Something has turned me into a total raving bitch. Does cancer do that? Although I would like to blame [everything] it on cancer, sadly, I believe this is my doing.
Last week one of the people I love most in the world came to visit. And that was right about the time that TB (Total Bitch) showed up. All her fears and anxieties and need to control came out while this awesome person was visiting. I hate that. I hate that my son, this amazing young man, saw me being a bitch, saw me in my fears, saw me struggling to walk across the room because my body is so weak, saw me fighting with the man I adore, saw me doing anything but being the perfect goddess woman I advertised I was going to become.
I was a bitch and I am ashamed. I let my old patterns emerge, the ones I thought I successfully shone enough light on to banish forever, or make my ally, or something other than being totally hogtied by them. But no. I have no idea who that woman was who was in my body last week, but I know I used to be her. Still am her. And it did not feel good. Does not.
I wonder if the bitch came out to show me something. How scared I am, maybe. How far from what I know I have allowed myself to become. How detached I am from my sources of power and wisdom.
Someone reminded me recently that I should think about honoring the woman once called Karen Murphy, one of my former names. I have been thinking about that. I so wanted to leave her behind. Becoming Talyaa was supposed to be becoming my true self. Karen was prevented for years from being her true self. But I have not remembered that Talyaa stands on Karen’s shoulders. I wanted to kill Karen. I was so done being Karen. I wanted to leave her behind forever. And I guess I have been doing a good job of it. Maybe in her is the key to truly becoming Talyaa. Maybe I need to get to know Karen again, ask her what she wants, ask her what she knows.
So, the lover thing. I ask myself: what do I love? I know a lot of things I love. I am not doing enough of them. 18 days have gone by since I learned about this cancer thing and came home from the hospital. And if I only get 9 months (at best) and have already used up EIGHTEEN FRICKING DAYS, what the hell do I think I am doing? Why am I not yawping and carpe diem-ing all over the fucking city, for Christ’s sake? Who the hell designed this fucked up life, anyway?
Oh. Me. Right.