Jute’s Stories

I grabbed yet another magazine to flip restlessly through the pages.  I was nervous.  Not just a little nervous.  I had caught myself more than once running my fingers over my forehead in a gesture I’d come to realize meant I was deeply stressed.

It was taking way too long.  I’d gotten there on time, but the office was packed and it had been over half an hour waiting.

By the time the door opened and my name was called I practically jumped up.  However, two of us stood, obviously both with the same given name.  The petite Asian nurse shook her head at the other woman and waved the chart in her hand in my general direction.  “Not you, sorry, her.”

I followed her for the ritual weighing.  Every time I came in they weighed me and every time recently my weight had been down.  Today was no exception.  Three pounds lost since the same day last week.

The nurse looked at the weight from last time and looked quickly up at me.  “Is everything okay?”

I nodded and smiled and assured her it was, I’d been eating regularly again and although I had dropped a lot of weight for one week, it was definitely less drastic than previously.

Ushered into the waiting room, she smiled and motioned me towards a chair as she moved to leave.  I sat waiting knowing the second part of the ritual would be coming soon.  I was not disappointed, the second nurse came into the room and strapped on the cuff to take my blood pressure.

“It will be a little high.  I’m pretty nervous.”  I am fairly susceptible to stress and I knew she’d comment on it if the numbers were increased.  Sure enough, it was up slightly.  She smiled as she removed the cuff.

“Not too bad.  It will be okay.”  Her words were soothing but my mind still wouldn’t let go of the fear.

She left me there with my thoughts and I knew the doctor would be a few minutes.  I looked around the room taking in the posters, one in Spanish, the others diagrams of various body parts, on three of the walls.  I’d used the Spanish one last week to practice my poor understanding of the language and only managed to understand enough to figure out it was a poster about diabetes.

I thought about why I was so stressed, since I honestly am not afraid to die.  For awhile, life had been pretty rough.  I’d been very sad and things had been hard, but the last several days had been different.  I’d been happier than I remembered being in forever.  Life was changing for the better and I was scared that this would take away my new found happiness.

My friend who had visited me had made it known that he cared for me.  Cared in ways more than just as a friend.  He’d loved me for a long time, but because I had been in a relationship, he’d never allowed himself to think of me as anything other than a friend.  Now, with my breakup, he’d cautiously let me know he was interested.

I’d loved him as a friend for two years.  He’d always been there for me.  When I first found out I might have cancer, he was the one I called.  He knew pretty much everything there was to know about me; the good, the bad and the really ugly.

He had asked me to let him know as soon as I knew something about the test results.  He knew the appointment time and since it was so late I was worried he would think the worst, so I sent him a quick text message to say the doctor hadn’t come in yet.  A brief chime from my phone seconds later indicated a returned message and I smiled when I read it.

He’d made me smile a lot recently.

For a few moments I forgot the tension and thought about him and how good I had been feeling lately.  My pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the doctor entering the room.

I liked my doctor.  A lot.  Although he reminded me of an escapee from the old television show ‘Doogie Houser”.  He was very young looking, but he came off as absolutely skilled.  He had explained everything to me every step of the way and his ready smile and obvious intelligence won big points from me.

He must have known I was nervous because he smiled and said first thing.  “Well, it’s mostly good news.”

I don’t know if my sigh of relief was audible but I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been.

For the next few minutes he spent time drawing a diagram and explaining the results to me after showing me the pathologist’s report.  The results were consistent with a benign nodule, but they didn’t have as many cells to compare as they would like so they suggested I be retested again.

He explained that this was good news, that it looked very positive but that I should get retested just to make sure nothing developed.  He also wanted me to have my thyroid hormone blood levels tested again at about the same time so that we could make sure the new dose was really the right one.

I practically floated out of the office.  My new biopsy scheduled for two months in the future.

As I left the office I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  I smiled all the way to the car.  Life had begun its turn around for me.  I was eating again, smiling again and it looked like I was cancer free.

I was and am especially grateful for the support I received from all my friends on line.  In the beginning I’d felt afraid and alone and even though I had still been scared, I hadn’t felt that horrible feeling of aloneness any more.

Life was good… very, very good.

So…I’m scared.

Today I find out whether or not it’s just a nodule or a tumor.

I wasn’t doing too badly until I spent time yesterday looking up thyroid cancers.  Even then at first it was mostly hopeful.  Most of the cancers are very treatable, most of them are no more than a surgery to have your thyroid removed, a bout of chemotherapy and pills to replace the hormone the rest of your life.

But then I read about the stubborn ones, the rare ones, the scary ones.  I wouldn’t have been so scared if it hadn’t been for the symptoms.  After reading this, I’m too smart not to understand why my current doctor was pushing me for the test.  He showed me the sonogram last week.  I saw the dark spots, I know how large they are and their size, shape and number are warning signs.

