Shake It Off

Whenever I get scared that I have nothing left to say that nothing new is going on in my life that I will have nothing to write about, I remember that I can always go back to the past. There are a wealth of juicy nuggets I have only skimmed over and not devoted a blog to. An example is Illinois' marriage a mere 8 months after we broke up. There is my reaction to it and then there is my impression of Mrs. Illinois. Because I met her. After meeting her I felt free for the first time in months; he had moved on and it was time for me to move on. That was liberation numero uno. As an old friend of mine used to say, it's the game of inches. And that was an inch that I always forget to give myself credit for.

It happened like this. It was April 1, 2006. I remember the date for two reasons. It was the last game of the final four. I was supposed to meet L.A. at a bar in Park Slope and watch it with him. April 2 was my half-birthday and the start of the first of my anticipated six 30-day challenges, bikram yoga for 30 days. AC and I were tired or sick or hungover; I can't remember which and we didn't feel like traveling to Park Slope. RC came over and we decided to hit up the new Mexican joint in Red Hook for some dinner. The food took awhile and we ran out for a six-pack. We got another six pack when the food came. After eating, fortified by the food and motivated by the alcohol, we started feeling itchy and tried to figure out what our next stop was. We decided it couldn't be home. I told AC that my sister ran into someone from my former life who told her that Mrs. Illinois bartended at a bar in our neighborhood on Saturday nights. AC looked at me squarely and said, "wanna go?" I had showered and was wearing a new shirt and figured why the hell not, now was a perfect time especially since it was the last game of the final four and I knew Illinois wouldn't be watching it at that bar.

I admonished AC and RC not to call me by my name and instructed RC that in the off chance Illinois did show up he would be making out with me stat. We all smoked a cigarette, filed in and sat down at the bar. AC and I drank Shiraz. All the while Mrs. Illinois was talking to other patrons and I heard snippets of her conversations, "Illinois loves Jamba Juice," "we have a rent stablized apartment," and, "we got a cat yesterday." Did she know who I was or does she just talk about him non-stop? Either way, she kept refilling our glasses; every time I turned around I had more wine. She was nice and normal and southern and sweet, in fact she called all of us 'sweetie' Was she killing us with kindness or did she have no clue who we were. I couldn't read her.

I had an epiphany after meeting her. She makes sense with him. I got why he and I didn't work. She is small like him. She seems practical about life in the way that he is. The way that I will never be. The way that I always wished he wasn't. The way he and I could never agree to disagree but would always be a bone of contention when I continuously wasn't satisfied with my life and wanted more. And he didn't. He just wanted a 'simple life' And he accused me of not wanting the same thing. And I would get offended and be my contrary self but he was right. I didn't understand what he meant as much as I did after meeting his wife. She is a lot like him. He is definitely more fun and crazy than she is but they are both practical and not big dreamers or doers. They live. They don't need to try every restaurant or always want to go somewhere new or travel all the time. They enjoy their routine and their neighborhood and each other. I wasn't ever going to be that for him. It's why sometimes I felt alone even when I was with him. I was never with someone who got me. I had glimpses but that wasn't enough. It was never enough. And I couldn't ever give him enough either. He wanted it and he loved me and I wanted it and loved him but it was never enough. And it never would have been. We always would have missed each other when we were in the same room. We were always missing what we wished the other was. I am happy for Illinois for finding Mrs. Illinois. As much as he fucked me over I cannot hate him. Nor could I hate her. She's just a nice, normal girl. The kind of girl I wish I could be but never will be. When she's at home watching her favorite show on television I will be looking over my shoulder dreaming about the next risk or 30-day challenge I am going to take.

Simultaneously all I could think about was how weird it was. As if the course my life had taken already couldn't be more like a movie or like a book or made-up. He is married. We lived together. I wore his ring. And I still lived in the neighborhood that was our playground. And it is their playground now. When I saw Mrs. Illinois, I noticed how much I was living my life in response and in reaction and in relation to my relationship with Illinois. Meanwhile, I was no longer in love with Illinois. I couldn't relate to the Briana that was with Illinois. So why was I still clinging to the past; walking around with it like it's my burden for the rest of my life, like I made my bed and it's my bed forever and who I am instead of relishing being free, starting over and feeling lucky not to still be stuck there.

Before meeting her, I had wanted to lose weight but it was the heaviness in my heart that I wanted to lose more than anything. I should have been feeling proud of myself for surviving and succeeding and learning how to breathe and learning how to live and be happy again. The girl who was with Illinois was never me. I had been in a funk since 2001 since law school ended and I was thrust into the real world into a job that I hoped to love forever but hated and even worse was terrible at. Then 9/11 and the Brooklyn and Staten Island debacle and money and moving out and nothng feeling right. Searching for that something. Searching for the adult version of the self I had finally grown into and lost again once life changed. Enter Illinois. He told me who I was and told me he loved me and gave me answers to everything I needed answers for. He told me everything would be alright. He told me we were meant to be. He quieted my crazy mind and made me feel like if nothing else I could always count on him. I needed for something to go right in my life. I needed for that something to be something I had done right and Illinois was that for me; I may not have a job I love but I am in a good relationship. Pros and cons of life. I didn't realize he was undoing years of me and I would never be the same again. I didn't expect to lose my soft touch and gain an edge. I didn't bargain on trusting people even less than I already did. I didn't expect to ever think of myself as a victim or expect the worst and be unable to appreciate the best when I got it.

After meeting her I realized I could let go of that victim persona and move on with my life. There is no reason I have to always be the girl whose fiancee broke up with her after losing their two babies yada yada yada. I have options. I have choices. I have a new life to lead. If he can find happiness so can I.

(I Can't Get No) SATISFACTION

I had another dream about the Office Crush (OC) last night. Why Why Why Why. I don't understand it. There is nothing there. I am not just saying this to convince myself or you; it's actually true. It's a done deal. I have no feelings left. I actually saw him in September on S's birthday and if I had played my cards right I could have woken up on 11th street but I didn't. He was drunk and acting like all the other drunk guys I have known and woken up with on 11th street with my whole dating life.

In the dream I was leaving for a wedding in Paris and on was Roosevelt Island in the stationery store. I was with K. As I exited the store with my purchase, I ran into the OC. I just looked up and there he was, all flustered and disheveled like he is. I said hello and he left the store with me. K. hung back like she wasn't with me and let us talk. He said, "Briana, I've been thinking about you." I said, "why? Are you looking for some temp work?" He stammered, "no, I think about you a lot, about us." I didn't respond. Part of me wanted to blow off K and the wedding and run away with him to wherever he wanted to go to do whatever he wanted to do but there was too much water under the bridge for me to seriously consider that. I told him I had a wedding in Paris and needed to catch a flight. We walked down Main Street towards Motorgate Garage, K. in tow a few steps behind us and we were by Westview when he kissed me and told me he's been waiting to do that for over a year and regrets the way things went down between us. He implored me to call him when I got back so we could properly date. Then we went our separate ways. I told K, "Well, that's the OC for you." She said that she kinda figured that. And I woke up. It was 5:39 am and I was PISSED.

My only theory on why I may have had a dream like is all of the Briana's archives reading I've done. I have become so out of touch with the world of emotion that reading about how I felt about him is staggering to me. Clearly it infiltrated my subconscious.

I read about when I first started liking him, "My crush on the OC feels like walking on a tightrope. Yet as of Friday evening I felt like it was inevitable that our dance would start in earnest. I love someone that argues with me. I love someone that I can stand up to and listens to me and responds to me yet doesn't back down unless my words convince him. I love someone that calls me on my shit. I love someone that finds me fascinating and remembers what I say and thinks about it and analyzes it and tells me what he thinks it means. I love someone that isn't trying to fix me. And when they nag me about something it is something they are urging me to do for me instead of not to do for them. Big difference."

And how even after the whole email/rejection debacle, "I think about him like he is someone I could never get bored of. I don't believe we could ever run out of conversation or lose fascination for each other or stop having fun. I don't think I have ever had this with anyone. How could he not feel what I feel. I know I have been in many an unrequited love situation before. I was in love with Brooklyn forever before we got together. I stared at Staten Island across a crowded library for months. I thirsted for SA in high school and counted the seconds we saw each other which were never enough. I get that. But this feels reciprocated. It doesn't feel like it's in my head only. It feels like it's mutual. Why else would he always come up to me and spend his time with me and talk to me and stand next to me and not be able to get away from me. Why would he feel so responsible for us losing our stay request. Why would he offer me large binder clips before I tell him that I need them. There is something that we have that feels so rare and beautiful. I could grow old with him and never be bored. He's sweet and nice and generous without being a pushover. He is gracious and curious and honest and interested and interesting. He is grounded and tells me how it is. I can't even do this anymore. It's so depressing. I wish I didn't feel like this. I wish I could make it go away. It's bad for me. I don't want to allow myself to accept less than what I want or become satisfied with trying and not achieving. I have done all I can do there. There is nothing left to see there. There is nothing left to try. Come on. What was up with what he said today after spending an hour helping me out, "Don't worry, I'll figure out a way for you to pay me back..." Uh ... you could have had that ... What do you want? A paper clip? You want to use my stapler? So I will go to his housewarming and I will flirt with his friends but what else can I do besides move on. I hate closed doors. He's blinded and he will never find someone as good for him as I am."

