Sick Tears (and mini-announcement)

(This is perhaps the most vulnerable post I can remember putting up.  If there is one thing I aim for in this blog, it's sexually explicit content honesty.  So I present to you, the emotional and thankful post that follows.  And just for the record, it was NOT my idea to take photos of this event.  Carson was set on documenting if for all of my friends who were only there in spirit.)

I’m sitting at my computer right now with tears pouring out of me.  At moments they trickle down my face like water searching out a river to call a home, at other moments they are pouring out of me in torrential sobs filled with a pain and anguish I didn’t know existed in me.  I can most easily be likened to Diane Keaton in “Something’s Gotta Give.”

 

(David is eying my pile of presents from around the globe.  He's totes jealous.)

(Blurry Libby and I on the couch as I begin to dig into the pile of presents.  We kind of look like the morphed faces from "The Ring."  I hope a crazy dead girl doesn't crawl out of my TV.)

I’ve just finished reading the assortment of letters that were passed along to me this afternoon from my dearest friends across the globe.  Whether they were in New York, Missoula, Seattle, Michigan or Africa, the words of these loved ones touched me in strange ways.  First there is the obvious amount of incredible love that I feel within the words and images they have passed along to me.  At the moments when I am feeling the most alone and alienated by this strange illness, I will look to these reflections of the incredible people that continue to populate my life as a source of happiness and warmth. 

I’ve been so lucky through my various places of residence to get to know people that will without a doubt be with me until the day I die.   The words that I’ve just read seem to reiterate how good I have been, at handling this time and being a source of inspiration, yet it’s hard for me to see it that way.  Most people haven’t been able to see the most vulnerable moments where I’ve wailed out (much like I am now).  Those moments are the times where I feel most like a burden and get angry that I feel like my life has become nothing but Epstein Barr Virus.  EBV, three simple initials that have ruled my life for far longer than I would like to admit.  It seems like a cruel joke that after a summer of embracing acronyms (FAS, BIP/BON) my life has been overtaken by one extremely powerful acronym.

(Starting to read Nick's letter and realizing I would start sobbing so I should wait until my friends are gone.  Only my neighbors will be able to hear me and think I'm crazy.)

(It was fantastic of Dan to come by, even if he did insult my obsession with terrible pop music.  Ahh, one of our first arguments: Janet Jackson.)

It is these moments where I don’t know how to handle my sickness or what I feel like it has turned me into.  At times I feel like I look in the mirror and am every bit deformed as Victor Hugo’s famous Quasimodo (notice how I referenced Hugo and not Disney….that was hard for me.)  It feels like there is a spider web multiplying in circumference and spinning itself into every pore of my being. 

These letters, of which there are many that found tears pouring out of me, constantly reiterate how happy these people are to have me in their lives, as is custom when someone is going through a hard time.  Yet all I feel is incredible luck to have these people within my life.  Thank you to everyone, whether you’ve just thought of me, sent a comment, an email, a text message, or a letter to let me know that you are thinking of me.  Words cannot even begin to express how much the smallest things mean.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

(Posing with my wickedly crafty poster from my best friend since 1st grade, Michael.  People used to stop us in the mall and ask if we were twins.  I can't remember if that actually happened or we made it up.  Michael? )

(Libby even prepared me some homemade chili while I opened letters.  How spoiled am I?)

Days like these, and packages and love like I’ve received today are at once both comforting and heartbreaking.  They are reminders of my current state and how much recovery I face.  There is the unknown of when I will be able to resume what is not only my job, but one of my most intense passions, again.  Just two days ago I had a meeting with ABT where I informed them of my decision to postpone my return date yet again.  Sitting watching the faces of my employers I saw incredible compassion and understanding for my situation, but all I could feel inside was defeat.  These reminders of my sickness leave me with a feeling of defeat and I try to spin it into feelings of passion and hope but at times it feels impossible.  I want to thank every person out there for each word, which has at times felt like an admittance of defeat but in the light of my discovered faith feels like hope.  Thank you. 

I’ll be spending the next several months at home in Montana.  The moment I typed that, I had to stop and let myself be overcome with the emotions that it presents.   My face feels numb from crying.  Over the past six months I’ve avoided leaving my apartment, my friends, my job, and everything familiar because I’ve been afraid.  Perhaps returning home is the only logical step in what will hopefully be the last step on my road to healing.  It will be impossibly hard to be away from all that I know for so long.  My plan as of now is to stay until the beginning of March (beginning at Christmas) but as we’ve all seen, what was initially supposed to keep me out no longer than a month has had a way of making a home for itself.   

The most foolish thing is that oddly enough, the first thought that crossed my mind when I made this difficult decision was the blogs.  What am I going to blog about?  I’m sure I’ll find a way.  I just hope that everyone will stick with me.  Thank you for everything.

