for me. Not even once in a while. He feels I'm trying to control. I feel he's moving away, he's chilling up under me, he's leaving.
And then something awful happens, he tells me he's changed his mind about doing something for me that he'd offered to do way back, something that would make me more stable in America, and I had trusted his word and now I saw how foolish I'd been. How it's so much better to wait and be certain, not to allow romance and all the good feelings of 'love' lead the way.
I tell him he has to move out. It's been too mean between us for a while. The recession had hit our souls despite us knowing it was all up to us. My money is me, it springs out of my body, my actions, my focus in this world.
He leaves and takes just about everything he owned.
And I'm living here alone.
One week later I realize something I'd been running from my whole adult life.
This knowing that I can no longer look to anyone to make me feel good, whole, happy, real.
It's me only, I'm here alive with myself and this fact was what I had been avoiding always, what with the sugars, cakes, breads, cigarettes, clove cigarettes, drugs, joints, sex.
I finally faced the facts. Until I can accept that I am my best bet, I am all I have, I must enjoy every minute of myself, while knowing I could never be enough, yet its where I must start.
It sounds like a cliche, but yes, I do like who I am. And the person I am makes me laugh, and helps me sleep, knows how to eat, wants to end all death in me, can change on a dime and will move on continuously.
I am out to settle it once and for all, that I do not need a man. I do not need to cover myself up anymore with negativity, control, bitchiness, fear, disease, aging and death.
I have everything I need to live, make money, and draw people to me. I have decided to relax into me and get going with all the things I have to create, achieve, enjoy and prosper from.
Those sad sack thoughts 'oh, no one will want me, look at my breast', 'people hate cancer and don't know what to do with it,' 'it's easier to stay alone until this is all over, but what if it takes another few years, do i really have to stay away from intimacy for that long?'
Can you see how death is endless? And how switching it off is simple?
I'm saying no to such thoughts and hard feelings. I'm nourishing myself with rest and joy and connections with others in my life.
Meeting a man to be intimate with will be the icing on the cake.
I liked the sound of his words and the certain feeling he conveyed through them. He surprised me with the confidence he seemed to feel, and I relaxed as I kissed him, straggled across the top of him, legs everywhere, his hair in his eyes and mine drooping across his cheeks. I pressed against his chest, the heat was heavy and wet, I hadn't been with a man for a very long time and I liked this one.
Suddenly, I noticed the blood on his chest, under my breast. It had streaked down across his ribs and onto his stomach. My breast was bleeding through the bandage and the lingerie. I'd pressed too hard into him, passionately, and jumped up and ran to the shower. I took everything off, and had a quick wash, blotting the breast with wet bandage and waiting for the blood to stop.
I could see his face as he slunk into the bathroom to be closer to me and get himself a towel. His face was white and his focus was clear. The towel moist, he checked himself out in the mirror and cleared his body of my blood as orderly and quickly as he could.
I kept my smile on, inside I felt everything collapse. This was going to be too much, I'd be lucky if he stuck around, I had no right to get myself involved with someone else, have them have to deal with this cancer, have them have to feel and think all the emotions and thoughts they would have to experience being with and liking me.
Well, once we were all washed off, we got back into bed and slunk into a friendly embrace. The passion had no place, we were starting over again, as though it were the first night, circling each other feeling what could be going on.
After that, I had to be very careful not to rub myself against his chest, an activity I used to love with all my lovers, the freedom to press against the other, to feel their body, their strength, to let them feel my excitement at being so close to them, caressing with my breasts the skin of their chest.
I made sure the right breast was always lifted away from him. I never again pressed, or made contact in more than the lightest way. I had to make sure he could be comfortable, he had to know I was considering him, and it came out, he admitted he was squeamish at the sight of blood.
But this breast this tumor bleeds, I thought. It has to. It's an open wound and often, contact jars the edges, and the skin breaks and at other times, usually when i remove a dried bandage that's been on it all day, too quickly, a thin spurt of blood, like a fountain, bursts into the air, hitting my skin and anything in its way. The shower wall gets painted with my blood, mixing with the water, running down onto the ground and into the drain, getting paler and paler as it disappears.
Gushing out of me, hitting the wall, the plastic glass divider, spurting like it's never going to stop. I put my finger on it to plug it up. I remove my finger and the thin powerhouse streak shoots out again. Somehow, it's fascinating to me. People would think I was touched to feel this way, some would rush me to hospital, to have it all fixed up, cut off, bandaged up, sanitized. But it just isn't going to go that way for me. I feel it. I'm seeing it all, I'm experiencing the natural removal of the tumor, day after day, year in and year out. Knowing, that the body takes care of it all, wanting to keep me whole because I am whole.
As the months progress, I notice he stops paying any attention to my good breast, something he had done at the start. It's as though it doesn't exist for him. When I ask him about it he doesn't want to talk about it. This disturbs me, because where can you go with a person who won't talk?
And then, I'm required to keep the area covered up more often, so that he doesn't have to see the tumor in its many incarnations. If I bleed at night in the shower, I keep quiet about it, and eventually, he stops showering there himself and begins to use the second bathroom as his own.