And then after another false alarm, "I am back fighting the dam from breaking. I still like him. I have to admit it to myself. I do. I still like him. My safety measures may have kept me safe from hoping and planning and assuming but not safe from liking him. He is the same conscientious guy he was before. He is still interested. He is still interesting. He still gets me completely. He still remembers and hears everything I say. He is still laughs at my jokes. I still laugh at his. Even though I don't want to. I don't know what to do. Part of me; the romantic, unreasonable, unrealistic part, still thinks that it has to happen; that it is inevitable. How can we have this connection and it not mean anything? How? How? How? Unless he doesn't find me physically attractive. I guess that's possible. But I doubt it. I think he does. I don't know why but I just think he does. Not knowing anything about his type or his past or his preference I think he does. I think it would be obvious if I was physically repellent to him. And here I am fighting the dam from breaking. And every day I think it's going to break. I think he is going to say something that he hasn't said. I think he's going to do something that he hasn't done. When did it get so hard? Why did it get so hard? It should be so easy. It would be perfect. It would be amazing. I can't imagine him ever boring me. I can't imagine ever boring him. I can't imagine him ever not seeing me. I can't imagine him ever judging me. I can't imagine him ever telling me what to do. This is wild. I can't believe I am having these thoughts these horrible painful beautiful awful torturous thoughts. I am not used to suffering in silence. I am used to eating when I am hungry and sleeping when I am tired. I am not into deprivation. And yet here I am. Being deprived. He just walked by. I wish he'd stay away. And let me be free. I just want to be free of him. Be away from him or be near him all the time but not like this. Definitely not like this. My only silver lining is the knowledge that there are guys like him. If there is one, there are others. He's not the only one who will make me feel this way. He's just the first one. If I can peel my eyes off of him for one second maybe that will be true. I am proud of myself for actually not sliding into old bad behavior of wanting someone for the wrong reasons. Someone who needs me but doesn't want me because they don't even know me. And always rubbing up against that, making us both unhappy. With this guy we would have different problems. I don't know what they would be but I am sure that they would be a refreshing change from where I've been in the past."

I reread this again and I am in awe of those feelings, that powerful emotion. I articulated exactly how he made me feel and why I liked him and the sweet torment of being in his company. I liked someone for the right reasons whether or not I projected or misinterpreted who he actually is. There's a first for everything. Maybe it will happen again. Maybe I haven't been living in the moment without fear like I think I have. If I had no fear, wouldn't I have feelings for someone? Or do I not have feelings because there isn't anyone around me to have feelings for?

Let's just say I hope the OC is not a Briana's Blog devotee. I would be very embarassed right now. Anyway, as tortuous as all of that was, a little holiday crush on SOMEONE would be nice right around now.

I Dug Up a Diamond

I have a surrogate older brother and sister. They are the same age, they are both six years older than me. I met them at the large law firm I used to work at. They both still work there. They taught me valuable lessons and were there for me when I needed it the most. I have never been close to anyone older than me before so as we became close around the same time that Illinois and I broke up it was natural for me to lean on them in a different way than I might lean on a peer my own age and natural for their advice to hold more value to me. They taught me that it was okay to be alone and smart to hold out for something really good rather than killing time with someone substandard. It's one thing to think you know that, which I did, and it's another to really hear it, really learn it from people you look up to and trust like I look up to and trust them.

L.A. is the older brother I never had. He and I worked together very closely when I worked at this large law firm downtown. We spent hours together and argued and teased each other relentlessly but it never got ugly. We were always cool. When Illinois and I broke up he gave me a mantra that stuck with me, "when someone shows you who they are, believe them." I needed a mantra. And that one fit. Suddenly the boy who knew the moment he met me that we were going to be together forever didn't want me anymore and decided this after we lost our babies. Illinois really showed me who he was. And L.A. let me talk and talk and talk. He gave me advice but never pushed it on me. He implored me to change my number because Illinois kept calling and calling. I would sheepishly show L.A. all the missed calls from Illinois on my phone and he'd tell me again to change my number. But he understood that I wasn't ready to sever all ties and that I liked that Illinois was still calling me, even though it fucked me up every time he did call. And then he let me talk and talk and talk more. There was never anything that I didn't feel comfortable asking him or telling him. Our connection was instantaneous and even now that he's moved back to L.A., I can email him out of the blue about D getting engaged after we haven't spoken for a month or so and he responds immediately and we email all day about it. He tells it to me straight with no chaser but makes it clear that I will be fine. I trust him because he's fine. He's 6 years older than me and he has 6 years more experience than me.

C is the older sister that I never had. The reason I describe her like that instead of as a friend is that she acts like an older sister. It's an important nuance, the difference between family and friends. The way I listen to my sister or brother's travails objectively and patiently instead of letting my personal filter infiltrate is the way C listens to me. She listens in a giving way that makes me feel safe; like I know she will have an answer and she always does. She listens dispassionately but doesn't miss a detail and responds in kind. I can be freaking out beyond belief and it doesn't phase her. She doesn't put me down but she does disagree with me. She calmly gives me great advice and when I tell her that she is so wise and how can she be so right she humbly explains that she doesn't live that way and she would freak out or did freak out about that same thing but she knows what's right and can therefore share the wisdom with me. She reads all my blogs and comments extensively on them replete with what she likes, what she disagrees with, what song I should listen to and, "Oh that's why I haven't heard from you lately." She never takes me personally. That alone gives me all the room in the world to be me and say or do anything and feel completely comfortable and safe.

I was apprehensive about going to Mexico but I knew with C I would be safe. Not that any of my other friends would ditch me if I was sick or not take care of me if I relapsed but I knew she would stay level headed and know what to do. I don't even know what I mean by that but I felt so safe and reassured knowing she was the one coming with me.

When Illinois and I broke up C and I were working at the same firm. I was on the 36th floor and she was on C-2, the floor below the basement. I was working my ass off on a big case and mostly stayed on 36 with L.A . and our two other office mates and she spent most of her time on C-2. I emailed her kind of on a whim, I didn't know what to do with myself; I didn't even know if we were officially broken up yet. I don't remember if I had yet told the three people I shared the office with on 36. She told me to come downstairs immediately. I did. I told her what happened. She was honest with me. It was so refreshing. She didn't tell me it was going to work out between Illinois and I. She didn't tell me I would be fine. She didn't say, "fuck him, I never liked him anyway." She told me it was going to be hard. She said that time was the only healer. I told her I needed to go home and she told me not to waste a sick day on Illinois. She said I should sit at work and just not do anything, that my colleagues would pick up the slack and that if I went home, I would feel worse. I heeded her advice and she was right. My three office-mates completely covered for me and let me stare aimlessly at my computer screen for two weeks.

And she gave me the gift of hair. She booked me two appointments at Frederik Fekkai, one for a cut and one for color. She did the research on who I should go to. She and I have different hair and she made sure for the cut I was seeing someone who cut a lot of wavy, thick hair. I didn't know she was paying until I left the salon and even the tip was taken care of. I felt like I had a fairy-godmother. She made me feel taken care of when I needed it the most. She is generous to a fault with me. In fact they both are, in a way that siblings are and friends aren't.

In the short time I have known L.A. and C.; four years for C. and three for L.A., they have shaped me, I have allowed them to shape me, I have listened to them and learned from them. I only hope I am as good of an older sister to my younger brother and sister as L.A. and C. are to me. But it's a two way street, they need to use me and exploit me for all I've got. I often don't think they realize what they have in me; that although I've been the one with all the drama in my life the past two years that it has made me more invaluable to them; it has made me stronger, smarter, quicker to action, slower to stress out and less willing to let anything beat me. They need to know that I am always available, will always listen, will always be on their side, will always be generous with my time and money, will always indulge them, will always be honest and most of all that they are always safe with me.

All The Small Things

I finally realized what's changed. I've been wondering where this journey was taking me. And I think I am finally starting to understand my destination. I don't know that I've arrived but I've made a lot of headway in the past two years. It has nothing to do with getting over Illinois or knowing I will never be over that heartbreaking betrayal of my body, the loss of two babies; or relearning how to live life with this illness, or not knowing if I ever want to practice law again but about taking things slow and taking pleasure in the small things. It's about taking pleasure and giving myself credit for the day-to-day good stuff. There is so much of it and when I don't stop and enjoy that stuff because I am waiting for something big to happen I will never be happy I will never be satisfied I will never be in the moment. If I am always looking over my shoulder and at other people I will never see myself. If I never see myself I will never know what I need I will never know what I have I will never know who I am I will never know how I feel. It's like what I read somewhere about success; that it's your first little break that is the most gratifying. After that, it becomes monotonous; you start to anticipate and become greedy and it stops being about recognition and pleasure of what you do and more about ego and status.

And I don't want that.

The first few months or weeks after Illinois and I broke up I couldn't write a word. Then when I started, the floodgates opened. It saved me because it opened me up and I walked back through the events of October and November 2004 to find what was left of me. I needed to process I needed to absorb. I needed to find answers. Just as our relationship was a whirlwind; the end of our relationship was a whirlwind that left me in a state of shock.

I remember sitting on my bed and writing, "[w]hy do I have so much emotion still? I wish there was a way to just purge it out. It won't go away. I try and put it into words and sometimes I can. And when I can it is absolutely exhausting. The words flood out of me, not without a little bit of crying, not without a little dying for a cigarette, dying for a drink, dying for sex. Anything to numb my emotions or pour them into something else. I usually end up manically eating while I vomit my feelings out through my fingertips. Afterwards I am mentally and emotionally drained. But it is amazing to have purged and never have to feel that nostalgia or sadness or pain about that one moment again. Unfortunately it appears that there are an endless amount of moments that I am dealing with."
"Writing this is like picking open a scab. You are compelled to pick it because it's itchy and in your way but then when you pick it off it starts to bleed and you need to apply pressure and it hurts all over again. I am a big time scab picker. From bug bites to cuts and scrapes. I pick it all. I wish I didn't but I have to. And that's kind of what this is for me. I need to exorcise this experience. Is it exorcise or excise? I think it's both. I feel like once I get it all down on paper I will be okay. Like it will stop being this painful secret that I live with on a daily basis and instead will become a story. I want it to be a sad story but no longer my sad story. I don't want to own this one. I will own the strength and confidence and honesty that I learned from it but I don't want to own to seering pain or the fear of losing my mind and myself or the sleepless nights or the nausea or the heart palpitations or the random crying attacks or the lack of focus on the rest of my life."

