There are vibrating metal crashes coming from down the street, thunderous bellows that cause my heart to race even faster. Fear paralyzes me until curiosity wins out and I peek out the window only to find a garbage truck moving slowly toward me. The fan on my dresser is making a squeaking sound as it moves slowly back and forth, blowing a breeze around my darkened room. It took me a few minutes to realize where the sound was coming from. For awhile, I thought it was a mouse as I lay here breathing quickly, startled out of sleep by one of the worst nightmares I have ever had.

I almost reached for my journal so I could write it down and get it out of my head but the fact is that I do not want to remember it. I want to take a rag and a jug of Clorox and scrub my brain clean. I feel disgusted and horrified that my mind is capable of conjugating such images–dead body on a slab, packing up a bag, running and running and trying to escape.

I don’t know if it has something to do with the scoop of peanut butter mixed with chocolate chips that I ate right before bed. Or if the stress of the past few weeks is catching up to me. Or both. But I had a nightmare, a terrible, startlingly real nightmare and I’m waiting for the details to fade.

I felt like a child, laying in my bed after waking up, unable to even get up and go to the bathroom because I was so afraid. Had someone been sleeping next to me, I would’ve turned over and woke them up but I sleep alone so I hugged my pillows and attempted to slow my breathing. I automatically began reciting Hail Mary’s and some Our Father’s.

I have been doing this a lot lately. It comes out of nowhere, the first time a few days ago while I was getting my monthly bikini wax. I suppose that is sacriligeous in some way but hey, there it is. When in pain, regardless of which kind, my Catholic upbringing rears its repetitive head and I methodically murmur words I learned as a child. And so, jolted awake at 3:30 this morning, I buried my head into pillows and prayed into them.

I’ve been struggling with the issue of censorship since I wrote Monday’s post. This is of course a documentation of my life regardless of who chooses to read it. Though I am still afraid of coming off passive-aggressive by writing things here before or without addressing them in person, the fact is that I may never address them in person so, huh. What then?

This year has been a difficult stretch, a race full of hurdles that I never expected.

One year ago this month, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

I got involved in a relationship with someone who was affectionate and good but also mentally unwell. After one of the most dramatic, tumultuous break ups to rival all break ups, I continue to encounter this person, if only through horribly passive-aggressive behavior, comments posted on other blogs meant for me to see. He is manipulative and cruel, in pain and bitter and the saddest thing about it is that he still thinks that I care somehow. And sadder still is that I don’t.

I have lost a friend and while I have made peace with it, I will still never exactly understand why. It took me quite a bit to realize that it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her.

I have not booked a show in over a year and while I now feel alright about that, I didn’t always. I beat myself up and internalized a lot of rejection and continually fought a voice that told me that I wasn’t “good enough”.

And now.

An e-mail from one of, if not the greatest, loves of my life sits in my inbox at work.

“I am thinking of proposing…”

Proposing? To a girl I didn’t even know you were dating?

And sure! Okay! I assumed! I didn’t think you were sitting around waiting for me! But Jesus Lord in heaven, why didn’t you tell me before it got to MARRIAGE LEVEL?! So I maybe could have had some time to process this?! Don’t you know I’m the only one who’s feelings matter here? Ha! I am delicate and self-centered! Surprise!

And amid the sea of grief, the acknowledgement of a door slamming shut with the greatest finality, the crazed wondering if I made the right choice when I walked away those years ago, the humiliation at continuing to keep in touch every few months because I didn’t even know she existed, there is a peace that has to come. I wish it had been done sooner, I wish I had not found out in an e-mail at work, but at the root of it all, it is no one’s fault.

No one should feel bad about getting married. No one should have to feel weird about telling me. It is my own fault that I flip the fuck out and stare blindly at my computer screen, unable to respond, almost a week later. I figure that until I can honestly 100% type, “I am so happy for you, congratulations!”, I will write nothing at all. Mama needs some time to accept this and rectify her own insecurities.

And maybe I will surprise myself. Maybe I will wake up soon and laugh and realize that he is the first but he won’t be the last. The men that I have dated will all eventually partner off (except maybe the crazy ones but that is for the best) and I will have to deal with my feelings of letting them go, wishing them the best, raising a glass to their futures with wives and houses and children.

I suppose underneath it all, my fear is that they will one by one move on and I will still be here. I will be renting my New York City apartment while they have mortgage payments. I will be pursuing an unstable career while they are secure. I will wake up terrified from a nightmare that rattles me to the bones and I will be unable to call them for comfort because they are sleeping next to their wife.

It’s a funny thing, this crazy life I lead, risking my heart and my head jumping into relationships when I know after they are over, I am often left alone and wounded. But I am still optimistic enough to think that I should still try. I’m going to shut my laptop, drift back to sleep and wake up tomorrow and think about how I’d like to keep searching. I think I know deep down that one day I will wake up, cheeks wet from horrible dreams and someone will be there to reach for, a chest to nuzzle into, a voice groggy with sleep whispering that it’s all gonna be okay.