Confliction Affliction

I'm going to write about something other than N... Because no matter how much what happened is eating at me, and no matter how much I want to break down and cry all over the rest of my life, I don't want to give short shrift to everything else-- especially in this week of thanks and gratitude. I have an amazing family and amazing friends.

On Wednesday evening I had a voice lesson. My teacher assigned me two new arias-- "Traft ihr das Schiff im Meere" from Dutchman and "Madre, pietosa Vergine" from Forza. From there, I headed straight to Penn Station and out to Long Island. I didn't want to have to make the trip on Thursday morning, as I would have had to cut straight through the Macy's parade.

Anyway, my mom picked me up at the other end and back at her house, I sang her some of the songs I'm working on. LilSis and JBC came home; my stepfather and stepbrother came home; we ate some dinner. Later, I made Swedish meatballs until after midnight at my mom's request. She has been taking old boxes out of storage and had some of my things for me to go through. There were stacks and stacks of old diaries (I was a seriously prolific kid!!) and they were kind of sad to look through. I wrote a poem entitled "alcoholism" when I was only 11. Weird, right? There was also a box of old clothes that had a pile of stuff belonging to B.

Before bed that night, Narc called. He had obliterated himself. All he could say was something like "save me" and "I'm screwed." I could barely understand him through his thick slurring, and besides that, James was ranting and chanting and singing something in the background. It was a little disturbing and didn't help me get to sleep.

Thanksgiving morning brought more cooking. I helped my mom make the turkey and stuffing and then I made potatoes and spent an hour french-cutting string beans for her. I also made sugar free pumpkin pies (as I'm currently off sugar) and they came out delicious. We normally have about 20 people at our thanksgiving, although this year, we were cut in half, as BigSis and Bro-in-Law went to the Dominican Republic on vacation, and my aunt and cousins Jail and Jol were all in Florence, and Bro-in-Law's sister and her husband and the kids didn't come. It was a very chill Thanksgiving, but a very nice one.

My mom took me back to the train at around 9:30. When I was on my way home, Narc called. He was, once again, wasted beyond belief. He kept saying he had to talk to me about something. I told him I'd call him when I got back to my place.

This is the part of the story I want to skip, as I'm not in a place to think about it any more than necessary, and I certainly don't want to write about it.

To make a long story short, by the end of the night, I was in tears and I can't talk to him again unless he can muster some sort of apology. Thank god StarGazer was there for me to cry to... and Bezoukhoff helped me through a lot of it too.

I slept in on Friday, barely able to breathe because my heart was stuffed into my throat and I was overwhelmed with anxiety. It was a nice escape from myself to go meet Anxious for lunch at the Cafe Orlin in the East Village. We chatted over coffee and lunch for a good two hours. She is planning on moving out to LA in a few months (to do a Spanish language and literature PhD at UCLA) and so, we are going to try to squeeze in a few more dates before she goes.

After we parted ways, I walked along St. Mark's and bought some mittens and a new amethyst. (A girl can never have too many amethysts!). Pixie sent me a text that she was nearby, so I headed over to Yaffa Cafe to meet her (not to be confused with Yaffa's in Tribeca where Narc and I used to hang out). We had a great conversation while I ate grilled calamari. I really needed her advice, as I was still spinning a bit from what had gone down the previous night. I just didn't want to be in my own skin anymore. From there, Pixie went to a meeting, and I headed home to meet Bezoukhoff.

Bezoukhoff, Pixie and I all had tickets to see Ute Lemper in concert that night at Joe's Pub. I put on glittering purple eye-makeup and a wig and Bezoukhoff renamed me "Isoldebella." We at some of my (sugar-free) pumpkin pie, listened to Kurt Weill, the Mozart Requiem and portions of Cabaret, and then headed back downtown to meet up with Pixie.

The Ute concert was phenomenal!! She sang so many of my favorites-- songs from The Blue Angel, some Edith Piaf, some Jacques Brel, of course the Brecht and Weill stuff, Philip Glass' "Streets of Berlin." She slunk around the stage in a draped black dress and a red boa. Like I said-- phenomenal!

It was freezing outside when we exited the bar. Pixie went home and Bezoukhoff headed back to my place where we examined the royal family trees of Britain, the German principalities, Greece and Russia before I bid him adieu and headed to bed.

I couldn't sleep. My heart was in my throat again.

Narc, Narc, Narc.

He texted me just after 2:00 AM: Can't sleep. Are you up? Wanna talk?

I gripped the phone in my shaking hand for a while before I responded.

I have nothing to say after last night, I wrote.

"K," was his answer.

"K"?????? "K"?!?!??! That was it?!?!?!

Now I was even more anxious than before. I texted my sponsor, and then somehow, by the grace of God, eventually got to sleep.

This morning, I woke up with a dry mouth. It felt like my tongue was made of cotton-- a feeling that I've gotten used to being without now that I've stopped drinking and drugging. I just wanted to stay under the covers. I peered over the top of my comforter. When did my room turn into a pig sty?

Pixie called (thank god!) and asked if I wanted to go to a 1:00 PM women's meeting with her. I agreed. It was good to have something to get me out of the house. I talked to Cherubino. She told me to stay busy.

The women's meeting was nice, I suppose, but I could hardly stay present for any of it, and everyone was annoying me. We headed over to Mud afterwards for lunch. And then we talked. And talked. And talked. Pixie and I can go on forever in conversation, and by the end of it, I was feeling present and actually (maybe?) a little good (?) again.

But back at home, the "bad" started to creep back in. I want to call him. I want to call him, but I can't, because I want to have some self-respect too. Cherubino is right-- I'm not confused, but rather, I'm conflicted. In any case, I talked to VJ on the phone for a while and then headed over to Union Square to meet StarGazer. We went to see American Gangster at the movies.

We should have guessed how insane a Saturday night movie in Union Square would be... we ended up having to sit in the third row. I didn't care though... that just put me closer to Denzel's gorgeous face, and I'll never complain about that!!

And so, I'm home now and it's nearly 2:00 AM and there's that damn anxiety again... and the pain...

("You know I love you," he said. That doesn't make it okay.)

But here's my dilemma-- he won't apologize because he can't apologize. I don't think he's capable of apologizing for this one (because that would mean taking a little personal responsibility). And so, where does that leave me? Holding my ground and never talking to him again? Or compromising myself and calling him at some point? Both of those options suck. They just suck!!!

"Maybe there's a third option," Pixie said. "Maybe you can't see it, but God sees it, so you should just do nothing and hang on right now."

I wish I could think that way, I really do.

My God is beauty and order and connectivity and meaning and fate and the enormous fabric of the great human whole. But my God does not watch over me and protect me and give me the things that I need. I wish I could have faith in a God like that, but it died for me long, long ago.

I don't have faith enough to let go. I am trying to be my own rock, my own God in a sea of chaos, stalwart against the crashing waves of Narc. I have nothing to fear because I can trust that I am unmovable. But I can't feel better right now unless I can trust letting go. Letting go. Letting go? Fucking impossible. I fucking can't do it.

I can't.

I am so incredibly angry with him, and yet I find myself aching for the phone to ring. Why???

What do I plan to do when it does?

love,
h