That enabled me to arrive here in the present tense. I got out of the whirlwind. And that whirlwind prepared me for the next whirlwinds that I didn't allow myself to be swept up in. I could have been just as lost in the last four months as I was back then but I learned important survival skills. And I found my inner anchor. And I figured out what was important. It is miraculous to me that I went from being with Illinois and the men who came before him none of whom which gave me any space to breathe, to be me, to realizing at the old age of 28 that,


"I have been seeing 1982 since June. It is now October. We barely see each other. There have been weeks where I have seen him twice but there have been weeks after weeks that we haven't even spoken to each other. And I don't mind. I don't feel like I am being jerked around. I don't feel like I am being used for sex. I don't wish we saw each other more often. I am not curious as to whether he is dating anybody else. Is there something wrong with me for being satisfied with whatever this is? Am I supposed to want more? Will I one day, whether with him or someone else? I want to. I hope I do. But right now I don't. Is it because I have never been with someone who has let me be myself and now I can't risk losing myself and rebuilding myself all over again; I would rather just remain me and therefore be single? I am not settling for less than exactly what I want and who I deserve. I want someone who takes care of himself and is in shape physically. I want someone who takes care of himself and cares about what he looks like. I want someone who takes care of himself and makes sure he sleeps and eats. I want someone who takes care of himself and gets to work on time because he enjoys what he does and doesn't want to fuck it up. I want someone who takes care of himself and doesn't blow all of his money on stupid shit. I want someone who takes care of himself and always finds the time to find joy in life; whether it is the joy he and I have together or the fun he has with his friends or the solace he finds with his family or his alone time that recharges him. I want someone who doesn't need my approval or feedback for every little thing that he does in his life. Someone who can make himself happy and who believes happiness is important. Otherwise I will remain alone. And right now I am having fun being me by myself. I think I am actually celebrating being me. I am not isolating myself for safety. Big difference."

Why did it take me so long? Who cares. At least I got here. I never thought about what I wanted in a guy before. I just kind of fell into relationships or flings or whatever. I guess I could be upset that I haven't found this guy but instead I am happy that I have isolated certain important qualities I am seeking in him. That might be a small realization but it has big consequences. And that translates into other areas as well. I had four days off and unrealistically hoped to get the structure of the book down. I didn't, but I started going through my archives in earnest to find these patterns and consistent themes and parallels and answers to eventually synthesize and organize. I found an important theme, an important answer which could be the filter I read with until I find another one; so again, this little discovery might reap important consequences. When I wrote it I was just purging, probably crying, I didn't realize that it was a larger life lesson than just writing down a list like a schoolgirl would with little hearts all over the page; "he has to be tall with brown eyes and a nice smile and be able to make me laugh and have a good job and blah blah blah." It's me learning how to live. And it also gives me a pass to fuck around with all the guys I want until I find the one in that there list up there. So it makes me feel all kinds of good.

It's My Life

So we were out dancing last night and I had a blast. I don't think I sat down for more than five minutes the whole night. I was sweating I danced so much but I didn't care. Every time I contemplated taking a break another song came on that I 'needed' to dance to. They were playing a lot of music from the 90's, my music. It felt like it wasn't V.'s 30th birthday and we were transported back to college. Flashbacks abounded of me and Brooklyn visiting V in Albany where she went to college and the crazy fun parties we went to there replete with beer specials, Biggie Smalls, smoking in bars, and always someone vomiting and or crying by the end of the night.

Yet, because it was her 30th birthday, last night was a mindful second chance to have that same experience. Last time I was at that bar, it was my brother's 22nd birthday. His girlfriend and all of her friends were dancing together just like me and my girlfriends were last night. Age is a hard thing to ascertain and I think we all looked about the same age but I could tell the difference in their demeanor, they were dancing like life was ahead of them. Their spirits were light and carefree. Let's be clear, I definitely don't feel like life is behind me but the 20's are hard and when you are 21, you don't realize how hard they are. Once you get them behind you, you are different. You are a mellower, stronger version of yourself. Some of your dominant qualities have been tempered, like ML's temper which I thankfully haven't seen in years. Some of your dreams have been forgotten. Some of your dreams have been realized. You have loved and lost. You are more aware of who you are and your likes and dislikes and where you want to be. And last night I wanted to be exactly where I was. Last night in its way was better than going out dancing when songs like 'Player's Anthem' by Junior Mafia actually came out.

Or different.

In 1995 I operated under the erroneous assumption that my future was ahead of me and it would work out and unfold exactly as it should, thinking that the college degree/law dregree was me doing my part and the rest would just come. I could just have fun mindlessly because I didn't have to worry. Now I know that's not true, but knowing we're all in this together and we're all still here for each other has made nights like last night more meaningful. These relationships, these people, are the important stuff and one of the ways I measure my success. I am more aware of how lucky I am to have them than I ever was. I am more aware of how much we are to each other. I didn't know anything of that back then. I guess I didn't need to know. Maybe it's boring to know how certain things have turned out. And maybe it's boring not to find my future as titillating as I used to because I now know that my future isn't just going to happen because I went to law school; it's up to me. I am driving the car. I chose which way we go. But it is miraculous and nourishing and enriching and priceless that these people are still in my life. And it's empowering that I have some control over which direction my life will take. And it's empowering to know which direction I want my life to take.

And me, I was sporting cleavage like I've never done before. I got a lot of compliments on it that shockingly didn't make me feel uncomfortable. At one point I was dancing with Bak and I kept having to direct his attention to my face. His response was, "that shirt attracts a lot of attention." Ummm okay. And you know what, for the first time ever, I owned that. I did not feel exploited. I didn't feel like the shirt was wearing me; I felt like I was wearing the shirt. I am confident enough in myself in our friendship to know that my cleavage is not how anyone sees me. They think I am smart. They think I am funny. And then I can wear a shirt like that and blow them away. And really, blow myself away because I never, ever had the guts before. Meanwhile, if that's one of my physical 'assets', why hide it.

So the night was a raging success. V. said that everyone she really wanted to see was there and that for the most part the no-shows were the people she didn't mind so much not attending. She exclaimed her surprise in how incredible her 30th birthday was. She had been bummed that she was planning it herself and felt like the planning should have been someone else's job. She talked about how she planned Fig's 30th birthday last year and had been anticipating him planning hers. But she realized somewhere between dinner and dancing how empowering it was to go to the restaurant and pick out exactly what she wanted for the prix-fixe and pick the place, pick both places, and how it isn't pathetic to do those things for yourself. It is cool because you get exactly what you want. I think last night was a turning point for her. I hope so. It was definitely a turning point for me; a turning point that I needed. I can go out. I can dance. I can stay out until the bar closes. Loftus was in the house and I drank a little bit.

The only bad part of the night was when Fig randomly showed up at the bar at 3:30am with some friends of his. He beelined right over to our party. It was surreal. He didn't know we were going to be there. At that moment V turned from the queen of the night into Cinderella. She crumbled. We all mobilised around her trying to figure out what our M.O. should be. Fig came over and tried to talk to all of us. A. told him to leave. We wondered if we should we just leave. The tone of the night changed and we went from crazy dancing mode, showing off old moves and making new ones, vibing off each other, taking hundreds of pictures to protecting V., making sure she was okay; similar to ML and A earlier in the night surrounding me with their body heat when went outside for a smoke knowing I have no immune system. We didn't take care of each other like this before. We never needed to. We were there purely for each others' pleasure. The night ended without any drama; with all of us hugging and kissing each other many times over making our cabs wait until we eventually got in them and went our separate ways. And today my 30-year old knees are killing me from all of that dancing. Worth it.

Dance Tonight

Finally. Finally. Finally. I had forgotten what it felt like. I am excited to go out tonight. I am really excited. It's been so so long. The last night I went out with no anxiety was the housewarming party I went to in early August where I ended up at 31's house late night and then sick the next day where the saga began. I should have heeded the warning signs my body was sending me that night. I was exhausted. I didn't want to go out AT ALL. I really, really didn't. When I got to the party everything tasted weird. I couldn't get drunk. I kept eating and drinking self-medicating like I do and nothing worked. I went from Rum Punch to beer to shots to beer and back. Then I ended up at 31's and woke up feeling all wrong. And the rest, you know.

But it was been two weeks since I have relapsed or gotten some related illness. I am feeling my confidence come back a little. I am feeling safe. I am feeling like my body won't do something crazy tonight and that I will actually have fun. I am feeling like my body will be a beautiful asset tonight instead of an embarassing handicap. I won't spend the night on pins and needles wondering and waiting and anticipating my body to do something bad or embarassing or uncomfortable keeping me from being where I am and enjoying myself.

The first time I went out in a big group since this happened was to A's birthday party in the beginning of September. I was extremely apprehensive. I was apprehensive about not drinking and people asking me why. I was apprehensive because I was on double the dosage of the steroids that I am on now and my mouth and eyes twitched and I couldn't stand still and focusing on a conversation was challenging. My mood was erratic. I was exhausted because I hadn't slept in weeks. I felt like my skin was too small for my body. It was awful. So the social anxiety began. And it hasn't gone away, even though I have adjusted somewhat to my new circumstances.

Any socializing I have done since that fateful night in August has been in very controlled settings. Either on Roosevelt Island at ML and Farf's house or with AC or A or V or BE or S or C in small groups or one on one. That is one of the ways I have adjusted. I have changed my style to make myself feel safe. I have kept my life so small the past four months; a big contrast from who I had been, someone who loved the unpredictable, loved going to new places, appreciated when things didn't work out as expected and enjoyed adventure. The less I knew about the night, the more appealing it was, the more excited I was. Like nights with AC used to be, where we'd start drinking in the afternoon in our apartment and could end up at 4:00am at a party on the Upper West Side. We'd just flow and let our whims be our guide.

