In Which Carnita Fathoms Life With Cancer

Reader, I am attempting not to freak the fuck out about it. By "it" I mean the blood in my urine, the lack of tell-tale UTI pain, the odd twinge in my bladder, the occasional sharp abdominal pains, and the general similarity of all my symptoms and their patterns of occurrence to the descriptions I read online of urothelial carcinoma. I have not had much of a tendency towards hypochondriasis in my life thus far, and I have learned that my alarm instincts are fairly trustworthy, so I have no plans of ignoring what may become part of my reality in the near future. Nor do I think that I should.

Case in point: despite the fact that I chose to ignore the response, the hair on the back of my neck distinctly bristled the first time I met Damon. A knowing, cronish voice whispered from somewhere inside me, "Danger. Danger. Keep away." I will never ignore that voice again. It is distinctly different from the nasty, fearful little demon-child voice that warns me against taking risks and generally gets in my way. The former persona is welcome in the innermost sanctum of my consciousness, which I call the "throne room" in my personal mythology, whereas the latter almost always suffers a swift beheading at the hands of my guardian, the blue woman. Perhaps some day--or later tonight, since I am entirely restless?--I will devote an entire post to painting for you, reader, a picture of the city that represents my psyche and the inhabitants that reside there.

A similar voice to the mother-crone is now speaking to me, telling me to trust my understanding of my body. This means that if my urinalysis and STD tests come out clean, then I will not hesitate to demand a referral to a urologist, regardless of my inability to afford to see a specialist right now and despite my intense fear of having cameras, tubes, and needles inserted into my body.

I can't help but wander a little ways with my imagination down this path of possibility. What if I have cancer?

I have always suspected that if such a horribly frightening health problem arose for me, I might melt into a puddle of spineless, blubbering self-pity and despair. One gift that has come of the last twenty-four hours is the realization that this is not so. Mark my words: If I have cancer, I will live, and I will live strong and brave.

Perhaps it would be best to cut this part short so as to keep speculation to a minimum. I haven't even seen a doctor yet; my OB-GYN appointment is nearly three days away, and the lab results further still from any present concern. Nevertheless, speculation--the art of seeing past consensus reality, conventional wisdom, and mundane "facts" to how things could be, and thus more fully how they are--is one of my special gifts, and it makes me feel more empowered than hopeless most of the time.

And so I have released my fear into the blogosphere. There you have it.

In other news, the energy swirling around between and among Harriet, Zeke, Simon, and me continues to gain form and dimension. I love their family, and at the very least, Harriet also loves me. I'm sure that with a bit of effort and attention, I can win over little August, their five year-old son. Zeke, given time, will most likely come to love me too. How could he not? I am a sort of cosmic twin to his enchanting wife, whom he adores. Harriet seems willing to explore deeper territory with Simon although much of her energy is rather taken up in an intriguing romance with another man at the moment, so she may take a while to have much energy available for other things.

Simon has been in a relatively intense bout with depression for a few months, and it causes conflicts at home. I haven't felt like writing about it much because my time for writing has been limited since the death of my beloved old iBook. Even though I now have total command of a delightful little Linux-equipped EePC thanks to my wonderful partner, I still don't feel capable of spending lots of my time here attempting to explain my understanding of Simon's psychological state. This is true first because I created this blog to give voice to my subjectivity alone, and second because I already typically spend many hours out of my week talking with him about these issues. As you can imagine, this can result in a bit of emotional exhaustion about the whole situation. 

My short emotional attention span, however, is part of the problem. I have fairly extensive and unpleasant experience with being very intimate with people who are chronically depressed. I'm sure we could question why I have always been attracted to these people and they to me, but I think I have a fairly good grip on the answers to those questions, and I am now comfortable in the knowledge that it isn't just some huge mess of codependent pathology. What I don't have a grip on is how to approach developing some new coping strategies besides the old ones that have proven themselves useless and/or destructive so many times.

In the past--and unfortunately, in the present--I have tended to see only two or three real options for dealing with a partner's inconsolable depression. I say inconsolable because of course, like anyone who cares much for his or her partner, I always spend some time trying to cheer up, motivate, or empower people when they feel crappy. The problems arise when, obeserving that it has not "worked" to cheer the person up, I run out of steam for this kind of Herculean effort of giving and start to see it as rather more Sisyphean than heroic. In the progression of this routine, the next stage is defined by exasperation and exhaustion and frustration.

In an attempt to resolve this unsustainable emotional circumstance, typically I have reacted in one of two ways, neither of which is ideal. The first possible response is to simply sink into depression right along with my partner. This is what happened for years every time a partner was depressed for a long period of time. For obvious reasons, this response makes everything worse.

When I was able, at some point, to step back and observe this pattern, I developed another response that is somewhat preferable but still potentially damaging to a relationship: I withdraw from my investment and presence in the situation. I become psychically, emotionally, and physically unavailable to the person because my first priority becomes maintaining my own sanity.