So this morning, as my ex brought me in to work I felt the panic and the tears welled up only to spill over from my eyes.  It was dark and I tried to keep quiet but the runny nose gave me away.  I sniffled and cried there in the dark car as he drove.  He didn’t say a word.  Silent while I quietly sobbed.

“I’m scared.”  I don’t know what I expected, but I was met with silence.

I know it’s hard for him to say what he feels, it was one problem we always had, but it made me feel even more alone to have him say nothing.

We reached my work and I opened the car door.

“I’ll call you when I come to pick you up.”  Was the only thing he said.

So now I wait.  Three more hours until I find out….

Long ago I bound him. Chained him in the darkest recesses of my heart. Forced into an ironbound trunk in the corner of my mind and locked away his ability to rend me as he once could. Forgotten, left to languish alone in the darkness.

But every once in awhile I hear the rattle of his chains and I’m taken back to a time before his banishment.

I didn’t know his true form in the beginning. After all he bore the handsome face and charming manner of his archangel namesake. That’s the nature of demons though. They use this guise to trick you and lure you close. Their soothing words and devious ways only serve to draw you near enough to allow them to plunge their talons deep into your chest and rip out part of your still beating heart. They leave enough for it to grow again and through their deception they convince you that it was not their intent to savage you.

Michael was my demon and at first I loved him with an innocent heart. Later I gave my love desperately, always wary of when the torture would begin. He was a master at it and what makes me the angriest now when I look back upon those days is how the man I love now sometimes pays for the demon’s sins.

I was not good enough for Michael. I wasn’t pretty enough or classy enough and with sly digs and subtle hints he let me know. Chipping away at my fragile self-confidence. He kept his relationship with me hidden away as if I were somehow some dirty secret. Something about me drew him back time and again, only to once again reinforce my unworthiness.

Eventually I walked away. I gained the strength to stop the cycle and bound the destructive feelings I had for him. But the anger still lingers.

I had made a conscious decision to view him this way, his beautiful face hiding a hideous souless secret self. I did this because it gave me the strength to leave him. If I saw his human side it allowed him to pull me back to the hell that was our relationship.

But time has passed.

They say that forgiveness is good for the soul, so maybe it’s time to exorcise the demon. I’d like the scars on my heart to fade and allow the growth another has nurtured. Perhaps by forgiving him I will be able to leave behind his destructive legacy. If I continue to harbor these images of him I only perpetuate his damage.

Logically, I know that Michael was the tormented soul and every wound he placed on me was one he also bore. Knowing that he tortured himself more than he did me, leaves me stunned at the depth of his unhappiness.

Forgiving him does not mean I want him back in my life at all. It does not mean I condone what he did to me or what he likely continues to do to himself and others. It does not mean I wish in anyway to have him participate in my life. Rather than free the demon in the basement of my heart to ravage again, I exorcise him from it to free myself.

So Michael, wherever you are, I forgive your tortured soul for the damage you caused me and wish that someday you will find the way to forgive yourself.

“Are you ready?” His calm voice helped me. I took a deep breath then exhaled, letting consciously relaxing and nodded.

The needle sunk into my neck with a sharp prick, it wasn’t too bad until he started the wiggling it around.

“I just need one drop of blood but it’s being stubborn. Just one and it will be okay.”   I concentrated on the breathing.

He’d shown me earlier on the sonogram exactly what he was going to do. I had liked him before but I liked him even better for respecting my intelligence and curiosity. I’d seen the two masses one looming darker and much larger than the other one. He’d said the smaller one would be considered large, but in perspective to the other, it was tiny.

Four times he asked if I was ready. Four times the needle sunk in and wiggled. The last time was the worst, but when he apologized and asked if it hurt I told him honestly I’d had much worse.

It was over soon and he cleaned and bandaged my neck. I would know the results in a week. One more week of waiting…

My ex was waiting for me.

I had told him two days ago during an argument that I didn’t want him to take me to the doctor. I had been unprepared for his reaction. He’d been very upset and distressed and I still wasn’t sure exactly why.

Things had been bad that day, but now they were much better. I had been angry over a number of things, some justified, some just misplaced sorrow at the situation, but we’d had a long talk and eventually the air cleared enough that I agreed to let him take me to the doctor.

On the way there and back I chatted incessantly; a sure sign of my stress level. I babble when I’m scared. He listened and chatted back some. It was getting easier to talk to him as a friend.

I really wanted to get to that stage, where we can just be friends. Lust no longer enters into our relationship, but I want to feel the kind of love between us that can only be found between two friends that have shared something deeply meaningful.

It’s helped that I am trying hard to get out more. Over the weekend I went to dinner with the friend of a friend. Not a romantic connection at all, but one to attempt to extend my circle of friendship. It was fun. Nice to talk to someone who had enough interests in common to keep the conversation going but differences enough to make it appealing.