Tonight is V's 30th birthday and we are going out to dinner and then we are going dancing. I don't even know where we are going dancing. And I don't care. I am excited about my outfit. I am excited about being out. I feel my mojo coming back. I feel hot and sexy. I feel in control. I feel like I will be okay. The only problem I foresee is getting tired before everyone else. And that's not such a big problem. I will just leave if that happens.

On my birthday I stayed up until 8:00am and had one of the best nights of my life. But that was an exception. It wasn't that I felt confident in my body or socially comfortable. It was more that I felt the love that I needed so much. And I felt free to run around the table because I couldn't sit still and be as unfocused and twitchy as I was because it was my birthday and again, I was among friends and family in a controlled environment and there was something about that night that was so magical it took me out of the hell I had been in until just days earlier. It was like the stars were all aligned in my favor that night making sure everything was perfect. And it was.

But tonight will not be a so-called 'controlled' environment. I don't know where we're going after dinner. I don't know who's all going to be there. But I know we're going dancing. And I am free now instead of locked inside the prison of my body so I can give and interact and socialize and hear the music and dance and lose myself in the night. And I plan to do all of that. Mojo. It's a beautiful thing. And it's crazy how your perception of your body and physical appearance can change simply because your body is working. It's nothing more than that. It works again so I think it's beautiful, more than I ever did. It's one of those you don't realize what you've lost until it's gone type things. So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, that is one of the many things I am thankful for this year.

There Goes My Baby

D. got engaged yesterday. My first reaction was one of complete happiness and bliss. Almost as if it was happening to me. No one deserves this more than D. does. Love has definitely been a battlefield for her. One boy she was in love with was murdered. Another one who 'couldn't commit' was engaged within months after he and she parted ways. Another one made a living selling fake goods on Ebay. She just hasn't had much luck in the love department. She has a ton of great stories but she never had the long term relationships that most of the rest of us did. We always told D. it was going to happen like this for her. She was going to meet someone and it was going to be automatic, love at first sight, marriage, kids, the whole nine. They met at a wedding in July. They danced the night away and went out on their first and second and third date that week. In the beginning she expressed, "Of course I meet someone now when I finally decide I want to move back to New York and settle down in New York. Now what?" And I was like, "come on, it's been a month. No offense but, don't get ahead of yourself," completely dismissing her concerns and assuming their little affair would go nowhere. Turns out it isn't a little affair and now they are getting married. D.'s story makes me a believer again.

D's story also makes me miss her already. Everyone thinks maybe they rushed. They've only been dating for four months. But when you know, you know right? And as her boyfriend said, "when you realize who you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right now." I can't argue with that logic. So I don't think they are rushing into anything. Anyway, they aren't getting married until January of 2008. They have plenty of time to get to know each other better and live together. D.'s engagement was only too fast for me. This is a shock to my system. I wish I could have eased into this new situation, this new dynamic, this new friendship more gradually. She's never had a serious boyfriend before so that was worthy of serious adjusting. And now this. People think it's so scandalous that they got engaged so fast. I say, who the hell cares. There is no timeline or formula guaranteeing that a marriage will work. Theirs has as much of a chance as anyone else's. I am scared I am going to lose my friend. I am afraid that everything is going to change between us once she leaves me here and ventures into holy matrimony which is another country with another language and customs I cannot comprehend. Will she still be my grinch friend when I need her to be? Will she still regale me with all of her funny, dating, 'love is a battlefield' stories when I need to hear them? Will my single life defined by compulsive shoe shopping, clothing shopping and restaurant dining suddenly seem frivolous to her when they will have serious concerns like buying a home and picking out china, or whatever it is that married people do?

The funny thing is, I always believed I was lucky in love. I was complaining to K recently about how I used to be so lucky in love and what the hell is going on now. She looked at me, eyebrows askance when I said that, referring to the fact that I have only been in dysfunctional relationships with alcoholics. She's right but when I look back, it appeared to always be raining men. That was an area I always excelled in. I always had a ton of options; sometimes I had so many good options I dated multiple people at the same time. My love life was like an all-you-can-eat buffet. There was always more. And I wanted to try everything. Now it doesn't feel like that anymore AT ALL. I am sure nothing has changed; I am just aware of reality and more aware of my abilities to tolerate certain situations and have become more fearful as a result of the 'worst case scenarios' that have actually happened to me. So I rule out people who in the past would have been contenders.

D. and I have traded places. As much as she was a romantic and a dreamer, she was also scared to ever put her real self out there and be vulnerable. She was a proponent of the preventative break-up when she had a bad feeling, and persistently ruled people out before trying them on. Meanwhile I was always confident, full-speed ahead, blowing caution to the wind and putting myself in a lot of stupid and sometimes dangerous situations. She took a chance on this guy and blew caution to the wind and opened herself up and gave her true self to someone for the first time. And he liked it and did the same for her to her. Simultaneously, I am finally learning that is one thing not to prejudge and to be open and another to ignore obvious bad signs, like someone who calls you obsessively accusing you of cheating on him whenever you don't answer your phone on the first ring, like Staten Island did or not giving me a pillow when I slept over at his house, like Brooklyn didn't.

Now D will be my married friend. She's already no longer a grinch. She's a staunch believer. She's left me in the dust. She said she owes it all to me and my advice over the years about, "what's the rush, just relax," and, "he's not going anywhere, no need to call him again," etc. And now here I am, shocked that I was once in a position to offer up advice that actually helped someone get engaged while feeling like I am losing my best friend. Like she's already gone, gone to the world of happy endings to a place where there will be a language barrier between us. She is gone from my world. But it couldn't have happened to a better, more deserving person. I was always the one with the boyfriends. She was always getting hurt. I was always in love and she was always alone. And now she's found her prince. And I am alone. And she is the friend whose phone I would be blowing up right now to confess these horrible feelings of loss mixed with these amazing feelings of happiness and faith in the world. But I can't. So I talked to my friend L.A. about this who plays an older brother role in my life. He said, "Babygirl, I've lost some of my closest friends because of marriage. But the good ones stick around through it. The others, good riddance." I guess that's the story. And I'm sticking to it. Anyway, I know D. is one of the good ones.

What It Feels Like For A Girl

Since I left Mexico I haven't been able to eat. It's weird. I can count on one hand the amount of times that has happened to me. The first time ever, the most memorable time was when I was falling in love with Brooklyn. It was the summer between 8th Grade and High School. I was humming and daydreaming uncontrollably but could not eat a thing. My mom actually accused me of being in love because of how I was acting. She was spot on; that woman doesn't miss a beat. But of course I denied it.

In the airport in Miami, where we laid-over for a couple of hours en route from Mexico, C and I went to town. We had Burger King and both ordered the Angus Steakburger extra-value meal. She ordered cheese on hers; I ordered bacon on mine. We both 'king' sized with diet cokes and ate every last fry. Before that, in the Cancun airport she bought a chocolate chip muffin and two chocolate chip cookies and I bought a family sized dark chocolate Toblerone at the Duty Free. The cookies were done before we went through security, the Toblerone was nipped into while we were boarding and then eaten in earnest on the flight but not finished. And the muffin was eaten on the that flight, the first leg. After the Burger King in Miami, I needed something sweet and wanted a cafe con leche from the notorious Cuban cafe in the Miami airport with the good coffee. I got that and a guava and cheese empanada. C. was nauseated at that point but I offered her some anyway. I ate my dessert and drank my coffee while we waited in line for security, this time en route to New York. Once we got on the plane, C started to feel better and we devoured the Toblerone. We had a blast. it was reminiscent of AC and I having Ben & Jerry's pint-eating contests in high school.

Since then food has been unappealing. I know I need to eat but the thought of food, all food, makes me nauseaus. I've been getting by on bites here and there before I throw the remaining three quarters of my panini or burger or piece of pumpkin pie or chili in the garbage. Before I went to Mexico I couldn't eat either. The doctor said gaining weight is a good sign. Besides the first couple of weeks, I have done nothing but lose. And the thing is, I like that I am losing weight. Growing up, I always felt like the fat girl. I daydreamed about having some disease that made me lose weight or needing to get my mouth wired shut as a result of some accident but it never happened for me. Eventually, Brooklyn struck again and I lost my baby fat after he cheated on me while we were 'on a break.' Every time I went to take a bite I pictured the two of them having sweaty dirty sex and promptly lost my appetite. I went down to 125 pounds and D's dad asked her if I had an eating disorder. I was flattered. I took advantage of the weight loss and starting to work out in my junior year of college to try and maintain the low weight. In law school I started running and graduated to marathons. As LG said, I was "marathon skinny." I was a 34C in law school, the smallest I've ever been but I never felt skinny. I have never felt anything but 'womanly' by which I mean curvy and soft and voluptuous and I wanted to be angular and petite. Starting in 2002, I gradually gained all the weight back. At first I felt like I was wearing a fat suit. By the end of 2005 I decided to own it; it wasn't going anywhere. Then after getting fired from my job and seeing the light for the first time in forever I decided I wanted to get back down to my 23-year old weight by my 30th birthday. I didn't. But I am not that far away.

I told my doctor about the nausea at my doctor's appointment on Thursday. He prescribed something for it. And I don't want to get it filled. Is that crazy or what? Am I that vain? I guess so. But it feels so nice to be making progress in one area. And it feels so nice when people tell me I look good when I have been so sick. And as a 30-year old, I actually understand that I am losing weight yet finally understand that being 'womanly' does not mean I am fat. I also understand that I will be curvy and womanly no matter how much weight I lose. This time I won't judge myself as fat when I get down to my 23-year old weight (fingers crossed).