(Checking out more presents.  This one from the fantastic David.)

Comments

[jolene]

Get better soon, Matt! It's odd that in this world of blogging, that we're able to connect with people in ways that have probably never imagined before.

And for me, on a personal level, reading your blog has been really enlightening on how disease affects a person's entire life. It's opened up in my heart an empathy for patients struggling with an illness, that will hopefully make me a better doctor (if I ever graduate!!?!). Hopefully you have a team of talented, well-meaning doctors with good bedside manners who understand what you're going through.

[Natalie D.]

We'll be thinking about you and praying for you to get well soon. I've never met you face to face, but I love you and Carson so much! You guys are such wonderful people and me and mash feel lucky to have you in our lives. Your posts always help get me through a bad day.

[ma]

Matty, I love you so...you are my hero...the sometimes uneasiness of life is a gift to artists like you, forcing a look at the present, where all art is created...movement, words and pictures, are all tools for you to build...bip/bon!

[Philip]

I'm sorry that you're leaving town but it's understandable. It seems unbelievable that this thing has held onto you for so long but you have to remember that it will eventually pass and you can start to live normally again.

As far as blogging, you can always write about movies, books, music, the great outdoors.

I'll look forward to seeing you back in NYC in the Spring.

Philip

[Larry]

I don't know if EBV is clinically identical to mononucleosis, but during my teaching days it always seemed as if one student would be out of commission every other semester or year with "mono," but the good news is that everyone eventually recovered - as I'm sure you will. However frustrating being sick must feel, more likely than not this is a temporary setback and it's not as if you've suffered the kind of injury that would permanently affect your dancing career. So hang in there and be patient with yourself, keep taking courses (did you see you got a mention in yesterday's Times?), and keep blogging for all our reading enjoyment.

But you will and must get better eventually - for one thing, I want to see what choreography you're going to come up with for the music you and I have been discussing!

Best,
Larry

[tonya]

I agree with PHilip and Larry. I fully expected you to take off the rest of the year and give yourself a good rest through the holidays, but I figured you would return at the beginning of the year. Larry's right -- this isn't an injury and it won't last forever. I'm sure you'll be ready to return early next year. What are you going to do about therapy and college and Broadway and your whole life here? Isn't Naharin coming soon? You can't miss him! Well, I'm sorry to see you go, but I'm sure you'll be back and dancing in no time!

David looks so sad.

[Sandi]

Matthew,
NY will miss you. My thoughts are always with you and your recovery.
My very best wishes always- and looking forward to hearing about Montana!

[M]

Thank you so much for the kind words everyone. As I said before, a comment cannot even begin to express how much they all mean :-) Okay this is going to be ALL over the place.

I think I always knew that I would be out for the rest of the year (meaning 2007) but since it's already November (ahhhhh!) I hoped 2008 would start things off healthy and ready to get back into shape. That's the unfortunate reality of all of this as well, getting back into shape will take time as well so it's not as if I can immediately jump back into rehearsals and performances. I just have to be patient and will hopefully start doing physical activity very soon. Perhaps I'll be back for Met season. Just gonna stay positive and hope. BIP/BON!

Tonya, I think you're right about David looking sad. All of my friends are obviously having a hard time making sense of all of this as well. :-) David just happens to be my closest friend so he's seen all the ups and downs. Plus when everyone was in my apartment and I started reading things (which I saved most of until later when I was alone) I was literally shaking. He probably looks a little scared from that ;-)

Jolene, I'm happy to hear how this has helped put sickness in a new light for you. It's definitely given me a lot more compassion for anyone dealing with extended illness. Unfortunately we can't really understand until we experience it. Life is tricky like that sometimes.

Looking forward to finding creative ways to share Montana with everyone.

Tonya, I will be so bummed if I miss Ohad! When is the show again? I can't remember. GRRRRR! There will always be another time I guess, but I'm dying to see some of his movement.

Larry,
You KNOW I'm ITCHING to choreograph. Gonna listen to a lot more music over the next few months and explore some of the wonderful pieces you've suggested.

Philip,
I might actually work some with Lydia Brown! AHHH, what a goddess. I'm so excited.

Thanks again everyone!

[tonya]

Oh Naharin is next week (13-17), so you won't miss it! http://thewinger.com/words/2007/what-inspires-you/

[Tania]

Oh Matt, I'm so sorry you got stuck with this rotten illness for so long, but I do hope you have a wonderful time in Montana. Please keep us all posted! And I agree with everyone that of course you will eventually get better, but when you're in the throws of something like this it can be hard to remember a time you felt healthy, and imagine feeling normal again.

Best
Tania