I’d been playing Lineage II less, not because I had lost my love of the game, but because I felt it was important to me to expand my activities.

But right now my neck hurt a lot. The doctor had said it might but it shouldn’t be more than a day of discomfort. The really difficult part was the waiting.

One week to know if I have cancer. I can’t even write that without feeling a flash of panic.

Sometimes my whole life feels like it’s lived like that, always waiting for something down the road; Friday night, my next paycheck, my heart to heal, my test results. Waiting…

I was surprised by the feeling of anger that washed over me as I glanced at his sleeping form.  He was here because I had asked and he wasn’t doing anything but sleeping, so I found the sudden rush of hot emotion as uncomfortable as it was unexpected.

I had possible surgery looming and I needed help if I had to have it.  I didn’t have anyone else here to help me and I felt trapped.  So I’d asked him as a way to help myself and also as something that would help him.

Love isn’t like a faucet you can just turn off.  Even when you know things won’t work or you care about someone else, you still have this trickle of emotion.  I still care about whether or not he’s okay; whether he’s happy.

So we agreed to this mutually beneficial arrangement.  He would stick around to make sure I was okay and help out if I had to have surgery.  I would continue to pay the bills.

But it wasn’t working quite like I had thought it would.  Maybe it was just the lack of food affecting my judgment when I came up with the idea and it never was workable.  Maybe it was feasible but I just wasn’t strong enough.  Whatever the reason, right now I was battling my anger.

I did understand where part of the anger originated.  Whether or not it was accurate I felt as if he’d destroyed my world and happily was going about enjoying his new life.  I was left with the pieces while he was having all the fun.

My friend’s visit had helped an incredible amount.  But it had also pointed up how lacking things had been before between my ex and me.  I’d had fun talking, arguing, laughing and just hanging out with my friend and although I know that things change in a relationship and become less intense, they should never become less companionable.

I had asked my ex when I first felt we were headed for trouble if we could please do some things together.  Something.  Anything.  Just so we could spend time enjoying each other.  But he hadn’t responded and that indicated to me he really had no interest in spending time with me.

He didn’t read my writing or express any curiosity about my website or my life in Lineage 2.  I knew those were warning signs but I didn’t know how to fix this.  I told him last time we talked that the thing I was angriest about was how I felt he didn’t even try to save our relationship.

But I bear responsibility as well.  One thing that was wonderful about my friend being here was how free I felt.  He knows me better than pretty much anyone.  He knows my past, the good parts and the bad.  He knows the secrets I’ve kept and the dreams I cherish.  My ex didn’t see that part of me.

I should have shared those things with him.  Perhaps he would have rejected me.  Perhaps we still would have been here, but at least he would have truly known the woman he was leaving behind.

Things can never be the same.  In the end, ultimately, I hope they will be better for us both, but right now I still have to battle the anger.

He said he came to visit me because I needed him. I didn’t know how right he was. He’s been my friend now for two years, though we’d never met in person. I met him through another friend in a video game.

At first, after things happened, I was panicked mostly because I felt I had no social support network. I had no one here I truly considered a close friend. That had been one huge issue for me. I had moved here thinking I wouldn’t have a problem making friends, but it turned out to be harder than I thought. Part of it was I worked all the time in the beginning and part of it was just a huge gap in interest. Not many women I knew played video games.

But after the initial shock wore off I found I had more friends than I thought. People were good to me, trying to help me take my mind off the sorrow and the outpouring of care I received was amazing.

Most of those people I only knew through pixels on a computer screen, but their concern and support helped me more than I had ever thought possible. I didn’t feel so alone and gradually life seemed better.

Isn’t it odd that a comment left here for me can make me cry? Not in a bad way mind you, but give me the feeling that things will get better and although no one can go through it for me, there are people who really do care and that made all the difference to me. Just knowing that, feeling the care of another human being let loose a flood of tears. I hadn’t realized how very hard being isolated was on me until that.

I’m eating again.

I still have to fight the urge not to, but it’s much better now. I believe they call it ‘turning the corner’. Everything is not over yet, but I do feel as though it’s going to be someday.

I’m trying to eat again.

Sunday was a very bad day and I ended up scaring myself enough that I know I have to try hard to stop this.

Things hadn’t gone so well on Saturday and Sunday. I had discovered that there was more to the deception than I’d originally thought and that gave me a bit of a set back. I had tried to eat a bit more since Friday but after getting hit with new things I slid back into eating nothing.

Sunday is a blur and that’s what scares me. I don’t remember most of the day. My ex is staying at my place for the time being. He isn’t actually there that much, since he spends a lot of time with his new girlfriend, but at least I have someone to check on me from time to time and make sure I haven’t keeled over.

I hate how things ended between us, but I really think we both will be happier. I have been unhappy for a long time now, extremely depressed and feeling trapped in a situation I did not know how to escape. I know he felt similar things as well.