Obviously there are other issues at work. I think part of wanting to lose weight for me has been wanting to hide my womanliness, feeling so self-conscious about it. Being called 'Twin Peaks' in 7th grade didn't help. Neither did the fact that most of my close friends growing up were very petite as is my mother. And there I was, all buxom and big, never wanting to wear anything that shows cleavage, or making sure to be super conservative at work and being uncomfortable with my body because it felt like the exaggerated version of everyone else's making me a target of unwanted attention from teenage boys who were more interested in my big chest than they were in me; it was like a novelty for them but I wanted to be the attraction, not my body. And I never felt my outside matched the real me on the inside. The real me is just starting to realize that she can be sexy and smart or sexy and athletic or sexy and strong and that sexy doesn't mean slutty. So until recently, I never felt sexy; I have only felt awkward. I could have been sexy all these years if I had only known that I was and owned it as a strength instead of seeing it as a weakness of mine that needed to be hidden.

Bring The Pain

I am sick of being sick and frustrated and complaining. I reread what I wrote the past two days and it makes me cringe. I have to let go of all of that negativity. It's doing nothing for me but festering and growing like a cancer inside my heart and my brain turning me into a negative nasty ungrateful person who I don't want to be. I need to let go. I need to let go. I need to let go.

I think I made some strides last night. I purged in the past two days' blogs and I purged with K last night. And I purged with V last night during our long walk and lengthy dinner. The cancer should be gone for the time being. My soul should be in remission for the time being. There is nothing that makes me feel more uncomfortable in my skin than the cloak of negative thoughts surrounding me like prison walls.

I met with Literary Agent C.Small extraordinaire who has been reading my blog regarding turning it into a book. She consulted with colleagues at her agency who suggested publishers and agreed that it would make a good read. Supposedly new female writers my age are sought after right now. And C.Small said that I have 'it,' but admonished me that the talent isn't enough. I have a lot of work to do, it isn't as if I can just print out my blogs and send them to a publisher. The book as we discussed it will be based on the blogs and use the blogs but the structure will be different and the order will be different and the concept will be a little different. Me being me, cocky, retorted, "I'm not scared of a lot of hard work, I know what my abilities are. I can do this, no problem."

There are two sides to this for me. On the one hand; this is what I have been hoping for and wishing for and preparing for my entire life. This has been my dream, my goal, my highest aspiration and ambition. It is one of the things I was born to do. If there is any silver lining validating the pain and suffering of the past two years it is the realization of this dream. Or that the pain and suffering of the past two years clarified how precious life is, how important it is to mold your life into your perfect piece of art and how fear is just a waste of time keeping you from living life in its fullest expression so not to do what I was born to do would be a tragedy.

I don't know fear anymore because of what I have gone through these past two years. An example came up yesterday when V and I were talking about boys. She remarked that she isn't good at being single. I reminded her that the worst has happened. The only boy she wanted to marry is gone; the worst has happened. Who cares if some random dude she meets in a bar doesn't ask for her number; he won't break her heart, it's already broken. The worst has happened. She's free from the fear of rejection because after the ultimate rejection, these little ones don't even sting. Me, I don't have fear about my writing anymore. People may misunderstand and find me depressing or sad or intense because I am real and don't gift wrap my life or cover up my flaws with frosting but I know I am bringing something different to the table and doing it in my own unique way. Anyway, C.Small said I have "it." She wouldn't waste her time on me if she didn't mean that.

Additionally, because I am a person of challenge, adventure and achievement, I need a project. When I started running, it didn't take long to decide to run a marathon. I needed to attach a goal to my new hobby. I couldn't just run to run. And now blogging is the new running and as challenging and enriching and therapeutic as my daily blog is, I need more. I don't want to write to write anymore. I want to write my marathon. And now I have the support and a gameplan courtesy of C.Small, literary agent extraordinaire, akin to my first marathon training schedule.

And now for the other hand. The other hand partly regrets my cocky response to C.Small. I have no doubt in my ability to write at that level or put in the requisite hours but when I printed out the blogs yesterday I had trouble reading some of them. When you're feeling stuck and stagnant and frustrated and reading yourself complain about feeling stuck and stagnant and frustrated, you start to feel even more stuck and stagnant and frustrated. It is validating seeing the words on paper. Suddenly they are real and not in your head, not in your imagination. So therein lies the challenge. I need to delve even deeper into myself. And on a daily basis I dig. Now with the synthesizing and uncovering recurring themes, I will have to really go in there and excavate, scraping every piece of blood out of my heart, sucking all of the air out of my lungs, scrubbing my insides clean, getting it all on the page so it is cohesive and coherent and comprehensive. A daunting task, one that I have to gear up for and then submerge myself in. I read that James Frey in writing A Million Little Pieces wrote the first 40 pages put it down and didn't pick it up until 10 years later and even then he never read the complete manuscript; because it was too intense, it brought him back to his worst moments. Me being me will have to read and reread and read and reread mine until I am convinced it is as perfect as it can be, ugh. So strength is what I need. Okay, I'm going in .... wish me luck.

Don't Phunk With My Heart

Here I am again. In a funk. I am not depressed. I want to make that clear. I am not sad. I want to make that clear as well. Generally, I am neither. My habitual reactions to life's surprises are surprise, shock, bemusement, curiousity, frustration, wonder, excitement. And when I feel stuck, like now, I get into a funk which means I am frustrated. I feel like I am banging my head against a wall. I feel like there must be another way, an easier way, a more direct route and the answer is so obvious but I can't see it. It is driving me absolutely nuts. C wrote this to me today, " hang in there little chickadee - you (and me and all of us) are like rivers - just googled that - couldn't remember quite how the phrase went - it was 'ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus' claim that you can never step in the same river twice'" Yet, I feel like I am and have been because I haven't found the path I should be on out of this moment. My life feels like Groundhog Day. I know I am stubborn, again to quote my father's worn out description of me, "you may be wrong but you are never in doubt," which aptly conveys my insistence on fighting losing battles and doing things my own way despite (or to spite?) what everyone else says. I never know it when I am doing it. So I don't know if I am doing it now. It is something I never realize until later. And sometimes it turns out that my blind persistence pays off. Something that everyone else thought was impossible wasn't. And it was my belief and perseverance that won it. But this is not one of those times.

I feel stuck because I feel like I am making no progress in my life. For the past three months my life has been comprised of the highs and lows of this illness and although I am in a very different place than I was in mid-August or all of September, I am still here waiting and wondering and trying to be patient but I feel like I can't move on with my life, whatever that means, until I know what my status is with this illness. Seriously, making the simplest plans scare me because I am not sure how I'm going to feel that day. JE and I are talking about doing something next weekend and it's making me panic just thinking about the weekend after Thanksgiving. It shouldn't but it does. That's just ridiculous.

I admit that I am impatient. Despite all of these life lessons; I can't seem to shake that one. And I thrive on progress and change and constant achievement and I am doing none of the above. I always have an excuse about why I can't do something these days. I was always a doer. I walked the walk. I didn't just talk the talk. Now I am afraid to talk because I don't know if I will be able to walk. I am standing in C's river. And time is passing but I'm still here. Today is different than yesterday and tomorrow will be different than today but it all falls under the same umbrella - limbo. My sister and brother keep advocating acceptance. But acceptance of what? And how is acceptance different than defeat or surrender? I do not accept that my health will always take center stage. There are so many other things I want to do with my life that I can't do while all of my attention is focused in one direction, how I feel. There is no balance in my life. Whenever I try to rise above and stop paying attention to it in favor of something else, it roars like a child jealous of its sibling's attention, coming at me with a vengeance, reminding me who's boss and where my focus should be. That's why I don't think I could have a boyfriend. That's why I am scared of this gig ending; I can come and go as I please - weekend, weekday; it doesn't matter. A full time job is absolutely out of the question and not only because I don't want one. I don't think I could handle one.

So basically, I want to prove my dad wrong and stop butting my head against the same wall. And I want to prove C. right. I don't want to step in the same river twice. I want to move on. I want to achieve completion and cross this experience out of my life. Health must go to the back burner so writing and yoga and friendship and love can all take center stage where they belong. I want a prosecco night with AC. Or a run in Central Park with Dallas or some Pacifico and late-night bantering at a bar with S. Or a boy with brown eyes to make me laugh.

I wonder how much of this funk that I am in today has to do with the fact that I am listening to an 8-hour CLE on Recent Updates in the CPLR while doing document review. That will make your brain scream for mercy and drive you to drink ...heavily.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

Seriously. I mean that. Wake me up when September ends and things go back to normal. Wake me up when I am me again and I am back in Kansas. Wake me up when time passes at a normal pace and I can think about the future again. Wake me up when I can stop seizing every moment that I feel good and be compelled to be as productive as possible with it. Wake me up when I stop having debilitating relapses that force me to drop off the face of the earth and scare me into thinking its the end of me. But it's not September anymore. It's November. Thanksgiving is next Thursday. Ain't that a bitch. How the hell did that happen? Everyone is saying it. It's not just me. It's partly the unseasonably warm fall we're having. It's partly because people always say that, every year. For me it's different this year. I have literally been in the same place since August. I have been in the middle of one experience, a single existence, a very long moment. So for it to be Thanksgiving is very strange indeed. It should still be August.

