Lonely

Constant Reader, this is an uncomfortable post.

Don't do it.
—I have to.
You're a fool.

I'm Divorced.
I'm lonely.
There's no shame in it; but its not OK.

Fourteen years of marriage—gone. What lingers, lingers—and that's entirely about the children. Inside me there's respect, and appreciation, and a love for which there is no name. But the marriage is over. That dream is a memory. What remains...is not what this is about...

I'm lonely.
Such understatement.
My bed is cold. My house—silent. My calendar—open. My heart...

I Have Cancer.
I'm alone.
I go inside to cope. I'm vulnerable, I'm frightened. I'm...

I'm lonely.
There's no shame in it; but its not OK.

This is not funny. Where's the funny?
—It's not meant to be funny.
So, why the drama?
—Understanding? Confession? Awareness? Compulsion? I don't know the word, or if there is a word....I'm being honest, and open, and...
You're being a whiny little bitch.
—Stop it. I'm not Morrissey. I'm not a Smiths lyric writ large. I'm not whining; I'm stating.
Difference without distinction...you're whining.
—I don't want pity.
Liar.
—No. I don't. Not pity. Something else...
What?
—I don't know
Pffft. You're a whiner. Worse, you're boring.

Back to Back They Faced Each Other

Honest Reader, your alarm sounds. You wake, naked. It's a new day. You pull off warm covers. You're exposed, cold. Your assumptions, beliefs, expectations, needs, responsibilities...awaken. They're with you—part of you—influencing, defining, inspiring. You dress yourself in your reality, wearing it, as it wears on you. Welcome to the day.

My alarm sounds. I wake, naked. It's a new day. Under the covers I'm face-to-face with deadly disease. I have cancer. I roll over, seeking shelter, and I find a cure—a cure that will sicken me, weaken me. A cure for cancer that may give me cancer, weaken my heart, ruin my kidneys. May. Might. They don't know. We. Don't. Know. My assumptions, beliefs, expectations, needs, responsibilities...awaken, confused. Yesterday they were different. Tomorrow? who knows. I have now—only now. I cloak myself in now. Welcome to the day.

THAT is my reality.

It's a cloak that gives no comfort.

I Need.

I need love. I need comfort. I need...affection. I don't need hope, answers, solutions. I need warmth, whispers, caresses.

"Please, please, please let me, let nme, get what I want"...crikey, you are Morrissey! —Fuck off.
Whinge, whine, sob. Stop. Now. You're oversharing. It's awkward and uncomfortable... —So?
So?
—So? Why should I care? I'm not writing this for you. It's for me. I need this. I need this told. I may look a fool, but I won't live with regret. Not anymore. Life...life's too short.
No one cares.
—Look, do us both a favor, and don't read it if you don't want to. It's my blog, my choice, and my price...not yours.
You're weak.
—My point, exactly.

I'm Not OK

How do you face fear, and death, and do it alone?

How do you not do it alone?

We're born alone. We die alone. And in between, are we ever not alone?

Do we ever know anyone—even ourselves?

I don't know. I thought I did, but my assumptions, beliefs, expectations, needs, responsibilities...have been shattered.

Marriage asked me those questions, time and again. My divorce shouted them at me.

Now, cancer opposes me, toe-to-toe, screaming in my face, spraying spit, demanding I answer: are we ever not alone?

I don't know. I just don't know.

So much change; so little time. The gyre widened, foundation crumbled, center failed to hold. Truths become false. Things. Fell. Apart.

And inside, a disease grew. A cancer formed.

And I am alone.

Was it ever thus?

I know so little. Yet, I do know this: I'm lonely, and I need love; I'm frightened, and I need comfort; I'm vulnerable, and I'm scared, and I need safety.

But I'm Conflicted

I'm Divorced.
I'm lonely.
That's fixable.

I Have Cancer.
I'm lonely.
Ohhh...

Cancer's a harsh, jealous mistress. She demands sacrifice. She makes you selfish. To survive, you must nurture you. There's not a lot left for anyone else.

I'm Dad. My Little Angels need me, and I need them. So they get a part of me.

After cancer, after fatherhood, what's left?

I need a someone in the worst possible way; I'm vulnerable in the worst possible way; and I have so very little to give. How do you bring someone into this? How is it not...desperate? How do you embrace love?

A relationship is give and take. Cancer forces you to take...and take more.

And that's not fair.

I want to give. I want to love... But I'm held back.

Something stronger than my need stops me.

Is it fear? Is it guilt?

Yes. And yes.

I fear rejection. I fear the guilt that comes from dependence. I fear the guilt of not being strong—of not "handling it."

Precious vulnerability, naked heart—that's what stops me.

Everything is new, it's all too much...I cry, like a baby.

That's not bad.
—Fuck off.

I believe in me. I have faith—except when I don't.

I can handle this.

But it's not OK.

I'm not OK.

I'm alone.

You're still a tosser.
—Guilty. But that's a conversation for another day...