Many years ago I learned a lesson. I re-learned that lesson again today. Funny how some lessons need to be relearned.

It was a prayer group who also did energy work for each other. It was a very special time. Most of them young med students who dabbled in esoteric things on the side. It was all kept very hush hush because it was private, personal, and individual. I was invited because I have always been a fan of reaching out in love and I love (non-dogmatic/non-zealoty religious expressions of prayer and faith of all kinds). Also- energy work of any kind (tai-chi, reiki, pranic, yoga etc) are all forms of love. After the prayer meeting, we'd offer energy and healing to each other - the idea was each person was to work on another for 30 minutes then we'd switch. We went around the room touching each other with our own specific healing modality. I have always been involved in reiki. Others used their own jazz.

When it was my turn to receive healing the man who was using his hands to heal looked at me and instead of energy healing he sat down on the floor pulled me down with him and cradeled me for 30 minutes in his arms like a child. At the time I was in a sexless marriage (for insurance and safety)... but my body CRAVED touch. He didn't know. NO ONE KNEW. But God knew. This man's intuition knew.

In that moment the world opened and I was given EXACTLY what I needed. It refilled my entire core and I heard God make a promise to me: "Melissa- you will ALWAYS have what you need - I will always give you what you need."

That promise kept me through some of the most difficult times of my life. And while I talk neither of religion and prayer here nor of my PERSONAL healing practices like meditation and tai chi and yoga, they too sustain me.

Yesterday, as I sat with friends over a fire, I realize all this time in Ohio may well be God, holding me in an embrace. I'm still in it and haven't realized yet that I'm scooped up being taken care of getting what I NEED.

As I reflected on the kinds of men I love the most I realized - It is always similiar what I find the most attractive. They are the ones I call, "Volvos"... reliable, wear well over time, they take care of their family. They are "servants" to their friends and family, often to all. Even when it is frustrating or annoying they take care and love and are dutiful. They are usually religious or at least open to multiple world views. They always want family and believe in marriage or committed partnership in some way.

Some have awakened me the way spring rains and sun wake bulbs to poke through snow I'm coming out of my deep pain and deep hibernation. I'm starting to WANT to date again.

As I was praying about it I heard a voice resonating -
"What are you willing to give up to have this Melissa?"
I searched for the answer - pride? not the right answer... arrogance... no... FEAR!
I replied to God - "FEAR. I am willing to give up fear."
And I heard in reply something strange yet comforting. "Well chosen. It has served you well. And it is time for something new."

And instead of fear, I felt surrounded by a blanket of love.

I was amazed that God would tell me that my fear has served me. But these last years I have avoided dating. I have protected my heart. I have not looked for love and I have not had sex. I have been HEALING those parts of me. I felt no judgement. Fear served me temporarily. And now it is time for something new.

Who knows. But I do know that being the "lonely single woman" at places is worth it. I will not meet "my ideal" mate by staying home. I will not meet this person in locations that I'm not attracted to.

Tonight, doing improv rehearsal with people I know and love I was healed again. These are people who are attracted to the light as me. We live in love, we laugh, we see that even if we fuck up, we pull through it. We use everything, even the bad. We have opinions, we have LIFE.

By accepting that in Ohio, I may be sitting in God's embrace, I am giving myself space to heal... it is not FOREVER that I am in a situation I do not want. I have time to finish my writing. I am pulling my health together. And I'm looking with new eyes and more gratitude at the experiences I'm being granted this week. Not one agoraphobic moment. I've been too busy to fear. Too full of joy to worry.
L'chaim

Even Losing You, I Shan't Have Lied

This last year was better by far. The last three were a doozy - in a way that kicked in all my teeth, dropped out my life, turned upside down, and literally changed ME from ME.

As I was packing for Atlanta I realized it's not MY city anymore. It's not MY home. In much the way that living here hasn't felt like HOME because I'm still healing and re-finding pieces of myself.