I am not alone in this. People are reacting to me differently. This is not in my head. I don't define myself by how others perceive me but I do find it compelling that others' reactions to me and reflections of me are different than they used to be. I think that proves that I am not in this bizarro world alone. It isn't just in my head. It's real. My doctor told my sister that I am 'stoic,' a word that has never been used to describe me. I am used to being fun or irreverant, but never stoic. My friend Twinkle told me that she needs a glass of whiskey to read this blog and even then she can only skim it because it's depressing, again, I was always the carefree one, definitely not depressing. And I don't want to be perceived as such. I am not depressing. My cousin K told me that the blog "oozes with sadness." Gawd. Really? Katri wrote, "Your blog is so honest and genuine and so totally unselfconscious that I felt a little bit guilty - like when you accidentally overhear a stranger's conversation with their lover. SO strong - I had no idea what you were really going through until I read your blog - and you made a decision to throw off all that anger and fear and you did it and were happy and radiant and so full of love..." Full of love is definitely not something I have ever been accused of. LG wrote, "your blog reminds me of a poem someone read to me 6 years ago...I found a link to it: http://www.native-americans.net/theinvitation.htm" Read the poem. The comparison of that to me left me speechless and moved. Is that all me? It never has been. I am so confused. What about the old me and her characteristics? Where do they fit in?

At work I am partly perceived the way I always have been. It is apparent to all that I don't take work very seriously. Whenever I come in dragging my feet it is assumed I am hungover, which used to be true and still comes through in how others see me. I like that. Meanwhile, it isn't true anymore so it kind of trips me out and keeps me in this weird place of who the hell am I and what the fuck is going on. I just want to world to stop moving so I can jump off and land somewhere and settle into my life and who I am and what I can and can't do. Limbo isn't something that I like. Not that I don't want to take some of the lessons I have learned. Not that I want to go back to who I was before and erase all of this. But I just want to stand on steady ground and have a little more control. To not even know who I am and what I am capable of because it changes every day is a very unnerving feeling. Now, today, I am alright and I wonder if this is how schizophrenics feel when they are in their dominant personality. Relieved - but fearful that at any moment, they will be gone and anything can happen. They can fuck up their life, their job, their relationships when the other personalities take over. And that is kind of how I feel. Scared that the sick me who can't get out of bed or maintain her life will just fuck it all up. And I will get better and have nothing. Then who will I be? Ha.

Because of You

I don't think any description I could ever render would do it justice but I am going to have to try. I want to describe my grandmother's apartment. It was such an eclectic mix of oddities, like her sister's porcelain clown collection, or the 1970's mustard colored patchwork wall paper and the ornate ginourmous chandelier, about seven different sets of dishes, horrendous paintings that couldn't be characterized in any genre, the bright pink bathroom with sea horses on the wall or every mirror ceremoniously adorned with taped pictures of us at different awkward stages. There was a dumb waiter and a claw foot tub and a double sink. It was an apartment that had never been updated or renovated; save for painting. It had been painted so many times that there were no edges; they were all rounded from being painted so many times. A visual is necessary and a picture would tell the thousand words that don't exist in my vocabulary to accurately portray what the unique transcendant experience of that apartment was.

I am listening to an internet radio hip hip station and 'So Sick' by Ne-Yo is playing. I don't like the song. But when I was squatting in my grandmother's apartment after she died we had no cable and no internet and no music save for a cassette player with an Englebert Humperdink tape, a Billie Holiday tape, an Enrique Iglesias tape and a Frank Sinatra tape that I had purchased for my grandparents years ago. So that left me with the radio. And this song was on often during those lonely days I spent cocooned in my grandmother's apartment trying to inhale every drop of what was left of her. And what was left of her was her apartment. Her apartment that had been in the family for over 60 years. Despite my family scavengering through it days after she died there was enough of her left in the apartment to still feel lived in by her. Except it wasn't. It was lived in by me and my sister. I went there for escape; it was my sanctuary. I felt safe and loved and at home there even though she wasn't there anymore; her essence remained. The strength of her spirit fortified my ailing one. Being there inspired me to write. Being there empowered me to think seriously about doing my job well but to plan for a viable plan B because I was treated like the red-headed step child at work. I have written about my grandmother and her strength of character and how much she loved me and believed in me already. But during those gloomy days of January and February and March and April last year I was struggling at work and losing all sense of self and confidence in who I was and that I had any value or was capable of any contribution to the world. So I relied upon her spirit, strength and undying faith in me and spent a lot of time in her apartment listening to the radio. Or reading the paper or just lying on the couch feeling untouchable and safe and loved. I was untouchable when I was there. I was part of another universe where the past and present converged. I wasn't part of what went on downstairs, outside in the real world. I wouldn't have been surprised if I had looked out the window and seen horses and carriages. She told so many stories about the neighborhood, "second avenue was the fifth avenue for Jews," and "all the famous actors from the Yiddish theater lived in this apartment house," and I knew from my father what every storefront on the block had been throughout the years they'd lived there that sometimes I was confused when I went outside and it was today and not yesterday.

I wore her old nightgowns to sleep. I sat in her chair in the kitchen with her robe wrapped around me drinking tea, the site of many of our late-night conversations the summer I lived with her when I was studying for the bar exam. That summer was very special to me. I chose to live with my grandmother for a reason. I wanted to pass the test. I knew that if I lived with my parents I would have all of my distractions to keep me busy. The internet, the music, the television, sharing a room with my sister, living with four other people, one of whom would always be available for conversation and no quiet place in the apartment to call my own for the summer. And from my grandmother's downtown apartment, my commute to Bar/Bri was halved.

My plan was to live like a monk for three months. I had a suitcase full of clothing and I had my grandmother. I slept on the couch in the living room. She was very clear about the rules. The bed had to be put away before I left in the morning. The AC had to be turned off (not that it worked anyway), the windows had to be returned to exactly two inches open. The curtains had to be closed and any trace of my belongings put away. My grandmother ran a tight ship. I knew that going in and believed it would inspire me to be regimented because I'd have no temptations in her apartment. I would have a schedule and discipline, two qualities I had never even attempted to foster before, and I would pass the test. I woke every morning at 7:00am and was in bed by 11:00pm every night. My grandmother who, "walked the floors," all night was sometimes asleep by 7:00am but often awake while I ate my cereal and made my lunch in my bleary state.

I went to class at Brooklyn Law School. Then I went to my law school, dropped off my shit and went for my one indulgence, my run. I always allowed myself to run as far as I wanted to. Sometimes I actually got lost, I ran so far. I returned to the library, studied and before July 4, was always home to eat dinner with my grandmother. I'd call her during the day to see what she wanted. We'd get pizza, we'd get BBQ's, we are both big on the crave concept and would have a hankering for something random that I'd run out and get for us, like cold borscht but the white borscht or lobster chow mein. I read a lot that summer and we traded books and stayed up talking about them. My father warned my grandmother before I moved in with her that I am notoriously irresponsible about calling to check in and I have no concept of time and would she, the insane paranoid worrier, be able to handle that. Her response was, "I'm a modern woman, of course!" And she was a modern woman. Our conversations about the books we read reflected that we shared many of the same values and she was excited about the opportunities I would have in my life that were not available in hers like trying on different boyfriends but not 'needing' to get married either for money or because it's what's done. I would be able to be independant and make my own decisions.

After July 4 the routine changed and although my bedtime was still 11:00, I was staying at the library until 10:00. Grandma didn't like that so much but it was what I needed to do. After the bar exam, the inevitable happened. I went out and got trashed which is exactly what you're supposed to do after you take the bar exam. I didn't call my grandmother. I came home to her standing vigil by the door waiting for my swaying, slurring, completely out of control self and she went to town on me for coming home so late and for not calling she went on and on and on. It was painful. She had called my dad enraged at me and he said, "Ma, I thought you said you were a modern woman?" She yelled, "I LIED!"

R.I.P. Esther Florence Berkowitz Herman 9/01/11 - 11/11/05

She Came in Through The Bathroom Window

Am I going about this the wrong way? All of these stops and starts and victories and false hope and back to square one and emergencies and scares and changes in drugs and dosages and symptoms and side effects are driving me nuts. Since I got back from Mexico I have been on a decline getting weaker and more exhausted by the day culminating on Sunday where I could not even sit up in bed. I had a fever on Sunday and Monday was more of the same. I tried to go to work on Monday but after it took me an hour to put clothes on I discovered that couldn't make it down the stairs in my building and promptly got back into bed. My last normal meal was last Friday. I was unable to eat all week because I was so nauseaus and had severe abdominal pain like I got punched in the stomach or my organs were being squeezed by a tourniquet almost knocking the breath out of me all week. All I could do was sleep. All week.

Until today.

I woke up today and I feel normal. Whenever this happens it feels miraculous. I feel like, okay, I am fine, life can resume, I am out of the woods, I am passed that, it's over. I am fine now. But then it always happens again. Or rather some other version of it happens again. Each time it's different. And I am feeling like the girl who cried wolf. Because I get everyone mobilised and into attack mode and then suddenly I wake up on a beautiful Friday morning feeling the sun wash over me and I am hungry and want coffee and have energy and care what I look like and make my bed and wonder why I am getting all of these worried voicemails because I'm fine.

All week I was contemplating surrender. I was like, "who am I kidding, I can't live alone. D. is right. I need constant care. I am unpredictable, my health is unreliable." I go to sleep feeling one way and wake up feeling completely different. And sometimes that completely different is dangerous. This time I was actually contemplating the unthinkable, "I should move home. It's time to give up. Who do I think I am." I thought I had lost some of my cockiness and had become more realistic about my abilities but maybe not. Did I really think I could do it alone? Maintain my apartment, my job and finances and my health all by myself? Did I really believe that?

For the past two weeks, getting to work has been my number one priority because the prospect of losing this gig scares me to death. If I moved in with my parents and gave up my life which I finally set up exactly the way I want it I would sink into a deep depression, wouldn't I? But everything in my life has fallen by the wayside the past two weeks. I have not contacted my aunt J who has outreached so much to me and been so understanding and in touch even when I have been difficult. I left her hanging about last Saturday when she invited me to a political fundraiser. I promised D I would call her on Sunday and didn't. All I have been able to do is focus on two things, work and V. Anything outside the confines of those two things I have not done. I have come home at night, taken off my clothes and dove into bed. No unwinding, no putting anything away, no putting on pajamas. And when a few months ago I wouldn't feel so guilty about how I have neglected people who have been so good to me, a few months ago I didn't realize how much I appreciated these people and how aware I am of their efforts towards me. And I have been unable to reciprocate or accept anything from them these past two weeks. I haven't even emailed or called. Everything that was not work, sleep or V. has been insurmountable and simply undoable.

