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.

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.

Joyful Skin

Make it okay to live and outlive any physical issues that arise. You have the right to overcome these things. I've taken my right, my place in this world. I've spoken words that have led me through something known as breast cancer, a disease of the whole body that manifests itself in a collected mass of waste and toxins. If I were to have the tumor analysed, what would the laboratory find?

Decades of self destructive thoughts, thoughts that made it cool to hurt myself in a myriad of ways, on a daily basis.
Overcooked food from take away bars and restaurants, double dead meat and vegetables and all that bread, a lifetime of raisin toast and grilled cheese. Imagine my gut trying to deal with it all, day in and day out.
A tendency to melancholia, mild or constant depression and cynicism being a natural part of my family's character. Yes the world positions some of us this way, while others keep the optimistic eye on the horizon.
Living in a highly polluted city for a very long time.
Smoking tars and cigarettes for over 20 years.
Using pharmaceuticals and antibiotics and being vaccinated as a baby and child and having vaccines injected into me before my travels to Asia.
I think that covers it.

And now, I am a joyful body, alive and full of threat. I'm here to threaten the dominant paradigm that sees and feels death is inevitable. The mindset that hears the word 'cancer' and understands that to equal death.

I'm here to show you how joy is the natural condition of every cell, how I can decide to live this way, when sadness comes I will feel it and then move on to the knowing of my skin and bones, they're strong and waiting to move and stretch and conquer this terrible, negative, death oriented world full of separation and cruelty. It's a glamorous world too, creative, colorful, sweet smelling, with oceans to throw myself in, and people to amaze myself with.

i'm choosing physical immortality. An environment of people based in Scottsdale Arizona, focused with People Unlimited, a business that makes it their business to motivate people to end death in all its sneaky ways. It's so much fun to shine a light on the sneak. Watch it duck for cover as we unveil the deadliness of its form and actions. I love the irritation on its face, the glare of our glory. We have only to speak the words to end it all, in ourselves and each other.

Watch disease retreat, misery explode to nothing, intimacy envelop our bodies with annointed inspiration.
All of this is how I feel and what I think, in the midst of a rotting breast, fungus smelling tumor being reduced to nothing by millions of years of bodily intelligence. How else can I explain how and why this body is dissolving the tumor by the presence of yeast cells, covering the dead lump and eating away at it day by day.

Its a miracle its a true heaven right here alive and physical walking on two feet eyes wide open lauging crying ouliving forgiving, myself and all others too.

Baby its a new day

It's a new day baby, it's a monsoon morning. The desert marsupials are scratching wildly across the roof and the sun is bright and i'm just waking up.

I can smell the breast I can see the dried up blood and the sheets need a wash and I'm hungry for a change. Come on, quicken the movement of disintegration. Keep my thoughts clean and focused. I'm ready for the reversal of cancer to be reversed. It's over and I can take it. I can take the visual of an empty right side chest. I can take the wound healing up and the scar tightening all the skin. I know I will supersede the fear and melancholia of that sight.

Melancholia, a disease in itself. What's there to be so fucking sad about when you know you are living on and on and that nothing, absolutely nothing can or will take your life? Imagine the rest there. The joy. The strength and capacity to direct how and where to go.

Being a person ready to never die is a huge experience. It means going against the grain of the world as we know it. The world that says, death is inevitable, don't get too alive, don't expect too much, people always let you down, stay independent, don't trust, get what you can, hope you can make a few friends and when your time comes, well, just accept it.

But I've already faced death don't you see? It's nothing to me.

And my body and your body is everything. My streets of gold, my endless, cloudless heaven. Physical and moving, playing and working, sleeping and exercising, laughing.

This breast that was ruined shocked me. I finally see the results of all that self abuse. That attitude of couldn't care less. Yeah, smoke those indonesian cigarettes, let the clove oil drip into my lungs, yeah roll another joint let that tar seep into my blood stream. Yeah go on, work in the sex industry selling your body for money, yeah so, the men love groping your breasts and you hate it? Forget it, just live through it, you know there's a joint waiting for you at the end of the session and if you can just bring yourself to smile a bit and look into his eyes, you never know, he may even tip you.

Yeah, yell and scream at that man who loves you, yeah go on, stay with him even though you know you shouldn't, keep on working in the industry even though it hurts him, keep lying to your family about what you really do for money, keep turning up at your mum's house stoned out of your brain because you haven't got the guts to face what you're really feeling.

It's all that shit that past that way of deadly life.

And I'm through with it, I have the guts now, I care who touches me, I want to live and be healthy, I don't think I'm not worth it, and I don't think it's cool to risk everything of myself on shallow, dangerous things.

I have people who feel the same way, people who want to live and outsmart death, and together, we're doing it.

What chance does 'cancer' have in this environment?