Conflict increases, mostly around sex. I want it more often and more exploratory than he does. I'd like him to open his eyes more while we're fucking, and keep his clothes off when we sleep together, but he doesn't want or need to make those changes. Not even for me. Not even once in a while. He feels I'm trying to control. I feel he's moving away, he's chilling up under me, he's leaving.
And then something awful happens, he tells me he's changed his mind about doing something for me that he'd offered to do way back, something that would make me more stable in America, and I had trusted his word and now I saw how foolish I'd been. How it's so much better to wait and be certain, not to allow romance and all the good feelings of 'love' lead the way.
I tell him he has to move out. It's been too mean between us for a while. The recession had hit our souls despite us knowing it was all up to us. My money is me, it springs out of my body, my actions, my focus in this world.
He leaves and takes just about everything he owned.
And I'm living here alone.
One week later I realize something I'd been running from my whole adult life.
This knowing that I can no longer look to anyone to make me feel good, whole, happy, real.
It's me only, I'm here alive with myself and this fact was what I had been avoiding always, what with the sugars, cakes, breads, cigarettes, clove cigarettes, drugs, joints, sex.
I finally faced the facts. Until I can accept that I am my best bet, I am all I have, I must enjoy every minute of myself, while knowing I could never be enough, yet its where I must start.
It sounds like a cliche, but yes, I do like who I am. And the person I am makes me laugh, and helps me sleep, knows how to eat, wants to end all death in me, can change on a dime and will move on continuously.
I am out to settle it once and for all, that I do not need a man. I do not need to cover myself up anymore with negativity, control, bitchiness, fear, disease, aging and death.
I have everything I need to live, make money, and draw people to me. I have decided to relax into me and get going with all the things I have to create, achieve, enjoy and prosper from.
Those sad sack thoughts 'oh, no one will want me, look at my breast', 'people hate cancer and don't know what to do with it,' 'it's easier to stay alone until this is all over, but what if it takes another few years, do i really have to stay away from intimacy for that long?'
Can you see how death is endless? And how switching it off is simple?
I'm saying no to such thoughts and hard feelings. I'm nourishing myself with rest and joy and connections with others in my life.
Meeting a man to be intimate with will be the icing on the cake.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Reflecting on Anger
I was feeling the anger I still experience. I want to end that reaction that goes to anger when things happen I have no control over, people don't respond to me in ways I would like.
What is this anger I have carried until now?
Angry that my uncle fiddled around with me sexually when I was a child. I like the word 'fiddled' because that is what the memory I have tells me.
Angry that my mother and father were not a happy couple and made each other sad.
Angry that the move they made from Egypt to Australia really didn't work out for them.
Angry that my family was introverted, isolated, and suspicious of the local Australians, a classic case of migrancy.
Angry that I drugged myself for so long and created this breast cancer.
Angry that I am losing my right breast and have to face the scar that will be left.
Angry that my interactions with men in intimate relationships do not seem to flow well.
Angry that I carry anger.
Angry that this world is full of death, cruelty, cheating, loneliness and poverty.
Angry that the man I loved from 2002 to 2007 died of HIV, a 'virus' that has been shown to have been manufactured and injected into the population as a means of biological warfare. I don't care if you think I'm a conspiricist theorist. I've read three large books on the topic with proof from government records.
Angry that I am fat and fat is just not in for women.
Angry that I have not yet beat the bread thing.
Angry that I have not yet overcome decades of poverty in my body, I am excited about changing that pattern and making lots of money in a flowing consistent manner.
Angry that so few people respond to physical immortality and that I have to work at not feeling weird around people when I talk about it and get the usual blank response.
Angry that I still have trust issues with people but happy that I am seeing the foolishness of living this way.
I think that's about covered it.
What is this anger I have carried until now?
Angry that my uncle fiddled around with me sexually when I was a child. I like the word 'fiddled' because that is what the memory I have tells me.
Angry that my mother and father were not a happy couple and made each other sad.
Angry that the move they made from Egypt to Australia really didn't work out for them.
Angry that my family was introverted, isolated, and suspicious of the local Australians, a classic case of migrancy.
Angry that I drugged myself for so long and created this breast cancer.
Angry that I am losing my right breast and have to face the scar that will be left.
Angry that my interactions with men in intimate relationships do not seem to flow well.
Angry that I carry anger.
Angry that this world is full of death, cruelty, cheating, loneliness and poverty.
Angry that the man I loved from 2002 to 2007 died of HIV, a 'virus' that has been shown to have been manufactured and injected into the population as a means of biological warfare. I don't care if you think I'm a conspiricist theorist. I've read three large books on the topic with proof from government records.
Angry that I am fat and fat is just not in for women.
Angry that I have not yet beat the bread thing.
Angry that I have not yet overcome decades of poverty in my body, I am excited about changing that pattern and making lots of money in a flowing consistent manner.
Angry that so few people respond to physical immortality and that I have to work at not feeling weird around people when I talk about it and get the usual blank response.
Angry that I still have trust issues with people but happy that I am seeing the foolishness of living this way.
I think that's about covered it.
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