I want to be smarter this time. I don't want to celebrate how great I feel like this marks the end of relapses and weird related peripheral illnesses because I am sure it doesn't. So where does this leave me? This is where I feel like I have to live life to the fullest to make up for the past two weeks. I have to do yoga. I have to to call D. and apologize profusely for being such a bad friend. I have to call Aunt J and apologize profusely for being so ungrateful. I have to pick up my laundry and clean my apartment and see some friends and read my mail and pay some bills and get all the shit together that's gone by the wayside the past two weeks. I have so much I have to do now that I am able do it.

But is that smart? Does the mania of cramming everything in now contribute to me falling apart when I do? I don't know. But how else do I keep it all together? Because I need to keep it all together; and if I don't take full advantage of my ability when I have it, I will really fall behind when I am sick. Am I climbing up the wrong mountain? Is there a simpler, easier more obvious way to live this new life. I can just hear my dad's constant admonishment, "you may be wrong but you are never in doubt." And I haven't been in doubt about my choice to maintain my apartment and lifestyle and job ...until now. I am afraid because each time I think it is the last relapse, the last time I get some weird related illness; and then it happens again. Will it ever stop. If it doesn't, I will need to make some choices. I feel like I have replaced my grandmother as the person with all the needs who calls at the most inconvenient times asking for help or company or just asking needing wanting crying. I can't keep my family in this limbo that I am in. I can't keep those close to me so close and then disappear from them when I am exhausted and sick and expect them to continue to understand. Who do I think I am? This just isn't a way to live and this isn't a way to treat people. This isn't a long term solution. But what is. What is??!! I think I am finally on the road to acceptance and adjustment and then I get thrown another obstacle. And I am not an acrobat. I am cocky; I rise to challenges; I take dares; I like proving people wrong, but this is beyond all that. I know when to hold em but the real lesson for me is to learn when to fold em. Maybe now? Maybe next time. Who the hell knows.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Racking my brain trying to think of something anything that will make V feel even an iota better. I keep have these conversations and getting these emails from her saying things like:

"I know it sounds so stupid but I'm not meant to be this sad- it just makes me want to not exist. I don't know, maybe I'm not that strong. I don't think I could be as determined as you. I mean right now my only goal is being able to make it through work and to make it until next week. Is that my future. Why didn't I listen to my mom. Why did I move in with him. I'm seriously going through a divorce right now. I'm not sure I could ever get married now. I wish I believed in god or a higher being because I would ask god, please god let the pain stop, please let me wake up tomorrow and poof this dissapear, please let me survive, please let me not end up alone. I hate what awaits me... I hate that when I tell people they are fucking shocked, "What??????" I have to explain to them what happened and when I explain it I actually pretend like I believe the bullshit thats coming out of my mouth- or better yet that I'm okay with it. Thats the part I love.... 'yeh he did me a favor, yeh he doesn't deserve someone like me, yeh i don't want to be with someone like this'. Bullshit!!! Ugh thats why I'm so fuckin depressed right? Because if I actually believed all that then I wouldn't be feeling like this."

And I am at a loss. Because I know where she's coming from. I know exactly how she feels. But I also know where she's going and where she's going to end up. So I do have some advice and perspective for her. A break-up of this magnitude is like a challenge that you didn't sign up for. It's no different than her completing PA school or training for the 15K she is training for. Only thing is, she didn't chose this challenge. It was handed to her. This is the epitome of, "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade." And usually, when life hands you lemons, the last thing you want to do is make lemonade. You might want to throw the lemons at the person who gave them to you. You might want to use them for the many tequila shots you now desperately need on a regular basis. Lemonade is last on that list, if it's there at all. But at a certain point, lemonade needs to be made. And you need to create your new life out of the ashes of the old. You need to rebuild. You need to rediscover. You need to rise to this challenge that you didn't sign up for. And you do it. As I did; she will. We are stronger than we think we are.

The cool thing about these challenges you don't sign up for is their corollary - the victories you didn't sign up for. And there are many of them. One of my favorites of mine was the first time I walked by 102 President Street where Illinois and I used to live and didn't feel anything. It was such an empowering moment. I wanted a celebratory tequila shot with one of those lemons for that day.

"I walked by 102 President Street tonight on my way to pick up my chicken from the new Moroccan place on Hicks between Union and President. I realized when I left my apartment that the most efficient way to get there would be to walk down President Street. I knew that the last two (and only) times I have walked down that block it has felt weird. Bad weird. I was unable to look up at our apartment and couldn't picture myself not walking in. I felt stuck in the past in all these moments that took place on that block. Like moving in day. Or running out for Chinese food and bringing it back up to him. Or working late and being so excited to run up those stairs and home to him making fried chicken or taking off my coat and asking me to dance. So I stayed away from that block so I could stay in the present tense, in my new life. This time I was unabashedly looking up into the windows. What a departure from those other times. I didn't feel familiar about it like I had ever lived there. But I lived there for a year and a half. Looking in those windows was like peering in to someone else's life. I almost felt like I would have been comfortable going upstairs and looking in for real. I am not the girl that lived there. I am someone else. I am like a snake. I have shed that skin off and it isn't part of me. She isn't me. I can't believe I ever was her. She was dependant and willing to put being in a relationship before being herself. She was willing to suspend belief and take the ultimate chance. Some may call that romantic. There was no basis for me to believe that it should have turned out any other way than it did. And I am so lucky for how it all turned out. Would I want to be living in that apartment with almost one-year old twins, married to Illinois, worried about money and his drinking too much and having a messy apartment and too much to do and hating my life. What did I find so compelling about him. I think part of it was how expressive he was. Maybe I believed that because he was so expressive, he would actually be accessible. But he wasn't accessible. I didn't reach him most of the time. There were some very poignant moments we shared when we were drunk. I was never moved so much as I was by him. That card I bought him for our anniversary or Valentine's Day, I forget, that made both us cry was true. What was it again? Something about comparing the amount of times you catch your breath to him taking my breath away. He touched a part of me emotionally that no one ever has. But it didn't happen consistently and it didn't happen when I really needed it. Believing that was true love was almost as bad as believing the amazing sexual connection Staten Island and I had was true love. But it wasn't. None of it was. And now I can walk past that apartment like I never lived there. This me never did. It was my other skin. But I shed that."

V will have her share of victories. This is where the other adage, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger," comes in. You go through this awful experience and then you come out of it like a rockstar, strong and confident and able walk by the old apartment or meet his new wife and find that she makes more sense with him than you ever did and you are so happy, so grateful that you are not stuck in that old life with him. These victories are liberating and empowering. Now V has victories to look forward to and the exciting prospect of a second chance at life. Her future was all mapped out and now she can recreate it and take her new self to all the places in her mind she's always secretly wanted to go where she never could have gone to with him by her side.

Buckets of Rain

I ran into 31 yesterday. The last time I saw him I woke up at his place and rudely refused his brunch invitation to rush home because I didn't feel well. That turned to be day one of my decline. By the end of that week, I was in emergency mode, the first emergency. Since it's been since August, it was nice to see him. Although I was rude once again and didn't get off my phone to really greet him I did notice his brown eyes glistening and remembered. I had almost forgotten how great he was because of how annoying things got with the end that dragged on forever not being replaced by our old friendship. Seeing him for two minutes made me absorb the beautiful gift he gave me which was a lot more than breaking my X-month long dry spell (I can't even write the number, certain things must remain private!).

It all started with our awkward first day of work. I got there first. It was a sweltering day and a 3-train commute to Varick street. I was exhausted yet eager to work because I needed the money. Then he came in. I was happy to see him but didn't have much to say. I couldn't remember the last time we had seen each other sober. Additionally, we had been carrying on a drunken text flirtation for a couple of months and emailed often adding to the in-person awkwardess. We had some adjusting with each other to do. Or at least I did. I felt uncomfortable and I had to put on the 'Briana Show.' Within a day or so, there was no longer a need for the 'Briana Show' as we became miraculously and completely in sync replete with lunch, breaks, coffee, comfort, catching up. I am usually much the loner on projects like that. When I work crazy long hours I crave all the alone time I can get. But I was able to do that get that reprieve while in his company. I could say anything I normally would have thought to myself. Well, everything except for one thing; the physical tension between us that was growing stronger every second. I hadn't felt closer or spent so much time with anyone in so long. It was a heady, intense experience for me and having just had one layer of my stagnancy replaced by this friendship enabled my world to open just a little bit.

We got moved to a new location and he saved me a seat next to his. We removed our headphones whenever the other wanted to talk. I was never annoyed when he interrupted even my favorite song. Although they didn't have to be, there was enough room, our chairs and legs were often touching. We were in sync; 14 hour days, seven days a week for two weeks. On July 2, it abrubtly ended and we were sent home. We shared a cab back to Brooklyn. He went out drinking and wanted me to meet him. I got home, my first time in two weeks with time to relax and the apartment all to myself. I cracked open a beer and melted into the couch, remote control in hand, wondering what he was doing, feeling oddly alone without him. Simultaneously, my phone started vibrating with a text message from him, "Having 31 withdrawals yet?" I was and I responded in kind. He implored me to meet him at the bar. I wanted to but I was already a little bit drunk and exhaustion was starting to sink in. Anyway, I knew what was going to happen the next time I saw him outside the confines of work and I wanted to bring my 'A' game for that. So I resisted. He texted me the next morning something about being hungover and how I had the right idea in not joining him. On July 4, he texted me a happy fourth. We were clearly still in sync, still feeling each other's rhythm, the comfort, the routine.

