Sunday morning, 4:15 am: I've been asleep for less 3 hours. Sleep evades me something terrible. And this is when my evil Demons really rage. Here's how they haunted me in this morning's early darkness:
So far, my intent to "fight" cancer feels like it is killing me by stresses more than anything else. (See my post "Eventually, I Had No Home" for the details on my stress.)
My sense of dread toward the coming chemo-poison is indescribably overwhelming.
The treatment, the chemo I don't want, where everyone keeps telling me "everything is going be ok", or "it isn't as bas as it used to be" pisses me off. If you haven't been chemo'd, STFU.
The next year(s) of my life isn't going to make me better. I have G*d-damned cancer. But time I spend forward will succeed to portray a euphemistic message to others that will span from "She'll beat this!" to "Well, she's in a better place now."
Forgive me. Cancer sucks.
Painting: "Ophelia" by Alexandre Cabanel 1883