Two more friends just got promotions. Several more defended. And I realized I feel this way everytime someone has a baby, everytime someone celebrates another birthday of their children, everytime they go on an anniversary trip. Everytime I see a man watching his wife like she's the most beautiful thing on the planet - I feel HOPE for humanity and simultaneously like a failure for missing out on it. I am not part of this. I am in this liminal phase - disconnected, cast aside, unremembered, unMelissa'd. I made unwise choices. Instead of investing in 100% ME ME ME I invested in US US US - AND THOSE CARDS I GAMBLED ON DID NOT WIN. Or some might say- they won very well because I'm getting to deal back in in a whole new world, a new name, a new location. It might seem refreshing for some, but it hurts me deeply.

Meanwhile - the entire story of humanity is one of set backs and catching up, storms, crashing, insecurity, vulnerability, migration, procreating, learning who we are, and re-learning it again and again.

It isn't just survival but re-telling it and re-living it and re-expressing it and re-doing it till we get it right and better and make a tradition to celebrate it, sing about it, and hang it in our memories.

A beautiful friend who is a writer, told me, "we write our way back to ourselves." And I love that. In that way- I say we tell our story back to ourselves. And this is my story. I am preparing to visit a city, like a visitor, where once I loved and lived.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Shrinking Into Me?

Introspecting about what's going on in my life - and what's NOT going on in my life - and hearing someone tell it back to me from their perspective is very compelling.

She pointed out that I'm not just getting through a massive bout of illness, but that I've been bombarded with new diagnoses from multiple angles, moved to a state I DID NOT WANT TO BE, came through a horrific divorce from a man I wanted to stay married to, had to put on hold a profession I VERY much wanted to be in, and am financially squeezed to pay for all the past and current medical expenses.

All that AND from the acromegaly I put on sonic fuck tons of weight so much that I didn't even know my own body. And now during treatment I'm losing weight so fast I don't even have clothes to wear on any given day that actually FIT. How does one LOVE their body- I mean REALLY LOVE their body when on any given day it's not even WHO I am?

This body isn't ME. And yet I reside in it. People have poked and prodded and fucked with it, all in the name of "better health" my whole life. They have neglected it and blamed me for it as well - all because I either didn't have insurance OR because OF COURSE a woman gets fat and the first thing you want to say is "stop being a pig and hoovering entire pies." AND THAT MAKES ME ANGRY TOO.

And now that I'm losing this weight my tits are saggy and my stomach is stretched out and it just isn't curvy and roundy and pretty to me. I'm still shedding the weight- but I don't even know who I am. I look in the mirror and my moon face (from prednisone) is gone but what's left? I don't know it.

Meanwhile - I question my friendships. I worry that I haven't been a good enough friend. And more- I worry that what I THOUGHT were good friends weren't. I worry that who and what I have loved were more fragile than I thought. Because that is how it goes again and again.

She pointed out the teenage years when young people are still formulating "who I am." And creating a sense of identity for themselves... And I HATE IT. I hate it. I hate that it is me. WHO WANTS TO BE THAT? Who wants to be creating a sense of identity when by now we should have our identities. We should KNOW who we are. We have spent our lives creating labels and norms for ourselves - making meanings and making sense of our world.

One guy (I adore him) asked me "who are you?" And I replied, "I am a woman who loves." Because I quite simply couldn't tell him. I have no idea. Do I reply, "I live in a liminal phase that I didn't welcome, dealing with illness that is getting better? Do I reply, "I'm healing from a divorce that my ex is already over and is already remarried to a new chick?" Do I reply, "I'm not supposed to be fat but I had a disease that created it - THIS ISN'T ME?" All of those sound like excuses and justifications. I just didn't KNOW what to say.

WHO I am has shifted so dramatically - as it would for ANYONE regardless of illness. But throwing this onto it has spun me so urgently I suppose there is no landing. I suppose that finishing my writing, finding a job I love, and moving and setting down some "concrete this is where I live" roots might do it. Rootedness and gardens and houses and living space and community has always been how people have created a sense of identity. We've created a family- either with our flesh and blood or through one of choice.