We tried to set something up for the fourth. I spent the day with AC, my then roommate. He was barbecueing at a bar in Park Slope but said he'd be back in the neighborhood later on in the evening. I confided in AC about my plans for when 31 arrived. She asked what I was going to do. I told her it was inevitable; that it would just happen. There was absolutely no way we were going to be in each other's presence with alcohol involved and not at least hook up. Hours later AC and I are having a blast at a bar losing at darts to these two guys when the fireworks started. We went outside to watch. I texted 31.

9:44 ME: Can you see the fireworks from there?
9:44 31: On the tv at the bar
9:45 ME: Not the same. They're beautiful.
9:46 31: I'll be there right when it ends
9:47 ME: Here?
9:47 31: Yup.
9:50 31: Actually gotta meet some people at the Exit (another bar)
9:52 ME: That sucks. What about my withdrawal.
9:53 31: Might be able to work something out
9:54 ME: Ok.

Sometime after that he called me to tell me he was leaving Park Slope and ditching his friends to come meet me . He arrived after having trouble getting car service and ultimately having to walk. After completing my last game of darts I joined him at the bar. I don't know what we were talking about but he said something about us making out. He was probably joking, obviously joking and I said, "there's a phone booth in the back, want to go there?" Suddenly we were in a mad rush for a place to go. I told him that I had stopped making first moves and he was going to have to make it. We ended up outside, about a block from the bar and he made the move. It was everything I had expected and hoped it would be and more because he reeked of barbecue from barbecuing all day, which became an added element about the night that increased the intensity of the moment. It soon became obvious we'd have to go to one of our houses. We ended up at my place, a block away. It was pretty insane. Between fullfilling this crazy sexual tension (it was goood), the rain pouring loudly outside and the smell of barbecue wafting off of him, it was a complete sensory experience.

So the gift was the bonding we did when we were spending 14 hour days together disarming both of us who usually have our guards up. It was the level of comfort I allowed myself to feel around him because I allowed myself to be me around him, unfiltered, unedited, unapologetic. I was flirtatious, annoying, funny, demanding, whatever I was feeling. I let him make me coffee which felt amazing because at that point I never let people do anything for me (except buy me drinks of course). It marked the beginning of me learning how to live life and live in the present tense and enjoy the moment and be comfortable being myself again. Those lessons were overdue after the year and a half I had had where mere survival was the goal. Now it became actual living.

Three Little Birds

So I ended up at home Friday night sitting on the couch watching the movie Beaches, you know, the one with Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler where they are best friends from childhood and the Barbara Hershey character gets sick and dies and leaves her daughter to be raised by the Bette Midler character. I watched it out of curiousity to see if it would have the same non-effect it did the last time I saw it which was in the theatre with BE. We didn't cry. We didn't feel anything and were pinching each other trying to induce tears because everyone around us was sobbing. Well this time it was me sobbing. Or bawling more like. The deep, abiding, enriching female friendship. The being sick and not until watching that movie having anything to connect with on that. I guess life experience changes your perspective on things.



A and I had planned to be ready to mobilise on Friday night for V but her talk with Fig was post-poned to Saturday night. On Saturday A and I received the heads-up text message from V saying she was going to need us; we remained on call throughout the day. By the time she got to my house it was 11:00. A and I were waiting wondering what state she was going to be in. I had been feeling weird and nauseaus all day but was amped to do whatever it was V wanted to do. I hoped she wanted to get self destructively drunk because I wanted an excuse to do the same. I am sick and tired of being sick. We had no idea what to expect. We ended up hanging out at my house. We sat in the kitchen and while V was giving us the post-mortem, I made pot brownies and regular brownies (culminating in me sticking a fork through my thumb and A taking over the brownie making while V assessed my wound). V was very animated in the retelling. It was chilling and very sad. Another one bites the dust. BE is the lone one still in a relationship.

A and I had nothing uplifting to tell V about her immediate future, of course we did tell her it would get better and that she'd be fine eventually; we are. But as Illinois admonished me two years ago, "breaking up is hard to do, Briana; it's like the song." And he was right. There's the shock, the anger, the hurt feelings, the moving out, the change in routine, the future that is now completely different. Of the three of us I have been single the longest. It will soon be two years. In that time I have only had serious feelings for one person, OC. And they weren't reciprocated. I have had my share of fun in the past two years with 31 and 1982 and the Pilot etc; so it isn't as if I have been sitting around alone waiting for some prince on a white horse to come and rescue me. But when it comes down to it, I am alone. And A is alone. And I am sick to boot. Who the hell knows how that's going to end up. It's not the way we thought things would end up for us, not that things in that department are over for us; it's just weird to all be here again together. We eventually went to bed around 3:00 or 4:00am, laughing. We have each other and despite the depressing turn of events for V, we had fun.

All night I was tossing and turning. My bones ached. I was sweating and then I was shivering. V was asleep next to me. On any other occasion I would have woken her up for some medical attention but I was so happy that she was asleep. She needed some. I had planned on making them breakfast and coffee but I couldn't even get out of bed in the morning. I made it to the kitchen to take my drugs and had to immediately turn around and come back to bed. V took my temperature; I had a fever. A made me some toast. I was a complete mess. V was a complete mess. We were talking about our futures and I started to cry like, "who would want me now? I am such a handful. What if I don't get better? Who would want to take care of me?" And then V started to cry and A laid down in bed with us. Too bad BE was in Vegas; she could have seen Beaches in action. And I bet even she would have even cried this time.

I Wonder If I Take You Home

I hate to indulge in this toxic subject. It usually isn't something that I think about or fester over but I am finding myself unable to resist today. V's boyfriend broke up with her. It was nice to witness a relationship that seemed so good from the outside. I plan on being in one eventually so seeing happy couples allows me the luxury to sit back and not worry about about that area of my life. If others have it, it will surely happen for me when the time is right. This break-up shatters my vision for my future. I am scared this is an epidemic, going the distance with someone and then ending it abrubptly without warning. The more happy couples I see around me, the more I believe that I will be in one when I am ready. And now another one has bitten the dust.

This break-up begs a million questions that I hate indulging. Illinois broke up with me and then GG broke up with A and now Fig broke up with V. What's wrong with us? When I asked A she said that nothing's wrong with us, she said that we're "fabulous," but I'm starting to wonder. When it was just me in my isolated situation it was one thing. Now it seems epidemic. Now it seems like us Roosevelt Island girls are defective in some way. V said it's because we don't take shit. We don't settle. But those guys left us; we didn't leave them. I believe I inevitably would have left Illinois but I didn't get the chance to. V says that she has been having doubts about Fig all summer but the bottom line is he sat her down last night after being together for 3 years and living together for two and broke up with her just like that without any previous talks about issues he had in their relationship.

Or is this natural selection combatting overpopulation; will we never get married and have children? What does the future hold for us? I thought Brooklyn was my starter relationship and the next big one would be it and it wasn't. And A and V had their equivalents of Brooklyn and then the next big one and here we all are alone again. Is it us or is it them?

I have no beef about being alone. I like being alone. This time I've had alone has been the most important journey I've ever made. It isn't like I am going to devote my book about it to Illinois even though I do have him to 'thank' for it. It sucks that he wasn't and couldn't be the guy that I needed and deserved; my life would have been just fine and dandy without me learning these painful but empowering lessons. Instead I was forced on this journey. And all of that was good and well and then A got broken up with. At that point I was far enough on my journey away from Illinois and towards myself and could really be there for my broken hearted friend. I hated GG for hurting her. And now I am even more angry. Just because my journey has been incredible it's been so hard so hard so hard that I wouldn't wish it upon anyone, let alone my best friends. No matter how much I've learned about myself and how fullfilling my life is right now no matter how much I treasure my time alone and my freedom and my ability to disappear without needing to tell anyone; it was so fucking hard most of the time. I had to learn new skills and find new ways to make myself happy and create beauty out of ugliness. Hard work.

Are these guys stupid and cowardly and selfish? I wonder what they expect for their futures. Why did they invest the time in us? Is it us or is it them? I want answers. V doesn't deserve this. Does Fig think he's going to find someone better? Is it ever really about someone else? Illinois did get married a mere 9 months after we broke up. But we didn't break up for someone else. He just wanted an easier situation. Maybe V is right. Maybe it is because we don't take shit. But are we unwilling to compromise? Are we too demanding and rigid? I can't speak for them but I lost myself and my hopes and dreams and goals in my relationship with Illinois because I devoted so much of myself to him and us but at the same time I wanted more than Illinois could give me and he wanted the status quo. He didn't understand how it was a problem for him to bartend two days a week while I worked like an animal and was pregnant. And then after I miscarried I think he was destroyed and didn't want to deal with the reality and hardship that life sometimes brings. In Illinois' defense (there's a first time for everything!), he had a shitty childhood. And to think about it, GG and Fig also didn't have the idyllic childhoods that we had on Roosevelt Island. Could that explain their inability to fight or love or be vulnerable or share or give or compromise the way we were able to? Ugh. I hate this subject.

It's scary that someone can place a ring on your finger and tell they love you and that you're the one and then change their mind. And the fact that this disease is spreading scares me. How do you know when you can exhale and have faith and believe in the future? I had gotten over those feelings and started to believe again and this break-up has jettisoned me right back there. Is it us or is it them? Is it natural selection or am I just creating something out of nothing. Maybe it's all just coincidence. Maybe we're lucky we have each other to walk us through to the other side and I should be greatful for that. And grateful that A and I understand where V is so we can give her what she needs and the three of us can journey together to the happily ever after of our friendship.