You are invisible.

I’m emotionally and mentally wrecked. Physically, I don’t seem far behind. An ache is creeping around my throat and I’m trying to stave it off with oil of oregano, lime juice, and salt water rinses. I’d hate to have my first chemo session delayed because of a cold.

I stayed inside all day, working and fretting. I didn’t even make it the half block to the YMCA. I didn’t want to see anyone other than the people who live in my house. I stayed hidden on gchat. “You are invisible” were the sweetest words today, followed closely by my therapist’s “I have a spot tomorrow at one. Come in.” In the superpower competition between flight and invisibility, invisibility wins, even though someone once told me only perverts pick invisibility.

February is destroying everyone. It’s a suck-ass month. Always has been, always will be. Sorry to anyone born in February. Just know that if I like you, your birthday is a scant high point in a month that otherwise ought to be bombed out of existence.

My apologies for being a grim little cloud of despair these last few days. Not everything is doom and gloom. I had an incredible dinner with two fabulous ladies last night — they made me laugh and feel pretty great despite the lameness swirling around me. I live in a world where people deliver food to your door. I live with people who don’t judge me for not showering and staying in my pajamas all day. I have a therapist who picks up the phone after a single ring and listens to me ramble and cry for 20 minutes. And because of this, by this time tomorrow, I will hold a prescription for anti-anxiety medication strong enough to stop a horse. I won’t have to tell myself every five minutes that the crushing feeling in my chest is not a heart attack. Oh, and the marvellous Samara is knitting me a turban. I will be the most stylish bald woman on my street.

I’m almost looking forward to the three or four days of sweet oblivion that first round of chemo will bring me. I need to take a vacation from myself. Chemocation. I’m going to crank the heat and pretend I’m someone else lying on a beach.


About Alicia Louise

I'm a writer, editor, fact checker, storyteller, events organizer, chronically busy yet endlessly lazy, mildly neurotic (though I keep the neuroses well-hidden, one hopes) 32-year-old with recurrent ovarian cancer. I like people and good writing and straight talk. I have a hard time feeling sorry for people, including myself, but the people that I love, I love passionately; one may even say creepily. I try to keep that mostly to myself. I'd like to be charming, but I'm usually just a mess. I'm like a gull slamming into your windshield.
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4 Responses to You are invisible.

  1. I can so relate to the crushing feeling of a “heart attack”. Why does anxiety feel like a massive coronary? Mine always creeps in late at night…who can possibly sleep with the weight of it pressed up against your ribs? Thinking of you…You will be a stylish baldy… Take care. T
    p.s. Thank God for therapy!

  2. Cat says:

    I was just thinking what an asshole February is. Fortunately it’s the shortest month. I wish I could take one for you lady. xoo

  3. Michael Hiller says:

    Well, think about it…In order for the Invisible Man to be invisible, he has to be naked. Nude, if you prefer. This means everything he does from killing people to riding a bicycle is done in the raw. Also he spends most of the time just watching. This makes him a Naked Voyeur at least, and Lord knows what he’s doing while he’s watching…

    And what’s wrong with bald?

    • Alicia says:

      Hey, I never said there was something wrong with “bald”, I said “bald and miserable”. Bald and happy is just fine by me.

      Good explanation as to why people who choose invisibility are choosing the side of perversion.

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