This cordial and non-confrontational yet chilly and distant attitude is the stage of response that I am in much of the time with Simon right now. And while I know that this is a far superior place to be than the hopeless mires and self-involved negative feedback loops of depression--at least it allows me the bouyancy to keep functioning and avoid drowning in another person's sorrows--it is also antithetical to the ethic of compassion that I value so highly. It is protectionist, reactionary, and insincere.

Furthermore, as an intelligent and sensitive creature, Simon senses the brittleness of my connection to him when I am in this state, and that knowledge certainly doesn't contribute to his sense of feeling loved and supported in a time of distress.

So, realizing that I clearly don't have the cognitive-behavioral tools to sincerely and compassionately relate to him during his time of trouble, I agreed that once he finds a therapist he likes, I will join him in a session or two as it seems appropriate. I chose to commit to spend my foreseeable lifespan partnered with a man who struggles with mental illness, and so dammit, I need to learn how to deal with it.

I think that may be all I have left for now. I love you. Goodnight.

In Which the Volume of Exciting New Episodes Precludes the Use of a Clever Summary Title

It upsets me when I let this much time go by without posting, but life has been keeping me quite busy. I'll just jump right in to a loosely chronological re-cap.

I dumped Thomas. I sat with my patience for long enough to realize that I had no desire to wait around for a half-hearted romance to disintegrate quite obviously into something I didn't care to experience.

Here is the text of an e-mail I sent him after I regretted the briskness with which I had told him I didn't care to see him again, to which I received no reply, but which summarizes how I felt about the situation:

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Thomas,

Actually, you're an INTP. You folks can benefit from constructive criticism based on sound rationale without taking it too personally, so it's perhaps less irrelevant to communicate this to you than it would be for a more emotionally "average" sort of person. So I'll say one slightly more specific bit.

I, like most people, want to date people who show some sign of being interested in me. In fact, I want to have pretty early signs that it wouldn't be totally impossible to fall in love or be fallen in love with. (Terrible grammar, sorry.)  The need for some outward and special appreciation or consideration is especially important in the moments and days after having sex with someone for the first time. So, it started with you not walking me to my car. Small thing, I know, but it seemed enormously symbolic. That's why I said I felt like I'd been hired: it seemed like a situation that must be like one that prostitutes find themselves in pretty often, except minus the wad of cash in my pocket. It didn't feel good at all. Then--and I don't care what the circumstances are, everyone has a few minutes to spare for people they really like--you were showing no signs of making yourself available or even planning to do so at some point in the future, and certainly not showing signs of being interested. This could have gone on for who knows how long. This kind of cold treatment, while in no way mean or outwardly awful, will still not get you very far with self-respecting women.

So I hope it goes better for you next time. That's all.

Carn

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...and that was that. It feels like so long ago now. It has only been a few weeks, but so much has happened that I have had no time to dwell on it. It was a valuable learning experience about what I really want out of relationships, and it's over now, case closed and carcass in the fridge.

The next character to walk on the stage is Graham. We met on OK Cupid and exchanged several pithy e-mails before deciding to meet up in a friendly capacity. I believe he will fit right in with my people. I had a brief moment of thinking I was attracted to him when we first met, and I made the choice to be very direct about it. I asked him to draw me some boundaries, and thankfully, he did. Just friends. This too is good.

Ruth broke up with Simon. This is a sad thing for us both. She decided to try monogamy with someone. Simon was bummed for a few days but took it quite well, all things considered. I have a feeling she may be back...and anyway, we see her frequently when we hang out with our mutual friends. I predict that she may remember soon why she has been polyamorous for so long. 

I had a hot little make-out session one night last week with my new friend Evelyn. It was purely for the sake of a wild whim and for the sake of breaking her several months' long lack of play. And besides, I haven't touched a woman since Gina, so I had to make sure there wasn't too much I was missing. I am mostly just excited about friendship with Evelyn, though.

So now we arrive at the most superfancy exciting thing of all. The one-sentence version (which may be almost all that I have time for right now) is this: Simon and I are in the midst of forming some sort of basically quadrilateral relational geometry with two of our friends, who are also a married couple. I am not sure if I have ever had occasion to bring up Harriet and Zeke, but if I haven't, it is not because they are unimportant. Harriet is an especially close friend with whom I feel like deeply personal sharing has always been incredibly easy and satisfying, even thrilling at times, mirroring the intensity that I miss so much about my former relationship with Elena. Zeke I know less thoroughly, but we're getting to know each other on several levels...and boy does he have sexy hips. Simon and Harriet haven't done much exploring yet, but it appears that they may be headed in that direction very soon.

I expect that I will have much of interest to report as this develops. I will conclude by saying that this situation feels so much closer to my happiest poly daydreams than anything else that has insinuated itself so far. I feel like a pioneer--a very amused adventurer in uncharted lands. 

This is the motherfuckin' revolution, right here, in my pants. 