He does love me, as I still love him, but it’s the kind of love you have for someone who has been significant in your life and not the kind it once was. Still, no one likes being rejected for another and that will sting for awhile. In any case, we have worked out an arrangement for the time being that will be mutually beneficial.

It’s just that there is still that whole weird grief thing. Anytime something like this dies, you mourn. I realize that part of my mourning is not very healthy for me and Sunday was a stark reminder of how dangerous it can be.

I know at one point I almost passed out, but I remember virtually nothing about the trip. I can’t keep doing this to myself. But saying that is easier than doing it.

I know it’s unhealthy.  I know I should stop, but I can’t seem to make myself.  Maybe if I write about it will help me move past it.

Since that Tuesday night when my world caved in I haven’t eaten hardly anything.  I added it up yesterday and I’ve eaten less in 8 days than I previously did in one.  At first I wasn’t hungry.  The grief and depression dulled any cravings for food, but that eventually passed and I started feeling stirrings again.

However, then something else started happening.  I just refused to eat.  I would feel the hungry, but no need to satisfy it.  In fact it was almost like an odd sort of power trip.

There’s a strange kind of euphoria I’m experiencing.  My life around me is all out of control but I can control this.  I can say whether or not I put a bite of food into my mouth.  Hunger is a primal force, but I can control it.

I also know that part of it is poor self image.  In the years I was with my boyfriend I had gained some weight.  The irony is that women who are happy in relationships do this, study after study shows they gain weight.  I was mostly happy.  And then there was my thyroid out of whack that contributed to the weight gain.

At the moment I feel ugly and horribly unattractive.  I’m not a beautiful woman, but at least I don’t have to be overweight and not beautiful.

So I’m sure part of it is also a weird sort of reaction to that.

I was surprised at how well my energy maintained for so long.  It’s amazing how long we really can go without food.  But this morning I find myself feeling fairly weak.  I know I should walk over to the local deli and get something…but something keeps holding me back.

I just made a couple of odd mistakes here at work, so my mental facilities are definitely not working as well as they should.

I guess it’s time for that walk.

I’ve been through this before. I know that even when you feel like you are going to die from the pain in your heart and soul, you survive and go on. Gradually it fades and life becomes good again.

It’s better every day. I only cried once yesterday and that was brought on completely unexpectedly. One of my friends wanted to show me something she’d done and pulled out a bag with a ceramic plate in it. I burst into tears much to the chagrin of my poor friend.

You see a couple of weeks ago, my ex had painted me a mug at that very place; one with his name and my name and a heart on it. Of course he’d painted it there with her. He’d said he’d done it to show his love for me. I almost smashed that mug the night I found out for sure what was going on.

I’ve always done that, not smashing mugs but erasing people from my life. If a relationship broke up and they were out of the picture, I got rid of everything that ever reminded me of them, even when it was me who did the break up. Sometimes later I regretted that. I would have nothing but my memories of them.

I was tempted to do that this time as well, but I held back. Maybe I can find a place between the pain of looking at things that remind me of him and keeping items that will be good memories.

I laughed yesterday several times, friends on line keeping my mind occupied; helping me to move along, so I know that progress is being made.

But this morning in the wee hours before I woke to get ready for work, I dreamt of him. He held me close again and whispered his love. Telling me how much he’d missed me. I woke with a start and a heavy heart, not wanting to sleep again to feel the pain of that illusion.

Too bad we can’t control our dreams.

That’s when I feel the ache in my heart the most. The heavy loneliness when the room is dark and quiet. I miss the butterfly brush of his lips deepening into passion. I miss the feel of his hands across my skin. But more than anything I miss the quiet comfort of his arms around me.

Funny how sometimes you find a song that perfectly sums up how you feel.  I guess that’s why music is so imbedded into our soul.

Promises in the Dark

by Pat Benatar

Never again, isnt that what you said?
Youve been through this before
An you swore this time youd think with your head
No one, would ever have you again
And if takin was gonna get done
Youd decide where and when
Just when you think you got it down
Your heart securely tied and bound
They whisper, promises in the dark

Armed and ready, you fought love battles in the night
But too many opponents made you weary of the fight
Blinded by passion, you foolishly let someone in
All the warnings went off in your head
Still you had to give in

Just when you think you got it down
Resistance nowhere to be found
They whisper, promises in the dark

But promises, you know what theyre for
It sounds so convincing, but you heard it before
Cause talk is cheap and you gotta be sure
And so you put up your guard
And you try to be hard
But your heart says try again

You desperately search for a way to conquer the fear
No line of attack has been planned to fight back the tears
Where brave and restless dreams are both won and lost
On the edge is where it seems its well worth the cost
Just when you think you got it down
Your heart in pieces on the ground
They whisper, promises in the — dark