The last 6 years

Let’s catch up:  traumatic childhood; hellish high school; unbearable university; followed my dream to moving in Toronto; got stabbed, rebuilt.  I did what I do best:  I survived and I waited.

All good things come to those who wait.

I was working at a job I enjoyed, surrounded by interesting people.  I was able to go out briefly – usually after work – for a couple of hours, and enjoy myself, though I stayed away from crowds.

Thus it came to pass that a friend invited me to see a show at a local club, and stood me up. And as I had been looking forward to it all week, I said to myself “F*ck it, I’m going out.”

Arriving, the club was already starting to get packed, and I searched desperately for a friendly face to latch on to.  I found one, clinked drinks, and made small talk.  He laughed at something I said, and replied “you should tell Jaymz that.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know Jaymz?”  He turned and tapped someone near him.  “You need to meet this guy.”

Jaymz was scented with charisma, and wore fun and attitude,  like an dowager empress wearing silk and jewels, and sprinkled with lotus water.  Similarly, he knew what power he had, and when to wield it.

“Hey.  We were going back to my place to spark one up.  Come.”  Not an invitation, but a command – I’m doing this, you are welcome to join, or not.

I followed.  At some point we said good night to the matchmaker, and went on talking.  And then it was morning.

Weeks later we argued about whether we should celebrate the day we met, or the day we fell in love.  I won with “were you in love with me when you brought me home, or when you woke up with me?”

Jaymz taught me more about how to live than I had done until I met him.  Ordinary things became extraordinary with the correct amount of cheese, glitter, or vodka added.

When I got forced out of a job, due to the machinations of an evil new manager and ended up at his place, he ran out and came back with a bottle of champagne to celebrate being free of the bitch.  And then he cursed her that the same game would be played on her.  (Eventually, yes it was, as her habit of blaming one person and micromanaging them until they were in tears started to get obvious).

And when I held his dead hand in the hospital it was not only his life I grieved, but the uncertainty of how I could live, I mean REALLY live without him.

In a perverse way, I sometimes think it was his machinations from the realm beyond this one that tied up what should have been a simple estate into years of fighting, him knowing that I wouldn’t stop until it was done…and when it was done I’d be beyond the pain.

Except then I had pain.  And fatigue. And more pain.  So the last year has been trying to figure out WTF is going on with me.  And by the end of last year I had the answer of fibromyalgia.  Great, a chronic pain condition, just what I always wanted.

So, here I am three months into being 40 thinking “I have spent most of my life waiting for my life to get better, and with the exception of a few brief beautiful times, it hasn’t.  What am I doing wrong?  Or is this all there is supposed to be?”

There are three choices:

  1. Give up – exit stage left.
  2. Give in – simply think this is my lot in life, suck it up, buttercup
  3. Give it all I got – find a different way of being

Not ready for 1 and 2 would just lead to 1, so, door number 3, here we come.

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