Being uprooted from much of what I knew and identified with didn't help. And right now- shifting meanings and allowing and developing who I am while still living in love and kindness is HARD. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. And frankly- I don't trust all the time.

Sometimes people have said they will pray for me. And I want them to. I want them to pray hard. Occasionally I get a notion that I will visit a shul or go to a quaker space/church... and then I don't. I just don't. I'm probably denying myself some sort of familiar concrete space by not going though... because when we create community with others, we HAVE that. And I have denied myself long enough. I just hedge against being "the single lonely woman" - and I'm NOT just one religion... and that perturbs me.

Alas- no one said this life would be easy. And it hasn't been. But I have found rewards. I have found great joy in much of my life. And as much as I have found pain and suffering, I have also found truly meaningful possibilities. Perhaps denying myself a community is not a good thing and I should explore it when I return from my trips.

And lastly- I'm terrified, absolutely terrified of going to Atlanta, San Fran, and Portland over the coming weeks. Nothing terrifies me more. But it is time. I will be staying with friends. I have doctors appointments. I can rest when I need to rest. And it is TIME to travel, visit, and move out of my shell. I generally get agoraphobic - and when I do - the best thing in the world is to face the fear and do it anyway. NO ONE can say I lived a life defined by my fears or my illness. I BOUGHT MY TICKETS YESTERDAY.

Risk and Remission

Going into remission always feels strange. Yes, my SED rates are still high and yes I still have high levels of fatigue because of the enormous amounts of 1) meds I take and 2) muscle loss from being ill for so long. But being in remission itself is both good and odd.

I'm GRATEFUL FOR IT. I can do the things I've LONGED to do. And yet- it is always like holding a breath. In the past I've counted too much on STAYING WELL. I've had more bravado. I've forgotten that I may get sick again. I've stopped going to my rheum or my neuro. And sometimes I've even gone AMA off some of my meds (for money or because I felt better). And in every case- I had a flare. Sometimes it took several years.

I take EXCELLENT care of my health. Unlike most "typical" Americans, I cannot eat fast food because I have celiac - so I simply don't go to such places. I generally don't eat out either- and when I do- I pick and choose wisely. When I can- I get daily exercise. So when I am healthy- I am THE PICTURE of health. Most of the time I'm so healthy except for my meds, I even forget that illness has been part of my life.

Part of me wants to forget forever. Part of me wants to walk away from chronic health issues. Not because they are laborious - because they aren't really - once you learn to deal with them, they just are routine. But because the razors edge never stops being steep. When a flare comes back - it comes back harder the next time. It is never a good time to get sick.

I'm always in the middle of a flourishing career, a lovely relationship, friendships - MY HAPPY FUCKING LIFE. There is NEVER a good time to be sick. There is NEVER a good time to deal with it. I've had life long friends who rolled with me. But mostly- I just go under ground, suck it up, deal with it, and then come back up for air and life has gone on without me.

No matter how loved we are- life never stops when we hit the ground to heal. And so I have my "emotionally healthy sick friends" and my "healthy friends" and my "comedy friends" and my "creative poet friends" and my "knitting friends", and my "xyx" friends- I have friends of all stripes all over the world. I reach out for them only because in general - when I get sick, I don't feel like reaching out much. So I return my reaching when I'm feeling better.

Yes. I live in fear of the flare. Yes I live in fear of living life like this. But THIS is how I've rolled from the time I can remember. Cycles of health and vibrance and then times when I am unwell again. I know no other way than to grab on to life and celebrate it when I am better. I must write now, live now, work now, CELEBRATE NOW.

These are the cards I've been dealt. And quite frankly, I've won a few rounds with these cards.

Sure I want what most people want - the picket fence, the loving life partner, the emotional security, the children, the job, the quality of life, the garden. It's the life I'd pick again and again if given a choice. But I don't have that now, so I must continue the path I do have - which is building what I've got with gratitude. AND LIVING.

I'm navigating my razors edge with fewer backup plans. Because I think God wants us to live the life we've got. I'm willing to do the work. Yet, I'm the first to admit, I've never had THE TRUST that life would work out. I've been wrong.