In Which Carnita Considers the Value of Patience

After sending Thomas a note about my discomfort with this uncertain feeling that's been keeping my guts a bit knotty since we knocked boots a few days ago, I realized something about this situation that led me to a somewhat different conclusion than what I had originally articulated in the last post.

He sent a rather flippant-seeming note back that basically said that he had had fun, he wants to see me again, but he wants to wait a while because he really needs to stay focused on his work for the time being. All fine. I have no reason to suspect he would lie about such a thing. It didn't really matter what exactly his reply had been because it turned out that the meaning I took from the scenario had very little to do with him in particular, a bit to do with his personality type, and a whole lot to do with my personal patterns in relationships.

So first, his personality. He feels very strongly identified with his Meyers-Briggs type, INTP. You know, super logical-positivist, somewhat lacking in the empathic arts, and intensely introverted. To his credit, he is very straightforward about the strengths and weaknesses that this temperament implies.

I have a history of being attracted to personalities like this even though consorting with them can sometimes be a less-than-satisfactory emotional experience for my exuberantly Intuitive-Feeling-Sensing personality. Basically, INTP's are not disposed to form bonds quickly, and they are slow or inadequate at the task of understanding others' needs. They can be inflexible about what they will and will not do, what sorts of experiences they care for, and how much they are willing to give of themselves. And yet there is this 99% match percentage thing on OK Cupid...weird? Anyway, the problems we could have as potential lovers are fairly predictable, but not insurmountable. He's okay, I'm okay, et cetera.

Another thing about my personal hang-ups that comes into play is my extreme impatience with confusion and lack of clarity in relationships. It drives me nuts, and I wish to resolve the confusion as quickly as possible and tend to pursue this resolution with impatient single-mindedness, which can come off as smothering, over-eager, or emotionally unpredictable behavior. Fortunately for me, my primary partner excels at responding to this need. He rarely ever makes me wait to resolve things that are bothering me. But with a near-stranger who is as scantly identified with his emotions as Thomas, it is unreasonable to expect that he should respond to my need for discussion or reassurance. I asked nicely, he nicely declined, and that is perfectly appropriate. No harm done.

Basically, the main idea that has occurred to me is that I can't rush feelings, understanding, or connection, and that it would be perfectly irrational for me to do what I was considering yesterday: cutting things off with him abruptly as a defensive strategy against his sometimes frighteningly alien personality.

I thought that the discord I was feeling about the situation--just two and three days after our first sexual encounter--must mean that getting involved with him was categorically bad news. I realize now that although the possibility remains that things won't work and that he won't be able to offer enough of what I want in a loving relationship, that I needn't be so dramatic and rush the end because there is plenty of room for him to surprise me yet.

Furthermore, if I get confused again, I can always take refuge in the strictures of correct and compassionate behavior. I do not have to humiliate myself or tear him down in any way to figure out if I can get what I want from this guy. I was being melodramatic in the face of some unpleasant feelings of self-doubt. It is actually completely normal that we ended up having sex when we did; it will be completely within the bounds of sanity to point out to him that some of his actions were less than flattering; and it will be completely bearable if in a few weeks I realize that this will not work out. Under no circumstances will I be wasting time or energy by spending some of it with this interesting and sexy (if a touch emotionally leotarded) fella.

Likewise, there is nothing criminal about having some sexual experiences with people I don't end up permanently attached to in any way. These sorts of experimental foibles are to be expected and embraced. The voice in my head that warns me about sleeping with too many people I'm not in love with is just a bunch of leftover prattle from the patriarchal, monogamous culturebot that somehow gets implanted in each subject's brain to keep us from transgressing against the status quo. I have to remember that I am completely uninterested in being a good little subject of the establishment's control, and take heart.

So perhaps I can learn a few things from this imminently rational new lover of mine. Namely, calm acceptance and patience.

In Which It Is Shown That Sometimes One Should Wait

Five hours or so ago, I tumbled with Simon. It was complicated. This is not the incident to which the title refers, because the result was quite positive. We got over the hurdle of one of us (me in this case) having a little insecure freakout, pushed through the drama, and made sweet sweet love. I am a fan of this. He is slumbering peacefully beside me, and all is well and snug on the home front on this lovely, temperate late spring evening.

Rewind two hours, early afternoon today. Feeling only the slightest bit strange, I left Thomas's bedroom. He didn't walk me to my car. Given, he was naked, but he didn't think to offer.

Before that, we had fooled around, given each other pretty damn fine massages, and had sex a couple of times. It was a good time, but I'm still a little confused about it. I think that perhaps, in the future, I should consider waiting a bit longer to fuck people. There have been no disasters, but there are a few minor disappointments that may have been avoided had I gotten to know the guy long enough to figure out what to expect from him. I can't go into great detail about it right now because I need to sleep, but I just wanted to put that down in words. Goodnight.

Pause to Post Hotness

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