Seven days

One week left ’til chemo. I wish I could say I’m feeling better, but I’m not. Not really, anyway. I am exhausted in the way that only comes from being relentlessly emotionally pummelled until all that’s really left to do is throw up. I’m actually in physical pain from this.

I want to apologize for being cryptic. It would be a lot easier if I could just write about what’s going on, at least about the big things, but this isn’t solely my story. And honestly, I don’t know if now is the time for me to be dealing with much of what’s happening. I am trying to process what I need to so I can just shelve what’s left over and come back to deal with it when the wounds aren’t quite so fresh and painful. Unfortunately, there is someone involved who insists on scratching in to every single wound to ensure that they remain open. It’s fucked up and it’s making it hard for me to move forward, or move anywhere for that matter.

I saw my therapist today. I may have mentioned before that she is a lovely woman, but I don’t know how effectual she is for me. As we were talking about one of the situations plaguing my mind, she said, So what you are saying is this was like a rejection, right? To which I answered, No, what I’m saying is this is a rejection. There really isn’t any other way to spin it.

So I sat and talked for an hour and had my feelings validated, even though I didn’t really need that. People validate my feelings all the goddamn time, and I’m pretty sure they are giving their honest opinions and not just telling me what I want to hear simply because I have cancer. I think this because sometimes they tell me things I would rather not hear, so that must mean they aren’t just coddling me, right? Anyway, I didn’t experience anything cathartic, but I did get some sleeping pills and it probably saved me from needing to call up a friend to bemoan everything that is making me sad and angry right now.

But I hate writing these posts that are only about the negatives. Today I received in the mail a book from one of the loveliest women I know, and another friend linked me to a sketchbook kept by a friend of hers who has been dealing with her own health problems for years. Two bits of writing that accompanied the drawings stuck out: Sometimes I want to reassure my loved ones that no one can feel bad enough to make me feel better. It’s best not to try and Sometimes people get so involved with feeling bad about my illness, they stop seeing me. These reminded me of a conversation last week with my friend Ryan who said that sometimes he had to remind himself not to feel bad about me and my illness just for the sake of feeling bad. I don’t want people to feel bad when they think about it. I’d rather make people happy.

 

 

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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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